"Mrs Hudson, what's that room off the sitting room for?"
Mrs Hudson gave John a look and said as she turned away from him to tend to the tea, "A hangover will do you no good, dear, but I'm glad you're out socializing for a change instead of cooping yourself up in here all day."
"I haven't got a hangover, Mrs Hudson, and I didn't go out last night. There is a room up there and someone's been using it."
"Of course there isn't. I don't know what you're on about."
"Let me show it to you. It won't take a moment."
"Well, alright, then."
Abandoning the tea, Mrs Hudson went up to the flat with John and looked at the main room with a sinking feeling. This wasn't the John Watson she knew. The John Watson she knew was a tidy, no-nonsense, sitting-down type of fellow. She might not be a psychologist, but Mrs Hudson feared that her tenant might be losing it. To her amazement, John didn't even pause to look at the mess as he determinedly crossed to the other side of the room. John put his hand against a blank space on the wall and suddenly pushed open a door. How had she not seen it there before? It didn't even blend in or anything.
"How'd you do that, then?" Mrs Hudson whispered as she made her way over to stand beside john in front of the gloomy room.
"I dunno; I just found it this morning. Do you know who lives in here?"
"I had no idea this room was here. You're the detective, John, can you tell what kind of person it might be?"
John scoffed. "You know I'm more of a doctor than a detective, Mrs Hudson." John walked up to the wardrobe, "But…erm, it's a man. All his shirts came from an expensive brand, too, so he's rich… But – all of these clothes are a year or two old, so he's not got a fashion hunger – or – he doesn't get a regular income; he's rich only in spurts."
"There you go; you see? I knew you'd find something."
"Oh, this is weird: this white one's all covered in stains."
"What's odd about that?"
"He hasn't got any stains on any of his other ones… Look, they're all in different patterns, and some of the stains look more faded. He used this shirt several times for things he knew would stain his clothes." John sniffed the shirt, hoping against his better instinct that these stains weren't what he thought they were. The most recent stains left a powder on his fingers. As a doctor, John had no trouble identifying the substance. "I think they're all bloodstains."
Mrs Hudson shuddered and then looked around, feeling a sudden chill on her back. "You don't think he's a serial killer, do you? One does read such horrible things in the news…"
Despite the alarming shirt, John could force himself to feel nothing but peace in this strange room. And he felt like a serial killer would hide his evidence better. "No; no, I don't think so… That just doesn't sound quite right."
"Oh, I've had just about enough of this creepy room." With that, Mrs Hudson left and John realized he'd found the perfect place to put all the strange things cluttering his flat. The next step was deciding how to store it all. Should he just pile it up on the bed, floor, and wardrobe? John cringed as his military neatness reminded him that this solution would be even more of a mess. John would need boxes.
"Mrs Hudson!" Said landlady hurried back up to John. "Have you got any extra boxes? Cardboard ones or – just – any boxes you don't need?"
"Actually, dear, I think I just put a couple out by my bins this morning. I got that new exercise machine in the mail; you know, the kind that you walk on, but it's got a huge wheel on the side… Why they put the parts in so many boxes is beyond me…"
"Okay, great. Yeah; thanks." The two went down together and John came back up with an armful of unfolded cardboard boxes. He found a roll of packaging tape in a kitchen drawer and set to work boxing up the mess.
John decided to avoid anything to do with chemistry, not wanting any chance encounters with doubtful substances. So, with the exception of the numerous chemistry sets, human body parts that he didn't want to deal with, and a few choice items that he couldn't force himself to put in a box, John packaged up the strange man's possessions and loaded them in the strange room.
Expecting the sense of accomplishment and order, John stepped back to survey the tidy flat and stored boxes. It took John a few minutes to realize he felt lonely without the mess to keep him company. He went into the weird extra room to lean against the boxes he'd piled in the corner and he immediately felt better. With the presence of all the junk at his back, John felt bizarrely like he'd just bumped into a friend that he'd reluctantly grown distant from during the last few years. Not only did he feel better, however, John felt hungry. It was time to eat. Acknowledging a new purpose, John went off out to a nearby Chinese for dinner.