Vanishing Girl

begins to dominate the day, Sherlock glimpses something … a very faint watermark. It is the barely detectable outline of two faces.

“I knew you would be here.”

That sweet smell of soap.

Instinctively, Sherlock’s hands go to his perfectly-combed, raven-black hair, intent on making sure it is in place. He had spent a good deal of time attending to it this morning, gazing into the cracked little mirror he has attached to the inside of his wardrobe door. He straightens his poor frock coat, adjusts his necktie, and smoothes out the frayed waistcoat.

Irene Doyle is standing directly behind him, and likely has been for a while.

“It is a case of some interest.”

“Turn around and look at me, Sherlock Holmes. I won’t bite you.”

She is radiant in the sun-drenched fog, dressed beautifully in a buttoned-up white coat with high collar, holding a parasol delicately above her bonneted blonde hair. He hasn’t spoken to her for months, though he’s seen her once or twice, when he just happened to pass by her home. He could swear that he’s also noticed her at least three times on Denmark Street, glancing toward the shop as she walked by on the foot pavement across the road.

Irene has a way of looking at him, examining, almost caressing his features. It is different from other girls. But today there is a grim intensity in her expression, as if she is deeply worried about something.

“It isn’t that, Irene.”

“Then what is it? Because I have never been certain why we can’t be friends. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I … I must be going.”

The parasol comes down violently on his head.

“So must I.”

Sherlock rubs his scalp.

“I am acquainted with the victim,” says Irene as she turns and starts moving rapidly away from him.

“You know her?”

“Now you are interested.” She keeps walking.

“Irene!” He runs after her. “You are acquainted with Victoria Rathbone?”

She stops and smiles. “Why else do you think I came here? To see you?”

Sherlock would never admit that he had ever thought such a thing, had hoped that it might be true.

“Yes, I know her.” She pauses and her voice drops. “She will be murdered, won’t she?”

The boy is surprised to see her eyes moistening.

“Not necessarily,” he says.

“But her father will never pay.”

“Perhaps she can be found.”

“By whom? Inspector Lestrade? He of the remarkable Whitechapel and Crystal Palace solutions?”

“He is a professional of long standing.”

“Sherlock, you hate him. And what about you? I can’t believe you are simply here to watch?”

“I was fortunate before: in the right place at the right time. My day will come.”

“Yes, you are correct. You would fail at this one.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You are just a boy and one who works alone. This case would be much more difficult than the others. You would begin it without a single clue and no inside knowledge of the incident or the people involved.”

“There may be a starting point.”

She smiles.

“Sherlock, you’ve noticed something! You are interested. You are going to look into this, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

“You would need assistance this time.”

“Not necessar –”

“You would need to know something about Victoria and her family, what her life is like, who she really is in person, who her father’s enemies might be. Does she know her abductors? Was it an inside job? Is she delicate? Did the kidnapping kill her? … Is that why there has been silence?”

“There are ways to –”

“How could you, working class and a boy, know anything about her and her world?”

“I –”

“But I know her. I know a great deal about her … and I understand girls too, and how they think. In case you haven’t noticed, I am one.”

The boy wraps his frock coat tighter around his thin frame in the bright, cold air. Inside job? It disturbs him to think of where Irene is picking up talk like that.

“If you were to try to investigate this, you would need someone with such information on your side. I want her found too, and not just because I know her. We could help each other, Sherlock. The police are the most proficient at this, you’re right, but who knows how we might contribute? It’s worth trying.”

The people who committed this crime must be desperate fiends – he does not want Irene anywhere near them.

“You are under the illusion that I want to do this.”

She gives him a sly smile.

Sherlock wonders if Irene knows as much as she claims. She is a girl, that’s true. He will admit that. But he doesn’t believe that she could help him with this case simply for that reason. How different can girls be, anyway? He’s not sure about that smile though. Is she toying with him? Usually he can take the measure of anyone; but this young lady has always been puzzling. Does she indeed know things about Victoria Rathbone that might be useful?

“Tell me what you know, Irene.”

“It’s my father and I who want her back … for reasons I cannot say. We need to find her. I will do whatever I have to do to help solve this. If you won’t lend a hand, then I have a friend who will.”

He knows who that is.

“I should tell you that the life of a little boy hangs in the balance, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“He lives in a workhouse. I saw him yesterday. He is going blind and the Rathbones are the only people who can help him. But they aren’t speaking with anyone now.”

“There are thousands of little boys like that, Irene. You know that better than I. Why do you care about this one? And why is Miss Rathbone so important to you?”

Her eyes moisten again; then she looks angry.

“I knew you wouldn’t care about the boy. I don’t know why I told you. He’s a child, Sherlock, with even less in his life than you have! I thought that might mean something to you, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Tell me what you know first, then maybe we can talk about what we might do.”

Irene pauses.

“Before I give you any information, you must promise me that we will share everything we find. This will be you and me … or my other friend and me. What is your answer?”

“Irene, let’s just … maybe …” he hesitates.

“Whoever solves this will have my father’s eternal gratitude. If someone were to lay the solution at his feet, he would provide that person with anything that is within his power to give.”

Sherlock feels a surge of excitement. Anything? He thinks of school – which he