A/N: Yipes!  *Ducks underneath bed* You want it, you got it.  *Takes a glance at murder weapons* Nice writers…look, nice story…

Going After The Detective

Part 5

            I glare at the sun.  The dang thing is now setting.  This is not going to improve my mood at all.

            I walk over to my pipe, pick it up, and light it before beginning to pace the room again.  Why am I getting the feeling that something is terribly, horribly wrong?  Normally I base my deductions on facts not feelings, but this time, yes, this time alone I have the feeling (curse it!) that it might be right for me to do that.

            My eyes fall upon the picture of my parents.  "Look what you've done, just look at what you have created," I hiss at it.  "Now, I can't even think straight because of…" My voice trails into silence for a moment.  And then my anger, the anger that I've held in for so long, boils over.

            "I WOULDN'T EVEN BE HERE IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU!"

            I stand there staring at the picture, my pipe shaking in my hands.  I reach over and grab the picture and make to throw it at the wall.  But then I stop and look at it again.  My hand trembles as I set it back on the shelf.

            And then the tears come, tears for people I hated so many years ago, tears for people who loved but had none in return, tears for people I hated until a few moments ago.  With the tears comes the stark realization that they were right:

            Sometimes you do have to trust your feelings.

            I grabbed my bags and started to walk towards the door of our compartment.

            "Hey, Martha!  Hold on!"  With an impatient sigh I turn around to see John catching up with me.

            "Faster John, please!  For all we know Mr. Holmes could already be dead!"

            "I doubt it, one can't move very fast in this country on foot.  At least, not where he wants to go."

            We step out of our car and look around.  My eye catches what I hope to be a local and I walk over to him.  "Excuse me, but could you give us directions to Mr. Holmes' house?"  The man looks startled and then sad.

            "I'm sorry, but I do believe he was killed this morning."

            John caught me as I tumbled backwards.

A/N: *Glances out from under bed* Oh no, what have I done!  I'm going to have my throat slit while I sleep!  *Winces as knife digs into the part of bed just above my head* I'm in big trouble now…*slides back under bed and you see and evil grin*

*Calls out from under bed* also, you don't have to tell me, this was far too short for your liking…*a second knife joins the first*