The Mystery of the Seven Percent Solution

By: Yvonne Stevens

Disclaimer: I do not own anything by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I do own Angela Kesterson, Fredrick Hopper, Tyler Frost, and Dr. James Peterson.

Chapter One: The Mystery Begins

It was on Friday, August fifth, 1888, when the London newspapers brought the most unbelievable news ever: Sherlock Holmes was dead. He was found the night before in a room at a hotel (name withheld,) with an empty bottle, and a hypodermic syringe nearby. The coroners said it was an overdose of cocaine. Suicide, they proclaimed.

Three street Arabs who were honorary Baker Street Irregulars read the paper that day.

"What a load of codswallop," said Fredrick Hopper, a boy of about sixteen, with sandy blond hair, and hazel eyes.

"Yeah. Mr. Holmes would never commit suicide," added Angela Kesterson, sixteen also, who had short dark brown hair, and piercing blue eyes.

"Then, what was it," asked Tyler Frost, who was the youngest of the three, being thirteen, with medium brown hair, and eyes.

"I don't know, Ty. But it wasn't suicide," Fredrick answered.

"So it was foul play then, Fred," asked Angela.

"That's our only option," said Fredrick, with a sigh.

"So, what do we do now," asked Tyler.

"Use Mr. Holmes' methods of observation, and deduction, and find out what really happened last night," said Angela.

"Right. Well, let's go to 221 B Baker Street, then," cried Fredrick, jumping onto the back of a passing cab.

Shortly after, Tyler and Angela caught the back of another one, and off they went to 221 B Baker Street.

When the trio got to the address of the late Sherlock Holmes, they knocked on the door. A tearful Mrs. Hudson answered it almost immediately.

"Yes," she asked, trying not to cry.

"Is Dr. Watson in, "asked Fredrick.

"Yes he is. Come in, children," replied Mrs. Hudson, opening the door wider and motioning for the three children to come inside the flat.

Once inside, Fredrick, Tyler, and Angela walked into the sitting room to see Dr. John H. Watson, the man who had chronicled Holmes' cases, and was his friend and partner.

"Dr. Watson," asked Angela.

"Yes," asked Watson, sadly.

"We're here to ask you a few questions," interjected Fredrick.

"Go ahead," said Watson, warily.

The three kids sat down on the settee.

"All right, when was the last time you saw Mr. Holmes," asked Fredrick.

"Yesterday afternoon," said Watson.

"What time," asked Angela.

"About three. Why," replied Watson.

"We suspect foul play in Mr. Holmes' death," piped up Tyler, speaking for the first time since their arrival at Baker Street.

"Why would you suspect foul play, may I ask," inquired Watson.

"Because, Mr. Holmes would never ever commit suicide, Dr. Watson," spoke up Angela.

"Well, I do not think that he would, either, but the coroners said that it was so, and all the evidence points in that direction," said Watson.

"So? The evidence could've been planted there," argued Fredrick.

"You do have a point, but I'm afraid I'm still indecisive," replied Watson.

"All right. What did he say when he left," continued Angela.

"He said he had a few things to do alone, and would probably be gone all night," said Watson, thinking about it for a few minutes.

"Did he take his bottle of cocaine and needle when he left," asked Tyler.

"I didn't see him take them, but the police identified the ones at the hotel room as his, and the drawer's empty now," Watson answered.

"Well, that's all for now, doctor. We'll come back if we need anything," said Fredrick, getting up.

Angela and Tyler did the same.

"Feel free to stop by any time," said Watson, as Angela, Tyler, and Fredrick left the flat.

"Now what do we do, Fred," asked Angela.

"Find Mycroft Holmes," answered Fredrick.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So, what do you all think of this story so far? If anyone's mad that Holmes is dead, please do not flame me, that's all I ask. Mean reviews are welcome, but no flames.

Does anyone think that Holmes committed suicide; was it murder, or just an accidental overdose?

Please let me know! R/R!!!!