Annabelle Holmes

Chapter 1; Annabelle arrives in London and a murder is committed

Disclaimer: Mira owns Holmes. Deannie owns Watson… I think… I can't remember which way round it is. Anyway; the point is I own neither of those fine gentlemen; I am merely borrowing them for the purposes of my fic. Also, Annabelle Holmes is a character of my invention, I am fully aware that Holmes has a brother named Mycroft, or however it is you're meant to spell it, but there is no mention of a sister. Ignore this fact for the moment and pretend that his sister, having met Doctor Watson only once, has recently come to London on aforementioned Doctor's request because Holmes is being depressive again. This is what happens when a high-spirited slightly younger sister, a concerned friend, several attempted murders and a couple of successful ones are thrust into Holmes's lap.

Also, (this is my slightly weird mental maths skills) having discovered the birthdates of Holmes and Watson, and subtracted them from when the characters first appeared, I have come to the conclusion that Holmes is 33 and Watson is 35, so Annabelle, who is Sherlock's older sister, is 34. Also, I would like to add that evidently Watson bears his age better than Holmes, who looks a lot older.

…

Miss A Holmes,

Chilton House,

Hampshire

Miss Holmes,

I understand that this may seem unusual, but I must ask a favour of you.

As you know, I recently vacated my residence at 221 Baker Street, and I am worried that your brother, Sherlock Holmes, appears to be suffering from some kind of depression (I suspect that this is because he is in want of a case) and I cannot go to visit; I am currently overwhelmed with clients and am spending most of my free time with my wife, Mary.

The favour I ask is for you to come to London, pay your brother a visit and, if possible, persuade him to end his depression.

I have every faith that you will succeed, having seen your methods first hand.

Anxiously awaiting your reply,

John Watson (Doctor)

Doctor J. Watson

34 London Road

London

John,

It is, as always, wonderful to hear from you, what with your usual busy schedule of doctoring, investigating and getting into trouble because of Sherlock. I have to admit I'm not surprised by his behaviour; he always was an adrenaline addict.

You have always been and will always be the best friend any person could possibly wish for. I understand that you are worried about my brother, so of course I will come to London and see if I can put things to rights.

You're married? Congratulations! I hope you and your wife have many happy years together. I hope I can find something that could act as a belated wedding present!

Yes, my rather eccentric little brother did inform me of your departure, although he referred to it as "Desertion," but he failed to mention that you have recently been married – he probably didn't want me to visit to congratulate you.

I will be in London within the next week.

Perhaps we could arrange a meeting so we can catch up with each other?

Until next week,

Annabelle Holmes

…

Holmes woke, groggy and disoriented, to hear voiced outside his door.

"…Daren't go in by myself, ma'am, not when he's in this mood…"

"I quite understand, Mrs Hudson," The second voice was one Holmes knew all too well.

Before he could hide under his bed or behind the curtain, the door was flung open and a young woman with pale skin, dark brown eyes and black hair, hidden expertly within a small and stylish hat, entered the room.

"Sherlock," she sighed, walking in and flinging open the curtains and windows, causing the great detective to flinch, "You need to open these windows every once in a while, you're making the whole room stink,"

"What are you doing here?" he grumbled.

"Your friend Doctor Watson," the woman replied, "Asked me to pay you a visit, owing to your drug habits, which evidently worsen when you don't have a case to work on. Naturally I accepted; it's been a while since I saw my little brother," she grinned, the classic Holmes mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"Annabelle –"

"It's alright, Doctor Watson managed to organise some rooms for me in the hotel a few streets away," Annabelle replied, "And I expect you to clean up while I'm here – I'm sure this house has a bath of some sort somewhere," she smiled at Mrs Hudson as she tidied Holmes's case notes.

Holmes groaned; he's forgotten that his older sister, although very much like him, was ruthless when it came to his habits.

"Watson you traitor," he grumbled.

"You should be grateful that he did ask me to visit," Annabelle chided him teasingly, "If I had spent any more time in our father's old country estate there is a risk that I would have looked in those cases you've left in your old bedroom."

"You wouldn't!" Holmes exclaimed indignantly, "That's my private property!"

"I know that," Annabelle replied, "which is precisely why I took the liberty of locking them in your cupboard while the servants weren't looking; they tend to be a bit curious," she turned to leave, "If you aren't washed, suitably dressed and sober within the next half-hour," she warned, "I'll ensure you get a very cold awakening." She swept out of the now immaculate room, keeping the curtains wide open, to have a word with Mrs Hudson, leaving Holmes to digest the information she had just given him.

Knowing full well that Annabelle was in the habit of carrying out her threats, Holmes scrambled to the dresser to wash.

…

"Mr Holmes and Miss Holmes to see you, Doctor," the housekeeper opened the door and led Holmes and Annabelle inside before leaving.

"Holmes!" Watson greeted his old colleague warmly before turning to Annabelle, "It's wonderful to see you, Annabelle," he turned to face Mary, "Mary, this is Annabelle Holmes; Annabelle, this is my wife, Mary,"

"Oh!" Annabelle suddenly produced a small china model of a rearing horse from her bag, "I hope you don't mind but I thought I'd bring you something in congratulations," she looked pointedly at her brother, "Sherlock neglected to mention that you were married, but I managed to finish this before I came to London." She gave it to Mary, "Congratulations," she straightened and faced Watson, "To both of you."

"Thank you," Mary replied before starting a conversation with Holmes.

"Annabelle, could I have a word?"

Annabelle turned to see that Doctor Watson didn't look like all was well.

"Whatever is the matter, John?" she asked, dropping her voice to stop Holmes hearing their conversation.

"It's this letter," the doctor began, pulling out a small piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket and handing it to Annabelle, "it arrived this morning, it was addressed to me, but it's in Italian, and it doesn't sound very friendly."

Annabelle examined the letter and frowned, "Don't you want to show this to Sherlock?"

"He doesn't speak any other language but English," Watson explained, "but you studied in Venice so I thought –"

"You thought I could translate it?" Annabelle smiled, "there's one problem; it's using coded messaging, but I'll do my best." She pulled a notebook and pen from her purse and leaned on the desk nearby.

"Dottore Watson" Annabelle read quietly,"la Rosa del nome Della signora sacra si appassirà se lo scienziato è aiutato nel prossimo esperimento. Se Lei dovesse aiutare lo scienziato, la rosa si appassirà, e lei morrà. You're right, it isn't friendly." She looked Watson in the eye, "It's a death threat."

"A death threat!" Watson exclaimed in a whisper; Holmes looked up at Annabelle and raised a questioning eyebrow. She responded with a significant look that clearly stated, "I'll tell you later"

"What does it say?" Watson asked.

"It starts with Dotorre Watson," Annabelle explained, "That's you; Dotorre means 'Doctor'." She frowned and scribbled in her notebook; "la Rosa del nome Della signora sacra si appassirà... the rose by the name of our sacred lady will wither... wonder what that means."

"Our sacred lady?" the Doctor asked, "what could that mean?"

"The Italians are Catholic," Annabelle replied distractedly, "the sacred lady means –" her eyes widened, "Mary. The rose will wither – it's threatening Mary's life."

"On what grounds?" Watson looked horrified.

"It says... se lo scienziato è aiutato nel prossimo esperimento, that means, 'if you aid the scientist in his next experiment.' That could mean Sherlock; he's a scientist. Experiment... correct me if i'm wrong but doesn't Sherlock view his cases as if they are grand scientific experiments? He used to test on Gladstone, did he not?"

The pair looked at the dog, who was dozing in front of the fireplace.

"He did," the Doctor admitted, remembering how annoyed he used to get when that happened.

"So," Annabelle concluded, "it's saying that if you help Holmes in his next case then Mary will die, which suggests that there's going to be a case for Holmes after all." She commented dryly, raising her eyebrows, "Sherlock will be pleased."

"What am I to do?" Watson asked; his voice was strained and he was wringing his hands.

"Firstly, you cannot tell Mary," Annabelle replied, "if you must tell someone – no, I will tell Sherlock," Annabelle raised a hand to stop the Doctor's interruption, "If you wish for someone to keep an eye on her, I will arrange for some of the regulars to do it. The police will be made aware of it – I'll make sure of that." Annabelle folded the note and handed it back to Watson, "Nothing will happen to her," she promised, "Not if I have anything to do with it."

"You might not be able to stop it," Watson pointed out.

"I can try," Annabelle replied, determination adding an edge to her voice, "Nobody threatens my friends, especially if they do it in a way that nobody will understand,"

"What about Holmes's case?" Watson asked.

"It doesn't say that I can't help him," Annabelle smirked, "Lestrade may say that a crime scene is no place for a woman, but it's more my place than his."

"What are you two gossiping about?" Holmes asked, coming over as Annabelle hid her notes and Watson hid the letter.

"Just congratulating Annabelle on getting you into shape," Watson smiled, not concealing the worry from Holmes, but hiding it sufficiently from Mary.

"What was that about?" Holmes leaned toward Annabelle in an attempt to glean some information.

"Now isn't a good time to discuss it," Annabelle replied quietly, breezing past him, "suffice it to say that you will be busy enough when I tell you what Watson told me."

"Tell me."

"All in good time, brother," Annabelle replied before sitting near Mary and explaining how she became acquainted with Doctor Watson.

…

Holmes couldn't stand the opera.

Annabelle knew this and had deliberately dragged him to one under the guise of "teaching him to be more sociable."

Bored of the opera, Holmes excused himself and ended up standing just outside the theatre, staring into the empty street.

"Bored of the opera?"

Holmes started in alarm, half expecting Annabelle to be stood behind him when he turned around.

There was a young woman standing behind him, but she was definitely not his older sister; although her hair was also black and curly, her eyes were black as jet, and less almond-shaped than Annabelle's; her skin was a light olive brown and she wore a long, dark blue dress which complimented her complexion.

"My sister dragged me here," Holmes replied, "knowing full well how much I hate it."

The woman smiled; "My mother loves it, she can't get enough of the opera but…" she shrugged, "I can't stand it personally – all that singing about tragic events in a language that nobody understands –"

"It's Italian, Avara."

Holmes and the woman both turned to find Annabelle leaning on the door with a mischievous smile on her face.

"Annabelle!" the women rushed forward and greeted each other with a hug.

"Where have you been?" Annabelle asked, "still being courted by Berkiss?"

"Mercifully no," Avara replied, smiling, "He was recently married to Lady Helen Thurston."

"Oh!" Annabelle exclaimed, "Sherlock, this is my old school friend, Avara Bailey. Avara, you remember my brother?"

"The famous Sherlock Holmes," Avara nodded, "I thought you were staying with Mycroft, Annabelle?"

"An old friend bid me visit London and stop Sherlock from messing around with gun silencers and the like," Annabelle replied, "It's good to see you again – come, let's go to Baker Street; we can catch up on each other's stories there."

"What about my mother?" Avara asked.

"What about her?" Sherlock responded.

"Sherlock!" Annabelle reprimanded him, "Manners!" she turned to Avara; "I'll ask one of the footmen to inform her that you met an old friend in the foyer." She vanished for a few moments before returning and linking arms with Avara, "Come," was all she said.

…

After much gossiping and reminiscing (often at Holmes's expense) Avara and Annabelle's conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Mrs Bailey, Avara's mother, who demanded that her daughter return home immediately.

"Mr Holmes is not good company, Avara," she insisted as she bustled her protesting daughter out the door, "Delighted to see you again, Miss Holmes," she added, making it clear that she remembered Annabelle before the carriage departed.

"A most unusual woman," Holmes commented, "your friend, Miss Bailey; she seems to understand more about crime than most women – almost as much as you."

"She understands crimes just as well as I, Sherlock," Annabelle replied, rising from her seat, "I should be returning to my hotel; goodnight, brother," she swept from the room and caught a cab to the hotel, leaving Holmes to brood over the curious behaviour of Miss Bailey.

…

Holmes was rudely woken by Lestrade storming into the room.

"Wake up Holmes!" he yelled, flinging the curtains wide as Annabelle and Avara, who had somehow convinced her mother that it would be good for her to meet her old school friend, stood in the doorway glaring disapprovingly at Lestrade.

"Inspector," Annabelle asked icily, "Is there any particular reason you have decided to visit my brother?"

"There was a murder on Tottenham court road last night," Lestrade replied; "I hate to say it but we need his help – and Doctor Watson's."

"Doctor Watson, as you well know, cannot aid this investigation owing to the fact that his wife was threatened yesterday morning," Annabelle replied, "But Avara and I will do all we can to assist,"

"A murder scene is no place for a young lady," Lestrade replied, sneering slightly as he came within arms reach of them, "why don't you stay here and do some embroidery like most women do? It would be far too distressing for – OUCH!"

That statement was in response to a particularly vicious slap on both sides of his face; both Avara and Annabelle had struck Lestrade simultaneously, leaving him with identical red marks on his cheeks.

"I am a Holmes, sir," Annabelle replied, "And Avara is descended from the Bailey family; we do not know the meaning of 'distress'"

"Unless of course they are inflicting it on someone else," Holmes muttered as he pulled on his coat, "namely me,"

"But that's why you love us so much, brother," Annabelle replied sweetly

…

"Marie Des-mar-ay" Lestrade completely messed up the pronunciation.

"Marie Desmarais," Avara corrected, "it's French, so you should pronounce it properly."

"How do you know that –"

"Inspector," Annabelle interrupted, "Avara did study in both France and Germany; she speaks both languages fluently."

Lestrade glared at her and continued, "aged 27, very well thought of family."

"Drugged?" Avara asked, taking note of the strange look on the victim's face.

"Possibly," Lestrade replied, "but we'd need a doctor to determine that."

Annabelle and Avara knelt down to examine the victim.

"Asphyxiation marks," Annabelle noted, "there's a burn mark on her neck that replicates that of a rope,"

"Do you think that was the method of death, sister?"

"Hardly," Avara replied, "The rope was a trick – actual cause of death…" the women turned the victim over to reveal a large blade-shaped hole in her back, "…she was stabbed and bled to death."

"Marks on her heels suggest she was dragged to this area," Annabelle added before looking in the victim's eyes, "she was under the influence of a hallucinogenic – her eyes are misted over."

"You were saying you needed a doctor?" Holmes asked, "Did I neglect to mention that Annabelle and Miss Bailey happen to have studied medicine and forensic sciences?"

"Never mind your boasting, brother," Annabelle sighed, "we have a murder on our hands, and there will be more besides, given the note pinned to her stomach."

"Note?" Lestrade asked.

"This will not be the last," Avara read over Annabelle's shoulder, "That's self-explanatory."

Annabelle's eyebrows were raised as she thrust the note into Lestrade's hand and signalled Holmes and Avara to follow her.

"Do I detect an inkling of alarm, sister?" Holmes asked in jest, his eyes twinkling.

"Indeed you did, Sherlock," came the response as Annabelle's brow furrowed in concentration.

"What is it?" Avara asked, alarmed by her usually mirthful friend's change of temperament.

"The hand-writing on that letter," Annabelle replied, turning to face them both, "Was exactly the same as that on the letter to Doctor Watson," she looked Holmes in the eye, "The one that threatens Mary's life."

…

That's it! I hope you enjoyed my very weird fic's first chapter! I would like to say that any foreign languages used in this fic are filched from an online translator, so apologies for any grammatical errors but I am not fluent in any language except English. Avara Bailey is the character of the lovely Mira and Annabelle Holmes is my character.

Looking forward to your reviews! And flames will be lent to Maple for her little Caesium and Francium experiments. Basically, they will be ignored and I will send you a little message telling you what Maple did with your flame.

Also, anybody else absolutely love the 221B game on the movie site?

Click the green button… you know you want to!