Ch. 1

Watson's P.O.V.

"My dear Watson," My companion remarked one afternoon as I sat with him in front of the breakfast table one morning, "Are you in any mood to see an opera tonight?"

"Certainly." I replied. I was spending the week back on Baker Street, while my Mary was in France, visiting an old school fellow. It was the start of summer and the weather was warm, but not too hot. We had been without cases all week and Holmes was starting to glance at the cocaine bottle.

"I have here, two tickets, sent from a perspective client. Listen to the note, one of the strangest I've ever received. "Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I can not include my name or any information about myself, as there is a chance this letter will go astray. I can, however, send you these tickets. At 11:00, after the final bows, an agent and trusted friend of mine will decide whether or not it is safe to take you see myself. I pray you accept, despite my secrecy, the only thing I can tell you is this: Someone's trying to kill me."

"Well?"

"Hmmmm?" His eyebrow rose.

"What have you deduced from this letter?"

"In a moment." He sat at the table for fewer than five minutes. "It was obviously written by a man, the writing will testify to that. No woman capable of such language would have so messy writing."

"It could have been dictated and written by the associate." I responded.

"Not likely, as there is no darker spots indicating hesitation or hurried bits, which often appear in dictated letters."

"What else?"

"The paper is of the highest quality, and the pen is an expensive one, seeing as it has not splattered." He was right, the writing, though messy was not tainted by splatters. It was unique writing, strong and deliberate also easy to read, despite being so untidy. "Furthermore, tickets for this particular opera have been sold out for months, obviously whoever sent this must have recently come into danger, or he would have contacted me sooner, so the tickets would have to be bought, for quite a price off some other person."

"I'd also guess that our gentleman friend is a doctor or lawyer of some sort."

"And why would you say that?"

He slimed at me. "Doctors and lawyers are notorious for having illegible writing." I snorted. "Also there is an almost arrogant tone to the letter."

"So we're going to help a doctor or lawyer?"

"Well there is an alternative, however unlikely."

"Which is?"

"We're walking into a trap set by one of my many enemies."

"Do you-"

"It's not likely, at all. You see, if I was to be assassinated, it's a lot more likely that they'd only send one ticket, as the less bodies, the less inquiry." With that, I was reassured and eagerly awaiting our night out.

The opera was splendid; the female lead was particularly spectacular. We had a private theater box. Holmes nearly lost track of time, and I did so completely. He shook me when the curtain fell on the last act, awaking me to the real purpose of our night out. The time was 10:45 and the curtain was coming up for the bows. Roses were thrown at the all the actors, but the lead, an attractive blonde woman in a dazzling sky blue gown received, by far, the most. Despite having put so much energy into her performance, she still radiated energy, which only further endeared her to the crowd.

Holmes took out his watch I looked over his shoulder to read it. We still had five minutes to wait. The rest of the audience was filing out into the street to await their carriages and cabs. My friend fidgeted in what seemed like a bored manner, but I, who has known him for years, knew he was highly agitated and impatient. He closed his eyed and tipped his head back. At precisely 11:00 there was a knock on the door.

"Do come in." He responded in his genial way.

A middle aged woman entered. She was smartly dressed in a gray cotton dress. It was fringed in modest lace. Her brown hair was pulled back into a neat knot at the top of her head a few fringes of it covered her ears. She also wore thick spectacles, distorting her eyes. "Follow me." Were her only words to us, they were in a brisk tone implying some authority. Holmes rose and I followed. She escorted us to a nearly invisible door that lead to the back stage area. As we approached one of the dressing rooms, she held up her hand to instruct us to be still. She stuck her head in the door and after a few whispered words, she closed it and looked back at us. She then took us to a spot where there were a few chairs for actors waiting to go onstage. "Wait here. Enter the room in exactly ten minutes. Your client will be waiting." With that she disappeared.

The minutes were tense and Holmes repeatedly checked his watch. When, at long last, the allotted time was up, we rose together and headed towards the door. My companion knocked. "Come in Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson." A rich feminine voice commanded, for that's the only word to describe the tone, from within.