A sharp yell from somewhere in the house sent me tumbling from my awkward sleeping position on the couch to the hard floor. I groggily sat up, clambered to my feet and dragged myself out the door.
The sight that greeted me from the kitchen was incredibly strange. Two tall men in coats and hats were shielding their eyes from the harsh light of the kitchen, while Mischa was standing in her usual 'attack' position, legs spread and knees bent slightly, with her hands up in front of her, ready to strike. Without breaking eye contact, she snatched a frying pan from the kitchen counter and held it like a sword.
Then the two men noticed me. In one moment, the taller of the two, a dark-haired, slightly unshaven man, had stepped towards me, his companion had grabbed his arm, and Mischa had darted across the room and sent both men sprawling to the floor.
"Who are you?" She cried at them, pale-faced and angry "And what are you doing in my house?"
I had gotten over my shock moments before, then yelled, "WHAT the bloody HELL is going on?" I rushed over to Mischa at the same time as Kaitlynne finally made an appearance. She stood there in shock as Mischa finally got to us, grabbed both of our collars and high-tailed it back to the back room.
"Mish..." Kaitylnne started.
"What is going on?" I managed to make my voice quiet enough so that the two intruders would not hear me.
"Haven't the foggiest" Mischa, apparently, didn't think that the threat of impending disaster was any time to loose one's sense of humor. "Should we attempt to make contact?"
I leaned out from the entrance to the back hallway, both Mischa and Kaitlynne using their height to lean out above me. "I can't believe we're actually doing this." I groaned.
"Shh.." Kaitlynne shushed me.
Above both our heads, I could hear Mischa begin to speak. "Uh… hi?" The two men turned around. "Who are you?"
"I am Sherlock Holmes and this is John Watson."
"Bullshit"
At that moment, I let out an unladylike snort, and pulled my two friends out of the alcove.
"Prove it. Read me" Mischa, what are you doing?
"You are right handed, and your name is Mary. You spend much of your time writing, and you are most probably a scholar. You are a musician, and you sit at a desk for long hours each day. You have some experience in either Martial Arts or ballet dancing, and you have not lived here for more than three or four years. You have an older brother, and no other siblings. You are an artist, and possibly a boxer. How did I do?"
Mischa stood there, stunned. "My name is not Mary, but Mischa, you were right on all other accounts accounts. How…?"
"You have a callous on your right index finger, suggesting that you write a lot. Your shoulders are slightly rounded from much study, and your fingers are long, and your nails short. That usually means that you are a musician who plays a string instrument, and you are graceful and quick, suggesting that either you dance or you are acquainted with Martial arts. I know that you have an older brother and no other siblings because I took the liberty of viewing your colorized photographs. You are a boxer because of the calluses on your knuckles and the small bruises on your upper arms, which are quite muscular."
"How could you tell I was an artist?"
"One of the paintings was signed 'M. Soncrante' in rather feminine script, and a family crest under the name Soncrante was on the wall. Hence I acquired your name. I chose the most common name starting with 'M'. Admittedly, Mischa was definitely not one of my first guesses."
After a moment of silence, Kaitlynne spoke up. "I think I believe them."
"Strangely enough, so do I"
I glanced out the window. The sun was breaking the horizon, sending swirls of gold, pink, and delecate blue across the grey sky.
"Y'know… why don't we just have some tea and talk?"
Watson, who had been looking rather confused this whole time, sighed in agreement. "Yes please."
Mischa moved towards the kettle.
"No, not you! You'll just put salt in it or something. Here, I'll do it."
