I looked around and climbed the garden wall before I jumped, I realized that my companion lags for me. ''Come on, John!'' I shouted at him. I could not see his face, as it could be around 1.30 am and a single street lamp died out about fifty-five yards from us, but I would say that my commanding tone made him a little angry.

I jumped on the lawn, of course I have previously verified that around the house are no safety equipment, not even a dog, we had a clear path.

''Sherlock,'' he whispered in my right ear, ''When you finally gonna tell me, what are we doing here?''

I ran towards the house, crouching, just to be safe, although Mr. Malwick was according to my information at a meeting.

We stood at the main entrance. Majority of people have some difficulties with losing keys, so it is not unreasonable to search around the house for a secret hideout. Often you will find it among the stones in the flower-beds or under a decorative statue, but Mr. Malwick is too smart for this solution. So, spare key must be obvious for the owner, but inconspicuous for foreigners. On each side of the door is a single window, on the first one are four flower pots, on the second one are only three. Very simple, under the middle flower-pot is hidden the key. After I triumphantly raised planter, I didn't find anything.

But of course, it's obvious! Sometimes I am really remarkably slow, the key was inserted into the soil. Large entrance hall, four corridors and staircases. John switched on his flashlight, so I could eliminate several possibilities. (No picture or tapestry, no excessive decorations, everything seemed very simple.)

''Shine the light on the floor, John.'' Carpet.

Well, think about it. Four corridors… Should we return to the flower pots system? Well, people like to repeat patterns. Two corridors on each side and in the middle is the staircase to the first floor.

Bathroom and two bedrooms.

''Seriously Sherlock, what are we looking for? Whose house is this?''

''Shut up.''

Bathroom smelled of disinfectant, one bedroom has been completely cleaned, the second one was due approached my apartment.

''Light, John.'' In one was a carpet, in the other room were planks. But why would he hid the gun where it's easier to find it?

Well, of course, that's why! After all, how anyone could suspect him?

''It's in the floor, John.''

''Huh?'' He probably really had no idea what we are looking for. But I would have sworn that I explained him the whole thing, at least two days ago.

''The gun John. Weapon! Malwick shot Kathleen Ohren with it, because she knew about his secret account. He used the name of which he thought that he simply invented it. But he already seen it before. Remember, John? We were in her office, there was a book with his code name on its cover. He had never heard it before, but apparently it stuck in his mind and so when Kathleen, as his secretary, saw cheque listed on this name, of course it seemed suspicious to her.

But how could she go with something so ridiculous to the police? She thought it's just a mistake, so she went to report Malwick. He pretended that he gonna take care of it, but whilst began to worry. What if Kathleen thought about it, what she would find out, John? That name, Bernard M. Liy, is a pen name. Therefore nobody's actually named like this, so...'' I paused to give John a chance, while I was trying to rip protruding plank.

''So how there could be a cheque listed on this name,'' he completed with a smile.

''Exactly.''

Then we have watched as Lestrade's boys take fingerprints from that gun.

''He was so sure that his offense is flawless,'' said Lestrade appreciatively, at least it sounded appreciatively to me.

''Thanks.''

''Listen, Sherlock, I... I wanted a cup of tea yesterday and I think I've accidentally found your hideout.''

I was reading through my messages on my website, hoping that some beautifully strange case will appear, by an accident or so. I wasn'T in the mood to John's moralizing.

''Which hideout?'' I replied.

''Wait, you've got more than one?''

I looked up from the monitor to show him my most innocent face.

''Your hideout of narcotics, Sherlock.''

He was so angry,that I decided to ignore his remark. My hideout was just a fuse, nothing more, for ages I don't indulge nothing but nicotine patches.

''Hm.''

John took a breath, you could heard his anger and despair at the same time. He would like to have control over everything, including me, but I'm Sherlock Holmes, not his puppy.

''How ... 'he began, but paralyzed by my apparent lack of interest in his opinion, he just sighed loudly, then got up and leaving he said: ''You know what? Do what you want, Sherlock.''

Despite all his effort to sound placidly, worries about me was radiating from every his word. Oh, John, my starry-eyed John. Do you think you wouldn't notice if I was high? After all, you're a doctor, for God's sake.

''It's just a fuse, John. I have it here for months.''

He stopped, his shoes squeak on the floor when he turned to me, I was still fully focused on reading the prayers of my services.

''Really?'' countered John sarcastically.

''I don't need it, John.'' I took a breath, looked into his eyes, hoping that I won't have to say: Don't leave me, please.

Fortunately it wasn't necessary, John sat back in his chair, and I could show him a case, which impressed me. Later he gave it a romantic title: The mystery of sunken room.