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“He won’t, I know he won’t. He said we could trust him and I believe him.”

“Well then, with respect, I think you are being very naive.”

“It’s my story John, and I’ll tell it to whoever I like. Who are you to tell me what to do?”

“I must go after him at once and find out what he intends to do.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“He is a very well connected man; an extremely wealthy, respected gentleman. One word from Mycroft and the whole of The Yard will turn up on our doorstep!”

I rose angrily from my chair and wobbled slightly. I had been sipping steadily at the brandy all night, sloshing more and more into my glass without even noticing. I flounced over to John and waggled a finger at him in a rather drunken fashion.

“Why are you always so in awe of the Holmes brothers? It’s like you are afraid of them with their big complicated brains and even bigger egos. Well, I’ve seen their peculiarly damaged brains and I’m the only one who ever will. I can calm them, I’m all they see. I can save them. You have nothing to fear, it is they who are afraid. He will not tell, I can promise you that.”

I collapsed back into my chair and pushed away the long strands of hair that had fallen over my face. I hoped John was wrong. He shook his head at me disapprovingly and I poured more brandy in rebellion, hoping that just one more glass would numb the pain that recounting my memories had stirred up.

“I’m going to bed though I shan’t sleep, not now that you have put us in this dangerous position,” John said, hanging his head in resignation.

“Oh hardly. My God John, you don’t know what danger is!”

He shuffled towards the door, ignoring my blasphemy which he had become quite accustomed to by now. Then he paused briefly before leaving the room.

He turned back to me and spoke quietly. “I just don’t want to lose you,” he said.

I heard his weary footsteps ascend the stairs for bed. I sat alone in the silence, thinking how ironic it would be finally to be arrested for my crimes just as I had started to live a legitimate and crime-free existence. What if it was ultimately my honesty that led to me paying the price for a lifetime of dishonesty?

Eventually I drifted off to sleep in the chair, hopeful that the next day would not be my final one of liberty.

The following day passed uneventfully, as did the next. After nearly a week, John had to admit that perhaps my judgement had been right after all. Everything just continued as normal.

I apologised for my drunken outburst on the night of Mycroft’s visit. I pointed out that I had apologised to him more than I had ever apologised to anyone else in my life and that he should take this as a compliment. This raised the first smile on his anxious face in days.

Several weeks passed since Mycroft’s visit, weeks during which John and I happily co-existed in our modest little home arguing about who should exercise an ever-expanding Sandy and dealing with a growing number of patients. I moaned about the lack of space and about how much extra income we could generate if we had room for a second consulting office and another doctor.

John sighed and explained that he had never made this much money in his life before so he was quite content with things as they were. I told him to be more ambitious and less of a bore, and then we would make peace sitting in the kitchen over a loaf of bread freshly-baked by Tilly. We’d sit there ripping into the bread, steam rising from within, then slather it in Tilly’s home-made jam as we bantered about our plans for the future.

One such discussion, however, was interrupted by a heavy knock on the door and Tilly scurried dutifully to answer it while I brushed crumbs from my dress. John and I strode into the sitting room ready to greet our visitor.

Mycroft stood in anticipation, fiddling with the brim of his top hat. His keen little eyes were darting all around the room until they fixed upon me.

“It’s been a while Mycroft, are you here to give us your final verdict?” I asked sarcastically, pretending to be nonchalant about being in his presence again and all the memories he stirred within me. He shifted his feet awkwardly, unsure of how to begin.

I grew impatient and pushed for a response.

“Look, I’m not afraid of you. If you’ve come here to tell me I’m a whore and a thief who deserves justice, then so be it. Go ahead and deliver your sanctimony then leave us in peace.”

“Red, please! Mycroft, why are you here?” asked John anxiously.

Mycroft reached into the pocket of his expensive jacket and bought out some paper.

“It is quite clear to me that this little business of yours is being severely restricted by the confines of this house. With respect to you, Doctor, it is hardly a salubrious property in which to welcome your wealthy clientele and there is insufficient space for further consulting rooms disenabling you from growing the surgery by the addition of another doctor. Well, I think it is time you searched for somewhere more suitable and I would like to give you my patronage.

“The skills which are evident in both of you have impressed me considerably, as has your unique partnership, and I am always keen to explore investment opportunities. Therefore...,” he reached out a chubby hand towards me which was holding the folded piece of paper, “as you are clearly the accountant I would like you to accept this and use it as you wish in return for a small percentage of the company and a yearly dividend payment.”

I was completely shocked and pushed away his hand which I now understood to be holding a cheque.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“Business, I wish to invest and expand my interests.”

“Like hell!” I snapped sceptically.

I turned away and poured myself a drink. John broke the silence which followed.

“Mycroft, we greatly appreciate your offer but we have achieved success beyond anything I could have hoped for well enough on our own. We will expand, but we would rather get there under our own steam, so to speak. We cannot accept.”

Mycroft looked most dejected. I turned back to him angrily.

“It’s pity isn’t it? You feel sorry for me, for us. You heard our story and it pulled the strings of your heart. So here you are offering a little charity to ease your own conscience. We loved your brother and followed him to the end, but you just sat in silence at your stuffy gentlemen’s club having not even spoken to him in over a year. Well, I’m not going to give you that easy release. We don’t want or need your charity.”

“I knew you might react like this.”

“Then why did you bother?”

“Because if my brother were here...”

“Well he’s not here is he?” I said harshly, spitting out the words and feeling increasingly angry and uncomfortable. “And he never will be, never again.”

“He should never have left you. He had responsibilities and they should have come first. He should not have exposed himself to such risk, let alone make no provision for those he would leave behind. His actions haunt me. I would have had a niece or nephew but now I have nothing and no-one.”

“Oh now I understand!” I shouted, full of anger at the hint of truth in his words, a truth which I had not even considered before. “This is my inheritance isn’t it? Sherlock left you his estate and left nothing to us and you feel guilty about it.

“I took nothing from him while he was alive and want nothing now that he is dead. I am not your or anyone’s responsibility. How dare you! I will not take your sympathy or your charity, so just leave our house and take your money with you.”

He looked totally dejected and turned to John, but my friend placed a calming hand upon my arm.

“I think you should do as she asks Mycroft. We are in agreement.”

Mycroft paused in the hope of a reprieve but my cold indignant eyes were unyielding. He replaced his hat and swiftly left our home.

John let out a long sigh and poured himself a drink.

“How utterly unexpected,” he said. “One could almost presume from his words that Mycroft blames his brother for his own death.”

He sat beside me on the settee and we drank together in silence for a while. Sandy jumped up and lay out beside me with his head upon my lap. I fondled his velveteen ears and wondered what Holmes would think of my current situation, sharing a house with his closest friend just as he had done.

John interrupted my introspection.

“It was a generous offer, all the same. You could carry out all your grand plans.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that we should accept his offer of belated inheritance?”

“Oh Red, honestly, what if that is just your sceptical interpretation of his gesture and not actually the truth? I think perhaps old Mycroft is rather lonely and is just trying to buy his way into a friendship.”

I had no desire to discuss the matter further. I knew that Holmes would have wanted me to help his friend when he reached his lowest point, but surely I couldn’t be expected to rescue his brother too? Besides, the whole thing still smelt of pity, and I never saw myself as anything other than a victim of my own choices. Whether it was tainted with guilt, loneliness or an intention to right an injustice made no difference.

“It’s not negotiable, John,” I stated, then woke Sandy and we headed off out for a walk in the dying light.

I liked Mycroft. I felt that it took a leap of faith for a man of such Victorian morality to wish any kind of union with someone who had a shocking criminal past. How strange it was to think of such things as being past, when criminality and violence had been my life for so long.

I pushed Mycroft to the back of my mind. I just wanted to enjoy the falling darkness, walking around a pleasant part of London which was now my home accompanied not by a revolver and a knife, but by an overweight dog and an unexpectedly happy heart.

That night I struggled to sleep. Thoughts of Mycroft’s offer, and the possible reasons behind it, jostled my mind keeping it far too active. I was sitting in bed with the light burning at one o’clock in the morning when my bedroom door slowly opened. John walked in looking very tired, wearing his night garments and carrying a cup in his hand. He smiled warmly and spoke kindly with his soft and soothing voice.

“My father, who was a rather difficult man, used to bring me a glass of warm milk when I was a child and couldn’t sleep. I could never decide whether it was the warm milk which helped to send me off, or just knowing that someone cared.”

He placed the cup down on the little table beside my bed.

“I hope it helps,” he said, giving a gentle smile.

I was completely surprised by this unexpected act of kindness and felt rather lost for words. I managed a simple, quiet, “thank you,” and he left the room.

The milk tasted good. I lay down and was asleep in minutes.

Chapter Sixteen

We did eventually expand the surgery but this was achieved purely by our own efforts and not through hand-outs from a wealthy, but lonely, benefactor. Also, John began working on a study of the medical conditions suffered by children of the East End as part of a campaign to improve health provisions for the city’s poor.

We started to work with other doctors of a sympathetic persuasion to provide free advice and medical support for some of the most deprived families we encountered. We employed a young doctor by the name of Sams to carry out the treatments and visit those in need. In turn, he would keep detailed records of all his findings and John would add them to his study. In this way, John gained notoriety and became a recognised authority on a variety of medical matters and a philanthropist, without tainting his own hands and putting off the rich customers whose fees paid for all we had.

With notoriety came increased business and finally we were able to find more suitable premises for the surgery.

Generally, successful doctors would rent large properties in which they would live and work. Part of the house would be used for consultations, the rest as living accommodation. I proposed that we maximised our profits by rejecting this commonplace model and setting up what I still believe it to have been; the first dedicated medical premises in London besides the hospitals.

We rented a large Kensington town house but continued to live in our old home allowing us to turn every room of the new house into a practical part of the business.

Bedrooms became consulting rooms. A drawing room became the place where our full-time receptionist would welcome patients and manage appointments. A large sitting room became the place where patients would be asked to wait until a doctor became free. Other ground floor rooms were converted into private waiting rooms for our most wealthy clientele.

We hired a full-time clerical secretary and a boy to answer the door and show people through to the reception area taking coats, hats and cards along the way.

Having so many consulting rooms enabled us to employ full time doctors and dramatically increase the number of patients we could treat. Employing junior doctors enabled us to treat less well-off patients without losing our standing with the regular elite who could continue to be treated by John, or our other senior doctor, Doctor Royston Daniels.

Doctor Roy owned a small, but select, local practice and had various distinguished patients, but had wanted to simplify things in his advancing years. He enthusiastically accepted the opportunity to work for this unique new business which would guarantee him a wage in return for his experience and patients.

The second floor of the house had three bedrooms which became consulting rooms for three young but gifted doctors, and the three large bedrooms on the top floor were taken over by me, John and Doctor Roy. There was even a private staircase leading up to the top floor so that wealthy visitors did not have to mingle with those of a lesser class.

I had the largest room on the top floor and turned it into an opulent office with a huge mahogany desk and wooden shelves full of everything I needed to manage such a large business. The room had two sash windows which looked out over a pretty garden and sunlight flooded in from early afternoon. I always kept a vase of fresh flowers on one corner of my desk and Sandy usually lay upon the other corner taking full advantage of the warm sunlight.

I was the manager. I controlled a large, prosperous business and employed eight people. I chose and hired the staff and ran every part of the business myself including the accounting.

I was humbled by the second chance I had been given and tried to be considerate towards those who worked for me, though, everyone knew a sharp tongue and foul temper would be set upon them if they ever tried to cross me.

If anyone asked about my background, I would simply tell the truth. I would confidently explain that I was a workhouse orphan who had made my own way in the world. They would look at me - a well-dressed, intelligent woman in a responsible position and just accept it. It was strange really, but the anticipated outcry never came. I was so confident in who I was and what I did that no-one dared question it.