Hey everyone! So, I was reading some of Aleine Skyfire's work (you all should really check out Mortality, it's amazing!) and I was really intrigued by one of her pieces in At the Mercy of the Mind. It's #14, if you want to check it out. (Since I was inspired by her work, I claim no ownership over this!) Anyway, i had no idea where this was gonna go when I first got inspired, and it turned out way differently than I thought!

Ok, some context: The title comes from this quote (PS: It was completely accidental that all the quotes come from the Norwood Builder): "Something in his tone caught my ear, and I turned to look at him. An extraordinary change had come over his face. It was writhing with inward merriment. His two eyes were shining like stars." -The Return of Sherlock Holmes: The Adventure of the Norwood Builder (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)

The unpublished case (which was completely unplanned!) comes from this quote: "Our months of partnership had not been so uneventful as he had stated, for I find, on looking over my notes, that this period includes the case of the papers of ex-President Murillo, and also the shocking affair of the Dutch steamship FRIESLAND, which so nearly cost us both our lives." -The Return of Sherlock Holmes: The Adventure of the Norwood Builder (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)

And finally, the whole story kinda seeks to explain this quote: "...he bound me in the most stringent terms to say no further word of himself, his methods, or his successes - a prohibition which, as I have explained, has only now been removed." -The Return of Sherlock Holmes: The Adventure of the Norwood Builder (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)

Oh yeah. This whole story is a kind-of AU. As in, it's obviously not what Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote or intended to imply, but it could be compatible. Kinda. Anyway, hope you like it!

Darkness.

Stifling, oppressive darkness.

It surrounded him. Crashing in, wave after wave, thought after thought, indistinctly flitting at the edges of his mind. Nothing was clear, logical. A tornado roared inside of him. He had to get out. He had to escape, to distract himself from his confused and over-excited mind. But he could not. He could not. He could n—"

"My dear Holmes! I beg of you, please calm down!"

Sherlock Holmes felt a gentle touch on his tense forearm. He tried to release the pressure in his shoulders and took a deep, rattling breath.

"I-I am sorry, Watson," he said unsteadily. "Forgive me for my outburst."

"There is no need to apologize, my good man. I cannot fathom how much you must be suffering. You have every right to act however you wish. I just am worried about you, is all."

Holmes tried to give a small smile in what he thought was his friend's direction. "Thank you, Watson." Holmes stood up slowly and rather uncertainly. "I am simply stuck in my own mind, with nothing to occupy me. Come, let us go out. I believe it is time."

"Are you sure?" he heard Watson ask worriedly.

"Yes, exceedingly," Holmes replied, grasping for the cane he thought he had left beside the settee. He found it and swept it in front of him as he made his way to the door of 221B. He heard Watson walk quickly to open the door.

"Here, take my arm," the good Doctor said. Holmes reached out and lightly rested a long, thin hand on the Doctor's forearm. Together, they made their way down the 17 steps.

oooooo

Lestrade filtered in and out of Baker Street regularly in those terrible, early days. He brought cases he thought were easy armchair-conundrums to appease the Once-Great Detective. Some of them transpired to be so. Lamentably, many of them contained some outré impediments that Lestrade had missed that would require a visit to the crime scene. When Lestrade presented a puzzle like this, Holmes would tense, infuriated, then curl into himself in a defeated, despondent manner. Once this happened, Watson would cast a pitying look at Lestrade and show him to the door.

One day, after another unsuccessful attempt at engaging the detective, Watson joined Lestrade in walking out the door. They paused to talk on the cobblestones outside of 221B.

"I am at a loss, Lestrade," Watson began. "I know Holmes cannot last long in this state. It is tearing him apart! He hasn't eaten nor drank in three days."

"I understand, Doctor," Lestrade replied somberly. "This has to be unimaginably difficult for him." He was suddenly seized with a righteous anger. "But why, of everything that could have happened, why did he have to lose his sight?"

oooooo

The Shocking Affair of the Dutch Steamship Friesland

Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D.

TO BE WITHHELD FROM PUBLISHING

This case can never see the light of day, but I simply had to put into words the terrible events that resulted in our current situation. The case started off like any of the others Holmes and I had been engaged upon: in 221B Baker Street.

Late one evening, not long after we had finished aiding Ex-President Murillo, a knock sounded from the front door. It being so late, I went to let the caller in, in the stead of Mrs. Hudson. I was greeted by Inspector Lestrade. I showed him up, and we exchanged all the necessary greetings.

Holmes interrupted Lestrade and I, his keen grey eyes flashing. "Lestrade, do get on with telling us about your water-based problem. It must be troublesome to have taken you out of the city."

Lestrade startled slightly. "Holmes, I understand I should expect you to know these things, but I am at a loss as to how you deduce them every time!"

Holmes sighed. "It's very simple, you just cannot reason logically. First, look at your shoes. They're simply covered with mud. That level of soiling only comes from extremely wet circumstances, and it hasn't been raining much lately. Therefore, you've been near water. Second, have you forgotten my detailed knowledge of London's soils? You've provided me with an extremely large sample size, and I still cannot recognize it. Therefore, it must belong outside of the city."

"Well, that is simple, isn't it?" Lestrade said once Holmes had finished.

Holmes gave a pointed look in my direction. "What did I say, Watson? I should stop explaining myself, it takes the mystery out of my methods. Anyway, pray proceed, Lestrade."

"Well, I'm here about the Dutch Steamship Friesland."

"You mean the one that's been in the papers?" I asked.

"Yes," answered Lestrade. "It's been missing for over a week now, and we haven't a clue where it is."

Holmes interceded. "I thought that was a hoax, was it not?"

"No, it's real enough. Just yesterday we dredged up the body of the captain, John Slater."

"Well, if this is a real case that is to be taken seriously, you should start at the beginning," Holmes said.

Lestrade took a breath. "A week ago today, two men approached James Bland, the owner of a ship-chartering company based in Bensington. One was a Frenchman of South American descent named Monsieur Louis Caratal, and the other was his companion, Gomez. Caratal seemed to be a incredible hurry. He asked that a river-based steamship be commandeered at once to London. The only free ship was the small Friesland, captained by John Slater. Soon enough, the Friesland set off, with just five people aboard: the two customers, the captain, the guard, who was named James McPherson, and the stoker, who was called Smith. That's when things went south. After passing a few small towns along the Thames, the Friesland simply vanished."

Holmes scowled. "Now stop being dramatic, Lestrade. There's got to be more to it than that. Steamships cannot simply 'vanish.'"

"But the Friesland did. It checked in at Collins Green, Earlstown, Newton, and Kenyon, but it never arrived at Barton Moss."

"Then something must have happened to it between Kenyon and Barton Green. What have you found between those two towns?"

"We dredged the Thames in that area, but we found nothing, besides the body of John Slater. There was no sign of the ship. There are twelve small streams branching off of the Thames between the two towns, but they are much too small to accommodate the Friesland. Besides those twelve though, there are four larger rivers that run close to the Thames but unfortunately don't connect to it, and three larger tributaries that branch off the Thames. We've focused our efforts on the latter group. The Carnstock Waterway was blocked all that day by other ships, the Ben Canal is less than a quarter of a mile long and just tapers out. Finally, the Perseverance Tributary is large and long, but it is also very busy, and someone would have noticed a steamship sail down it."

"So you've ruled out all of your options?" I asked.

"It appears that way," Lestrade replied. "What do you think, Holmes? Can you help us?"

"Well, it does present some intriguing details. Yes, I think I will. Get a good night's sleep, Lestrade, and we'll go out to examine the scene early to-morrow."

Lestade left, and Holmes reached for his black, briar pipe, and the Persian slipper upon the mantle. He lit the pipe and sank into pensive thought. After it became clear he would remain this way for quite some time, I retreated to bed.

Anyone recognize the plot of the case yet? I broke the story into parts just for length, not because there are separate chapters or anything. I'm actually really pleased with this piece, so any reviews with ways to improve it or criticisms or even just happy things are very welcome!