Chapter 2
The awkward silence that followed was in part my fault because I didn't want to say anything to my main roll-model, even if he was fictional, that might cause him to think I was ignorant. It was fine and well to talk when two other people where in the room, but to be alone in a room with any guy, let alone the one who had inspired me to open my own dime detective agency when I was six, was absolutely terrifying.
The silence wasn't going to last long, thought, because a brunette with blue eyes that was dressed in a strange uniform was about to burst into the room and break the silence that had begun to swallow me whole, so it seemed. "Holmes, thank heavens your home. Grayson has just disappeared." "Where did you see him last?" the great detective asked, putting his finger tips together and leaning forward like he always did when he was interested in a chase. "Zed, Holmes, he isn't an object or a pet!" the woman said throwing her hands in the air. "I never said that he was. Now, where was he last seen?" "A bar, pub, on the side of the Thames." "What is it called?" "The Admiral."
During this conversation, Robo-Watson and Alice had reentered the room. "Don't you have surveillance cameras along both sides of the river?" Watson asked as Alice looked at me and mouthed the words 'go on.' So, summing what courage I could I asked, "Does this person consume alcohol in public places or associate with the sort of people that do?" "Holmes, who are these two?" the woman said gesturing toward myself and Alice. "I don't know, ask Watson, he let them in." and all eyes turned to the robot.
Of course, as you might recall, he didn't ask our names; which was quite queer to me, but whatever. So, I was about to come to his rescue when the room was suddenly filled with a blinding light. When the temporary blindness had left every ones eyes; excepting the robot who didn't have eyes, but a scanning system; we saw a little old man standing in the middle of the room.
He was a short man, round four-foot-three, or at least he was short to me being that I was five-foot-nine. He was dressed in a quaint business suit with a bowler hat that kept falling over his eyes. In truth, he reminded me of Elmer Fud and I expected to say something along the lines of 'come out you wasculy wabit.', but I would be disappointed in this fact because what he actually said wasn't even remotely funny.
"Ah, agent 3475," he said looking at me, "and agent 2991," then looking to Alice, "am I right in assuming that you have been briefed?"