Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the characters in The Hound of the Baskervilles. As you can see, my name is not Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

As I sit here at my writing desk in Merripit House, it causes me to wonder weather all will go according to plan. I have finished yet

another love letter to that clueless dolt Sir Henry. Oh, he has no idea what will hit him until it, well, does. He's already on edge as

is with that old wife's tale of 'a ghostly hound' that haunts his family. Well, I would bet all of my fine jewelery that the hound doesn't

exist. Instead, he will meet his untimely end another way. A true fool indeed! I just hope that Misters Watson and Holmes don't catchwind

of my plans. They shan't suspect a lady though…

First, I am to woo Henry with my dainty charm and womanly ways. A giggle there, a bat of an eyelash there, and that trade-

mark line of:

"Oh, I dropped my handkerchief, Sir Henry! Would you be a dear and pick it up for me?"

Yes, that tends to do the trick. A few more love letters infused with the finest French perfume ought to seal the deal. Then, we

have a picturesque summer wedding looking like 'the perfect newlyweds.' My name then changes from Ms. Stapleton to Mrs.

Baskerville from then on. But then, out of nowhere, tragedy strikes! My Henry dies of a fatal heart attack. Tut tut, is seems like

it runs in the family. Uncle Charles died of it too. How horrible coincidental...

Little does Scotland Yard know that I accidentally slipped a drop of poison in Henry's noontime tea. A sciences teacher in

my brother's former boarding school taught me exactly what amounts of common chemicals and wild herbs to use. But again,

they shan't suspect a lady…

At his funeral, I play the part of the sad, young widow that I am. I than slip away quietly because our home 'holds too many

fond memories.' But alas, I then have the fortune to myself! I then change my identity (again) and enjoy the money. I would

like to move somewhere…exotic, maybe Barcelona? Or Vienna? My parents were German after all, and they taught me

the language very well. I never get to exercise that here in dull England. Yes, I think I'd like to live in Vienna. Ah! There's the

bell! I must be off now, for Sir Henry calls. I say, I must remember to burn this soon…