NO REVIEWS!?! I'M INSULTED. You'll have to make that up to me.

Anywho, Please review? I know somebody has to be reading this. Please just drop a word or two. Pretty Please?

Chapter Two

Pulling out the ice drawer, Laurel took 3 pieces and put them in an old rag. She leaned against the cheap plastic counter, and sighed deeply. Today, she decided, had been the ultimate bad day. Between being hit by the sign again, and nobody remembering her birthday, she felt like the kids who got coal in their stocking for Christmas.

She took the Ovalmaltine out of the cupboard, and the milk out of her old, humming, fridge. Grabbing a copper pan from the pan rack above, she poured some milk in it, and put it on the stove. She stood staring at the milk for a moment. When she decided that the Ovalmaltine wasn't going to be ready right away, she moved out into the drawing room, and kicked off her heels. She was just about to sit down in the huge armchair when she remembered the mail.

Damn! I forgot to get the mail. I wonder if anybody remembered that… well, that it was my birthday today.

She got herself up, and wearily plodded towards the front door. Her footsteps echoed in the dark hallway, and she was suddenly reminded of how lonely this house could be. She shivered, and quickly turned on the lights in the hall. Bending down, she picked up the large bundle of envelopes. The blue letter was on top. When she saw it, her heart gave a skip.

Could it be that someone remembered my birthday?

She raced down the hallway, her feet pounding on the old wooden floor. She almost raced past the drawing room, but stopped and backtracked. She took a flying leap for the armchair, and landed with an "oomph". She was too excited to notice. She hastily ripped open the fold, and her eyes devoured the letter.

What?

While she sat trying to comprehend what was going on, the sound of milk boiling grew louder by the minute. It wasn't until the fire alarm went off that she remembered the stove.

Bloody Hell! What has the world got against me?

Once she had shut up the awful din the alarm had been making, she took the letter and dragged herself upstairs. The carpeted stairs felt warm and relaxing under her feet, and she already saw herself dropping into bed, and conking out immediately. She finally reached her bedroom, and collapsed into the comforter. She debated getting up and going to the dresser for some pajamas, but then again, that involved useless energy expenditure. She couldn't sleep in her business suit, so she took it off and just went to bed in her bra and knickers.

What the hell… nobody's looking.

She gave the letter an incredulous look over before setting it down on the bedside table and falling fast asleep.

Dearest Laurel,

You do not know me, but believe me when I say I am trustworthy. I have no intention of harming you, nor will any harm come your way should you chose to listen. I am inclosing 10,000 £. Tomorrow, I wish you to attend an auction, and bid on an item for me. The auction is to be held at 221b Baker Street. When you knock, (at precisely six 'o' clock) they will ask you for a password. You shall say, " Elementary, my dear Watson." You shall know what to bid on. I daresay it shall call attention to itself.

My dear, this may seem confusing, but it shall work out for the best. You may end up having the adventure of your life!

Best Wishes and Regards,

T

P.S. If you chose not to help me, keep the money. But, I must warn you; it will not hold any meaning. Money is also meant to be spent on others. Who else have you got to give it to?

P.P.S. Happy Birthday