Whenever I walk past Baker Street, it has always been a habit of mine, since I moved out of that address, to look up at the window of 221B and wonder what horrendous secrets of Londons criminal residants were being unearted there.

It was a brisk December morning when I walked by Baker Street once more, and I had only meant to walk past, yet when a dishevelled elderly lady rushed out of the front door grimacing and muttering under her breath, something about despair and something being just as important as murder, I couldn't help but wonder how my old friend, Sherlock Holmes was involved. It had been just over a year since my departure, so, thinking now as good a time as any to call on my friend, I walked purposefully across the street to number 221B.

I rang the doorbell, and was answered by a weary looking Mrs Hudson. A long suffering woman, as any landlady would be with Holmes as a tennant, and yet an excellent cook, and well respected. However, even my feeble powers of observation and deduction could tell that today, even in the early hour that it was, was going to be a trying day for her.

I walked briskly up those familiar 17 steps, and had just raised my hand to knock on the door when from within…

"Come in, Watson"

I laughed quietly under my breath.

'A year has not let his standards drop' I thought

Barely had I time to say a good morning when the detective dramatically turned to face me from the window.

"She comes in claiming to be the victim of a most tragic occurrence- 'I have not slept since the tragedy' says she, and tells me would rather have the misfortunes of all the world on her shoulders than be faced with the problem before her. 'I would give all the jewels in India to have him returned' she cried"

Now he wandered around the room, gesturing wildly, a hint of madness even crossing his aqualine features.

"He was so special to her —her one companion, she tells me, and the Police would do nothing for her. 'That, Madame, is nothing perculiar' said I, believing her to be in a grievous situation, but no- she...she leads me on to think that her case would earn me worldwide glory, and if I were to suceed, she would be prepared to die a happy woman knowing he was safe"

"Who?" I replied "Her husband?"

My words were wasted however, as he continued as if nothing could stop him.

"Never had she been so distraught, never felt like she was missing a half of her before, and would do anything- anything to see him again"

The tension inside me grew- was the lady connected to some royal or noble family who had had one of its members abducted? Or maybe a famous or political figure?

"But who was it?" said I. "Who has gone missing?"

There was a pause.

"Tiddles. Her cat"