The Only Way Is Deduction
Chapter 1 - The Letter
John walked through the door to 221 Baker Street, shopping in hand and face flushed from the cold.
"Mrs. Hudson? Did we get and mail while I was out?" he shouted.
"Yes dear, an important letter came through for Sherlock, but I heard gun shots again-"
John didn't hear the rest, as he was already halfway up the stairs, mail under his arm and shouldering the door open. "Sherlock…" he started, Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa, hands pressed together under his chin, eyes closed to whatever train of thought he was on. The gun was lying on the floor beside him. In the wall were three new holes, that's extra on the rent again he thought. He sighed and walked into the kitchen, the centre table was full of bottles and vials filled with putrid smelling coloured liquids, some with strange coloured smoke pouring from the tops. He moved a few fingers and what looked like cats ears off the edge of the table and placed the bags down. Back in the living room he picked up the gun, removed the ammunition and threw the letter down onto Sherlocks chest.
His friend opened one eye and looked at it.
"What's this?" he mumbled, unused to receiving letters.
"It arrived this morning you would have got it sooner but you were too busy defacing the wall again!" his anger was lost on Sherlock as he was already buried in the letter, his brow furrowed. He leapt up and ran to the bedroom, the letter falling onto the coffee table. John gave it a glance and saw it was filled with neat handwriting which scrawled across the page, the letter read:
Please help Mr Holmes,
My family are in danger, my son has been kidnapped and my husband has been threatened with death. I haven't been informed with his happenings, he has many secrets and I believe this is the reason for the threats.
If you could find out who is doing this, and what has become of my son, I would be so grateful. I am afraid I live a little out of your way, as I live in the Lake District in Cumbria. I can understand if you cannot help. But if so, I shall meet you at Hundith Hill Hotel, Lorton Vale, just outside Cockermouth.
There is a room ready for you. Ask at the reception.
Please help.
Mrs. Lily Richmond.
This was an unfortunate set of events. No wonder Sherlock was so excited.
"Life is good John!" he heard from the bedroom. "It must be Christmas. Kidnap, death threats, and secrets!" he bounded from the bedroom eyes glistening with excitement, "Come John, the game is on."
"Are we going to see this – Mrs. Richmond?" he asked glancing at the letter again, turning to see the bottom of Sherlocks coat disappearing out of the door into the street. John followed calling to Mrs. Hudson, "We'll be out a while Mrs. Hudson, don't wait up. Sherlock! Wait!" He stumbled out of the door and into the waiting cab.
"Kings Cross Station. And hurry!" Sherlock shouted at the cabby.
At Kings Cross they caught the train to Carlisle. John took this time to catch up on his sleep, whilst Sherlock looked out the window, eyes glazed to the surroundings and mind already on the mystery ahead. At Carlisle station, they hailed a taxi and asked for the hotel mentioned in the letter. The driver gave them an interesting look, "Honeymooners," he thought, and tried to start a pointless conversation, as it was obvious neither of the men were in the mood for small talk.
The hotel looked pleasant, picturesque even. Situated in the Lorton Valleys and surrounded by rolling hills and large fells.
"Well," said John smiling as they climbed out of the taxi and headed for the hotel doors, "Doesn't look like much would happen around here."
"Don't judge a book by its cover, John. Remember the cabby?" John grimaced as his memories of his first case with Sherlock flashed through his mind. "However, I think you're right, it does seem too peaceful, hateful even."
They entered the hotel, the reception desk was made of soft pine wood, but nothing really stood out. Sherlock look around, then walked up to the desk.
"Hello and welcome to the Hundith Hotel, how may I help you?" She murmured out in a bland voice.
"Yes, I believe there has been a room booked under the name of Holmes?" he said raising an eyebrow questioningly at the woman. She looked bored, as if she would have rather been anyway but there. Her bleach blonde hair was pulled tightly back into a pony tail, and she was a sickly shade of orange. Sherlocks nose wrinkled up as he caught the smell of her terribly strong perfume.
Not cheap accommodation - this he knew from a quick search of the area on his phone whilst on the train. He was amazed to see that the room he and John would be acquiring would cost an astonishing £106 for one night – so she obviously is looking for Mr. Right whilst working here, has high expectations. Doesn't realise she's going a bit too far. Nevertheless… He thought, as she turned back to the desk with booking ledger in hand.
"Yes Mr. Holmes," She rolled out past lips heavy with large amounts of lip gloss, "Your room has been booked and paid for, you will be staying in room 113, and it's a twin room so don't worry." She stopped and looked at John who was admiring the décor with keen interest, "However you can push the beds together if – " Sherlock cut her off as he grabbed the key from the desk and marched through the double doors by the reception and down the long corridor towards their room. John was quick on his heels, I wish people would stop assuming me and Sherlock are together. He was thinking. He looked at Sherlock who was storming ahead of him down the corridor, I do find him attractive, there isn't any denying it however, the way his eyes shine with excitement at a case, his pale almost ethereal skin, there was something about him that was just so attractive when he was like this.
Sherlock turned to face John, "This is the one." he said, waiting for John to catch up, who was staring at him intently, Sherlock wasn't used to having John stare at him for no reason without sudden outburst of "Brilliant" and "Fantastic" but he shrugged it off and walked into the room. Sherlock removed his coat and flung it onto the nearest bed, and walked to the window to peer out into the dreary countryside, the grey skies were making the place seem colder than it already was. Peaceful, cold, and yet, oppressive, not something that was natural, for such a quiet seeming place.
