"I'm bored!" I scream as I pace the living room of 221B Baker Street in London.
"You're not the only one," dad groans from his position on the sofa. "No cases, no juicy murders - London's perfectly dry!"
"Grr," I yell furiously through gritted teeth. It's been two whole weeks since the Pink Lady case, and London seems to have run out of creative ideas for cases. It's true we've had clients, but only boring ones like: '"My Gran died, and I think it was murder."' You see my problem. The doorbell rings and my eyes light up at the sound. "Single ring," I whisper.
"Maximum pressure," dad adds.
"Just under half a second," I smile.
"Client!" We both yell, and dad stands up and starts pacing towards the door as Mrs Hudson brings up the client. The client makes me raise my eyebrows, but I'm not one to judge someone on how they look. He's dressed in heavy robes and his face is almost completely covered in scarves of a different variety.
"Mr and Miss Holmes," he greets us in a low voice as he bows. Dad and I bow back respectfully, and dad gestures for him to sit on the sofa.
"What do you have for us?" Dad questions as he paces in front of the man and I pull out a chair to sit on.
"A diamond," he begins slowly, and dad stops.
"It's gone missing," dad states, and the man nods.
"It is one of our country's most valued possessions, Mr Holmes. It is said that the great God Meromes cast it out of a star from the sky to protect our ancient land. You can understand why we need it back?" Dad raises his eyebrows and starts pacing again.
"I wouldn't believe everything you hear," dad mutters.
"Are you implying that there is no God then, Mr Holmes?" The client demands, standing up from his seat. I mirror him, pushing my chair back under the table.
"Of course there isn't," dad scoffs. "It's a figure of peoples imagination - there is no God." The client draws a large scimitar from somewhere and dad rolls his eyes. "Dull," he mutters just as the sword comes down.