The Myers Affair
I first met Edgar Myers during my university years, and it was this association that nearly cost me my life some years later.
I'd spent the morning before that fateful reunion running the plethora of errands I'd been putting off in assisting Holmes with his cases. The only reason I had had time to do so then being that he'd just solved his latest case, and was waiting for another mystery to find its way to our quarters and his amazing brain.
By the time I'd returned to our rooms at Baker Street, however, the storm that had been sporadically spitting all day finally let loose its fullest force, raindrops plummeting to the earth with enough rapidity and force to pelt any poor soul caught in its wake.
If I were as florid a writer as Holmes insistently states I am I suppose I should have taken this harsh change in weather as a warning of things to come, but I never thought anything of the sort as I made the wet dash to the front door of 221b from my cab, not even bothering to try and open my umbrella.
Managing to shed my wet coat, hat, and gloves in record time considering my old wounds and the fact that I was sure my very bones were shivering despite having managed to catch a cab, I was quickly shuffled up the stairs with words of concerned admonishment and the promise of hot tea by Mrs. Hudson.
Not bothering to ask if Holmes was in, as he'd been intently tinkering at his chemistry table when I'd left him, I made my way as hastily as I could up those seventeen steps in pursuit of a warm fire.
The ungodly mess that greeted my tired eyes upon reaching our sitting room, however, made me realize that something must have come up while I was away.
Wading my way through the small sea of paper I seized the documents that had taken up residence on my chair, setting them down next to their mates on the floor. Plopping down hard in my chair, I reveled in not having to move for a spell by a cheery fire, so sore had I become in such weather.
But just as I felt myself drifting towards the sweet oblivion of sleep there came such a racket from downstairs that for a moment I thought the Baker Street Irregulars had decided to make an appearance.
Crankily moving from my chair I was ready to have some strong words with the boys too when the door swung open to reveal Mrs. Hudson arguing with a man roughly my own age, dressed in a bedraggled and well-worn suit.
"I keep telling you sir! Dr. Watson has just come back from a long day out in this horrid weather and I will not let him be disturbed without proper cause!" She continued to berate this visitor, mumbling apologies at me but still shooting daggers at the man in question when I managed to interject and relieve her of guard duty.
"Now," I sighed, too tired to care about why the man had been so insistent to see me and not Holmes, "what can I do for you, Mr.-"
"Oh come now, John, surely you remember me?" the stranger inquired, taking off his soaked bowler as he'd obviously not been able to do so in his haste.
The use of my Christian name startled me from the drowsy and irritated stupor I'd been in long enough to fully examine the man before me.
As I said before he was about my age, though of a slighter build and height than I. On his head sat carefully slicked back, if not slightly mussed at the time, brown hair. His nose and eyes seemed too large for his clean-shaven face, giving him the appearance of a frightened rabbit. Those big black eyes stared back at me in hope of recognition, but it was the nervous smile upon his thin lips that finally jarred my memory.
"Edgar?"
Author's Note: Well, here's the first chapter to what I plan on being a much longer story, hopefully you liked it enough to want to keep reading, yes? No? Let me know!