Don't you need a break?
He usually deleted the spam mails without even looking at them, but there was something about that one that attracted him. Yes, he needed a break. Sherlock had died just three-four months before and London continued to make him remember about him. It wasn't a bad idea, to go somewhere. The mail's propose was a hamlet in Switzerland, near some beautiful falls.
He had booked that very day and one week later he was in Meiringen.
It was even smaller than he thought, but he was immediately relaxed because of its idyllic appearance and its quietness.
There was a big hotel, named after some fictional detective that right there had found death, but he had booked a room in a small B&B, that was probably just an house with a spare room.
The door was open –and, although he had read that Switzerland was the safer place in the whole world, he was really surprised- so, after some moment of hesitance, he came in.
"Hello, is there anyone?" He asked loudly.
"Come, come! I'm in the kitchen!" A girly voice replied, in an awful English.
Following the voice, he found himself in the small kitchen, where a red-head girl showed him her back, cooking something with a great aroma.
"Hi, I'm John Watson, I've booked…"
"I know who you are." The girl replied, glancing briefly towards him to give him a smile, before returning at her task. "I'm Analiese Camenzid. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure is all mine." John said, smiling faintly although she couldn't see him.
He wanted to go on with the conversation, ask what she was cooking, he'd do it in a different moment, but he was tired and he just wanted to go to sleep. He sighed softly, focalizing his attention on the writing on her shirt.
He was tired, Sherlock, his best friend, has just died and he saw things that couldn't really happen, but, he was sure, there was Sherlock's name on Analiese's shirt.
Without even thinking he jerked forward, grasping the girl's arm and turning her quite violently –making her scream in surprise-, reading the start of the writing.
I believe.
"Can… can I help you?" Aneliese asked.
"Where… where did you buy this shirt?" John asked, although his dry throat made difficult to speak.
"I've done it." The girl replied. "You're from London, aren't you? Maybe you know about Sherlock Holmes. I followed his adventures on the internet and when… well… after his fall, we can say, I joined the 'I believe in Sherlock Holmes' movement."
The man gulped, releasing the girl's arm.
"I see…" He said, incapable of saying something more.
"You know, you're the second person who asks me something about this shirt." Aneliese added lightly, turning again to cook.
"Am I?" John asked without interest.
"Yes." The girl confirmed. "The first one was a tall young man with the most beautiful cheekbones I've ever seen." She laughed. "It's strange, isn't it? Appreciate someone's cheekbones."
John couldn't really find it strange, Sherlock had the most beautiful cheekbones he could even imagine.
"What was his name? Maybe I know him?" He asked.
"I don't think so, he was French." She revealed. "His name was Hamish Île."
Again, maybe John was reading too much into it, but Hamish was his middle name, and Île was the French form for island, and Holm meant island, and a spam mail had led him in a hamlet where a girl had a shirt that said 'I believe in Sherlock Holmes'.
Maybe he was reading too much into it, maybe those things weren't a well-studied plan of Sherlock, but he couldn't help but hope they were.
"We're dining in half a hour." Aneliese said, interrupting his thoughts. "Your room is upstairs, on the left. I cannot show you right now, hope you don't mind."
"No, no, it's okay." He replied with the first true smile of the last four months, then he went upstairs.
Aneliese smiled, taking her cellphones, searching the last sms.
Take care of him.
She smiled, texting the answer.
Doing it.