Good day!

Here I present my first Sherlock Holmes case. I originally wrote it as one piece, with no chapters, but I have inserted 3 for easier reading. I would love to hear your opinion!

Thank you, as always, for reading!

Elluviel


In order to save a life that was absolutely necessary for the peace of London, I have been sworn to secrecy until the danger has passed. Now, however, I deem it safe to put to the public the true story of Miss. Margaret Hunter.

It was a quiet afternoon, and I was reading a novel while Holmes was studying some sort of paper. He entered into my attention when he threw the paper on the table.

"Well, what do you make of that, Watson?"

Since he was clearly disturbed, I set down my book and picked up the letter. It was an ordinary type of paper, written in the most commonplace handwriting I have ever seen. It might have been typewritten, but in any case, read as follows:

I will be in your rooms at ten o'clock this evening to discuss a matter of extreme urgency. I trust that somewhat late hour will not disturb you and that you will be able to meet with me.

M.

I glanced at Holmes. "I really don't see any difficulty. Clearly a client who wishes to remain anonymous needs your assistance."

My friend crossed his arms. "If M wanted to be anonymous, he would not have signed the paper at all. No, it's something else…"

"What?"

Holmes shrugged. "I can think of three possibilities, but until I have more evidence, I cannot choose which one. The part that irritates me is how M did it!"

I frowned. "How?"

"This morning I was finishing up a trivial case when a little beggar boy thrust this note into my arms, and disappeared among the crowd. This note is evidently not from the little boy, so he acted as a messenger. The note is very simple with no clues whatsoever except that the writer-"

Suddenly, Holmes sunk back into his chair, murmuring meaningless words. A moment later he was back.

"Right! That is exactly how I would have done it if I wished to remain utterly untraceable. This M clearly knows my methods well."

"Perhaps Moriarty," I suggested.

Holmes smiled. "Excellent, Watson, excellent! But the thought had already crossed my mind, and I had eliminated it. It is not the professor's custom to hide his true identity, especially with me, since I already know all about him. Oh well. It should be a very interesting case, especially due to the late hour. Hmm, that handwriting is very curious…"

I frowned. "What do you mean? It is almost absurdly commonplace, with no unique markings."

"Exactly. That is what is curious."

And for the rest of the evening, he refused to eat, and lounged in his armchair smoking with hollow eyes, deep in thought.

But at a little before ten, Holmes sprang up, glanced out the window, and told me, "Be a good fellow and run downstairs to get the door for the lady. I don't think anyone is up at this hour on a winter evening."

However, not a moment had passed before we heard light footsteps up the stairwell.

Holmes shrugged. "Someone is up."

In response to three sharp knocks, my friend called, "Come in!" The door nearly flew open, and we caught sight of Miss. M.

She was remarkably tall, just slightly under Holmes' height, and her long skirt made her appear taller. She was dressed all in black, plainly but elegantly, without any adornments save a pair of small earrings. I would have guessed she was in mourning. Her face was quite plump, her cheeks rosy, but slightly wrinkled. I would have guessed her age to be around forty. Her bearing was graceful, and she seemed pleasant enough, but her eyes were sharp and grey, like steel.

She smiled graciously. "If it is not too much trouble, Dr. Watson, could you please close those curtains? Over the window, yes."

I had made my way to the window before I turned around, puzzled. "How did you know my name?"

The lady glanced at Holmes mischievously. "The same way that I know Mr. Holmes, unlike yourself, has correctly deduced that I am not in mourning."

My friend frowned. "And how had you known that?"

She smiled. "It is my business to know things. That is a part of my trade."

Perhaps it was one of those rare instances where Holmes was more surprised than I was. This woman spoke like my friend, thought like him, and acted like him.

But as usual, he recovered faster than I did. "You had a long walk, and you went through the park, as evinced by the condition of your boots."

"As did you, this morning, or so my sources tell me," she replied.

"You are not accustomed to exercise, and you work indoors mostly, by your incredibly pale skin and heaving breath."

"I may say the same to you, though you are remarkably fit."

"You play the flute," Holmes ascertained.

"And you play the violin."

"There are dangerous people on your trail."

At that, the lady peered at him curiously. "How did you know that?"

Holmes smiled, and as he waved her over to an armchair, he said, "It is my business to know things. That is a part of my trade."

The two sat down, and Holmes cordially asked, "To whom do I have the honour of addressing? One equal in observation as well as deduction?"

The lady smiled. "My name is Margaret Hunter, but in a few hours, I suppose, it shall not matter. Please take a seat, Dr. Watson, after you have closed those drapes. It is extraordinarily awkward with you hovering over us like that, though I will not mind if you listen."

Somewhat embarrassed, I quickly drew the curtains and sat down, as Holmes asked, "Why shall it not matter?"

Miss. Hunter gazed at him, and I couldn't help but see that her eyes gave the quick, subtle movement that Holmes made when he was discreetly observing people, a habit I had only recently grown to notice.

"Because I will be murdered by then," she answered calmly.

Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Murdered? Strong words. Is that you closed the drapes? Why you wished to consult me?"

Miss Hunter gave a small, dry laugh. "Yes, and no. Nothing you could do would prevent it."

"Try me."

The lady looked at him, amused, certainly not very concerned about the danger. "I assure you, Mr. Holmes, that it is impossible. The reason of my visit is that I have great hopes that you will be able to set the police upon the right murderer, when they find my dead body tomorrow."

Holmes clasped his fingers together. "You do not seem very worried about this upcoming attack."

Miss Hunter shook her head. "Oh, I am. Wouldn't you be, if you knew it would happen? But if I can do nothing to change the matter, why worry?"

"Why worry indeed," Holmes murmured.

"The only thing I can do is to make sure that my death is properly avenged," she finished.

"Is there a reason why you had to come to me beforehand? Why do you not trust me to solve the case to-morrow?"

The lady nodded. "If I had not come, you would have convicted the wrong person. You agree, do you not, that I know your methods quite well?"

Holmes gave a slight nod.

"That is how I know that if I did not set you upon the right track now, you would have been wrong in your deductions tomorrow. The police, of course, would have, and will be, even worse than that, but I cannot go to them. You understand why I need a private detective."

My friend leaned back. "First of all, tell me why you are about to be murdered."

Miss Hunter pursed her lips. "Because of my father, Mr. Holmes. My father was a man who had many enemies. He died of a heart attack a few years ago, but one by one, for revenge, my mother and siblings have been killed, a death on every August 13th. Tonight is the twelfth. I am quite certain that tomorrow I will be dead."

"For all of your mental skill, I am surprised you could not do anything to prevent this fatal outcome."

The lady shrugged. "My father's enemies are vast and cunning. Even more so than I am. I am helpless under them."

"They seek revenge by killing off every blood relative of your father?"

Miss Hunter nodded. "I am the last one alive. I hope, after I die, that no one else will be murdered, especially my husband. That as all the hope I have left."

"Do you not want me to try to prevent your death?"

The lady shook her head firmly. "No, it would bring about your destruction. Several have tried to help my poor family, but all have died in the effort. I do not want you to be next."

"Do you have any idea as to who these enemies of your father are? They must be some sort of an organization to keep up such a grievance for so many years."

Miss Hunter exhaled sadly. "No, I do not know who they are, I just know they are dangerous and will get to anyone they wish to."

Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Really. Well, how do they usually go about killing?" My friend had absolutely no regard for the lady's feelings, and I was horrified by it all, but it seemed to me that she herself took his same attitude, as if it were a scientific experiment.

"As I said, it occurs on August 13th. I believe that was the date that they had planned to kill my father on, but he had died before they could. As to how they kill, it varies. No two deaths are alike."

Holmes clasped his hands together. "I see. So, you wish to give me exclusive information as to the true identity of your murderer?"

Miss Hunter nodded, and suddenly stood. "I believe you have enough information at this point. Now, I really must be leaving, or William will grow worried."

Holmes and I stood as well, but my friend suddenly asked, "Why meet me at this late hour? Surely it will give the murderer a better ability to kill you unnoticed."

The lady smiled. "And give me a better ability to hide, as you have no doubt discovered. Good evening, Mr. Holmes."

But my companion suddenly reached forward, and laid an urgent hand on her shoulder. "I cannot allow one of my clients to walk into death."

Miss Hunter gave him a sly look. "I am not your client, Sherlock Holmes. I am your enemy."

Then she swiftly departed from the room. I made a move to follow, but Holmes laid a restraining hand on my arm. "No, Watson. Let her go."

"Holmes! The lady is going to be murdered! Are we to do nothing about it?"

My friend frowned. "Nothing? No, of course not. But whatever we are going to do is going to happen to-morrow. She made it clear that there are no steps to take to save her life."

I shook my head. "Well, what do you make of it all? It seems she struck you speechless half the time. And what of the equal deductions? And that she is your enemy?"

Holmes rubbed his hands, his eyes gleaming. "That woman is clever, very clever. One of the most cunning thieves in all of London. Margaret Hunter…hmm, maybe it will not be so bad that she is killed."

"Holmes!"

"But the question is, who would kill her? Assuming her story to be true, the enemies of her father will. But if they are so bad, they would want her on their side."

I frowned. "I am afraid I do not follow."

Holmes started pacing. "It's really quite simple, my dear Watson. Either she is not as horrible as I thought, or has done something to upset the underworld of London."

"Is there any way for you to know?"

My friend collapsed into his armchair and lit his pipe. "Not until the morning!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "What do I tell you, never theorize without facts. And of those I only have but precious few. Those earrings, though, they'll decide…"

I barely got any rest that night. This whole business with Miss Hunter was enough to keep my mind active. Was she the enemy of Holmes? Drawing him out for some ill fate? Or was she innocent, and dramatic in saying that she was his enemy?