NOTE: Since I was sort of disappointed by the explanation of this case on the blog I decided to remake it.
"It's a...suit," John said as he and Sherlock arrived at 221b.
"Yes. It appears so," Sherlock agreed. They both stood baffled while trying to figure out why there was a suit neatly laid out on John's chair.
"It's a nice suit," John said, trying to break the silence.
"Is it?" Sherlock asked him stupidly. "I guess."
"Do you pick up anything?" John asked him.
"From...from that?" Sherlock said. "From him?"
"How do you know it's a he?" John asked.
"Men usually wear clothes like these," Sherlock answered.
"How would you know?" John asked.
Sherlock looked towards his roommate and smiled a half-smile before walking closer towards the chair.
"How is he hollow?" John asked while watching Sherlock examine the suit.
"Oh no, John. You're mistaken," Sherlock said and looked back at John. "He's not actually here." He said and ran his hand through the air over the shirt collar. "See?"
"Funny," John said with a sarcastic smirk.
Sherlock took his magnifier from his coat pocket and examined the fabric of the suit closer.
"Well?" John asked as Sherlock moved away from the suit.
"It's a man's suit," Sherlock said. "But you already knew that, didn't you? Size ten in shoes. They're heavier than they look, it's noticeable since he's stepping at the back of his trouser legs, they're tightly compressed. Some dirt is stuck in the fabric, he's been trying to wash it off but not succeeded. Which means he's very fond of this suit, either that or he's short of money. Can't buy a new one or pay for dry cleaning. Probably not because it's quality brand, nothing a regular working man could afford. The suit has sentimental value. Doesn't want other people to touch or take care of it. Perhaps he wore it on his wedding day. Wife dies shortly after, the suit is the only good memory he has left of her. Due to the quality of the fabric I would say the suit was made about fifteen years ago, probably before the time of the wedding and about two months before the tie was last changed. The fabric of the collar has been slightly sun damaged compared to the fabric behind the tie. But why the rose?" He said and pointed at the red rose in the suits breast-pocket. "And why leave it here?"
"Show-off," John said with laughter behind his words.
"Shut up," Sherlock said. "You love it when I do that."
"My only concern is that there's a naked man running around in London," John said. "Since his clothes are here."
"Oh, don't worry, John," Sherlock said, reassuringly. "He didn't leave his underpants."
"Funny," John said again as he brought forth his mobile and started typing something.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked him though he knew.
"I'm phoning Lestrade," John answered.
"For this?" Sherlock said. "I know Scotland Yard is known to take on some easy cases but this is beneath even them...well, slightly beneath them."
"Do you know why this suit is here then?" John asked him while raising the phone to his ear.
"Well, no," Sherlock said, almost embarrassed. "Maybe he left a note."
"A note?" John said.
Sherlock approached the suit again and looked in the trouser pockets and in the shoes but finally found a small piece of paper tucked in under the red rose in the breast pocket.
"He left a bloody note," John muttered.
Sherlock unfolded the note, looked at it briefly and then started reading aloud.
"'Dear Mister Holmes, my name is...'," Sherlock began. "Ehehe. He left you out."
"I noticed," John said with closed teeth. "Keep reading."
Sherlock began reading again:
"'Dear Mister Holmes, my name is Richmond Dauher and I need your help. Recent and past events in my life have put me in danger. Which is why I can't be at one place for a longer time. I left my favorite suit in your apartment, I am there in spirit. I cannot tell you my problem in this letter, it is far more complicated for that. We will meet some day. But the important part is this is not a matter of my life but far greater than that. Don't bother looking me up, I will find you in due time'."
"That's it?" John asked. Sherlock flipped the note over once more to check it.
"Yes, that's it," Sherlock said.
The suit was untouched and not moved for six days. The apartment was silent, the only sound that could be heard was the uncoordinated tapping John made on the keyboard of his laptop. Opposite to him sat Sherlock with a hypnotic look. He was staring into his own computer screen without moving a muscle. John, who's gotten used to it by the time, acted like nothing. After a while Sherlock took a deep breath and asked:
"What in the world are you typing?"
"I'm updating the blog," John said and looked up from the screen as he had finished a sentence.
"About what exactly?" Sherlock asked. "We haven't had a case in weeks."
John leaned back in his chair and pointed at the suit that was still laid out on the armchair.
"That?" Sherlock said. "It's hardly something to write about."
"Well, the readers might find it interesting," John said with a smirk.
"If they don't have anything better to do then I suppose so," Sherlock said before returning his gaze to the computer screen.
Mrs. Hudson entered the room, humming on a familiar tune and carrying a tray with a white kettle with handpainted roses on with matching teacups. Several biscuits were neatly laid out on a small plate. Neither Sherlock nor John raised their heads when she placed the tray on the desk with a bang. She stood and observed the two before she kindly said:
"You two seem awfully concentrated."
"Mm, yes. John is writing a story," Sherlock said, slyly.
"Oh, you're updating your blog again?" Mrs. Hudson asked John.
"Stories? You know these things really happened right?" John said, irritated. "I've documented all the cases we've had." He pointed at the screen with one of his first posts that he'd made showed on it.
"Oh, relax, John. I know Sherlock is just teasing you," Mrs. Hudson responded without throwing an eye at the computer screen like John wanted her to. "What are you currently writing about?"
"That suit over there." He pointed at it. "Doesn't look like much of a case but I've been around Sherlock enough to know that it might as well be."
"That's a very good title actually!" Mrs. Hudson eagerly.
"What is?" John asked.
"'The Suit Case'," Mrs. Hudson said.
"I am not calling it 'The Suit Case', Mrs. Hudson," John said.
"No, he's calling it The Hollow Client which is dumb because he's not hollow and we don't really have a client," Sherlock said, frustrated. "All we've got is a name."
"Isn't that enough?" John asked him while Mrs. Hudson turned to the suit on the chair.
"Not this time," Sherlock said. "I've searched everywhere, there is no person named Richmond Dauher."
"Shouldn't I get that filthy thing cleaned for you?" Mrs. Hudson said and headed for the suit. Both John and Sherlock quickly stood up from their chairs and shouted at the same time:
"Leave it!"
"It's important evidence," Sherlock said. "Or, well, maybe it's evidence, we don't know yet. But don't clean or touch it. Don't even breathe on it."
"Fine," Mrs. Hudson said and headed for the staircase. "Men and their clothes." She muttered before she left.
The boys watched as she left, but the silence was disturbed by a faint ding coming from Sherlock's computer.
"Shut up," Sherlock snapped at John.
"I wasn't talk-" John began.
"Shh!" Sherlock interrupted him. He began reading intensively. "Perfect!" He shouted.
"Where are you going?" John asked him calmly as Sherlock rushed out of his chair and grabbed his coat.
"Don't wait up, John." Sherlock said as he put on his coat. "I'm going hunting."