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There wasn't much furniture inside the room, a gramophone, a comfortable looking chair and a vase with withering flowers in it, "Not quite dead yet." I commented, "We still have some time."
Holmes looked at me curiously, we had been in the house for some hours now and the shadows in the house were lengthening speedily, the flowers dying at the same rate.
"Some time until what?" he queried.
"Oh Holmes, you see and yet do not observe, can you not see the dust?" I asked him.
"Dust?" He rolled the word over on his tongue as if it were new to him, looking about all the while.
"Yes, and the dying flowers." I stated.
He shook his head, "Why Watson, the flowers are fresh, and the room clean."
I stared at him a moment, then my gaze returned to the room, I looked at the flowers.
He took off his coat, resting it on a coat peg at the back of the door and scooping to pick her up, she desperately scrabbled at the floor boards in the hallway, 'Do I not love you?' she asked, holding up a pink flower, 'Why do you treat me so?' he crumbled the flower in his hands, throwing the petals into the left pocket of his coat, though there was a hole of some considerable size in the pocket none fell through.
'It means nothing to me.' he snarled, 'You gave up your love for me when you married that fool.' he hoisted her in the air, carrying her away, forgetting to take his coat and close the door, and then..
"Watson! Please!" Holmes sounded exasperated, I was exasperated.
"For goodness sake Holmes, whatever is the.. Oh, don't tell me, I can't be bothered."
I moved toward the far door, opening it to see a large meal spread over the cloth, and there, far in the shadows, leering toward us from the other end of the hall, was the unsightly body of our client, crucified in the shadows.
A quick intake of breath to my right communicated Holmes' shock to me, I moved across the hall, moving to inspect the unfortunate, Holmes beside me.
We stood together, studying the body, after a while he spoke, "The wife." he said, "In a fit of rage."
"No," I replied, "There was a third party, a man. He did it, she begged him not to but he wouldn't stop."
"Nonsense Watson, how can you be so sure? It fits the facts far better to assume his wife was entwined with a man, married our client for money or the title and then found she missed the first man, when her husband refused to release her she did away with him and ran off to her sweetheart's side."
"Surely not Holmes." I tried to persuade him but he was as adamant as ever that his theories were correct.
Eventually he proved me wrong with a series of complicated and intricate deductions, blocking my theory off at every corner.
"You have not been yourself in this house Watson, the fear has changed you."
"I'm sorry Holmes." I apologized, "I just let my imagination get away with me, assuming there were dark figures in the shadows and secrets, threats and blackmail, it was all rather ridiculous of me, I'm sure that really it was all because I was just in want of a good story."
Holmes sighed and patted my back, "Anyway," he said, his eyes suddenly brightening, "If we hurry to Scotland Yard then I have no doubt that our dear Inspector Lestrade will be able to warrant an arrest on this fiendish pair before they escape!"
I smiled and together we walked through the house, leaving the rest of it unexplored.
As we left Holmes stopped by the door, reaching his hand into the right pocket of the only coat hanging there, it was empty, I sighed, closing my eyes, a strange sort of relief washing over me.
Together we stepped outside into the cool night air, the door juddering shut behind us.
As this happened, inside the house, a single pink petal fell from the left pocket of the only coat hanging on the door, it silently fell through the air, swaying from side to side until it landed delicately on the floorboards, alongside the dreams of a happy life of the woman who had first tenderly plucked it.
It's over guys, thanks for reading, I'm so sad it's over because I was really enjoying it :'( Oh well.
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