Chapter 2
I soon gathered my wits and knelt beside Holmes who was keenly observing the scene. "What do you gather from this, Russell?" He asked not taking his eyes from the body.
My eyes scanned the corpse lying in from of me, and I responded. "Mid-twenties. Not very well to do, by the frays on his cuffs. By the colour of his skin, I'd say he is a foreigner. Perhaps Italian."
"This gentleman is from Venice." Holmes announced. "The cigar smoke clings to the clothing, giving off an odour that matches the smell of a cigar that can only be found in Venice. It is a very good cigar, but very cheep. It is usually smoked by those who are involved in organized crime. The soles of his shoes are worn down, so I would say that he engages in a lot of walking. He may be the messenger, a pawn in some master criminals game."
"Holmes, I think that we should call the police."
"Call Scotland Yard, instead. This is not a matter for the local police." He told me rising to his feet and looking around to see if any more clues would catch his eye. "While you do that, I am going to have a look outside."
**********
"I trust that you have inspected the scene with the utmost perception, Holmes." Inspector Lestrade said as he placed his note pad in his inside coat pocket. "What do you think?"
The infamous detective sat in his favourite red chair, smoking his pipe and thinking deeply. He puffed on the well used pipe for another moment before answering. "I think that this man was involved with the shipment of drugs. Possibly heroine."
I shuddered at the mention of that ghastly drug. Ever since I was kidnapped and injected against my will with that horrible narcotic by Him, ( A man that I simply referred to as Him or He) I couldn't stand the sight or even the thought of needles.
"Then why would he be lying there dead in your living room?" Lestrade inquired.
"Simply to send a message. This man was a pawn in a complex drug game. He came here because he was told to." Holmes answered. "Now if you do not mind my dear inspector, could you possibly finish up with your investigation. Russell and I have a long day a head of us, as we are traveling to Bath for a few days."
I kept my mouth shut. Holmes and I had no plans to go to Bath, or anywhere else for that matter. He was up to something, but I didn't quite know what he was concocting in that ingenious mind of his. Part of me didn't want to know. For all that I knew we would be traveling, trying to side step bombs along the way to an unknown destination where I would not be able to bathe for weeks.
After Lestrade and the other investigators left did I ask Holmes what was on his mind. "Do you have any theories?"
He shook his head, and emptied his pipe only to refill it again with fresh tobacco. "No. I am still pondering. However, I do know that the killer is very good. Intelligent."
"Why do you say that?"
Holmes pulled something from his pocket and handed it to me. It was another note, scribbled in the same horrible hand. It read:
Holmes-
You're mostly likely smoking that ridiculous
pipe of yours, trying to think who I am.
I'll let you in on a little secret. I'm from your past.
Someone from Holmes' past? That could be anyone. This great detective has worked on hundreds of cases, and there are many criminals out there who have my beloved husband on their people to kill list. "Holmes, this could be anyone."
"This anyone is a man. He also wrote that note, and the note with our little Italian John Doe friend with his opposite hand, trying to disguise his handwriting no doubt. The knife pierced the lungs. Only a professional kills a man by piercing the lungs with a knife. This man was also right handed. He covered up his tracks very well too."
"How did he get into the house?"
"He used a professional set of pick locks. Almost like the ones that I have. The murderer must have picked it."
A moment of silence passed. Both of us were deep in thought, and Holmes puffed thoughtfully at his pipe. I sighed.
"Why don't you get some sleep, Russell, my dear. I have too much thinking to do. I will wake you if I think of something."
**********
I awoke about an hour later with Holmes' hand on my shoulder, almost violently shaking me back to reality. "Russell. Russell. Get up and get ready to go NOW!"
"What is it?" I asked reaching for my spectacles.
"No time for explaining." He said as he grabbed a suitcase and packed a few necessities. Both mine and his in the same case.
"Holmes, what is it! Tell me! What is wrong!"
He muttered something almost incomprehensible. It sounded like he was saying, "By God I hope that I am wrong. I pray that I am wrong."
However the chances of Holmes being wrong are very slim. I began to panic, and my heart started to race as I observed the state that my normally well composed husband was in. I asked again, "Holmes, WHAT IS IT!"
He stopped shoving clothes on the small suit case, and gazed at me. For the first time, I saw a hint of fear in his dull eyes. "It's him."
"Who is him?"
There was a slight pause that seemed to have lasted to a full agonizing minute.
Finally he spoke. "Moriarity"
**********
Tell me what you think, or if there is any way to improve the story. Also if you have any ideas, I will be happy to take them into stride. -Cecilia
I soon gathered my wits and knelt beside Holmes who was keenly observing the scene. "What do you gather from this, Russell?" He asked not taking his eyes from the body.
My eyes scanned the corpse lying in from of me, and I responded. "Mid-twenties. Not very well to do, by the frays on his cuffs. By the colour of his skin, I'd say he is a foreigner. Perhaps Italian."
"This gentleman is from Venice." Holmes announced. "The cigar smoke clings to the clothing, giving off an odour that matches the smell of a cigar that can only be found in Venice. It is a very good cigar, but very cheep. It is usually smoked by those who are involved in organized crime. The soles of his shoes are worn down, so I would say that he engages in a lot of walking. He may be the messenger, a pawn in some master criminals game."
"Holmes, I think that we should call the police."
"Call Scotland Yard, instead. This is not a matter for the local police." He told me rising to his feet and looking around to see if any more clues would catch his eye. "While you do that, I am going to have a look outside."
**********
"I trust that you have inspected the scene with the utmost perception, Holmes." Inspector Lestrade said as he placed his note pad in his inside coat pocket. "What do you think?"
The infamous detective sat in his favourite red chair, smoking his pipe and thinking deeply. He puffed on the well used pipe for another moment before answering. "I think that this man was involved with the shipment of drugs. Possibly heroine."
I shuddered at the mention of that ghastly drug. Ever since I was kidnapped and injected against my will with that horrible narcotic by Him, ( A man that I simply referred to as Him or He) I couldn't stand the sight or even the thought of needles.
"Then why would he be lying there dead in your living room?" Lestrade inquired.
"Simply to send a message. This man was a pawn in a complex drug game. He came here because he was told to." Holmes answered. "Now if you do not mind my dear inspector, could you possibly finish up with your investigation. Russell and I have a long day a head of us, as we are traveling to Bath for a few days."
I kept my mouth shut. Holmes and I had no plans to go to Bath, or anywhere else for that matter. He was up to something, but I didn't quite know what he was concocting in that ingenious mind of his. Part of me didn't want to know. For all that I knew we would be traveling, trying to side step bombs along the way to an unknown destination where I would not be able to bathe for weeks.
After Lestrade and the other investigators left did I ask Holmes what was on his mind. "Do you have any theories?"
He shook his head, and emptied his pipe only to refill it again with fresh tobacco. "No. I am still pondering. However, I do know that the killer is very good. Intelligent."
"Why do you say that?"
Holmes pulled something from his pocket and handed it to me. It was another note, scribbled in the same horrible hand. It read:
Holmes-
You're mostly likely smoking that ridiculous
pipe of yours, trying to think who I am.
I'll let you in on a little secret. I'm from your past.
Someone from Holmes' past? That could be anyone. This great detective has worked on hundreds of cases, and there are many criminals out there who have my beloved husband on their people to kill list. "Holmes, this could be anyone."
"This anyone is a man. He also wrote that note, and the note with our little Italian John Doe friend with his opposite hand, trying to disguise his handwriting no doubt. The knife pierced the lungs. Only a professional kills a man by piercing the lungs with a knife. This man was also right handed. He covered up his tracks very well too."
"How did he get into the house?"
"He used a professional set of pick locks. Almost like the ones that I have. The murderer must have picked it."
A moment of silence passed. Both of us were deep in thought, and Holmes puffed thoughtfully at his pipe. I sighed.
"Why don't you get some sleep, Russell, my dear. I have too much thinking to do. I will wake you if I think of something."
**********
I awoke about an hour later with Holmes' hand on my shoulder, almost violently shaking me back to reality. "Russell. Russell. Get up and get ready to go NOW!"
"What is it?" I asked reaching for my spectacles.
"No time for explaining." He said as he grabbed a suitcase and packed a few necessities. Both mine and his in the same case.
"Holmes, what is it! Tell me! What is wrong!"
He muttered something almost incomprehensible. It sounded like he was saying, "By God I hope that I am wrong. I pray that I am wrong."
However the chances of Holmes being wrong are very slim. I began to panic, and my heart started to race as I observed the state that my normally well composed husband was in. I asked again, "Holmes, WHAT IS IT!"
He stopped shoving clothes on the small suit case, and gazed at me. For the first time, I saw a hint of fear in his dull eyes. "It's him."
"Who is him?"
There was a slight pause that seemed to have lasted to a full agonizing minute.
Finally he spoke. "Moriarity"
**********
Tell me what you think, or if there is any way to improve the story. Also if you have any ideas, I will be happy to take them into stride. -Cecilia