Prologue- A Morning on Baker Street
Mallory
"Morning, Mum!" I called, leaving the flat she rented out to me, 221A, and sniffing the air, picking up the delicious aroma of eggs and bacon. "How're the boys?" I asked, making my way toward her unlabeled flat.
"Morning, dear!" she greeted back. "The boys…well, they're like they always are. Breakfast?"
"Of course!" I exclaimed, pushing open the door and snatching a bit of bacon off the plate. "I've got to go in early today, finish some paperwork on the Hanes homicide we solved last week. Anderson put in an inquiry about the hair; he thinks we messed with its placement. He's always a thorn in our side. I can't wait until he gets fired."
"I didn't know he was going to be," John said as he entered, scraped some scrambled eggs out of the frying pan onto a plate, and joined me at the table.
"A girl can dream, can't she?" I replied.
"I'm not your housekeeper!" Mum said to John, her hands on hips and brow furrowed.
"You're serving Mallory, Mrs. Hudson," John replied, swallowing a mouthful of eggs.
"Because she's my daughter!" Mum exclaimed, giving John a contemptuous glare but letting him continue. "Really, this is ridiculous."
"Oh, come on, Mum," I said, sipping some hot chocolate. "They wouldn't last two days without you."
"Or you," John added. "You're the one that keeps us on good terms with the Yard."
"I keep him on good terms with the Yard," I said. "You're alright, but he's…well, you know how he is."
"How could you not?" John said. "He keeps a bloody head—literally, a bloody head—in the refrigerator! Who else does that?"
"Well, I'd best be off," I said, sipping the last of my cocoa and zipping the raincoat I never left the house without. "You know how Anderson is. See you!"
John and Mum said their goodbyes, and I made my way out into the hall. I was just slipping my boots on when I heard a gunshot explode from the flat upstairs. I shouted with surprise and fell backward, one boot dangling off my foot. I growled, exasperated, as I shoved my boot on and marched up the stairs toward the flat. I threw open the door with the yellow letter B and asked, "Can't you do a crossword or something and not shoot the wall?"
The man lounging on the sofa said, "I'm bored."
"I don't care!"
I slammed the door before his, no doubt, indifferently scathing retort could reach my ears, and I couldn't help but smile. I stomped down the stairs, through the hall and stepped into the cool, brisk November air of Baker Street, turning my collar up against the wind and hiding a smile.
My name is Mallory Hudson. I'm a Sergeant for the Scotland Yard. My mother rents out flats and the men occupying 221B Baker Street were my neighbors and best friends: Dr. John Watson and the only consulting detective in the world, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
Paste your document here...