Sherlock Holmes Housekeeper Novels & Stories

I swallowed, taking in rapid gasps of breath before heading back down as I searched around for the housekeeper. I held her phone, trying to get the thoughts to turn it on and go through her messages off but all the urge to do so faded, I slipped the phone back into my pocket, heading for the housekeeper’s quarter where I hope it would still be where it used to, and when I saw her in front of her house, she stood up at the sight of me approaching. “ Sir, do you want something?” “ My wife” her head dipped to the ground, my brows knitted at that.

My stomach had been knotted all day, but now it was a dull, insistent ache. I made my way down the grand staircase, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous foyer. The house was too quiet. It lacked the smells of a real home—there was no scent of garlic or simmering soup, only the sterile fragrance of expensive floor wax and fresh lilies. I found the dining room, but the table was cleared. Not even a glass of water remained. "Looking for something?" I jumped, spinning around. A woman in a black-and-white uniform stood by the sideboard. Her name tag read Mrs. Gable. She was the head housekeeper, and her expression was a perfect mirror of Eleanor Wolfe’s: cold and unimpressed.

He greeted someone behind me, and I spun on the stool to see a middle-aged woman with soft brown hair dressed in trousers and a white blouse stood in the doorway observing the room. Her eyes spun to two of us, a smile gracing her lips as she spotted Anders first before a small frown marred her features as her gaze landed on me. So, this was the head housekeeper. She was quite different in looks to Mrs H. Her skin dark, her physique healthy her gaze intrigued. “Good evening Anders. And who is this?” She asked, and I figured it must be odd to see a stranger at the breakfast bar. “This is Amara, the Alphas mate.” He stated, dropping that bomb so casually it startled me as well as the housekeepe

No matter what, since heaven had given me a second chance at life, I absolutely could not allow the tragedy of my previous life to repeat itself. I returned to the bedroom and began ordering small home surveillance cameras online. In my previous life, when Megan first came to work in our home as a housekeeper, I had wanted to install cameras, but Daniel felt it would be disrespectful to someone living under our roof. Thinking back on it now, it was precisely because of our kindness that we had walked step by step into her trap.

She tucks her icy blonde hair behind her ears, smiling with teeth as she waits for my next words. I make her wait for a few seconds, scanning her face, looking for cracks in her armor. “It was difficult, yes, but my housekeeper used to be a witch before she was turned. She’s been caring for the girl, and we’re still hopeful she’ll make a full recovery.” There it is. A flash of panic. A single crack in the mask of indifference and boredom.

After three months away, I was finally home. I asked the house's male housekeeper, Jacob Miller, to give me a hand carrying my luggage upstairs. Jacob hoisted the suitcase but had barely taken a few steps when—bang—the luggage crashed to the floor. He clutched his wrist, wincing in pain. The noise startled the three women on the sofa. They jumped up and rushed toward him, surrounding him with frantic questions, fussing as if he were about to shatter. They scrambled for ointment, massaging his wrist with careful fingers, treating him like fragile porcelain.

she mocked. “If he leaves you, tell me I can satisfy him" she smirked and sped up her car. Shaking my head, I ignored all her nonsense and waited for the bus, the bus came and I took my seat. After the bus dropped me off at the stop, I returned to the mansion, having a polite smile from the housekeeper. After going back to the room and changing my clothes, I asked the housekeeper to prepare a meal for me. Mrs knight has changed the housekeeper on my first day at the mansion. She doesn't like the previous one..very rude and arrogant, so the new housekeeper is a lady in her mid 50s.

“The maids in this house hate me. They’re always looking for ways to bully me because I married you.” “That’s not true, ma’am. We—” “I’m surprised you’re still standing here when you should be packing your things and leaving,” Sherlock cut in coldly. The maid knew there was no use arguing. She simply nodded and walked away. When the doctor arrived, Sherlock stepped aside so he could examine her hand. Meanwhile, he pulled his butler aside. “These maids have been giving my wife trouble. I want you to find competent replacements immediately.” Clarissa smirked—exactly the outcome she wanted.

I wiped my cheeks, trying to remove the last traces of my breakdown, when the door slowly opened. I stiffened at the sounds of footsteps, but when I looked up, relief and unease both clashed within me. It was a woman, a housekeeper by the looks of it, she wore a uniform, a simple short-sleeved dress with a peter pan collar. “Good morning Miss,” The woman bowed before glancing around, frowning slightly upon seeing the shards of items broken, and the general messy area. “Please get up. I shall draw up a bath for you to refresh yourself.”

Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, marble floors reflected the lights beautifully, and expensive decorations filled every corner. Everything screamed wealth and power. I tried my best to remain calm and reserved, but inside, I was completely shocked and wondering. A middle-aged woman stepped forward respectfully. “Sir, everything has been prepared.” Alexander Lucas nodded slightly. “This is Mrs. Isabella Lucas,” he introduced briefly. The woman bowed slightly. “Welcome, Ma’am. I am the head housekeeper. Please follow me.” Without hesitation, I followed her quietly, and she led me upstairs. The staircase was golden and looked more expensive than my entire apartment.