The Adventure of White Chapel
1888. Baker Street 221B.
I was reading the newspaper when the door bell rang. It was Lestrade. He nodded to me and than went straight toward the detective lounging on a sofa.
"Sherlock, I need your help." Seldom did Lestrade begin like that.
"Lestrade. What brings you here? I don't have any client today. " Holmes seemed to be not interested.
"Didn't you ever read newspapers?"
"It is always John's job."
I passed the paper to the detective. I knew what Lestrade was talking about. Jack the Ripper, the notorious serial killer who has already killed five prostitutes near East End of London and White chapel during recent months.
"You will be interested, I promise." Much as he knew Holmes, he would never say things like "We must stop him killing people."
"Haven't the Scotland Yard solve that case until now?" Sherlock slit his eyes with distain.
Finally, the detective decided to investigate the case, because the letter brought by Lestrade and signed by Jack the Ripper.
"The letter began with Dear Boss, very interesting." Sherlock said, and then he took 5 minutes to read the letter.
"Obviously, our Jack the Ripper was a left-hander, because the victim's neck was cur from the left side. Secondly, he needs knowledge of anatomy, so maybe he's a doctor. Thirdly, Jack has daily work because all victims were killed at night. "
"Yes, it's what spend us 2 weeks to figure out."
"All, right. Now, you can go back to your office. "
I opened the door for Lestrade, who seemed unpleasant. "Hey, he's Sherlock." I comforted him.
The next morning, Sherlock left the Baker Street with a note on the sofa, saying he'll investigate the case. Without receiving his letters for three weeks, I began to worry about him. I called Mycroft, but he knew nothing. The other day the news claimed another victim; I read it trembling with fear. Then I found the victim was a female.
I decided to do something.
When I arrived the White Chapel. I heard the sound of violin and harmonica. There found I a familiar figure. I could hardly recognize Sherlock. He was wearing a dirty coat, dyeing his hair yellow, with a scar on his face.
He knew I'm there, I knew it. But he didn't even glimpse me. He didn't want anyone discover his identity. People said they are Jim and Singerson, new comers who brought here music.
Late afternoon, I received the letter from Holmes, while I don't know when or who put it in my pocket.
"John,
You shouldn't come. I can take care of myself. I have already found something, and will solve the case very soon.
Singerson "
The next day, I got a phone call; I recognized who it was at once."John, come here with your medical bag." I asked him if he got any hurt, but he ringed off.
I saw Jim was bleeding when I arrived.
"Where is Sher—Singerson?" For God's sake, I remembered his fake name.
"I don't know. He was running after another gay."
"Alone?"
"I couldn't stop him."
I bonded up his wound which was not very serious, worrying about Sherlock.
Ten minutes later, I heard the sound of ambulance and police car. Lestrade came here.
"Both of them get hurt, seriously."
"Both?"
"Sherlock's fine. He's already sent back. It's Jack the Ripper and another victim. " he explained it, trying to calm me down.
When I came back to Baker Street, Sherlock was playing the violin. My arrival stopped him,
"Jack the Ripper IS a dismissed doctor, I knew it." He said confidently." What do you want to listen, John, it's a good violin. "
I sat in the dark, listening to the performance. Case's over, and Sherlock's home. That's enough to me.
Thera