ACADEMIA
Based on the movie "Sherlock Holmes"

The Kidnapping of Princess Catherine

A beat of silence. The rain dripped a steady cacophony against the windowpanes. "A job?" I asked, laughing in disbelief, "You must be joking." I rolled my eyes at him.

His rough voice answered, "I assure you madam, I never joke." He said this gravely without the least bit of irony and I could not help but smile.

"Forgive me. How dare I insinuate such falsehoods?" Even I could hear the smile in my voice.

"You are forgiven… this time." He waggled his eyebrows at me. I willed my heart to slow it's hammering rhythm in my chest.

I smirked and said, "Since you always speak the utmost truth, to what job do you refer?"

He played a few more chords on the piano, and then leapt off the stool, launching himself at the violin lying next to the fireplace. He grabbed the violin and rolled sideways, picking the bow off the floor from where he had dropped it and stood up, all in one easy, fluid motion. He moved quick as lightening. I stared in shock as he slowly teased a few notes from the aged instrument.

After he had made one circuit around the room, he turned toward a teetering pile of mail on his desk. Taking a letter from the middle of the stack, I watched as the others toppled to the floor, the sound of paper softly scraping against the carpet mingled with the crackle of dying embers and the trickle of the now relenting downpour. He held out the envelope and I took the pro-offered mystery. Breaking the seal, I steeled myself for whatever mischief he had in mind for me. Even though the music did not stop, I could feel his gaze on me as I read:

Dear Mr. Holmes,

I am afraid I must request your services in a catastrophic incident. A terrible disaster has befallen my family. My precious Princess Catherine has been kidnapped! Please lend your brilliant mind to solving this heinous crime and securing the safe return of my beloved Katy Cat. Your reward will be substantial.

I anxiously await your reply,

Mrs. Jonathan Weatherby

"Well then," said I, "a dastardly villain is on the loose. Alert Scotland Yard." He must be expecting some kind of reaction. I will not rise to the occasion.

The violin music stopped. I recognized it as some piece by Mozart. "Will that be your first plan of action? I really expected more of a, shall we say, 'hands on' approach."

"This is your job for me? You are teasing me, I know it. You probably wrote this yourself."

"I assure you madam; again, I never joke about cases. This calls for your utmost attention. Should you manage to solve it and recover the aforementioned feline; a promotion will be in order."

"You do not have that authority," I said, though I honestly was not entirely sure he did not, "Mrs. Hudson procured my position for the sake of my Uncle, and I doubt she would be amused at your idea of a 'promotion'. A promotion to what position exactly?"

"If you succeed at solving this case, you would prove yourself worthy of a position as my assistant." This notion triggered an interest on my part. An assistant to the Sherlock Holmes? Why, William would be pea green with envy. I pictured his handsome face, dumbstruck with surprise when he read my letter. Did I imagine I was going to succeed? You can bet your boots I did. Catherine Elizabeth Keaton did not back down from a challenge.

How was I going to succeed? Now that was another matter entirely.

Glancing across the room in deep thought, I noticed movement and caught my reflection in a dirty mirror hanging on the red wall. The woman before me looked absolutely exhausted. Dark circles highlighted her pale skin. She appeared ghostly, a porcelain vision in lace and ribbon. A slight, permanent frown graced her Cupid's bow lips. The woman in the mirror seemed haunted. Sad and tired, but behind her eyes there lay a steadfastness that was dormant until challenged. At that moment, she jutted her chin out and tilted her head up in defiance of her own reflection. Hazel eyes burned gold in the firelight. She was not a woman to be trifled with, and Sherlock Holmes would soon see how badly he had misjudged his own ego.

"Cease your gawking at yourself and turn your attention to the matter at hand madam. You have yet to announce your decision. What would you care to do about this - " he pointed at the letter in my hand with his bow.

"It is rude to point at a lady."

"It is equally rude to ignore someone when they are asking you a question."

I did in fact; ignore his question, by asking one of my own. "How ever did you know I would be able to take this case? How did you know it wasn't a triple homicide or a complaint about a nude clown running amok in the park or something else equally indecent for a woman to investigate alone?"

"I would never send a young single woman alone on the case of the less savory sort on her first official outing, such as that of a runaway nude clown. That would have to wait until your second case."

"I will humor you by answering your question," he continued, "and then you will answer mine." He took a deep breath and launched into an explanation of his method.

"The handwriting on the outside indicates a matronly lady of status and wealth," he began, "women of that ilk hardly ever have anything of interest to say, and they most certainly avoid calling attention to their faults. I could tell without opening the letter she probably lost a glove or something equally insipid and is either convinced her maid stole it or simply wants the attentions of a dashing detective because her husband ignores her. A request to investigate a kidnapped cat is beneath my powers of perception, especially since…. I have more pressing matters to attend to."

"That was not what you were going to say…" I paused in thought, "Oh my…you've already solved it haven't you? You want to see if I can. Am I correct?" I was granted a small smirk for my deduction.

Before he could say anything else, I surprised myself by saying "I'll take it."

He dropped his bow, and began to pluck a few notes on the violin with his calloused fingers. "Then it looks like you have work to do tomorrow." He strummed his song, seemingly ignoring my presence.

"Yes, I suppose so. I wager I should begin first thing in the morning."

"That is only after you've served my breakfast and fetched the paper." He still had not lifted his head to look at me. The notes flowed from his fingers into the empty chilled air.

"Of course. Nothing would give me greater pleasure." I gave him my sweetest smile.

As I turned to go back to my room, I caught a fleeting smile on his face, but as I twisted back to look at him, the smile disappeared as quickly as it came.

"Oh, and Miss Keaton,"

"Yes Mr. Holmes?" I placed my hands on my hips.

"Do not call me 'Mr.' just Holmes will suffice."

"Dually noted."

"And Miss Keaton…"

"Yes Holmes?"

"Do try and get some rest. You would hate to frighten the poor woman who has already suffered such a severe trauma when you visit her tomorrow."

"Yes sir."

"And do not call me sir. It makes me sound pompous. You should only call Watson Sir. He is pompous enough for the both of us."

"Yes, Holmes."

"By the way, I find Chamomile tea helps."

"Helps with what, pre tell?"

"Insomnia." He knew. However, I suppose it was obvious. I did resemble some sort of ghoul at the moment. My sleep patterns had been irregular for some time. The doctors said it was a result of something called 'melancholia'. Whatever it was called, it made life exceedingly difficult.

"Does it work for you?" I asked in reference to the Chamomile tea. Maybe I should ask Mrs. Hudson if she had any in the morning.

"I am a very peculiar case." Of course he was only referring to the inability to sleep.

"Truer words were never spoken." I retorted as I turned to leave, and he ushered me through the door.

"Oh and Miss Keaton, one more thing."

"Yes?"

"No more lurking outside my door. I might mistake you for an intruder, box your pretty ears, and then where would we be?" And with that, he shut the door in my face. I found myself back in the hallway, quite frazzled and irritated to boot.

Did he just call me pretty? Why should you care? You know he didn't mean it.

There was no reason to alert my Great Uncle Ian as to what I was up to. As long as Mrs. Hudson did not suspect something nefarious, she had no reason to tell on me. I could not wait to write to William. I returned to my room, anxious about the next day, yet euphoric that Holmes wanted more to do with me. Instead of sleeping, I sat up and wrote to William and my Uncle Ian, except the letter to my Uncle conveniently overlooked Holmes' proposal.

Next: Mrs. Weatherby pleads for help.

Author's Note: Well, what do you think? I tried to strike a balance between description and dialogue. Please tell me what you like or don't like and why. I hope to have the next chapter up within the week. Upcoming chapters will include references to Catherine's family and how she came to be in London.

Reviews are more than encouraged. If something bothers you, please let me know how I can improve for the next chapter.

-Herstorian

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