A/N: For those of you familiar with the ACD stories, this will hopefully be nostalgic fun. For those of you who aren't...well, just enjoy! :-) (And please consider leaving a review or comment, it helps so, so much)!

Disclaimer: The plot of this chapter is the invention of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. No profits have been made by me. No disrespect is intended, quite the opposite.

The Adventure of the Country Birthday - 8

Sherlock looked at my dismayed face and laughed.

"Fate seems to have conspired against you, John."

He looked over at the inspector, "We were just talking about the murder when you came in. Can you give us the details?"

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin, and I knew then, like it or not, ours had become a working vacation.

The inspector began:

"We didn't have anything to go on with the Acton burglary. There were no fingerprints or any other physical evidence found at the scene. But this is different, the suspect was seen."

"Ah!"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. But he ran quickly after shooting poor William Kirwan. Mr. Cunningham saw him from his bedroom window, and Mr. Alec Cunningham saw him from the rear hallway of the house. It happened at a quarter to twelve. Mr. Cunningham had just gone to bed, and the son was smoking in his dressing gown. They both heard William calling for help, and young Mr. Cunningham ran downstairs to see what was going on. The back door was open, and when he got to the bottom of the stairs he saw two men wrestling outside. One of them fired a gun, the other fell, and the shooter ran across the garden and went over the hedge. Mr. Cunningham saw him from his bedroom window running down the road but the man ran quickly out of view. The son had stopped to see if he could help William, and so the killer got away. Our only description is that he was an average-sized man, dressed in dark clothing. Not much to go on, but if he is a stranger in the neighborhood, we should be able to find him."

"What was this friend William doing there? Did he say anything before he died?" asked Sherlock.

"Nothing, he died almost instantly. He lives at the old lodge on the Cunningham estate with his mother. He has been close friends with the Cunninghams for years, so we think he must have walked up to the house just to see that everything was alright there. The burglary at Acton's has made everybody nervous. The robber had apparently just broken in through the back door - the lock has been forced - and then William saw him."

"Did William say anything to his mother before he went out?"

"She is very old and deaf, and the shock has made her completely useless, she never was very bright. Anyway, we can't get any useful information from her. But, there is one very important article from the crime scene. Take a look!"

He produced an evidence bag from between the pages of his notebook. It contained a small piece of torn paper. He handed it over to Sherlock, who began studying it with interest.

"This was found between the finger and thumb of the dead man. It is obviously a piece of a larger piece of paper. The hour mentioned on it is the time when poor William was killed. The murderer and the victim must have wrestled for the paper, and the killer escaped with the larger part. But the scrap we have seems to indicate an appointment."

I looked over Sherlock's shoulder at the piece of paper, full of curiosity. It was handwritten and there were only three partial lines:

at quarter to twelve

learn what

maybe

The inspector continued, "If it was an appointment it could be that William Kirwan may have been an associate of the thief. He may have met him there and even helped break open the door, but then had a disagreement between the two of them."

"This writing is extremely interesting," said Sherlock, still examining the paper intently. "This case is much more complicated than I thought."

He put his head in his hands for a moment. The inspector looked pleased that the case merited the interest of my friend.

After a moment Sherlock continued, "The possibility that there might have been a plan between the burglar and William, and this is the note one wrote to the other, is a possibility. But this writing suggests..."

He put his head in his hands over the note on the table and continued to study it in silence. I couldn't see anything particularly interesting in the writing, aside from the words "quarter" and "to" were written so closely together that they almost appeared to be one word.

Sherlock eventually raised his head from the note, his face slightly flushed and his eyes bright with a hunger I was now familiar with. He leapt up from his chair, with all the energy he used to show before going to France.

"Inspector," he said, "I would like to look in to this case. There is something really fascinating here." He stopped suddenly and glanced at the Colonel and me.

"I mean, er, if you don't mind Colonel," he added.

"Of course not!" exclaimed the Colonel. "We would all consider it a great honor to receive your help."

"Great! Then I will leave with the Inspector to test out a few theories I have. I'll probably be back in about half an hour."

With that, he was off. The Colonel and I felt a little deflated to not be involved, although we didn't voice our feelings out loud. We agreed that we would put off our outing to wait and see what Sherlock might discover.

Thirty minutes passed, then an hour, then another thirty minutes, and finally the Inspector came back, but he was alone.

"Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field outside," he reported. "He wants all of us to go up to the Cunningham house together."

"To the Cunningham's?" the Colonel exclaimed with surprise.

"Yes, sir."

"What for?"

The Inspector shrugged. "I don't know for sure. He's been behaving very strangely, and he is very excited."

"It's ok," I said. "There's usually a method to his madness."

"More like madness in his method," muttered the Inspector.

He continued at a normal volume, "But, he's very impatient to start, so if you two are ready..."

The Colonel and I looked at each other and both said, "Sure!"

Sherlock was pacing up and down in the field outside with his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. It was a sight I was very familiar with, although I had never seen it in this rural of a setting. It meant that he felt he was very close to a conclusion, and his mind was racing at speeds I could only imagine.

When we reached him, he looked at me with triumph in his eyes.

"This has been very interesting. John, this trip has been a huge success. I have had such fun this morning!"

"Did you go to the crime scene?" asked the Colonel.

"Yes, the Inspector and I have enjoyed our investigation together."

"And?" I prodded.

"Well, we have seen some very interesting things. Let's head for the house shall we? I'll tell you what we did as we go. First of all, we went to the morgue to see the body of the victim. He certainly died of a gunshot wound, as was reported."

"Did you doubt it?"

"I like to double-check everything for myself. Plus, I wanted to see if the body could give me further information. My inspection was not a waste of time. Then we interviewed Mr. Cunningham and his son, and they showed us the exact spot where the murderer had gone through the garden hedge to escape. That was very interesting."

I nodded, "Of course."

"Next we visited the victim's mother. As the Inspector has said, she is very old and feeble and we got no useful information from her."

"What was the result of the investigation?" I was beginning to get impatient.

"That this crime is a very strange one. I am hoping that our visit to the Cunningham's will make things a little clearer. The Inspector and I both agree that the paper in the victim's hand, with the message containing the hour he died is extremely important. Whoever wrote that note brought William out of his house at that time. But where is the rest of that note?"

"I searched the crime scene carefully, hoping to find it," said the Inspector.

"It was taken from the dead man's hand. Why? Because it incriminated the killer. What would he do with it? He probably shoved it in his pocket, and in the dark might not have noticed that the corner we have had been left behind. If we could find the rest of that note, we will probably solve the mystery."

"Yes," agreed the Inspector, "but how can we search the criminal's pockets before we catch the criminal?"

"Excellent point!" Sherlock exclaimed patting the Inspector on the shoulder, "it is a pleasure to work with you. Here we are at the lodge, where William lived. Just a bit further and I will show you the scene of the crime."

We passed the quaint cottage where the murder victim had lived, and walked up the tree-lined road to the large house. We followed Sherlock and the Inspector around to the side gate, which was separated by a garden from the hedge which lined the road. A constable was standing at the back door.

"Open the door, please, officer," asked Sherlock, "it was on those stairs that Alec Cunningham stood and saw the two men struggling right where we're standing. Old Mr. Cunningham was at that window - the second on the left - and he saw the murderer get away just to the left of that bush. So did Alec. They are both sure of it, because of the bush. Then Alec ran out and knelt down by William. The ground is very hard, and there are no traces to help us."

As Sherlock was speaking two men came down the garden path, from around the side of the house. One was an elderly man with a deeply lined, puffy-eyed face. The other one was a young man in his twenties, who had a bright, smiling expression. It seemed strange to me that he was so cheerful after holding a dying friend only hours earlier.

"Still investigating?" asked the young man. "I thought you Londoners were smarter than that. You don't seem all that smart after all."

I decided I didn't like Alec Cunningham.

"Well, give us a little time," said Sherlock with a friendly smile.

I was very surprised, I was expecting Sherlock to say something to cut him down.

"I suppose you'll need lots of time," replied Alec, "you don't have anything to go on."

The Inspector spoke up, "Well, we have - oh my God! Mr. Holmes!"

Sherlock had taken a few staggering steps, groaned, then collapsed on the ground in a crumpled heap.

TBC...