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The pair are shown into 221B just after lunch. Holmes has already consumed what little fuel he believes is required to keep that excellent mind of his moving, and has since vanished into his room to search for some apparently vital piece of paper. Watson, on the other hand, is lingering at the table, and so he is the first to greet their guests when Mrs Hudson shows them up.
"A Mr Nicholas, and a Miss Nicholas, to see you both, doctor," says Mrs Hudson, waving them in. She gives him a strange look of apprehension before turning to head back down the stairs.
They are a handsome young couple, he thinks at first; then he looks over their golden blonde hair, light blue eyes, and matching pointed noses, and realises they must be relatives instead. Siblings, perhaps. They don’t look particularly nefarious, certainly not enough to warrant Mrs Hudson’s worry. Then again, in all the years he has spent at Holmes’s side he has learned appearances may be deceiving, and as the warmest hearts can burn beneath a cold exterior, so too can the darkest of souls have a smiling face.
He stands up, brushes himself down, and plays host. “Welcome, come in, come in.” He holds out a hand.
Mr Nicholas takes it and shakes it firmly. “Good afternoon, sir. James Nicholas, at your service, and this is my dear sister Abigail.”
“How do you do?” Watson smiles at the young lady. She nods her head at him politely, but doesn’t say anything.
Nicholas guides his sister to sit by the fireplace. “Is Mr Holmes in?”
Watson huffs and tries to keep a smile on his face. “He’s around here somewhere. Do excuse me a moment.”
He leaves the perplexed-looking pair behind him and heads to Holmes’s room, which looks like a snowstorm has blown through. There is a flurry of papers all over the floor, and Holmes is on his knees digging around for something under the bed.
“Holmes? We have a client."
“Hmm?” He drops flat on the floor and wriggles forward to reach his target, long legs spread out behind him.
Watson tries very hard not to laugh and only barely succeeds. “Holmes.”
“Hah!” Holmes shuffles back into the light of day and kneels on the rug, holding a familiar-looking slim book aloft, victorious. His face is pink with exertion. “Never throw anything away, Watson.”
“You throw things away all the time,” Watson comments. “Why, just last Thursday you threw the paper out before I’d finished with it. Didn’t you hear me?”
“What?” Holmes reaches up to sweep his hair back where it’s flopped over his forehead, and grins at him.
Watson tuts at him fondly. “A client, Holmes. We have a client.”
“We do?” Holmes springs to his feet and straightens his waistcoat. “What kind of client?”
“Two of them. James and Abigail Nicholas.”
“Married?”
“Brother and sister.”
"How old?"
"I'd say at least twenty."
“Well-off?”
“The young man’s never worked a day in his life.”
"You shook his hand, then. I wonder he wasn’t intimidated by yours. And the lady?"
"Hasn't said a word to me yet."
"Interesting." Holmes tosses the book he put so much effort to retrieve onto the chest of drawers by the window. "Lead the way, doctor! This day is shaping up to be quite satisfactory."
Upon their return to the living room, James Nicholas all but leaps out of his seat to shake Holmes’s hand. "Mr Holmes, I am terribly sorry we didn't inform you of our visit in advance."
"Not at all, young man." Holmes greets Miss Nicholas, who has risen from her seat to bob at him courteously, then settles in his own chair. "We were quite lacking in company for the day, weren't we, Watson? This is a pleasant surprise."
Nicholas tugs at his collar. "I'm glad you seem to think so. It's been rather a trying time for the both of us."
"Then pray tell." Holmes steeples his fingers in front of his face and stares at the young man in anticipation.
Nicholas clears his throat. He looks at his sister, and something is communicated that Watson cannot see from where he is; she shifts around in her chair to become the apex of a triangle between her brother, Holmes, and herself, so she can see both their faces.
Watson takes a seat at his desk and pulls his journal and pen towards him. He has a feeling this will be an interesting one.
"We've come up from Egham on the train today, Mr Holmes," Nicholas starts.
Holmes nods. "Yes, I'm aware of that."
"How on earth -"
Watson bites his lip to stop himself chuckling. How often has he heard that question, and yet he never tires of Holmes's response? The man could rattle off deductions fast as an auctioneer if he weren't so determined to have people understand what he said.
"You have the halves of two return tickets in your breast pocket, and your right shoe is scuffed with other people's footprints. You sat by the aisle, and your sister was by the window. You neglected a private room because you did not wish to draw attention to yourselves on the way. And if I'm not mistaken, Bradshaw's will tell me that the latest train from Reading to Waterloo arrived just shy of one hour ago, allowing you ample time to hail a cab and travel across the river to our door."
Nicholas's mouth falls open. His sister purses her lips and smiles as his flabbergasted reaction, covering her mouth with her hand. "My God, Mr Holmes, I had heard you were brilliant."
"Yes, yes." Holmes waves his hands as if to brush off the young man's accolades, then folds them in his lap. "Shall we come to the crux of the matter? What precisely has caused you to make this arduous journey?"
Nicholas shifts in his seat. "Four days ago, sir, our house was burgled. I was out with our mother for a drive, so Abigail was the only one of the family there at the time, taking a walk about the gardens. She did not hear the man break in, but she did see him leaving. She got the housekeeper to contact the police right away."
"And they have been unable to catch the fellow since?" Holmes inquired, tilting his head to one side. He looks to Abigail. She stares right back at him, her bright eyes concentrating very hard on his face. "With an eyewitness account?"
Watson pauses in his note-taking. "Are the Egham constabulary so useless as that?"
"They will not take her testimony, I'm afraid," Nicholas admits. He twists his hands in his lap, and his sister reaches over to pat his arm reassuringly.
"Whyever not?" Watson wonders aloud.
Holmes's mouth has settled into a thin line, his left eyebrow arching high and disapproving. "Because she is deaf, Watson. They will not accept her testimony because they do not believe her capable of delivering it."
"What nonsense!" Watson's outburst causes both Holmes and Nicholas to stare at him in surprise, with Abigail following their gazes a moment later. He flushes and clears his throat. "Sorry."
Holmes's expression is now full of fondness, which only makes the doctor blush even more. "Quite right, Watson, but we must set the world to rights on our own time. For now let us tackle a smaller conundrum." He looks back at Nicholas and leans forward in his chair. "How does your sister communicate?"
Nicholas looks absolutely astonished at the turn of events. "You mean, you'll -"
"Of course we will, my good man." Holmes's tone softens. "Succeeding where the police have failed to act, listening to what they refuse to acknowledge? Both are a significant part of my repertoire. Now, how are we to go about making this easier for everyone involved?"
"Abigail uses sign language, Mr Holmes," explains Nicholas, still captivated with awe. "You're welcome to write things down for her to read, though, or I can act as a translator."
"Watson, ready your pen, please." Holmes turns in his chair to face Abigail head-on, and waves delicately to get her attention.
Watson settles in to take notes on their conversation as best he can. Holmes is facing away from him now, which makes it a little trickier, but he can still see his hands well enough, and Holmes will surely remember what can fill in the gaps afterwards if he misses anything.
Holmes begins with saying hello. You know me?
Abigail at first looks astonished, then delighted at his signing to her, and then she frowns and shakes her head. Holmes looks at her brother inquiringly.
“I didn’t want to tell her we were coming to see you,” Nicholas says. He looks embarrassed, and rather notably, does not sign his words so his sister can understand. “In case you wouldn’t listen either.”
“Understandable.” Holmes nods and continues to sign for Abigail’s benefit, spelling his unusual name slowly. Name. Me. S-H-E-R-L-O-C-K H-O-L-M-E-S. His long fingers move with characteristic precision as he forms each letter.
Abigail’s eyes light up. She signs quickly, obviously glad to be able to do so. Know you. Read magazine stories. She turns to her brother with a face of fierce disapproval. You not tell me!
Sorry, Nicholas signs, with a sheepish grin. Don’t want you disappointed.
She shakes her head at him, then points to Watson, who’s caught a little off guard, and signs his name with an inquisitive look at Holmes. Doctor. W-A-T-S-O-N.?
Holmes smiles. Yes. He holds his own fingers as if shaking hands with himself. Friend. Good friend. My partner.
Abigail beams. For the first time, she seems to pay attention to Watson, waving at him. He waves back, and signs a greeting. Nice to meet you.
She makes a strange sort of barking sound, and Watson realises she is laughing. Of course; with no way of hearing herself, her laughter is a simple expulsion of noise, but it is rather charming. Watson finds himself smiling back at her.
Holmes regains her attention with another polite wave. You see thief. Yes?
Abigail nods. Me tell you. You find?
Please, Holmes signs gently. Everything you remember.
She thinks for a moment, tapping her chin with one finger. Watson prepares to write her description. He doesn’t want to miss anything.
Tall, she says. Thin. Brown hair. She holds her fingers at her temples to indicate the length.
Holmes nods. Age?
Older than him, Abigail answers, pointing to her brother, then to Holmes. Maybe you same.
Clothes?
Black suit. White shirt. Dress like staff at home. But me know, she says, a slight gleam in her eyes, me know every face at home. Me watch faces every day. Me not know him. She looks very proud of herself.
Well done, Holmes assures her with a wide smile. His eyes, too, are alight with the thrill that comes at the beginning of a new case. Watson thinks to himself that it might be one of the nicest facial expressions he’s ever seen. Very helpful. You see him go?
He come out conservatory. Cross garden. Over wall. Think direction village.
Holmes’s gaze flicks to Watson, silently confirming he got all that down. Watson nods back at him, gesturing for the interview to continue.
“What did he take?” Holmes asks the siblings, both aloud and signing along with his words.
Nicholas glances at his sister before answering; she lets him go ahead. “Some pieces of our mother’s jewellery,” he explains, mimicking Holmes in speaking aloud and signing at the same time, “and while nothing was taken from it, the lock on the cabinet where the silver is kept has been damaged.”
Abigail taps his arm urgently. Paintings, she adds. Not straight.
“Ah, yes.” Nicholas smiles his thanks. “Some of the family portraits were no longer hanging straight, though again, none of them appear to be missing.”
"Then your thief is planning to return." Holmes leans back in his chair once more, momentarily steepling his fingers under his chin so they do not cover his mouth. It is a centring gesture, a way for him to corral his thoughts before continuing.
Nicholas looks nervous. "Do you think so, Mr Holmes?"
"He has been pushing his luck," Holmes explains. "Testing the waters, seeing what is available to take and how much he may carry with him for hopping over your garden wall like a rabbit from a vegetable patch. He will return. Most likely," he directs his next words toward Abigail, signing very deliberately so she understands the severity of the statement, "when you are the only member of the family in the house."
Abigail reaches for her brother's hand. She looks worried for the first time since entering the room.
"Do any of your staff look similar to the man your sister described?" Watson asks suddenly. Something has occurred to him. "One of them must be working with this burglar, or else how would they know when Miss Nicholas is the only one at home?"
"And if they look alike, it would be easy from a distance to mistake one for the other, and not feel the need to raise the alarm." Holmes is gazing at Watson with pure admiration in his eyes. "An excellent point, doctor."
Abigail, after taking a moment to make sure she understands, taps Nicholas's arm. P-H-E-L-P-S., she spells out carefully. He know?
Her brother raises his eyebrows. He know, he replies, and you hurt… He stops there, clearly not wanting to continue that line of thought.
"That settles it." Holmes springs out of his chair and begins to pace in front of the fireplace. He stops with his back to the flames. "You two will go home. Mr Nicholas, make sure the word spreads through the household that tomorrow you will be going out with your mother again in the afternoon, and your sister will be by herself."
"Mr Holmes, I can't leave her alone now!" Nicholas protests.
"You won't, my good man; Dr Watson and I will be arriving in Egham tomorrow. We will investigate, and ideally catch our burglar in the act, as he will no doubt take the opportunity to visit the house again. You must tell nobody we are coming."
"Right…" The poor young man looks terribly perplexed. His sister, on the other hand, appears positively thrilled at the prospect. Holmes gazes down at them benevolently.
"All being well," he says, "the culprit will be caught by dinner time, along with his man on the inside. Does that suit you both?"
Nicholas runs a hand over his hair, looks at his sister's eager face, and admits defeat with a grateful smile of his own. "Yes, Mr Holmes, I think that will do. Thank you very much."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world!" Holmes shakes his hand, then helps Abigail up from her seat, pressing her fingers briefly between his palms. Thank you, he signs. You do very well. See you tomorrow.
Thank you, she answers. Her smile hasn't dimmed in the least, in spite of the prospective danger she may face the next day. She seems to be finding it all quite thrilling. Everything. Thank you. She waves at Watson enthusiastically. Goodbye, doctor!
Goodbye. Watson smiles as he watches the pair of them leave, and turns back to his journal to check his notes on their meeting.
A moment later, Holmes’s hands land on his shoulders, and his friend rests his chin on the top of Watson’s head. "What a charming pair," he murmurs. "I liked the young lady more than her brother, I have to say."
"She was certainly a lovely character," Watson agrees. He runs the tip of his pen down the page. He can feel Holmes watching the movement.
"A very bright woman," Holmes continues approvingly. "I shall enjoy it when we see her again tomorrow, I think."
Watson smiles to himself. "I'm to be going with you, then?" he asks innocently. "It has been a while since I've visited Surrey."
"But of course, my dear fellow." Holmes tilts his head down to drop a quick kiss at Watson’s hairline. "If you would like to, that is."
His notes are all correct as far as he can tell, so he holds up the journal for Holmes to see it better. "Have I missed anything?"
"Your notetaking skills are admirable."
"That isn't what I asked, Holmes."
Holmes chuckles against his hair, his breath warm. "That one isn't quite right." He points on the page to where Watson wrote down their introductions, when Abigail realised precisely who she was speaking to.
"You signed partner," Watson protests, "I know you did."
"That was merely for the benefit of our clients." Holmes puts his hands on either side of Watson’s head and tilts it back so he's looking up at him. "When I use that sign, dear, I mean it in a slightly different context."
"Oh?"
"More akin to companion, than partner."
"Oh." Watson can feel himself blushing.
"Indeed." Holmes beams down at him. "I have yet to find exactly the right combination of words to describe you, my dear Watson, but that certainly comes very close. Therefore, as my companion, will you accompany me to Surrey tomorrow?"
Watson enjoys when his friend is in this mood; light, giddy, filled with purpose, ready to take on a new case and come out triumphant. He smiles back at him. "I suppose so, yes."
"Marvellous!" Holmes kisses Watson's forehead and wanders off back into his bedroom. "Now, where did I put your notebook?"