He Has Returned
Chapter One
My vision began to blur as I stared at the thick book lying flat on my desk. However, I ignored the fuzzy letters and tried to continue reading my book on the subject of women in the Bible. My husband, the infamous detective Sherlock Holmes, interrupted my thoughts and piled the days correspondence on the desk. He then took the envelopes that contained materials of little importance and chucked them into the waste paper basket next to me. I marked my place in the large book and looked through the mail to see if there was anything addressed to Mary Russell or Mary Holmes. Even though Holmes and I have been married for two years, I was still addressed by my maiden name. Not that I minded. Holmes and I have always called eachother by our last names since that day we met on the hillside, watching bees. I was fifteen then, and he was fifty-four. That was eight years ago.
"At your books again, I see." Holmes commented reaching for the daily newspaper. "If you want to kep your mind sharp, you should read about something other that religion or theology."
I did not satisfy him with a reply. Instead, I removed my spectacles and rubbed the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. When my husband did not recieve the witty remark he was expeting, he sat on his big red chair and began to read the first section of the paper. "Tired, Russell? He asked. "You're suffering from insomnia."
"What makes you say that?"
Holmes reached for his pipe, and began to prepare it for smoking. "Well, You are tossing and turning at night, and by the dark circles under your eyes, I say that you haven't gotten more than six hours of slep in five nights."
"This coming from a man who keeps irregular hours and scarcely eats enough to keep a cat alive?" I returned my spectacles to their proper place on my nose.
He simply smiled. "You're bored, Russell. I can tell."
"Correct as usual, Holmes." I said with mild sarcasm. "I need something to challenge me, and there is very little here in Sussex to give me the mental stimulation that I need!"
"Are you saying that I am not mentally stimulating enough for you?" He joked.
"Please don't joke. I'm serious. Why do we have to live in such a dull town?"
Holmes shook his head. "Complaining is not like this is not like you. There is nothing for us to concern ourselves here with at the moment my little adventure seeker. I hope you do not expect me to come out of retirement and start accepting cases again."
I sighed. He was right. When I get bored, I cannot sleep at night, and then I begin to get a little crabby. Then again, little is an understatement. I flipped to the place where IHad paused in my reading and continued on with the next chapter, Esther. I could smell the tobacco from Holmes' pipe, and hear the rustling every time he turned the page of the newspaper. I usually relax and enjoy the moments of peace and quite, however, lack of sleep can make a person easily annoyed at every little disturbance. I opened my mouth to give my significant other a tongue lashing, when he spoke even before I could get the first word out of my mouth.
"Why don't we go to dinner tonight at the Garden and see a concert afterwards?" He asked, turning another page. "That way, you won't be so bored. Besides, we haven't had a nice dinner out for quite some time."
Even though the night he had planned out in his mind sounded simple, to me it sounded like we were going to be the happiest two people on the face of the earth. God knows that I haven't been out for a noght on the town for a long while. It was just what I needed. "Holmes," I said, "That is perfect."
II
The night Holmes and I had was exquisite.The dinner was lovely and the concert we went to see was fabulous. I had no trouble going to sleep that night, and I willingly surrendered myself to the images that raced through my mind as if a story were being played right before my eyes. I was at the climax of my dream, when the movement of the figure next to me jolted me to reality. I opened my eyes to see a bleary figure of Holmes gazing out the window, his keen eyes searching for something. "What is it? I asked sitting up and reaching for my spectacles.
"Did you hear something?"He asked not taking his eyes from the dark view of the Downs.
I listened intently, hoping that whatever he heard would again make noise. After a moment went by with nothing but the sound of chirping chrickets touching my ear, I opened my mouth to say no, when suddenly, I heard the noise that Holmes must have been talking about. It was a low, deep moan, as if someone was in pain, then a terrifying clatter of an oblect crashing to the floor made its way up the stairs. Holmes turned his attention from the window. "My God!" I cried jumping from the bed. "Someone's in the house!
Instantly, Holmes bolted out of the room and down the stairs with me close behind. We ran into the living room to see a dark figure sprawled on the floor. I lit an oil lamp and shead light on the terrible scene. It was a man. A man who had been stabbed in the middle of his back. He had collapsed on top of a small writting stand. Pens were scattered on the floor, and the ink from the fountain began to spread onto the carpet.
Holmes recovered from the shock quicker than I did and bent down to inspect the corpse lying in the middle of the floor. He removed a small scrap ofpaper from the victim's hand and unfolded it. After he looked at its contents, he handed it to me and continued to inspect the scene.
I opened the wrinkled square and was puzzled at what it said. The black squiggly letters were written with a very bad hand, and they read:
I'm Back!
Chapter One
My vision began to blur as I stared at the thick book lying flat on my desk. However, I ignored the fuzzy letters and tried to continue reading my book on the subject of women in the Bible. My husband, the infamous detective Sherlock Holmes, interrupted my thoughts and piled the days correspondence on the desk. He then took the envelopes that contained materials of little importance and chucked them into the waste paper basket next to me. I marked my place in the large book and looked through the mail to see if there was anything addressed to Mary Russell or Mary Holmes. Even though Holmes and I have been married for two years, I was still addressed by my maiden name. Not that I minded. Holmes and I have always called eachother by our last names since that day we met on the hillside, watching bees. I was fifteen then, and he was fifty-four. That was eight years ago.
"At your books again, I see." Holmes commented reaching for the daily newspaper. "If you want to kep your mind sharp, you should read about something other that religion or theology."
I did not satisfy him with a reply. Instead, I removed my spectacles and rubbed the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. When my husband did not recieve the witty remark he was expeting, he sat on his big red chair and began to read the first section of the paper. "Tired, Russell? He asked. "You're suffering from insomnia."
"What makes you say that?"
Holmes reached for his pipe, and began to prepare it for smoking. "Well, You are tossing and turning at night, and by the dark circles under your eyes, I say that you haven't gotten more than six hours of slep in five nights."
"This coming from a man who keeps irregular hours and scarcely eats enough to keep a cat alive?" I returned my spectacles to their proper place on my nose.
He simply smiled. "You're bored, Russell. I can tell."
"Correct as usual, Holmes." I said with mild sarcasm. "I need something to challenge me, and there is very little here in Sussex to give me the mental stimulation that I need!"
"Are you saying that I am not mentally stimulating enough for you?" He joked.
"Please don't joke. I'm serious. Why do we have to live in such a dull town?"
Holmes shook his head. "Complaining is not like this is not like you. There is nothing for us to concern ourselves here with at the moment my little adventure seeker. I hope you do not expect me to come out of retirement and start accepting cases again."
I sighed. He was right. When I get bored, I cannot sleep at night, and then I begin to get a little crabby. Then again, little is an understatement. I flipped to the place where IHad paused in my reading and continued on with the next chapter, Esther. I could smell the tobacco from Holmes' pipe, and hear the rustling every time he turned the page of the newspaper. I usually relax and enjoy the moments of peace and quite, however, lack of sleep can make a person easily annoyed at every little disturbance. I opened my mouth to give my significant other a tongue lashing, when he spoke even before I could get the first word out of my mouth.
"Why don't we go to dinner tonight at the Garden and see a concert afterwards?" He asked, turning another page. "That way, you won't be so bored. Besides, we haven't had a nice dinner out for quite some time."
Even though the night he had planned out in his mind sounded simple, to me it sounded like we were going to be the happiest two people on the face of the earth. God knows that I haven't been out for a noght on the town for a long while. It was just what I needed. "Holmes," I said, "That is perfect."
II
The night Holmes and I had was exquisite.The dinner was lovely and the concert we went to see was fabulous. I had no trouble going to sleep that night, and I willingly surrendered myself to the images that raced through my mind as if a story were being played right before my eyes. I was at the climax of my dream, when the movement of the figure next to me jolted me to reality. I opened my eyes to see a bleary figure of Holmes gazing out the window, his keen eyes searching for something. "What is it? I asked sitting up and reaching for my spectacles.
"Did you hear something?"He asked not taking his eyes from the dark view of the Downs.
I listened intently, hoping that whatever he heard would again make noise. After a moment went by with nothing but the sound of chirping chrickets touching my ear, I opened my mouth to say no, when suddenly, I heard the noise that Holmes must have been talking about. It was a low, deep moan, as if someone was in pain, then a terrifying clatter of an oblect crashing to the floor made its way up the stairs. Holmes turned his attention from the window. "My God!" I cried jumping from the bed. "Someone's in the house!
Instantly, Holmes bolted out of the room and down the stairs with me close behind. We ran into the living room to see a dark figure sprawled on the floor. I lit an oil lamp and shead light on the terrible scene. It was a man. A man who had been stabbed in the middle of his back. He had collapsed on top of a small writting stand. Pens were scattered on the floor, and the ink from the fountain began to spread onto the carpet.
Holmes recovered from the shock quicker than I did and bent down to inspect the corpse lying in the middle of the floor. He removed a small scrap ofpaper from the victim's hand and unfolded it. After he looked at its contents, he handed it to me and continued to inspect the scene.
I opened the wrinkled square and was puzzled at what it said. The black squiggly letters were written with a very bad hand, and they read:
I'm Back!