Abigail Gerrard As I look through my notes, I see many cases, of all sorts. Many of them hold surprising twists and unexpected turns, however they just aren’ t anywhere near as unusual and special as this; this tale- this case- is special …
On a common day, I would open the old door of 221B Baker Street, and shudder at the scraping sound as it pulled desperately along the unfitted floor, and find my companion, sitting on his stained, leather sofa, which had a dent in it, fitted perfectly to him, in deep thought. The room would be filled with a slow swirling cloud of smoke, puffing out of Holmes’ pipe, squeezing and twisting your lungs. However, that drizzly day- the day we learnt of the most unusual, mysterious and absolutely insane cases I have ever ad the pleasure to investigate- I opened the door to a seemingly empty room.
Carefully, panning across the room, my eyes widened. Where was that familiar mist, which had( up until this point) always filled the room? I had glanced along the polished bookshelves, the intricately carved fireplace; I watched the coal crackle, as the sparks of the dim flame leapt and bounced, playful, but I could see no Sherlock. Gently, I walked along the dark-blue carpet, the usual dust dancing behind my feet, as I headed for the crusted, black door of Sherlock’ s room. Creak. The door opened with a soft touch of my hand, revealing the many piles of cardboard boxes, stuffed, haphazardly with paper, notebooks and the like( all, I may add, covered with notes, from previous cases). My eyes beheld the disgusting room. Through the large- rather too large- heap of clothing, I saw the sickening‘ thing’ Holme’ s had the nerve to call a bed, below them. Upon this bed, I saw a newspaper article, from the Big News Monthly of the other end of London. Hesitantly, I reached out for the paper, and walked back through to the living room.
“ Mrs Hudson,” I called, to downstairs“ What’ s this artice doing here?”
Suddenly, a head popped up, from the window, and I laughed to see it was my companion, Sherlock Holmes. Flakes of yellowing paint were on his hair, as they had fallen from the window frames, during his climbs through. Presently, he informed me that the paper had been dropped outside of the door, by a strange man, in a long coat, who was still stood in the street. Furthermore, he explained that the drop-off had appeared an accident, however he was about to knock on the door, when he-
The doorbell rang. That great grin formed across his face, and his eyes twinkled; something special was hidden in this paper- which was reasonably difficult to decipher- and this client … but, what was it?