Disclaimer: I wish I created Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Everyone knows I didn't.
Chapter 1
It was a particularly rainy morning in '88 when I was taken by surprise to see Watson bent over my makeshift lab table.
"Welcome back Holmes!" said he as he straightened up from the table. "I'm just about done." He added a few drops of a clear liquid to a watch glass containing a yellow residue. It turned purple.
"Atropine?" I ventured.
"Quite so Holmes."
"Perhaps you would care to tell me why I see you conducting tests for atropine?" I asked him.
"Surely you can deduce the reason yourself Holmes", he said mischievously, his eyes twinkling. While I could make a couple of intelligent guesses, I felt it would be wisest to let Watson carry on.
"Lestrade was here", he explained. "He came looking for you. Needed some help on a case, a murder actually. He was very disappointed to learn that you were abroad on a case of your own. When I told him that I had absolutely no idea about when you were expected back, he looked so pathetic that I promised to accompany him, have a look around and lay the facts before you as soon as you arrived. He has left some rather copious notes for you."
Watson strode across the room to my desk, picked up a sheaf of papers, and thrust them under my nose… foolscap paper, broad nib, black ink, probably Diamine, written using a rather old leather bound book (probably a diary) for support rather than at a desk. The notes, titled "THE JOHNSON MURDER" printed in large capital letters, were otherwise illegible. I added a distinct lack of penmanship to Lestrade's list of shortcomings.
"Would you be kind enough to read them to me Doctor" said I, handing him the papers back, and leaning back in my chair, closing my eyes.
Watson was saved the trouble of trying to decipher Lestrade's hand as the man himself burst into our rooms looking as perplexed as ever, a hint of desperation in his features. His eyes scanned the room, and on spotting me, he looked measurably relieved. "Ah Mr. Holmes, it is nice to see you back in London. The Johnson murder has just become a little more complicated. I am afraid Miss Eliza Edwards has disappeared."
"Really Lestrade, perhaps you'll be kind enough to tell me the facts of the case before bombarding me with details I can hardly comprehend. Do start from the beginning Lestrade."
"I thought Dr. Watson…"
"He did not get the chance. Pray proceed."
"Well it is like this", he said and started to narrate what he knew of Mr. Johnson's death.