Misplaced
It was missing.
Ella frowned and searched under the table she was sure she had set it on. Her psychiatrist's notes were confidential, surely no one had taken the booklet? It was an impractical scenario, at best.
She quickly looked through her purse; nothing there, either. At least not a small brown-backed book with her notes on one Doctor John H. Watson. And she needed it now, too, she was already running late for work.
Ella turned to give the room one last perusal and stopped abruptly. There it was, on the stand where she had left it. How did...
Down below, a calm brunette stood next to a sleek black car with her phone in hand. She glanced up at the apartment's window, then slipped into the car's back seat. It pulled silently away from the curb.
Inside, the brunette typed a quick text. Mr. Holmes: Mission accomplished. –A.