Ok, this is my first pastiche. Not, verse but a regular story. This is part 1 & part two should follow in a day or two. It's complete, I just have to type it up. I know it's not extremely exciting but PLEASE let me know what you think!!! R&R!

Thanks!

"The Adventure of The Rival Detective"

One chilly October morning, just as Holmes and I sat down to breakfast, there came to our flat a visitor. At the command of my friend, Mrs. Hudson bade him enter despite the early our. He was a middle-aged man, with blondish hair and a clean shaven, honest face.

"I'm so very sorry to burst in on you gentlemen so frightfully early, but I am in desperate need of your help, Mr. Holmes." he said.

My friend relocated himself to his usual 'client-taking' chair before the fire, and offered the man the seat across. The poor fellow seemed quite beside himself, and rather unsure how to begin.

"My name is Cummings, Randall Cummings sir, I work out of my flat in Queen Street as a...a...well sir..."

"Do get to the point Mr. Cummings, please." Holmes interrupted impatiently.

"Well, that is I work as a private detective sir. Of course, I am nothing compared to yourself sir! In fact I consider you my mentor."

If Holmes was flattered by the comment he did not show it. He merely signed deeply as if bored to death by the entire conversation.

"But, I do actually have a few solved enigmas to my humble name. But as to the reason for my visit: no doubt you've heard of the Countess Eliza McFain? The widow of Count Cedric?"

We both admitted to a limited knowledge of these aristocrats.

"Well, then certainly you've heard the tragic story of their short-lived marriage, how only five years after their son John was born, the Count was killed in a hunting accident in Sussex. Leaving his vast fortune to his young widow. Yes well, that was approximately twenty years ago. The Countess has never remarried though eligible she is. She was extremely devoted to her husband. Actually sir, it's her son that is the cause of all this disruption. Disappeared he has sir! The lad is nearly twenty-six. Lately he's been rather cut up about losing his betrothed to another, some argument about gambling. He is a bit of a high-spirited fellow, well liked by most, spoiled something terrible by his mother. Spends quite a lot of his time at the races and such. Some say the only reason he was sorry to lose his fiance was because he cannot receive his inheritance until he is 'respectably' married."

"I am not interested in gossip Mr Cummings, please relate the boys' vanishing as it happened, sparing no detail, no matter how infinitesimal."

The poor man sputtered a bit before continuing. Holmes was being rather more short-tempered than usual.

"Yes, er, as I was saying, he's been rather disturbed of late. But his mother thought he was doing a little better. He left Tuesday afternoon at about 2:15pm, to keep an appointment with me that he'd set up for 2:30pm. Yet, I've not the faintest notion of why he wished to see me. I never had a chance to find out. Anyhow he did not arrive at the designated time. I went over Wednesday morning to see whatever has become of him. As clients are fairly sparse at the moment, I did not want to lose so estimable a prospect. To my utter dismay, the Countess had not seen her son since Monday night at dinner. She had felt slightly ill, and had not come down from her room until late the next day. The butler was the last to see him, having helped him with his coat. He said that John had been in a terrible hurry, that he continually exclaimed, 'Quick man! I shall be late!' And that was the last he was seen or heard of. Once the Countess McFain discovered that I was a private detective, she hired me on the spot. I went to work on the problem straight away.

I walked back to my residence, checking how long it took walking. Then with a cab, at break-neck speed, I managed to cut the time in half. Along the walkway, outside my flat, I discovered two cigarette stubs. One on the actual pavement, the other rather under the bushes aside. Well, Mr. Holmes, I again must confess to being guilty of a bit of mimicry. As I said before, I've thoroughly studied your methods, therefore I observed that these stubs were of the same mixture. I checked with John McFains' valet, and found that it was, in fact, the special mixture the lad himself took! I counted myself fortunate indeed! What a clue! For now I could be certain that young McFain had come that way.

I questioned the maid at my flat and what a strange tale she had sir! It seems she'd been sweeping up the foyer Tuesday afternoon, at a little before three, so she says, when a dark young man...whom she'd never before seen!...rushed through the door, and ran straight for the parlor. She darted directly after him, but when she entered the room, he wasn't there sir! There were muddy footprints across the carpet, leading to the bay window. But the man had vanished.

Now sirs, I myself went over the ground beneath the window, as well as the entire garden behind the house, with a fine-toothed comb, there was not a single print!

Countess McFain gave me absolute 'Carte Blanc', so I purchased the finest print taking kit that money could buy. Even so, I could get nothing workable from the muddy footprints in the parlor.

Mr. Holmes, I admit to being completely at my wits' end! Please say you will help me sir?!"

I must say I felt truly sorry for the poor man. I did hope that Holmes would assist him in his strange predicament. But my friends' dark countenance did not seem promising. He sat in morose silence, staring intently into the glowing fire. Finally Mr. Cummings was moved to speak.

"Mr. Holmes?"

Holmes stirred suddenly and looked about as if recalling where he was.

"Yes, Mr. Cummings. I shall be glad to look into this matter of yours. It seems it is rather out of your sphere."

The client was too relieved to be offended.

"Oh thank you so much sir! Perhaps you could come down this afternoon?"

"No, no, at the moment there are a few other pressing matters that require my immediate attention. I must see to these foremost. But, come again, here, tomorrow at precisely 4:00pm, and we may discuss this case of yours to a greater extent."

"Yes sir, I'll be here, if you're sure you cannot come sooner? No? Very well, I will see you both at 4. Good morning, and thank you."

When the good Mr. Cummings has completed his departure I questioned Holmes as to what he made of the matter.

"Interesting. Watson, I shall be going out presently. I will in all probability not return until late, do not bother to wait up for me. Good morning!"

And with that vague announcement, I was left to my own devices and a cold breakfast.