Out of all my life, 1894 is the year when I came closest to meeting a ghost.

Then again, the man in question was never dead in the first place.

I was conversing (To be honest, I was arguing) with Gregson over the Adair murder when young Hopkins came bursting in through the door. "Inspector!" he yelled, waving a scrap of paper in the air.

Gregson and I turned to stare at him. "What now, Hopkins?" Gregson asked, sounding irritated. Stanley Hopkins was known 'round the Yard for having fits of hyperactivity at the most bloody inopportune times.

Of course, he kept it in around Mr. Holmes. Never irritate the person you idolize, or so the lad believed.

"I-I-! This message- it- it-" Hopkins looked flustered, pointing to the paper in his hand. He seemed to be in equal parts shock and jubilation.

"Give it to me, Hopkins!" I snapped, snatching the paper out of his hands. "Whatever it is, it can't be as shocking as you think-" I stopped short and stared at the missive, absolutely floored.

I plopped down in my chair, barely listening to Gregson's questions as to what the letter contained.

Inspector(s):

DO NOT THROW THIS LETTER AWAY. No doubt you Yarders have had more than your share of letters from "me", declaring that I am alive. If you didn't believe any of them, I will be thoroughly disappointed in the Yard's methods of investigation. Then again, I never had much faith in you anyway.

I digress.

More to the point, I, Sherlock Holmes, am alive. Once more, do not throw this letter away.

Start patrolling the street outside of Camden House at half-past nine. When you hear a police whistle, be prepared to arrest a criminal.

He will be operating from the street.

- S. Holmes

I wasn't sure whether to dance around in jubilation like Hopkins or to scream in frustration at the so typically vague letter. I settled on an incredulous stare at the paper, which lasted for a good two minutes until Gregson snapped his fingers in front of me.

"Lestrade?" he asked, sounding rather confused. "You've gone from ferret-faced to fish-faced, now! What is in that letter?"

I blinked, and grinned cheerily at him. Gregson looked rather taken aback at my change of expression.

"Oh, nothing of importance; have a look!" I lied through my teeth, handing my archenemy the missive. I snickered, imagining the surprise he would have.

He took the piece of foolscap and promptly blanched the exact color of it. Gregson's eyes widened, and he looked up to stare at me in shock.

"Sir?" Hopkins asked, timid as a mouse. We whirled around to look at him. "Is it real? The letter, I mean. It's not forged, is it?"

I groaned dismally, all my cheer from startling Gregson gone. "Nobody could imitate that blasted pomposity Holmes has."

Gregson agreed with me, for once.

"Oh, it's definitely real, Hopkins..." he moaned, looking back down at the paper.

I would have laughed at the depressed expression he wore, if it weren't for the fact that I probably looked the same.

Young Hopkins, however, was overjoyed. His was a clear-cut case of hero-worship. Alas, there was nothing I could do to prevent his exuberant dance (if you could call it that) around my office.

Resulting in him tripping over the edge of my rug and falling flat on his face.

Not very professional, but let that slipup go to blazes. We were all acting rather unprofessional that day.

After the lad had gotten up and brushed himself off, he asked breathlessly, "Who are you going to send to patrol the streets?" It was an obvious plea to be one of the ones put on the job.

"I'll put you on the job, Hopkins, but you'd better reign in your hyperactiveness." I had my scruples about sending him. Though it would likely be worse if I didn't, what with him probably pestering me until I gave in.

Gregson frowned. "I won't be able to come; I have another case to work on...I don't know if I'm glad or disappointed about that."

Lucky chap.

"Well, that's one less person. I have the feeling that all the Yard wouldn't want to miss seeing a dead man come back to life." Though I'd be more inclined to strangle him afterwards.

Gregson smirked, probably guessing what was on my mind. "Well, I must go now!" He waved goodbye cheerily and departed.

Bloody wonderful. I was alone in my office with a hyperactive man (more like a boy) who was practically bouncing off the walls.

"Hopkins!" I barked, my hold on my temper slipping a bit. "I told you to reign in your excitement! Now stop, or I won't allow you to patrol Camden House!"

Hopkins froze in a comical manner, then slowly sat down. "Yes, sir," he muttered abashedly.

I tried not to burst out laughing.