Summary: Peculiar objects begin to appear in Holmes's Sitting room and Evelyn keeps loosing stuff.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes unfortunately, but I do own Evelyn.
A/N: I got this idea from another story involving post-it notes and decided I wanted to do my own thing. I wanted to see what else you could drop into Sherlock Holmes. I don't really know where this story will go, but I have a vague idea. I hope it isn't a mary sue per se, but it may evolve into one. I haven't decided. The chapters will be very similar about Evelyn losing something and Holmes and Watson's reaction, but at some point the rift will get worse and soon more than just objects will be involved.
A/N: I write for my enjoyment, so updates will be on a when-I-feel-like-it basis. Reviews are welcomed though neither encouraged or discouraged, It's completely up to you. Comments are dooly noted, suggestions taken under consideration, and criticisms criticized. I am a proven pyromaniac, so flames are well received, but please show some intelligence in your hatred or I may have to lower my opinion of humanity. I don't read a whole lot of Sherlock Holmes, he tends to annoy me, but I do enjoy some of the stories. If there is anything you feel I may have said wrong, spelled wrong, or done wrong, feel free to let me know. I don't even think anyone ever reads these author notes, I don't. If you are reading this than Kudos to you and I hope I have offended as it is not my intention to baby anyone.
Onward.
THE MYSTERY OF TIME
Chapter 1: A Picture says a Thousand Words
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Present Day California
In a dim room, a woman hunches over a mess of papers as the evening light illuminates her long, black, silky hair, half done up in a bun with a few loose strands framing her face.
She sighs as she pulls off her rectangular glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. Leaning back, her vivid green eyes squint to read the clock.
Slowly she stands up to stretch, reaching her full six feet and two inches. Evelyn has always been tall and skinny, but never had any interest in being a model despite the pressure from both her family and friends. Her mother is a very successful model and actress, even during pregnancy, and her father is the owner of a very successful technology corporation most likely to be inherited by her twin brother, Eric.
But Evelyn wasn't interested any of that. Her dream is to be a successful mystery writer, at least for the moment it is. Thus her current circumstance of slaving over her must current research, Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Caron Doyle.
Day in and day out she slaves over the must famous mystery novels, analyzing everything from writing style to content trying to piece together what makes a good mystery novel. Taking such measures may be unnecessary, but Evelyn has always been known for going to extremes to make sure she does her best with whatever her latest obsession is.
Her father says it's because she's too smart, but her mother thinks it has to do with an inability to stay focused on anything for very long. She never really was the favorite child, Eric was and still is. Ever since he was five, he's always wanted to be a successful business man like his father. Of course that made his father proud, and he has doted on the boy ever since. As for Evelyn's mother, she was always more interested in acting and when Evelyn lost interest in her acting lessons, her mother lost interest in her, even though she made Evelyn continue the lessons in hopes that she may change her mind.
Without her parent's watchful eye, Evelyn became free to just about whatever interest her, as long as it kept her out of her parent's hair. So while her brother became this serious, cold and rude person only interested in profit and stocks, Evelyn became a serious, cold, and passionate person who found joy in perfecting many eclectic talents.
Over the years she became a well known pianist, violinist, and harpist as well as a contortionist, a black belt, and an expert linguist in several different languages. Now she wanted to become a writer, but not just any writer, a mystery writer.
After having stretched her unused muscles, Evelyn walks out of the dark study to make a quick dinner.
As she pulls out various items for a salad she catches sight of a yellow envelope on her counter. Curious, she walks over and picks it up. On the back side it says Kobak in blue block letters.
"Ahhh, that's right." She says as she remembers that these are pictures she selected to put in her scrapbook about her recent trip to Europe. Deciding to go through them again one more time after dinner, she picks up the packet and places it among her piles of Sherlock Holmes notes in her study.
Unfortunately, by the time Evelyn had finished her dinner, her mother decided to unexpectedly stop by to "check-up" on her daughter, or as Evelyn liked to put it, stick her nose where it doesn't belong while trying to convince her to try out for this film or that theatre.
Once Evelyn got her mother to leave, she decided it was too late to do much else and headed for bed.
When morning came, Evelyn went to her study, only to find her pictures gone. Assuming her mother took them, she set about to retrieving them, never suspecting what was really taking place.
Sherlock Holmes Day
I carefully went down to the sitting room which Holmes and I share, mildly anticipating finding Holmes in one of his moods. It had been several days now since Holmes had received a good mystery and I was half expecting to find him wallowing in a sea cocaine; however, upon opening the door, I was rather surprised to find him sitting up right in his favorite chair with his chin resting on his steepled fingers. I could see his piercing grey eyes clearly through the smoke that was billowing from his pipe. He seemed deep in thought, so I assumed he must have come into commission of a very good mystery, for which I was quite glad as it saved him from his wretched habit for the time being.
Deciding that Holmes would address me when ready, I set about to enjoying Mrs. Hudson breakfast while reading the morning paper.
A few minutes after finishing my meal I heard Holmes stand up. Folding my paper to the side, I watched him walk over to the desk where he picked up what looked like a thick, bright-yellow envelope. Turning around, Holmes then handed it to me.
"My dear Watson, take a look at this and tell me what you think."
I took the envelope carefully and began to inspect the outside while Holmes sat down to observe. I noticed that the envelope was of a very bright yellow material, made in a fashion I was unfamiliar with. When I flipped it over I noticed big blue letters that read "Kobak". I wasn't sure what this stood for as I had never heard the name before. Opening up the envelope, I noticed that it contained several thick sheets of precisely cut, rectangular paper, or at least I assumed it was paper. I pulled out the stack only to be surprised by what I saw. Right there in front of me was a bright, colorful, and vibrant picture of the Eiffel tower on a bright sunny day.
Completely shocked I looked up at Holmes.
"My word Holmes, where did you get these pictures?!? I've never seen the likes of them. There is so much color, it's like you are really there."
Holmes stood up abruptly as he marched toward the window, looking out it in a manner unique to him.
I turned back to the stack of pictures I held, completely baffled by what I was seeing. There were pictures of things I had never seen before and probably couldn't even begin to describe.
Holmes turned around again to look at me while pulling out his pipe.
"That is the mystery Watson. I have no idea where these colorful photos came from. They were lying here on my desk this morning when I came down for breakfast and Mrs. Hudson assures me that no one came in during the night to drop anything off."
"Do you think someone snuck them in here as a way of requesting your help?"
"Ahh, my dear Watson, so you would think, but tell me, what person would sneak into a place to ask for help? No, what I think we have here is someone trying to hide a discovery and just happened to be the fortune resident of choice."
"Oh, that would make sense. Imagine what a stir it would create to know one could have colored photos rather than black and white."
"Percisely, my dear Watson."
"But tell me Holmes, why would they hide it somewhere where it could get discovered?"
"A very good question Watson, one which I believe I can answer. It is very much like separating a lock and a key, by themselves they are quite useless, but together it could be a fortune. What our young fellow did was try to remove whatever relation he might have with the photos. By discarding them, he removes any affiliation to them. Simple as that"
"I see. That does make sense, but what about that strange name, Kobak."
Holmes waved his hand like it was frivolity as he sat down. "It could be everything or nothing. I need more facts to determine the true significance of the name. For all we know, it could merely be a way to distinguish that stack from all the rest if there are more."
I returned to examining the picture while Holmes cleaned out his pipe. I thought many of the objects in the pictures were quite peculiar as well as the clothing the people were wearing. I asked Holmes what he thought of it.
"I don't know what to make of the contents of the pictures. It is all very peculiar."
The subject was then dropped as Mrs. Hudson led Mr. Lestrade into the room and I set the pictures aside on the end table. It became apparent that Holmes had a new case to solve and I eagerly followed along, putting the strange photos to the back of my mind.