Chapter 1: The Arrival
"Thanks," the young woman handed the taxi driver the fare plus tip. The paper bills felt weird in her hand, something she would have to get used to living in a new country. Her heart fluttered with the excitement of starting over.
She fumbled with her things now sitting on the curb, searching the outer pockets of her luggage, carry on, and coat as the cab drove away. "Where is that piece of… a ha!" The woman pulled out a piece of crumpled paper from her coat pocket. "Always the last place you look." Unfolding it, she read the address: 221B Baker Street. Tilting her head up to the street sign, she confirmed it was indeed the street.
"Onward, I guess," muttering again to herself. A soft but pitiful whine came from the box sitting next to her suitcase. The young woman picked it up and peered into it. Her large brown eyes met the green eyes of a tuxedo cat, restless from the long trip. "I'm sorry, baby. I promise I'll let you out as soon as I possibly can. Bear with me a moment more."
She pulled the handle up from her suitcase and dragged it behind her down Baker street, with her cat in her left hand (still whining) and her carry on bag over her shoulder. The woman passed row after row of flats with black doors and shiny gold knockers. "217…219…221… Here we are." The door was black like all the rest, right next to a café called Speedy's. The young woman smiled a little at the quaintness of Baker Street. Such a great place, central to it all, for such a low price… there must be a catch. She carried her things up to the door and placed her beloved cat on the ground once more so she could ring the doorbell.
"Coming, coming!" shouted a voice from within.
Mrs. Hudson, I presume, she thought, remembering the voice over the phone. The woman had answered an ad Mrs. Hudson had placed online, trying to find someone to rent her flat that had been unoccupied for some time now. The conversation was brief, but it had peaked her interest. After all, affordable housing was hard to come by in London.
An older woman opened the door wearing a green smock over her purple dress, her wispy, blonde hair coming off the top of her head in different directions. "Hello, dear, you must be Mary. Come in, come in. Don't mind my appearance, I was just making some dinner." Mrs. Hudson moved aside, letting the young woman into the cramped foyer with her belongings. A small meow came from the box as the cat shifted.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Hudson," Mary smiled. She lifted the box in her hand. "This is Schrodinger, my cat. I did mention to you I had a cat on the phone, right?"
"Of course you did, dear," the landlady nodded at the cage, "What a beautiful cat he is."
"And very friendly. And, and doesn't scratch anything. You'll never have to worry about that." Mary was hoping to find a nice home for both her and her companion since most landlords weren't too keen on the idea of an animal running around.
Mrs. Hudson smiled and pointed up the stairs. "The flat is up there if you would like to take a look."
Mary climbed the stairs, leaving her cat and belongings in the foyer. She walked across the landing and through the door straight ahead into a large space lined with empty bookshelves. Bright light streamed in from the two windows on the far wall, illuminating the dust covering the floor and the stack of boxes in the one corner.
"This is the living area, 'scuse the boxes. They will be out of here as soon as… as possible," Mrs. Hudson stammered a bit then recovered. "You are studying in London?"
"Yes, at the University of London. Sociology, focusing on crime and methods," Mary remarked aloud, strolling over to the boxes. "Mrs. Hudson, you said that this apartment… er flat hasn't been occupied for a bit. I assumed one, two months, but by the state of things, it looks like it's been more than that." Directly above the boxes, a simple, yellow face looked at her with a maniacal grin. She reached up to touch the faded wallpaper underneath, her fingers finding indents in the wall. She withdrew her hand suddenly. "Bullet… holes?" Mary turned to the landlady who was nervously rubbing her neck.
"The man who lived her before was a little… eccentric. The flat does have character… and… and a cozy kitchen with a stainless steel refrigerator." She waved behind her, hesitantly. "There is more to see, like the nice master bedroom. Very spacious.
"He wasn't murdered here was he." She had to ask, the rent was just too cheap not to.
"No! Oh good gracious no!" Mrs. Hudson clutched her chest. "He committed suicide, dear…. But not in this flat." She continued, noticing Mary's shock. "No. Jumped off the hospital roof." Tears welled up in her eyes and Mary felt a pang of guilt for curiosity.
"I'm… I'm so sorry," Mary whispered, "You were… close to him?"
"Like a son to me," Mrs. Hudson wiped the corner of her right eye. "He's been gone for 6 months now. His flatmate moved out shortly after his death. Couldn't stand living here without him, I s'ppose."
Mary nodded with a halfhearted grin. She didn't know how to comfort the kind woman, her first and only acquaintance in London. After a moment of awkward silence, she started, "You said there was a master bedroom? Spacious, yes?"
Mrs. Hudson sniffed and cleared her throat. "Yes, it's this way." She smiled, tears still glittering in her eyes as she lead the way to a room off the living area.
The room was spacious, even with the large wooden bedframe and the matching wardrobe still in it. It was a sage green color with beautifully ornate, damask wallpaper. It stood out in stark contrast to the rest of the flat. It felt warm, lived in. Mary opened the wardrobe, which was empty save for another small box at the bottom and a mirror that hung on the inside of the door. Mary caught her reflection: short red hair, tussled by sleeping on the plane, pale skin with deep circles under her eyes. She didn't feel jetlagged, but she sure as hell looked like she was.
"I will have the bedframe and the wardrobe taken out with the boxes, no worries there."
"No," Mary spoke abruptly without thinking. Collecting herself, she closed the wardrobe and spoke, "That won't be necessary. I need a bed and wardrobe. If no one wants it or you had plans of giving it away, that is. I mean, I already have to buy so much as it is."
Mrs. Hudson hesitated. "Alright, they are beautiful pieces. Perhaps it would be good for a young lady to give them some care." She brightened a little at the thought. "So does this mean you will take the place?"
Mary could hear Schrodinger meowing and scratching eagerly at his box. "On one condition: you tell me the truth." She looked the landlady straight in the eye. "Why would a place like this, in the middle of London, one of the most expensive cities to live in, so cheap?"
Mrs. Hudson answered her question with another question, "Have you ever heard of Sherlock Holmes?"
"Was he the man that lived here? I can't say I am familiar with his name."
"Well, it's a long story, deary." Mrs. Hudson sighed, "Perhaps I will tell you when I feel up to it. O'er tea sometime… The long and short of it is that no one wants to live in a flat that used to house a… well murderer."
Mary gulped. "And was he… a murderer? Mrs. Hudson?"
Mrs. Hudson's eyes were glassy again, but did not break Mary's gaze. "No. Not my Sherlock."
It was something in the way her voice sounded, strong with a hint of anger to it. "I'll take it," Mary confirmed. Besides, a dead murderer isn't going to hurt me.