Back to Normal

The atmosphere of 221 B Baker St was once again back to normal, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes could not be happier. His secretary Miss. Claire Watson had cleared the air about her and his older brother Mycroft, and she was spending more time on the work he paid her for. The lanky detective would deny that he felt any different for the woman; they had worked together a few years before in the Red-Scarves. But, things were different now that they were not putting forth a front or living in the streets. His hazel eyes clouded momentarily with the memory, he pushed them away as he heard the sound of Mrs. Hudson ascending the stairs. "Here is your breakfast, Mr. Holmes. This porridge should warm you up." She smiled and made a slight bow as she went back to her own rooms. Sherlock looked at the food and for a moment missed the sight of his Boswell sitting across from him, ready to tuck in the food. But, Watson was married now and very happy with his wife, Mary. The intelligent sleuth ate his breakfast quietly, pondering when his next case would arrive.

He was just about to open the paper when he heard the front door open and the sound of a pair of high heeled boots made him smile just a bit. Claire Watson arrived at the top of the landing, her blue eyes brightened from the walk to his rooms. She smiled at him politely, "Good morning, Mr. Holmes. It's quite cold out there, I'm so glad to be indoors." Claire took off her hat to reveal red cheeks from the wind. As she rounded the corner to put up her coat and hat, Sherlock could not help but look at his secretary's thin form.

"If you are hungry Miss. Watson, please help yourself to some porridge. Mrs. Hudson will be quite upset if it is not eaten." He gestured to the near untouched serving bowl. He then opened the paper again, his thoughts moving from concern of his secretary's eating habits to the agony column. It was very easy to do, except when Watson tried to get him to care more about what happened in regards to Miss. Watson. It was only expected since Watson was trying to be a father figure for the young lady, but he knew that she didn't need or want one. His eyes found her again, sipping the hot breakfast at table. She looked up and for a moment their eyes met, neither one was sure how to have felt so they dropped their gazes and focused on something else.

Claire finished her breakfast; she had been in such a hurry this morning she had forgotten to eat. She was glad to be back working with Mr. Holmes after the holidays; she could focus on solving crimes rather then the chewing feeling that she had done something wrong. Mr. Holmes helped set her mind at ease, but it wasn't her mind that was the problem. Her heart had been through so much with Jack and even a bit with William she was so scared to open it again. She didn't dwell on that feeling; it distracted her from the work that kept her mind ahead of her heart. She looked over at the detective, they had so much in common and so many stories to share but, there was no time for that. Even without cases to provide a good distraction, there was the matter of her cousin Watson. He made reminiscing with Mr. Holmes difficult, since he always got shocked about what she did in her past. She smiled to herself as she cleaned her mouth with a napkin and sat down on her chair behind the second desk.

"Mr. Holmes, I have thought about it extensively and I think we ought to tell John about the gang. It won't do any harm; most of the people involved are either dead or inconsequential." Claire's voice was serious but non-chalet. She tilted her head so that she could get a good look at his reaction. Sherlock looked up from his paper, and saw the light of amusement lit up in his secretary's blue eyes.

"You are right about it not being any harm, but you have to remember Miss. Watson, your cousin is not like us. He will think our actions scandalous and even grievous, but yes he needs to know." His right arm stretched to reach his cherry-wood pipe. Poor Watson, he had such a hard time with the pair of them, Miss. Watson's shady past was treacherous enough for any man to fear to know her. As for him, Sherlock knew that he could be cold and callous but, luckily he was surrounded by two people who tried to understand it and accept it. "Now, which story should we tell him first, Miss Watson? I would think he would like the one about the fight." He lit his pipe and began puffing away into the morning.

Claire shrugged as she opened some of the mail that had piled up over the holiday. Her callused fingers cut through the paper easily as she perused each letter. "I think he might like the one where you first met me." Her passive tone made him nod in agreement. They both waited in anticipation, for the front door to open and the Doctor to walk through it. It seemed like minutes before they heard the sound of his voice downstairs complaining about the cold. Claire and Sherlock shared a bemused look before he entered, looking cold but cheerful.

"Good morning Holmes, Claire, good to see you both got in before the wind picked up." He motioned to the streets outside which were being swept by a fierce wind. As he sat down in his chair, he saw Claire ring for tea and then sit across from him on another chair. She looked anxious about something, but he wasn't sure what. He hoped she had forgiven him for trying to push her into love before she was ready. "Are you alright Claire? You look nervous about something?" Watson patted his cousin's knee like a father would do to a child. Claire inched away a little, confused by this gesture. She hated that he treated her like a child still.

"John, Mr. Holmes and I have decided that on such a horrible day like this that you deserve to hear a story from our joined past. This would be from when we were in the Red Scarves gang, and working for the government." She smoothed out her dress, readying for a barrage of questions from the good Doctor. Her cousin looked from his good friend Sherlock to his cousin, glad to finally hear about this. They had both hid those three years from him by telling him that it would scandalous to hear or that it was the wrong time to ask.

"I am delighted to be able to hear them at last; I was wondering could I write them down?" He asked, producing his trusty notebook and pencil. Claire nodded as well as Sherlock who still had the pipe in his mouth. Then Claire looked at Holmes, "Who shall tell their side of the story first, Mr. Holmes? I've never heard your side on when you first met me." Claire tucked a piece of her brown hair behind her ear as she tried to remember.

Holmes took the pipe out of his mouth momentarily, "You both know I am not a gifted storyteller, so I shall let Miss. Watson go first and then I shall expand on what I saw." He sat back comfortable with his decision. Claire smiled brightly, letting the remembrance wash over her like a warm bath.

"I had been working for Lestrade as eyes on the street for a short while, and was even thinking of transferring to Whitehall for a shot at undercover work. When he called me into his office and told me about this deal he had gotten with the Red Scarves. They had been giving information to him in exchange for a blind eye on their turf; he was tired of meeting them at all hours and wanted a full time informant. The problem was that none of the gang members save their leader could come uptown without creating a rumor or two." She shook her head as Mrs. Hudson appeared with the tea. She got up and carried a cup over before she began talking again.

"He told me that I would be in the gang under a false name and giving him reports of all gang activity down there. He said that he would rather have someone with more experience then I but, no one wanted to risk getting shot in the docks. He told me I couldn't trust anyone save him, the gang leader or his other contact." Claire gave a look at Holmes who only chuckled. "So, he introduced me to the Red Scarves leader, Jack Braceguard." Her eyes misted over briefly but she did not deter from her tale. "Jack was surprised and angry that I was going to be his go between Lestrade and the world of crime. But, I told him that I would prove myself like any other recruit would and that he shouldn't treat me special just because I was a lady." Claire began to chuckle at the thought.

Watson looked up at her laughing face, "What did you have to do to get into the gang?" He hoped it wasn't anything like having to kill a man or steal.

Claire smirked, "We had to do a series of tasks, and we had to shoot a line of beer bottles while being hackled. Then we had to steal something off of Jack's person and then my favorite part which was the fight between us recruits." Her smile grew wider as Watson's eyes did the same. Sherlock gave a great laugh, "That was certainly a fight to witness, indeed. Watson, you would have been proud of Miss. Watson's fighting technique." He stepped out of his favorite chair and began to pace.

"I will tell you now what I saw; Jack told me and the rest of the boys that there were some potential recruits coming to the docks. He told us to put them through the ringer as always, but I could tell he was nervous about having you there. Then, he told the recruits to come in, most were petty criminals, with ragged clothing and stolen goods. Then I saw Miss. Watson, she was dressed like a gypsy, complete with a wide blue sash around her waist. She was a little skinnier then she is now but she looked the part. We boys laughed it off that there was a gal in our midst." He took another draw from the pipe and continued pacing.

"Jack got them all in a line and showed them the line of bottles to be shot. They had to be six feet away and deal with us yelling and spitting at them. We went easy on the boys and when Miss. Watson stepped up with her pistol, we let her have it. We yelled at her until our throats grew sore and some even tried throwing broken bottles at. I tell you Watson, she didn't even flinch, and she shot them all in a row." He gave Claire a nod of respect before returning to his chair.

Watson turned towards his cousin who still had a smile on her face, "They were tame compared to the street boys who watched me practice. That practice is why I have all those calluses on my hands." She took off her glove to admire the thick skin on her hands. Watson looked them over; they were so tough and leathery for someone as young as she. He shook his head; she had known so much danger like he had in the war. It was true she was not a child anymore, but he couldn't help but wish her to be innocent once more. "Tell me about the fight with the recruits." He turned another page in his notebook, anxious to hear the next event.

Claire sat forward, "So, it was near eleven o'clock at night and there were only about five of us left. A good number left when they couldn't steal from Jack or shoot well enough. They put us in a ring that had sand on the floor. The only rules were no weapons and no hits below the belt." She rolled her head from side to side, letting it crack with ease. "I was not the best fighter, and I knew it. So, I made myself get into the middle, rather then the sides. I punched a lot of solar plexus to get by and I had to break a man's rib to get out of the hold he had me in." She shook her head and continued. "Then there was Greg, or at least I think that was his name. I can't remember much about him besides the fact he almost beat me." She looked over at Holmes who took his cue and stood up once more.

"Miss. Watson had successfully gotten most of the men out of her way by punching them in the side while they were preoccupied fighting another man. Now it was just her and this beast of a man named Greg. They were both slightly hurt; Greg had a bloody lip and a cracked rib on his right side. Miss. Watson had a bruise on the right side of her face from the giant Frank, the size of a coaster. He went for her first, tried to drive her against the edge of the ring, but she side-kicked his Achilles heel. He then punched her in the right eye, giving her a black eye. Miss. Watson then did him one better by punching him rapidly stomach, but that didn't do as much as we thought. He smacked her again, this time she got him in the jaw with a strong right cross." Holmes looked down at Watson who was trying to imagine the upright lady next to him in a brawl.

"He almost went down but swept his leg under hers and forced her into an arm lock of sorts. We thought he might break her arm when she managed to twist her arm out of his grip and stroke him where his rib was cracked." Holmes sat down and re-applied the tobacco from the slipper to his pipe. "She then got up and held her boot to his throat and asked him to either get up or to submit." Watson again let his mouth pop open in surprise that she could have withstood all that fighting.

Claire looked over at him, "I had to take him out with an upper-cut to the head in the end. Poor man was moping around for a week because a woman beat him in a fair fight." She began to chuckle again at the sight of her cousin clicking his tongue in disbelief. "I was so sore afterwards, that black eye took about a week to heal. Lestrade thought I had been kicked out when he first set eyes on me." Holmes joined in her laughter, as they began to spin a set of tales that Watson would never be able to forget. Things were back to normal, but the wheels of change were beginning to turn and there was no way to tell where it was going.