Sherlock Holmes and the Engineer's Thumb 1 | Page 29

Hannah Searle
“Ding, dong” once again a person struck with terror in their face and in a bubble of
isolation from the place we call London. Me and Sherlock strided to the old,
splintered oak door excited to start a new case.
“Is this 221B Baker street?” The women questioned.
We saw a women with much frustration suffocating inside of her like circus animals.
Her lip trembled and her coat was stained in what looked like fresh, young blood. I
looked her up and down and saw a young innocent looking woman, probably mid
twenties, who hadn’t sanitised any tip or peak of her body in days maybe weeks. She
was wearing a long beige parker in size 10 with one half- unthreaded button. Her
hair was tied up in some sort of top knot balanced upon her head. She was around
five foot ten and weighed around 8 stone.
“Come in the old cobbled, cracked, cold place, people like you call the question and
answer house> The place where everything begins and ends. Where murders are
announced. The funerals are set. Victims and suspects whoever will you be, I
wondered. So….anyway if you wish to proceed raise your foot because otherwise
you may trip miss. Sit down in the black leather seat north- west of the pine
bookcase” we replied. She placed her torso on the black leather seat level to the
black leather puffer. I had tried tidying earlier do it would be cosy and inviting not like
a bomb of work: suspect lists, mugshots, clues splattered everywhere like Norman
Bluhm last piece of work. We also had a mahogany floorboards which lead to an
underground secret den which we had earlier catapulted all our stuff in. The walls
were freshly painted in crisp cotton. Which meant the fumes were still dancing round
the room like ballet dancers. The detail was immense like the tapestry we have
hanging of me and Holmes on our first case. She started confronting us with her
case. It wasn’t anything like we have heard before. In fact it was quite peculiar. It
sounded so far fetched so me and Sherlock went to confer. When we got back in the
room, with no surprise the lady wa gone, gone like the leather in winter.
”Where is she?!” I half half whispered slash murmured. Suddenly, a scream was
founded in the south porch. Tentatively, we inched to the porch door and there we
found her. But not quite alone. With her was a half opened brown box and inside was
a rotten, hours old, bloody THUMB!
“But who’s was it we asked?”
“Mine it’s my thumb” she cried ever so quietly.” Reaching out, I picked up the thumb
and found that it was a perfect match. Each and every vein lined up in a
synchronised fashion and the nails, the nails were perfectly painted and were in a
sharp stiletto shape however they could probably rip through anything, anyone.