Dreams of a better life

[Shadowe]

No Kit, Sherlock (Part Two)

Once Holmes had finished painting the door, which I must confess I would have preferred had remained the formal black, matching the other entranceways down the street, we repaired to the sitting room. Holmes puffed on her pipe, sending streams of bubbles into the air - I have no idea what she has against smoking, but her whimsy is entertaining at times.

It was at this time, as we sipped tea, discussing the finer points of certain debatable medical practices, that the police came. It was Inspector Lestrade, appearing as disgruntled and frustrated as ever she did when forced to resort to seeking Holmes' assistance. Lestrade is a peculiar woman - it was unheard of for the Metropolitan Police Force to employ a woman, yet here she was, a dedicated professional as at home tinkering with peculiar mechanical devices as she was chasing down the nefarious criminals that plague fair London.

"Good day to you, Miss Holmes; Doctor," she greeted us both as she was shown into the sitting room by Mrs Hudson, from whom Holmes rents her accommodations.

"And a good afternoon to you, Inspector," Holmes said, still puffing away, playfully projecting bubbles at the policewoman. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" Direct and to the point was Holmes, as ever.

The Inspector remained standing, despite my gesture that she should be seated, and so I remained on my feet as well, though Holmes, with her usual disdain for what she calls 'useless throwbacks to the Dark Ages', lounged in a comfortable chair, her feet up.

"Well, Miss Holmes, the Yard has a problem. A series of baffling and disturbing crimes have been perpetrated, and we are frankly at a loss regarding further investigations. We were hoping that you would consider assisting us in this matter."

Holmes shifted in her chair, coming fully upright, the intensity of her breath through her pipe increasing quite dramatically. As ever, the prospect of a new case intrigued her.

"I have heard no tales of such a case in the Times, Lestrade, else I surely would have given it thought before this."

Lestrade looked uncomfortable. "We've been keeping it quiet, Miss Holmes. Several prominent figures in London politics have been involved, and we have been charged by Her Majesty to ensure that a public outcry does not occur."

Nodding at the implications, Holmes waved airily for Lestrade to continue. "Tell me what has happened thus far, then, Inspector, and I shall bend my wit to a solution."

Finally looking more comfortable, Lestrade faced the Great Detective square-on, and began her tale.

"We have taken to calling the perpetrator of these crimes 'The Clipper', for his habit of acquiring toenail clippings from his victims..."

End of Part Two

[Shadowe]

No Kit, Sherlock (Part Three)

It was a while later once Lestrade had finished her sordid tale, and Holmes sat, staring off into nothingness, obviously puzzling through the details of the case.

I was about to pour myself a cup of tea, and offer likewise to the Inspector, when Holmes leapt to her feet, and began pacing about the room in a manner most familiar to me, bubbles streaming from her pipe.

"I think, Inspector, that you are right in some respects, but in others you are failing to grasp the full complexities that are presented. First, the apparent derangement of The Clipper - while I would be inclined to agree that someone who, with thief-like stealth and foul intent, sneaks into the bedrooms of wealthy Londoners, utilises a sharp blade of some nature to divest them of their toenails as they sleep, then typically causes them to awaken when he giggles, thus causing him to depart amidst gleeful cries of 'I'm invisible! Woohoo! Look at me!', is clearly not on the same level of reality as most men of this world, it is not his peculiar antics that are the crux of this matter, but moreso the reason that he is performing this bizarre ritual. Something is causing this, and his continued success in performing these acts means that he is truly dedicated to it." She stopped her pacing and jabbed the neck of her pipe in Lestrade's direction.

"I need to meet with the victims and examine the evidence first-hand, Inspector, ere I can reach a proper conclusion. Take me to see the first person so assaulted."

Her decisiveness was electrifying to both the Inspector and myself, and I could feel a thrill in the air as I knew we were about to embark upon a truly exciting adventure!

[Kitmarch]

((For those of you who don't realise how well Shadowe is doing this, read up on it))

[Shadowe]

((And for anyone really interested, I would point out that I have only ever read two Holmes stories, and not in the last 15 years.))

[Shadowe]

No Kit, Sherlock (Part Four)

We took a cab across London, the noon sun beating down upon the roof, making me glad that Sherlock Holmes, Inspector Lestrade and I were inside. As we travelled, I attempted to divest Holmes of some of her theories as to these peculiar events, but, as ever, she insisted that it would premature of her to explain anything in advance. When we arrived at the street in which the house is situated, we stopped the cab early, and we three souls embarked on a seemingly random and ambling stroll toward the property. Holmes busied herself examining the street, the pavement, and all manner of seemingly irrelevant features on the approach, at one point going so far as to bounce up and down on her toes as though trying to look over the privet hedge.

It was then that we heard a loud scream, a woman, clearly terrified, and as one we dashed toward the sound, Holmes and Lestrade drawing their pistols.

I could not see that it was a coincidence that the house we moved toward was our original destination. There, dashing down the front path, was a young lady with a shock of brilliant red hair, in the clothes of a maid, her eyes wide with terror. "'E is dead!" she wailed with a noticeable French accent. "Mon dieu, Monsieur Smythe, 'e 'as been murdered!"

On hearing these fateful words, Holmes looked at me, her eyes ablaze with curiosity, and pulled out her pipe, blowing bubbles into the still air. "The game's afoot, Watson," she murmured to me. Lestrade moved forward to comfort the distraught young woman, and Holmes began a systematic examination of the path leading to the house.

End of Part Four

[Shadowe]

No Kit, Sherlock (Part Five)

I felt somewhat out of place as Holmes worked and Lestrade talked to the woman. I knew better, after all this time, than to interfere with my friend's work as she withdrew a large magnifying glass and began studying footprints in the mud. Some were obvious to me, knowing Holmes' methods, but I knew that she was drawing vastly more information from them than I would be able - Her method, so precise and careful, and the logic that she employed in her deductive reasoning were almost a form of witchcraft to me, and yet I have never seen her fail.

She moved at a crawl toward the open front door of the house, took one further cursory look around, then bounced to her feet, striding toward Lestrade and the maid.

"Tell me, Miss," she began curtly, "are you Mister Smythe's regular maid?" The distraught young woman nodded. "I see. Do you have a method by which you proceed about this house in your duties?"

Bemused by the question, the woman answered. "Oui, mademoiselle. I begin in ze bedrooms, and zen ze bathchamber, before moving downstairs to ze kitchen and dining room."

Holmes nodded, her eyes narrowed speculatively. "And is there any room in Mister Smythe's home that you do not discharge your duties in?"

The maid seemed flustered, but answered in any case. "Monsieur Smythe's study. 'E said zat zere were papers and objects which 'e could not allow to be disturbed, and on 'is instructions, I did not ever enter zere."

I caught Holmes' eye, and she nodded. The study would be our next port of call in this investigation.

"Thank you, Miss," Holmes said, shaking her firmly by the hand. "What might your name be, if I may be permitted?"

"Of course, mademoiselle. I am Victoria, if you please."

Holmes nodded her thanks, and turned toward the front entrance to the house, gesturing for me to accompany her. Her voice dropped to a quiet murmur as we walked away.

"Well, Watson, if that young lady is any indication, I think that before too long we'll learn a little something about Victoria's Secret."

End of Part Five

[Shadowe]

No Kit, Sherlock (Part Six)

Her face stern, Holmes moved toward the room that the maid indicated was Smythe's study. Upon entering, I was struck by two facts: Firstly that the late Mister Smythe seemed possessed of a needless quantity of clutter, and secondly that he had no doubt been within the study when he was murdered. His body lay, sprawled behind his desk, his feet visible as Holmes and I approached.

"Wait here for a moment, Watson," Holmes directed. "I need a moment to study the scene." Once more drawing forth her magnifying glass, examining the carpet in minute detail, stalking forward in a creeping crouch, causing her pace to drop to one which only a snail might envy.

After what seemed an eternity, we moved into the study, and Holmes bent her attention to the vast amounts of paper present on the desk. Shipping bills, personal correspondence, wage notes and I fancy I even saw a ten-shilling note poking out from between the pages of a ledger.

"Well, Watson, what do you deduce from this?" said my friend, as she straightened up from her examinations, which to this point in time had not once included the deceased. Before I responded, Lestrade strode up behind me, her expression concerned. "That poor woman. She is most distraught. I have sent her outside for the moment, while we take a look at everything."

Sherlock blinked and looked at the other woman, shaking her head. "Do you not concur, as I'm sure Watson would agree, that she is in fact our most likely suspect in this murder? It is common knowledge that one who knows the victim is almost always the perpetrator of these crimes, and since there is not any indication that Mister Smythe met with any one other person on a regular and frequent basis - the most common personal letters he has received are from his young sister, in which she bemoans his seclusion and separation from the family - it strikes me that Mademoiselle Victoria could perhaps be to blame." Her eyes hardened for a moment. "And you just let her walk out of the front door, Inspector."

Lestrade veritably jumped on the spot, turning back and forth as if uncertain whether to take the time to justify herself, or if she should pursue the departed maid. After a few seconds of indecision, she shrugged, and ran from the study.

"Excellent," Holmes muttered, flashing me a brief grin. "That got rid of her. I don't truly imagine that the young lady had anything to do with it, and I'm sure that Lestrade will find her quietly sobbing in the gardens. I just wanted the chance to finish my examination without the overly enthusiastic Inspector questioning my every move." I was hard pressed to restrain a laugh at her tone, and began my response to her earlier question.

End of Part Six