Wow... thanks so much for reading! I'm really happy that people like this story.
no sue me I'm poor and in college...
Turning on his heel, I was left alone with my toppled king. The great detective was indeed alive; he is simply unaware of it.
Even after all theses years the novelty of the vast and varied amount of connections Mycroft Holmes has hidden up his sleeve has yet to cease amazing me. For such short notice we three found ourselves in a business class sleeper car on a train eastbound for the coast.
The following day we sat, a captive audience to the youngest Holmes as he regaled us with his accounts of the past three years.
Once "James" had recovered and regained his strength, he found himself at a crossroads of sorts.
"While any sort of monetary compensation was out of the question the sisters said I could aid in the tutoring of the children in the town, as a sign of gratitude for their help. I had found myself to be quite adept at the math and sciences, and while I cannot say where I obtained such a high caliber of intellect, I truly had no where else to go. I had deduced that I was not married seeing as I had no wedding band or even the slightest mark of a tan line upon my ring finger. Therefore having no worried and heartbroken wife waiting with baited breath for my safe return, I agreed to stay."
Considering size and location, the small village had an uncanny ability for attracting trouble and intrigue. Holmes told Mycroft and myself of many cases he had unwittingly gotten involved in. It would seem, even to the casual observer, that Sherlock is destined to a life of sleuthing and mystery. Struck by sudden inspiration I told him as such, hoping to jog his memory. The Holmes I was acquainted with, detested the notion that life was left up to fate or destiny. In response I was granted a slight curl of the lip and raised brow, its significance I cannot say or gauge for certain. For the next moment he seemed to find the blurred view out the window far more entertaining than I.
Reaching the coast sooner than I expected, we where brought to a dock with a ship waiting for us. While Mycroft exchanged "hello's" and other niceties associated with greeting old acquaintances on the boat crew; I stood on the dock eyeing the vessel with trepidation. There was a specific reason I joined the Queen's Army in lieu of the navy: I hate the sea.
I shall spare you, the reader, the agonizingly tedious voyage we were forced to endure. Mainly due to my own inability keep my journals, seeing as how a majority of the time I was hunched over the railing, emptying the contents of my stomach.
Once again on terra firma we navigated our way toward our destination. Stepping out of the umpteenth cab we had take that week, my gaze transfixed to the hotel. The very hotel which I stayed at on my previous visit; never could I have imagined myself returning to this place, but then, up until a few weeks ago I could neither fathom seeing my friend Sherlock alive again either.
In the morning we were to find the fellow whom Mycroft's many connections said was the source of the letter explaining Holmes' whereabouts. If this was indeed the case, it would be a truly unique and enlightening day.
At dinner, the evening was spent grilling Holmes as to whether any of the surrounds were familiar. I hoped, prayed, that being here would trigger something, anything. In the past weeks, drips and drabs of Sherlock's personality seeped through, only to be drowned by James. To say the situation was frustrating would be a gross understatement. Upon the fifth negative response, I conceded defeat for the evening. Tomorrow promised to bring new light to this whole maddening situation.
phew... now what? personally I have no effin' clue and i really need to get this done b/c it is taking up a good portion of my time! so please click the little button and make a review... hell even throw in a suggestion or eight!Nite