Chapter One: The Unexpected Letter

One misty morning in London, there were two men walking hastily down Baker Street. One was a shorter and rather plump, elderly man. The other was a tall and thin younger man. Anyone who was not a stranger to London would know these two exhausted men were Sherlock Holmes and me, Dr. John H. Watson, the most famous detective team in all of London.

"Hurry Watson! We've no time to lose!" yelled Holmes, in the lead.

I, gasping for breath, gave what sounded barley like a grunt. I had suggested calling for a cab, but Holmes had said that it would take much too long, and that if we saw a cab or something on our way (which was unlikely considering the time), we would ride in that. We had been walking steadily for about a mile, when we saw a two wheeler turn the corner about a block away and stop.

A man with brown, neatly cut and combed over hair, rose casually out of the two wheeler, almost skipping. He was wearing khaki pants and a purple vest over a white shirt, and he was carrying his coat and a briefcase. This strange man saw that Holmes and I were coming quickly toward him and the cab, so he told the cabbie to wait for them.

When the two of us sore-footed men finally reached the two wheeler, Holmes said, "Why thank you, Professor. Much applied. By the way, how were your travels?"

"Fine, thanks. And you are very welcome, Sir," replied the man in a bored voice. Then he left the cab, turning as he approached a two storied house.

After Mr. Holmes and I climbed into the two wheeler and Holmes told the driver the address of our destination, I asked, "Holmes, you astound me! How on Earth did you do that?"

Holmes had that look on his face that he always had when lost in thought. He scowled and shook his head as if disagreeing with something in his thoughts. Face relaxing a bit, he turned to me and asked in as much as a cheerful voice as he could manage, "Hum? What were you saying?"

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?" he questioned blankly.

"Figure out that the man was a teacher? And much less was traveling?"

Holmes sighed, trying to hide the pleasure that was swelling up inside him for yet another chance to show off the little shortcuts he used in his thinking process. "The man had a briefcase with some papers sticking out of it, and even from my distance I could see that there was ink writing on them. These red marks were obviously for grading the papers. Also there was a letter grade of a 'C-' written in the red ink. Not only that but, in the mans vest pocket there were two writing utensils, a shiny, well polished writing pen, and a rather thick, red ink grading marker."

"And the bit about him traveling?"

"Now, that doesn't need much explaining. He had his jacket off like men often do while traveling. His pants were wrinkled as if he hadn't changed them for over a day, and the red marks on the paper had many mistakes in his handwriting, where it was plainly clear that he was grading them on a moving cab or a train. And, besides all that, a friend of mine once pointed him out to me and told me about him."

"Now that you explain it all, it seems like child's play."

"Thank you."

I would have usually been annoyed by then, and I would have told Holmes off, but today I thought that I would give him some encouragement. For earlier that morning, things had been as crazy as when the circus came to town.

Holmes had been up, as usual, before me. He had been sitting at the table eating the breakfast that had already been brought up by the care lady. That morning's paper was lying on the table at the time. It was folded in such a way which suggested that Holmes had gone through it, and seeing nothing to his interest, had carelessly folded it and thrown it on my side of the table. He knew that I would still want to read the raises page. From what I saw of the table, it looked as if there would be porridge and tea for breakfast. No sooner had I sat at the table and picked up the paper had there been a knock at the door.

"Come in," said Holmes with a bored and drowsy tone.

The care lady came in and stated, "I am so sorry to be bothering you, but there is a note for you. The messenger said that it was important to get it to you right away." Upon placing the note on the table, she walked out of the room.

Holmes picked up the letter, looking at it curiously. Then he opened and read it. When he was finished, he handed it to me and asked, "What do you make of it, Watson?"

I studied his face before looking at the letter, looking for some kind of hint as to what he was thinking. I read the note, and if I remember correctly, it went something like this:

Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,

We are sorry to say that there has been a most horrible accident earlier this morning, at Simmons Middle School. The janitors were working their regular shifts when one of them went into a classroom and found a girl, dead. We are trying to keep this as quiet as we can, so we have not brought in the police yet. I would greatly appreciate it if you could come out here and take a look, and perhaps give us a few suggestions on what to do. Nothing like this has ever happened here before.

If you don't show up by one o'clock, then we will figure that you don't want to take on the case and will notify the police.

Sincerely,

Professor Josef Sterman

I read the letter over again, and then another time. "Why, that's horrible!" I exclaimed. "Shall I call a cab?"

"No, I don't believe that will be necessary. I don't think that I'm going to 'take on the case'."

"Holmes! Why?"

"Today I am feeling extremely lazy. I wouldn't mind a good rest."

"But these people need your help! And if you don't help they will bring in the police!"

"Yes, well, the police would be involved sooner or later anyway."

"Holmes, that's not the point. You usually jump at the thought of a being a step ahead of the police."

"Not today. I would like to rest," said my dear but sometimes foolish friend, in a calm, low, and peaceful tone. He then relaxed in his chair, putting his head back and closing his eyes.

He suddenly jumped out of his seat, knocking the chair to the side, and ran toward the front door. As he was throwing on his morning coat and hat, he called, "Aren't you coming, old chap?"

"Yes," I called back, still shaken by Holmes sudden act of eagerness.

"Then shake a leg, we've not a moment to lose. It's twelve thirty already." He was rambling off. Then, as if knowing that I was about to ask it, he said, "No, if we see a cab on the way then we will hail it. But now we're walking."

With that, not daring to ask anymore questions at the moment, I got up and headed to get my coat and hat.