Sherlock Holmes Housekeeper Novels & Stories

’ I ask as the older woman turns to face me, she looks vaguely familiar, but I don’t remember ever seeing her before. ‘Are you lost dear and need help getting out, that lift can be tricky,’ she says eyeing me up her lips pursing together as she does so. I raise a brow wondering who she is. ‘No, I’m not lost, who are you?’ I ask not liking the way she continues to make herself at home. Ignoring me she continues rummaging in the cupboards. ‘Where has Helen put it now,’ she states under her breath, Helen is that Jake’s housekeeper’s name. I’ll admit I’m terrible with names and he went through everyone so quickly if I blinked, I missed it.

His eyes scanned her quickly with suspicion. “Who the hell are you and how did you get into my room?” The woman’s face turned pale instantly. “I—I’m sorry, sir!” she stammered quickly. She lowered her head respectfully before continuing. “My name is Clara. I’m the new housekeeper.” She spoke quickly, clearly nervous. “I just came in to tidy your bathroom and change the towels.” Henry’s eyes narrowed. “And you had to break into my room because of that?” he asked coldly.

she says and starts walking down a passage. I have no choice but to follow her. The house is massive. We make our way through different passages and hallways, passing by dozens of rooms before we reach a large kitchen. The comforting smell of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee beans have my mouth salivating. The kitchen is bustling with activity. The girl leads me to a stool at the kitchen counter. “Good morning Deary, I am Mrs Wells the housekeeper. Make yourself at home” an elderly lady says, making her way to the counter. She wipes her hands on the apron around her waist. She is covered in flour and her face is flushed from the heat of the oven.

A confused old woman after a chaotic night, nothing more. But Sera had spent ten years learning to notice the tiny cracks beneath a household's practiced routine. The small seams that gave away far more than any grand confession ever could. This one wouldn't let her look away. She found Arsen an hour later, still buried in the investigation, exhaustion beginning to fray the edges of his composure. "The housekeeper on the east wing." Sera kept her voice steady, though her heart hadn't slowed since the corridor. "She's still serving tea to a room that's been empty since this morning."

A polished, rich, beautiful chic like her, acting like she'd been starving for a thousand years. Not like I cared, anyway. Just as I finished and stood to pack the dishes, Ms. no-name housekeeper magically appeared at the doorway, her expression stern. “You can't do that, either.” Throwing my hands up in exasperation, I walked out of the room. That was when a phone rang shrilly in the living room. I looked at the housekeeper. She returned a blank stare. The call persisted and she sighed, shuffling towards it. “That's the home phone.”

When I pushed the door open, the faint aroma of soup drifted from the kitchen. The housekeeper turned around when she heard me and spoke with slight embarrassment. “Ma’am, Mr. Tennant ordered me to prepare this for Miss Fisher. Her hand is injured, and he has told me to go over and take care of her for the next few days.” Her gaze swept over the bandages covering my arm, and she hesitated. “Should I… leave you a bowl too?” I smiled, but the smile never reached my eyes. “No need.” Even the housekeeper knew to show concern for me. Yet, the man who had shared my bed for seven years didn’t offer a single word of care.

She stepped forward, her hands folded behind her as usual. “She works in the kitchen, and the laundry room..” the housekeeper responded. “So how then did she know that there was gold in his majesty’s study?”

Gage. It was softer, older, and warm in that maternal way only women who ran entire households seemed to have. When I finally blinked my eyes open, the blurred outline of the housekeeper came into focus. She stood beside my bed holding a small laundry basket, her expression apologetic as if she hated waking people even when it was her job. “Sorry to disturb you, dear,” she said with a kind smile. “I need to clean your room.” For a moment I just stared at her, confused.

Sometimes, she could walk into a new home and immediately sense that something wasn't right, even when she couldn't explain what it was. She felt that same thing now. The man looked at her. "You're Zoe, right? Zoe Hart." "That's me." He gave her a small smile. "I hear you've been curious lately." Zoe's expression changed slightly. The man's voice remained calm. Friendly, even. That somehow made it worse. "Poking around places that aren't really your business," he continued. Zoe tightened her grip around the basket. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Sure you do."

She faced me immediately and that was when I took in her appearance she looks in her late forties or maybe fifties, nice and neat with her gray hair tied in a tight bun and wore simple dress I couldn't sense any negative energy around her and aside from the fact that she smell human she didn't look like someone who's possibly be a threat else she wouldn't have gotten access into this heavily guarded apartment but then I didn't know her and haven't seen her before which still makes her suspicious "Yes I am and you?" I asked lightly but still cautious She threw me a warm smile "Oh my bad sorry for not coming to you the moment I arrived, well I'm Lydia Sir Jettison's housekeeper" She said and I