Prompt: Unboxed, from Book girl fan

"Doctor, I believe this is what you have been waiting for!" Mrs. Hudson cried, hurrying up the stairs with the day's post. On top of the pile in her arms was a package wrapped in brown paper, tied with string.

I hastily put down my newspaper and, thanking my lucky stars Holmes was out, took the package from Mrs. Hudson. She remained at my side, the rest of the post forgotten, as I cut the string and unwrapped the brown packing paper.

"If Holmes were here, he would undoubtedly stop me until he could determine that it contained nothing dangerous," I said. I very rarely saw my own post when it first arrived, as he insisted on checking it to ensure our safety.

"I have many enemies, Watson, and some of them are clever enough and unscrupulous enough to seek to do away with me by post," Holmes said. "Poison powder slipped in an envelope, a corrosive compound in a package, a deadly illness hidden in a handkerchief. The ways of criminals are not to be underestimated."

This from a man who discounted nearly everyone's abilities aside from his own. He did happen to be right; as I myself had witnessed no fewer than three attempts to assassinate him in our own home through the post. Mrs. Hudson had become nearly as adept at foiling a plot as Holmes himself, and as he was not at home, I would have to trust her when it came to foiling a murder plot. In any event, she was the only one besides myself who knew of what was in this package.

I removed the packaging to find a small stack of Beeton's Christmas Annuals, each advertising the story of a new detective titled "A Study in Scarlet." It is not every day one is faced with one's own published work, and I confess to a sense of reverence as I picked up one of the magazines.

"Congratulations, Doctor," Mrs. Hudson said, beaming. I had told her of my plan to write up a case of Holmes's, likely the first one, the Jefferson Hope case, as I thought it would make an exciting story, and she had been as enthusiastic as I had hoped. "I have become quite enamored of detective stories, since Mr. Holmes moved in," she added as she picked up one of the stack of magazines. "Though I am certain yours will be the best."

I had no idea how my story might stand up against others of the genre, though I of course believed Holmes to be a far greater detective than any other. I thumbed through the pages, smiling when I saw my own name on the first page of my little novel. "It has always been a dream of mine to be a published writer," I said. "I used to write little stories as a child, though as an adult I gradually stopped. I had little idea of what I might write." The grand stories of Dickens and Thackeray always seemed beyond my ability, and while I enjoyed the adventure stories of Stevenson and Collins, I felt unable to write as exciting a tale. It was Holmes's cases and character which finally gave me the inspiration to write a tale that I felt others would wish to read.

"You sell yourself short, Doctor," Mrs. Hudson said loyally. "Besides, Mr. Holmes and his cases are unique enough that I am sure many people will be interested."

"I hope you are right," I said. Even more, I hoped Holmes would like my efforts, though literature interested him not at all. As he said, there was nothing the mind of man could invent that was more unique than actual life. Perhaps that was what accounted for the ease of writing the novel; there was truth in what Holmes said. I had hardly had to change anything, for the case had more than enough interest on its own. I merely changed some small details for the privacy of the individuals involved.

Still, regardless of the result, the mere fact of achieving my dream and writing something that was to be published was a feat in itself. "I ought to frame this," I said, holding up the cover. I could still hardly believe that my story was to be sold and read all over London, indeed, all over Britain. I had achieved a dream I had thought was long dead, though it had taken a strange route for me to do so.

"Did you tell him?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Not yet," I said. While I hoped Holmes would appreciate my work, I knew my friend well, and suspected he would not. He had little patience for frivolities and my fondness of novels was one which he could not understand. I smiled, an idea coming to me. "I think I shall not. When we first took rooms together, he left me his article on the science of deduction, no doubt to gauge my reaction without bringing the subject up. I shall do the same. I will leave him the story and see what he makes of it, if anything." I paused, then turned to our estimable landlady. "Mrs. Hudson, I rarely see anyone who reads magazines such as this. Would you be so good as to tell me if anyone mentions my little story to you and what they thought?"

"Certainly, Doctor," Mrs. Hudson said. "You shall not have long to wait, I am sure. Everyone I know reads Beeton's."

"Do they really?" I asked in some shock. I had had no knowledge of which magazines were the best to publish in, and had merely taken the first offer I had been made. Dr. Doyle had been most effusive in his praise of the publication, though of course he would simply be glad for the commission he made by selling my story. I should have to do better diligence if I was to write another case. Mentally, I was already planning which ones might suit for publication. Dr. Doyle had even suggested that, should the novel be well-received, I might write an entire series of stories featuring Holmes and his cases. This seemed to me to be entirely natural; for the cases were well-suited to such a format.

But that was in the future. For now, I took my own copy of Beeton's Christmas Annual from its box and resolved to put it in a safe place so that even if I was to publish nothing else, I would always have this memento of a dream finally fulfilled.