From: Sherlock_holmes221 Hotmail. co .uk
To: dr_mollyH googlemail. com
Subject: Schrodinger's Cat
Molly,
Another puzzle in Uppsala? It`s like Christmas! You are clearly trying to seduce me with puzzles, conundrums and exercises in logic.
This is obviously why I love you.
I shall be enchanted to look into the Professor`s little puzzle. My interest was piqued last month when we spotted his wife in the café with her quaintly shod companion. There is so much more to this than meets the eye – I absolutely guarantee it.
I am, however, having to slightly delay my visit since the imbeciles fitting out my new laboratory have put gas outlets directly adjacent to the dehumidifier and air conditioning – a disaster waiting to happen. I am asking Mycroft to arrange a little accident if another mistake is made. This said, I am more than a little thrilled at the near completion of my `new playpen` (as Anderson so charmingly calls it). The naming of a laboratory seems a self-indulgent and slightly ridiculous thing to do, so no more of that. In reply to the recent (and astonishing) attachments from you, I respond with some of my own. You will, no doubt, note the new ELISA plate – even I feel slightly embarrassed at the cost of that. Ignore the contents of the new lab fridge…despite warnings, Mrs Hudson has been storing her milk, cheese and gin in it. What is so difficult to understand about biohazards? Health and safety is at risk if people refuse to follow protocol around chemicals and food.
Also, for your information, the modernisation of 221A is progressing reasonably well. Bob the plasterer has been more than accommodating since I helped him out with his son`s tax fraud issue. You and the attachment will have the smoothest walls in London – I am assured. Work, apparently, will be completed by the beginning of December – in time for D-Day.
Molly, I must now return to the sticky little question we discussed last time I saw you, and in your last email.
Telling.
In particular – telling John.
Try not to be offended, but at the moment, I am likening our growing joint project (some might say, baby) to Schrodinger and his cat. When exactly, does quantum superposition ends and reality collapse into one possibility or the other? If, in John`s world, if the baby is neither real, nor unreal, is there really a baby at all? We are, at present, in the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics, where, in theory, the baby does not exist (to John); the baby is simultaneously real and not real, just because he has not looked inside that box. I cannot say why, Molly, but I need our cat to be ambiguous to everyone who is not us. I need, I think, to understand the meaning of the cat before the box is opened.
I fully realise, my explanation is lacking. A tad clinical, in matters of emotional reactiveness?
Apologies. I have likened our baby to a doomed feline.
I will stop now. I do sometimes listen to the advice I am given.
I will see you at the airport – September 16th. Assure Professor Amundssen that all is not lost, even though it might well be.
alltid ditt,
Sherlock
xoxox
To: doc_jhamish_watson ntlworld . co .uk
From: not_your_housekeeper gmail. co .uk
Subject: Test
Dear John,
This is Mrs Hudson.
I am trying out E MAIL.
Sherlock has insisted.
I`m not sure
You will get this
But here
Goes.
Oh, I think I`ve been doing something wrong there. Think it`s sorted now. Well, what a to-do! If we`d had this in the old days, Mr Hudson may still have been walking around now. Old letters were his downfall, you see. Evidence. I`m not sure what happens to these kind of letters (E MAIL) when they get sent. I imagine they just disappear into the ether. Got to move with the times, though, so here I am.
The house has been a building site for such a long time, John, that I am seriously thinking of staying with Mrs Turner until the laboratory is done. Dust and workmen everywhere! I`ve had to go out and buy six new mugs, since I wouldn`t want to be serving tea to those rough lads in my best Royal Doulton china. Sherlock shouts at them a lot of the time, but they don`t seem to mind him. They actually quite like him, in fact! Joe, the plumber, has been reading your Blog, he told me. I caught them all (including Sherlock) sitting around in my back yard yesterday, talking about the best way to brick up a body in a wall without anyone finding out! What ideas he must be giving them, I just don`t know. Also, I think they were all smoking.
I think I`m quite getting the hang of this.
How is Mary and little Sholto? I hope he`s settling now. All that crying! I just don`t know how my nerves will stand it. I was going to ask you over for tea and cake last Tuesday, but Sherlock`s parents dropped in to visit, with Mycroft too. Very unusual, don`t you think? Sherlock was in one of his `moods` before they arrived: you know, pacing around, looking for cigarettes, muttering, huffing and puffing, in general. You`d think it was a delegation from the tax office, the way he was going on – and they are such a lovely couple! I just have no idea where those boys came from!
Anyway, I was just taking up a tray of tea, when I heard Mrs Holmes cry out! Rushing up, I could see she was quite tearful, and her husband was having to pat her on the shoulder. What had those bad boys been saying? A mother`s love is special, John, and I don`t like to see it being abused! I must have looked a little scandalised, since Mycroft took the tray and gave me a smile (or as close as he gets).
"Don`t worry, Mrs Hudson," he said. "My mother has quite the flair for the dramatic at times. Happy tears, that is all."
Strange, but the lady did look quite happy, even though she was dabbing her eyes. Sherlock was lying across the sofa, in his blue dressing gown, looking as innocent as a new born baby. I knew then, that, whatever had caused such a shock, was probably down to him.
"Mrs Hudson," he said, "why don`t you go down to the kitchen, get a towel, and wipe that look of disapproval off your face. And bring some biscuits. Please."
And all the time, John, he was smiling. They all were. Very strange, don`t you think?
Well, I know you like a mystery, but I don`t think I`ll ever get to the bottom of this one. I just hope those boys treat their mother properly!
I am going to try and post this E MAIL now, John. It is actually my third try. I don`t quite know where the other ones ended up. I might ask Sherlock to try and find them, somewhere on the interweb.
Wish me luck.
Martha xxx (one each for you three)
X0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x
Arcoiris: You got your wish! :)
