It's only a game...
The other mother liked games. Sherlock Holmes considered his entire career a foil match between him and Moriarty. When Dr. Watson's son disappears, there's only one man he'd have on the case.
I approached 221-B Baker Street, where Holmes had recently resumed residence, having grown masterful and bored of beekeeping, with a heavy heart upon that day. As those who have followed my life and my writings well know, my son briefly disappeared some years back , and it is only now in the twilight of my life that I feel I can reveal the true circumstances of his recovery. He likely remembers little of the affair himself, perhaps thinking it a childhood fantasy, which is a part of why I feel I must publish this. Another being that I cannot bring myself to leave undoubtedly the most singular and intriguing case to reside in the vast annexes of Sherlock Holmes undocumented. For these and other reasons, some of which relate to my own psychological health, I feel now that the public deserves this one last tale of Holmes' razor mind and lightning wit. I shall rely heavily on Holmes' own testimony in this rendering, for due to a crisis of health largely psychosomatically induced by my son's evident loss I was unfit to accompany Holmes for much of his endeavor. Holmes only related to me the full tale some days later and, though I have never known his memory to fail, it is possible in his advancing age that the details may have melded into a mixed stew, resulting in the strange tale which unfolds here. It is possible also that he has returned to his cocaine use without informing me, and that one of the drugs more hallucinatory moments has fused with the reality of my son's rescue, but even if he had gone round me to the 7 percent solution, I have never known it to influence his memory or judgement previously.
I knocked upon the door after a moment's pause and immediately met Mrs. Hudson, who greeted me "Hello Dr. Watson. Mr. Holmes said to show you in. Knew it was you as usual. Don't know how the man does it. Would you like some tea? No? Take some to him anyway. It may calm him down. He's been gripped by one of his firearm theories again." I couldn't help but smile a bit at this, though it be a sad and reminiscent one. How little some men changed over time. I took the tray from Mrs. Hudson and proceeded to the living room, where I found Holmes in a fit of energy, shoving damaged pillows aside and rearranging the configuration of his experimental firearm. The first words of greeting I sent him were "I suppose it was my limp that told you?" For I had learned much from Holmes over the years, and had come to know his methods as well as one who has not glimpsed the interior of his mind can hope. While I lacked much of the arcane and practical knowledge which allowed him to work his craft so ingeniously, I had, in theory, knowledge enough of myself and of him to know his mind in this case. As it was, theory proved effect in this instance and Holmes, making a distinct attempt to somber himself, likely in consideration for my plight, turned to me and said "Yes, Watson. From our last encounter with Moran I believe?" I cracked another remembering smile, thinking back to the cases we had worked on together, and that particular incident, though it involved my being shot in the leg and the considerable pain which accompanies it, was an immensely interesting one.
Holmes continued, obviously wishing to get the saddest and most awkward of topics on the table out of the way "My condolences about your son." He regained a small sense of vigor as he added "I shall, of course, take the case. I wouldn't dream of leaving you in such a fix without at least attempting to aid you." I was not so much surprised as curious as I asked "How did you know he'd gone?" Holmes smiled slightly and said "The papers of course Watson. I daresay your dramatizations of my work have earned you a bit of celebrity, for the story was front page, although that may be in relation to the rest of the day's news, which is an uninteresting heap of tosh." To this I replied "And that I meant to hire you?" Holmes chuckled slightly at my use of the term hire, but quickly stifled the amusement remembering the despair of my situation, and said "Do not think to hire me Watson, you're a trusted friend and in great need of my services." My heart has rarely before and never since been so moved as it was at that moment. Holmes left me no gap to portray my gratitude however, for he continued with "It is a strange case. According to the papers, the police have dug up no evidence at all, little as that may indicate. It is also my understanding that all the doors and windows remained locked with no evidence of having been picked or forced, that no fingerprints were found anywhere except those of yourself, your wife, and a third set which is presumably that of your son. You have no basement?" "Not to my knowledge" "Are your servants all to be trusted?" I considered for a moment and returned "Their trustworthiness has no bearing on the matter, for they had all left, as I am in the habit of locking up myself." "I see. Your house has an additional door which opens onto a brick wall, is that correct?" "Yes" I replied, not knowing what Holmes was getting at. "Were the brick not there, what would it open onto?" I took a moment to recall and replied "The neighboring house, the door was once used as a congress between them." I saw a flash of Holmes' old cunning and intuition in his eyes, and clearly this door was of great import to his theory. "Are this houses inhabitants above suspicion?" I chuckled briefly, and replied "Holmes, if there is anything I've learned from you, it is that no one is above suspicion." A saw a glint of pride in Holmes' eye, and he responded "Very true Watson. As you have no doubt deduced, my first and most preliminary theory has begun to turn in my mind, soon we shall put it to the test. Shall we depart for your house?" I gladly paid for the carriage ride to my home
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Any good? If I'm making any mistakes about the Holmes canon or the writing style, I'd like you to point them out now so I can fix them. I'd like to apologize in advance for the canon errors by noting that I haven't yet read all 60 of the Holmes works, having been sidetracked by Dracula and the rest of the army of books that has amassed on my waiting list. When Holmes goes through the door (as we know he will) should I try to write from his POV or switch to omniscient? I haven't read either of the Holmes POV stories yet, but if I decide to write it that way I'll make it my business to. I hope you've enjoyed my work. Please leave a review.