It was a quiet spring night at Baker Street, and the sun was still trying to set over the horizon of London streets.
Readers who are familiar with my work will know that, every so often, Inspector Lestrade pays a visit to Mr. Sherlock Holmes so that he may hear the latest of cases which have been tackled at Scotland Yard - and also to provide some form of input into working toward a rapid conclusion into what often proved, for Sherlock Holmes in the very least, to have rather elementary conclusions. However, that night was a much different story.
Holmes was busy at his chemical corner, carefully and meticulously analysing a medieval script, as I sat at my own desk examining the records relating to the affair of the Russian revolutionary, a story which I am not yet allowed to divulge. It was not long before eight o'clock that I heard an official-sounding "rat-ta-tat-tat" knock on the door. I could hear the voice of Mrs. Hudson and our late and unexpected guest talking to each-other, before they went up the stairs.
"Inspector Jones, good evening." Said Holmes, not even looking up from his work.
I looked around to greet Inspector Athelney Jones. The Scotland Yard inspector with whom we cooperated with on the investigation of the incident involving The Sign of the Four, which also led to me meeting my wife.
"Evening, Mr. Holmes." Said Inspector Jones. He went to take a seat before he suddenly paused in realisation "Wait a minute; Mr. Holmes, how did you know it was me?"
It was only at that point that Sherlock Holmes did turn around in his chair and pause his work.
"By your footsteps, Inspector. Your footsteps are a touch heavier than Gregson's but lighter than Hopkins's."
Jones seemed to think about it for a second, still not quite used to my companion's rapid process of thought. He then seemed to understand what Holmes was saying.
"Oh. I see. I'll take a seat then, shall I?" He said.
"I trust you have come with no official case then?" Asked Sherlock Holmes, as we rose from our seats and took our usual chairs in-front of the fireplace, which spat out a hot coal that ricochet with a 'ping' off of the fireguard.
Jones gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "No, I don't have any cases for you Mr. Holmes. I simply wanted to see how the doctor was doing since the case, and that everything was okay."
"Everything is alright, Inspector Jones." I replied. "My wife and I are enjoying married life just fine. Indeed, I do not get as much time to accompany Mr. Holmes as I would wish to, due to the busy nature of my practise, but I am still very much enjoying it."
"Come now, Inspector!" Remarked Sherlock Holmes, as though to quickly change the subject at hand. "How have you been since the little escapade? Has anything exciting happened of late down at the Yard? Of course, I would usually entrust such reports to Lestrade, however he often forgets little details that others might pick up on."
"There is, perhaps, not much I could tell you that you wouldn't know, Mr. Holmes. For I'm as under-informed as the best of them." Jones chuckled lightly. "But I do have one case that might interest you though."
"Do pray tell." Said Sherlock Holmes with a small smirk in the corner of his mouth, tenting his fingers with his usual languid expression upon his face.
"I was called out to Barchester, it's a little village up north a bit, upon request of the local constabulary. Apparently, there's been quite a few incidents going on that warranted proper investigation from Scotland Yard."
"And by incidents you mean what? Has someone's cat went missing? Someone putting butter on the milk bottles? Property disputes between farmers?"
"To put it simply, murders, Mr. Holmes. Serial murders!"
Holmes suddenly sat forward in his seat with a sudden burst of excitement. "Serial murders? How exci- interesting. Pray, do continue, Inspector. I was... just getting comfortable."
Holmes shifted around in his seat, before resuming his normal position.
"Anyway, they claim that they are serial murders! And because it's such a small village, you know what village people can be like for worrying about things, Mr. Holmes, someone could accidentally brush past them on the street, and they'd claim that they came within inches of death. Still, I looked into it, and I think that they may be right.
"Every victim thus far, the three of them, have died from the same injuries. Throats cut, just like that, right across the middle of the neck." Inspector Jones even going as far as to demonstrate exactly with his hand where the victims had been apparently cut.
"And who are the victims?" Asked Sherlock Holmes.
"Ordinary village people. The first was a young lady, 'loveliest thing there was in the village', apparently. Next was the local greengrocer. Followed then by the cab driver who works often with the local village blacksmith, who happened to find him just yesterday morning. They were all killed in the middle of the night, apparently. Probably because there's nobody around then. I mean really, Mr. Holmes, I think the half of them must have never drew blood before with the way some of them reacted to it. Some are already talking about moving away."
"I see... would you care for assistance in the matter?" Asked Holmes.
"Certainly not!" Said Inspector Athelney Jones, giving another dismissive wave of his hand, and sounding rather insulted in the same way. "It shouldn't take much effort to track down whoever is doing the murders. I'm not in Scotland Yard for nothing, after all. But, well, if you really want to help out, you're welcome to join the investigation in your unofficial capacity. Just as long as, you know, don't interfere too much or anything."
"I certainly shan't, Inspector. Not without your express permission. Shall we meet at seven o'clock tomorrow morning? Or is that too early for you, doctor?"
"No, it should certainly suit me." I replied.
"Excellent. Well then, I should probably get going. Some of us have work to do, unlike others. I'll say goodnight to you, Mr. Holmes. And I shall see you in the morning."
"Indeed. Good night, Inspector. Have a safe journey." Said Holmes, waving him out the door.
"Now, Watson," he added "We should probably get to bed early. After all, we do have a busy day tomorrow, I should imagine."
