Chapter Text
The boy did not appear afraid. Angry, yes, ready to do whatever was necessary to escape, but certainly not scared. He stared up, bristling defiantly, at the tall, thin man blocking the mouth of the alleyway.
Holmes paused. Having chased the boy halfway across Soho, he suddenly found himself uncertain of the best course of action. The lad was young - perhaps eight or nine years old, under all the dirt, and frighteningly small for his age. Bony ankles protruded from the bottom of his trouser legs. Hardly his usual sort of adversary.
He spread out his hands.
“Not armed,” he tried.
“Lie.”
Holmes smiled.
“Smart lad. Not intending to harm you, then, let us say. Look.” Holmes rested his stick against the wall and, slowly, so as not to provoke the child, removed his pistol from his coat pocket, laying it on the ground. Brass knuckledusters followed. He shrugged, catching the boy’s expression. “The metropolis can be such an … unpredictable place. One must prepare for every eventuality. Now.” Keeping his hands open in front of him, he advanced slowly. “You have some things of mine. Return them, and we will say nothing further about this business.”
“Don’t got nuffin’.”
“Lie”, sighed Holmes. “Let’s try again.”
The boy shuffled sullenly and, with bad grace, thrust out his hand. A gold watch chain was clutched in his fist. Holmes stepped forward, bent down, stretched his hand out to him. The chain was dropped into his palm.
“Thank you. And the rest.”
The boy opened his mouth to argue but quickly thought better of it. From various pockets he produced a silver cigarette case, a silk handkerchief, a coin purse and a pocket lens. Holmes raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t even realised that the lens was missing.
“Quite the haul.”
Holmes returned the items to their rightful places about his person, nodded to the boy. He had half-turned to leave but, in spite of himself, stopped.
“My name is Sherlock Holmes. What is your name?”
The boy shrugged.
“You must have one? What are you known as?”
Another shrug.
“If we are to go into business, I must know with whom I am dealing.” The boy stared.
“What business?”
“Knowledge.”
“Don’t got none, Mister.”
“But you could get some for me.”
“You want sumfin’ nicked?”
“No, not nicked. I want you to watch, to observe, and then to bring me news of the things you witness.” Holmes reached into his pocket. “This will serve as a deposit for your services.”
“A what?”
“I’ll give you this now, and more when you return with the news,” Holmes explained. He held aloft a shilling. The boy’s eyes widened.
“A bob? For ... watchin'?”
“And more when you return. If you tell me your name.”
The boy licked his lips.
“They said my name was Wiggins.”
“Wiggins. Good.” Holmes tossed the coin to Wiggins, who stowed it immediately in a pocket as though afraid he might change his mind. “Now; here is what you must do…”
The boy listened intently and, with the deal struck, Holmes took up his things and tipped his hat to Wiggins.
"Till Wednesday, then."
Holmes glanced back before he rounded the corner. Wiggins had disappeared. Oh yes, he thought. This would work very well indeed.