SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

all is well

Seven o’clock at night. The Baker Street flat was thick with anticipation as Sherlock Holmes sat in his favorite chair beside the fire. His long arms stretched out across the rounded armrests, and his spidery legs were propped apart so that his knees wouldn’t crowd him. His coat hung up behind him, drying beside his tattered blue scarf that someone managed to restore.  John sat across from his friend, his hands closed in front of him and his body leaning forward, eagerly awaiting for the baritone voice to sing them the story.

Mrs. Hudson busied herself in the kitchen, preparing the tea and biscuits while little Elise set out the tableware. Detective Inspector Lestrade stood behind John’s chair, his mouth screwed to one side in that thinking expression and his dark eyes bent in wonderment. Simon found himself happily at the long sofa with his leg propped in bandages and his chest strapped with gauze. He had been given a few painkillers, so he had trouble staying attentive. Charlie’s redbone coonhound lay in front of the fire, his noble head resting sorrowfully on his paws. His master had not yet returned.

“Shouldn’t you go look for them?” Mrs. Hudson asked, shuffling from the kitchen.

“If you ask me again, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock began in an angry purr before John piped up.

“I agree with you, Mrs. Hudson. It’s been far too long and they should be back by now. Didn’t they have a phone?”

“No,” Sherlock huffed.

“Maybe you all should look for them?” Simon suggested drowsily.

Rolling his eyes and throwing himself out of his comfy throne, feet first, Sherlock stomped to the front door and opened it. Just when the door was wide enough for everyone to look out, Charlie and Molly stood in the entrance, breathless.

“Hello,” Charlie panted. “Sorry we’re late. We had a bit of a row with a few comebacks, but they’re dead.”

Molly pinched her lips together and looked at Sherlock coyly. “Hello, Sherlock.”

Sherlock managed a smile and patted her on the shoulder. He led her in and gestured her to a chair. Charlie came in, much to the delight of his dog, who bayed loudly and his large tail whooshed back and forth, knocking a few ornaments off the lower tables.

“Hello, Rene, how are you?” Charlie cooed, stroking the dog’s floppy red ears. “So, Sherlock, have you figured things out already?”

“Yes, I have,” Sherlock announced proudly, taking a seat in his chair again.

Seeing it as their cue, everyone stopped what they were doing and gathered around.

“I’m sure everyone is aware, but Andrew Brooklyn has been killed and he won’t return again,” Sherlock began.

“Thank goodness for that,” Mrs. Hudson commented.

“And I’m also sure everyone wants to know about the file.”

Lestrade perked up and nodded his head. “Do you have it?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, but I know where it is.” Standing up, he disappeared into Elise’s room. The others stared in confusion, wondering if they were to follow him. But when he returned, they all sat back down. “Now, Alana’s death was horrible, and seemed unnecessary, but what I’ve got here is Andrew’s notepad, which Lestrade has let me borrow tonight, and a letter in Elise’s pocket.”

Upon hearing her name, Elise straightened her back and clasped her hands together. A smile came across her face that looked very much like her mother’s.

“I compared both of them and found what I needed to understand the overall insanity of this case.” He stopped and eyed John, “Which I don’t have a name for, so my blogger will have to figure that out.”