I can't believe I'm writing Sherlock Holmes again. Nor can I believe so many of you are still on here. It's like walking into a room of old friends. I feel beyond rusty. But, Hades challenge beckoned and I had to comply.
Prompt from Hades Lord of the Dead: A Quarter Past One.
It was a quarter past one in the afternoon. The weak winter sunlight filling the flat did little to alleviate the drowsy feeling in the room. On the mantle, the clock counted the seconds dutifully as one of Holmes's concoctions of Thames water and old leather boiled on the Bunsen burner in the corner. I was alone in our flat and the stillness of the rooms was oddly comforting.
While the smell of soggy leather was not pleasant, the sound of the water boiling was soothing and I soon found myself setting aside my novel to stretch out on the settee. I had taken a rather embarrassing fall on the ice the afternoon prior and my leg had yet to forgive me for it. Holmes was out on private business and I was using my time to coddle myself with Robert Louis Stevenson's Caitriona, a cup of tea and some of Mrs. Hudson's biscuits. Had Holmes been around, he most certainly would have offered ridicule at my leisure and prodded me into some sort of mad dash around town. But, the detective was not at home and I was enjoying my solitude.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, the afternoon sunlight had dissipated and Holmes's lean figure was standing in front of the fireplace, my novel in his hands. He was turning the pages slowly, his pipe clenched tightly between his teeth. After a moment's interest, his attention wandered and he tossed the book onto an empty table.
"The Appin murder. I'm surprised you would reach such a novel."
I sat up stiffly, the settee was not fit for lying down on. Holmes had moved to the burner and was examining the contents of the small pot with an impassive face. "I enjoy his writing." Came my response.
"Never mind that." Holmes had already forgotten Stevenson. "I was near the wharf today and I believe I may have discovered something that may help us in the Dayton case. A shipment of undocumented wares is intended to be loaded onto the American bound Saint Margaret. Do you feel up for a bit of a watch tonight? You've slept the afternoon away so you can't tell me you're not rested."
I hid a smile. My guess in Holmes poking fun at my lazy afternoon had proven to be correct. "I can accompany you." I stood and glanced at my bedridden expression in the mirror. "When shall we leave?"
"At a quarter past one." Holmes responded, heading down the stairs on some new mission. "And bring your revolver."