_Chapter 1_
Curious Incidents
The rain patters dismally against the glass of my window. I pull on my coat and grab an umbrella. On my way out of my flat, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My intent bright, shining, deep brown eyes look back at me as I blink my long, dark eyelashes, and my light brown hair waves and curls around my face in curtains, falling gently to my shoulders. I have high cheek bones, but not prominent. A fairly sharp chin, a smooth, youthful, adventurous face that is soft and gently curving, but not chubby, nor sunken. My nose turns slightly upward at the tip, and my face is covered in light freckles, and proportionately below my nose is my pink, healthy lips, full, but not bloated. I see all this in an instant, and look away again, whisking away down the stairs and out into the chilly, wet city.
I walk the cold London streets with my coat wrapped tightly around me, shivering slightly in the old town as the rain drizzles around me. I hurry into the closest little restaurant and sit down, ordering a cup of tea and a sandwich for dinner. I glance up at the television and see that some flats on Baker street have been partially exploded, due to a gas leak, according to the reporter, but I get a funny feeling about it all the same... as if it wasn't a gas leak, but something more sinister; however I continue sipping my hot, comforting tea and worry about it no longer.
But today, a day after the Baker street "gas leak" I keep a watch on the telly, because of that funny feeling still lingers. The news is about a woman who was kid-napped, strapped to a bomb and put in an abandoned car. Now she was being rescued. My stomach squirms. Coincidence I think. But I feel otherwise.
Another day since, I see on the news, a very similar incident, with someone else being rescued from a bomb they'd been fastened to. My suspicions grow deeper within me.
It's been three days since the first explosion, and I stop in a café and sit down, still on the alert for anything unusual. Having nothing to do, I look around, and spot two men looking rather serious, one with a prominent profile, high, sharp cheekbones, intense, piercing light blue eyes, a slightly hooked nose and curly raven-black hair, not eating at all. The other is shorter and slightly stocky, with more wrinkles, with dark blue eyes, and trimmed golden brown-blond hair, enjoying breakfast himself. I tune my ears toward them, because it feels like there's a warm nagging in my belly, gnawing at me after the first explosion, and for some reason, I feel like they're connected.
I catch some of what the shorter of the two are saying "Sherlock…the bomber's playing games with you?...envelope…breaking into…flat,…kid's shoes…meant for you." My attention sharpens a great deal. Bomber? Maybe that feeling when I was in the restaurant, and the other times I had seen the news wasn't just folly.
The raven-haired man inclines his head slightly and murmurs something that I don't hear, but I make out the words "Yes, I know" on his lips. A few moments later the pink phone next to him bings. I feel confused, because neither of them seems to be the type to own the phone, but the taller of the two answers it and looks intently at it, while it lets out three beeps. "Sherlock" looks confused at what must have been a photo on the screen and I catch the word "anybody."
I hear part of a phrase from the man sitting across from him say " too much telly" and he gets up and turns on the T.V., and switches to a channel about a woman who does a make-over show suddenly dying. Again I have that funny feeling but it's stronger, and a slight chill, despite the fact that it's quite warm in the café as I eat breakfast.
A few seconds after the television was turned on by his companion, the pink phone rings, and the man answers. "Hello?" he says. As he listens to his caller, his eyebrows draw together, just slightly, and he looks intent as he listens. As his shorter companion rejoins him, the taller casts him a meaningful look. And then I hear quite clearly from "Sherlock" "Why are you doing this?" while his friend looks with trepidation at him. "Sherlock" slowly takes the phone away from his ear and hangs up, shaking his head, just barely, at his friend. They both leave the café a few minutes later, but as they leave, the taller of the two glances at me, and I hurriedly look away, but I feel his gaze remaining on me as he leaves the cafe.
…Sherlock. I won't forget that name. It's unusual, and he has quite a memorable profile. I'm sure he's somehow in the mess of the strange events occurring lately, making me even less likely to forget this stranger's name.
This evening, after a warm day exploring more of the city, and after the strange events of the morning, I turn the telly to watch the news, because deep down, I feel like an explosion going to happen again. Today, I was not mistaken. After flipping past a channel with an advertisement about the lost Vermeer painting being found, I see another explosion has happened, killing twelve people, and my heart goes cold. A gas leak again. I know that something isn't right this time.
I immediately get up and get out my laptop and Google "Sherlock" The top two results are the blog of Dr. John Watson, and I see from his picture he is the shorter of the two men I saw in the café earlier that day. I also see below it a site designed by Sherlock Holmes called "The Science of Deduction" As I explore, I find that "Sherlock" is a brilliant detective, and this "John" is his friend and blogger. I become intrigued further as I read more and more. So far, there are only two true cases logged on Watson's blog: "A Study in Pink" and "The Blind Banker" along with some other notes. "The Science of Deduction" is Sherlock explaining his powers and how he figures certain things out. It seems unbelievable, but I am inclined to believe it all the same. There are also strange posts or messages, which I am almost certain came from the bomber, because they are similar to what John had mentioned: the stuff about playing a game.
After some more research, I find out that they live at 221B Baker's Street, where the explosions happened, and it doesn't surprise me at all.
I'm very intrigued by this "Sherlock" and I want to know what's going on. He seems to be my best bet for answers. I also wish to learn more about him, and what he does, after everything I've read. So, with nothing better to do, I fetch my coat and umbrella and take a cab to 221B Baker's Street.
Okay, I know, not super exciting, but thanks for reading! Please continue atleast to the next chapter... it gets more interesting!