The Case of The Flow Country
On a sunny Sunday afternoon, sometime in July, I rapped my hand against the wooden door, Sherlock's door, that had featured in many a daydream before then. I heard the familiar, bored voice mutter out a weary 'Come in', and was relieved, though I had already known it would occur. I twisted the doorknob, walked inside and faced Sherlock Holmes. He was busy typing away on his laptop, and I thought I distinctly saw the phrase 'Dear Mycroft' and the words 'police' and 'idiots' being used in the same sentence, as he muttered something, involving choice words, about their Geographical knowledge. I swallowed, and Sherlock glanced up, slightly started.
"Ah, hello, John. I was just writing an email to my dear brother," he said, getting up, before glancing at my eyes, and my mouth, which I felt twitch. "You look tired. A long day at the hospital, I would assume, but I gather from the lack of any kind of marks on your hand to show where gloves would have been, or a friendly little clipboard hanging out of your coat pocket, not to mention that it is barely past lunchtime, that you haven't been there today. I wonder… What could you possibly have been doing today to look so tired already? I assume for multiple reasons it has been a day involving a date, since your clothes look fresh, as if they've just been changed from a much more formal suit… either that, or out of something much more casual, but I somehow doubt that, coming from you. I could continue, but I think you get the gist. Am I correct?" he asked, raising an eyebrow so fast that it made me jump. I would, of course, have been amazed at this show of logic, had I not been used to this kind of behaviour by this point.
I considered, for a moment, denying it, but Sherlock would probably point out the three thousand and something reasons that I was clearly lying to him, along with a motive, which would take the form of me never getting back the next twenty minutes or so of my life, so I decided, on balance, instead to nod briefly and sit down.
"Oh, and it didn't go very well, did it?" he asked. I shook my head, resigned.
Mrs Hudson walked in a second later, and asked me what I wanted, before turning around and walking downstairs without waiting for an answer to get my normal black tea. Sherlock finished typing, made the unmistakable sound of pressing enter, and placed the laptop onto the small round table beside his usual morning newspaper.
"Anything new in your blog?" he asked, before diving into a hushed conversation without any further small talk. "Listen, I've just found a new case and I think you may be interested in it. Have you heard of a man called Crew Johnson?"
I frowned at the sudden change of topic, then nodded. An actor. I had seen his name on the side of a few buses in the cast list of movies. They generally seemed to involve someone screaming, and I gathered that he specialised in detective movies, or perhaps horror. In my research for this blog, I learned that in the last 3 years, he had starred in not 1, not 2, but 7 different movies that fall under the former category. In retrospect, it is perhaps ironic under the circumstances.
He smiled briefly, and pushed the aforementioned newspaper (the Sunday Times) into my hands, pointing to a brief piece that nevertheless seemed to draw more attention than the surrounding articles.
SURPRISE DEATH ON THE SITE OF NEW DETECTIVE MOVIE. BRITISH MOVIE FANS MOURN
Today, at 4:37 p.m. BST, the well-renowned British actor Crew Johnson was found dead in his caravan, writes Julia Hall, writer for the Sunday Times. Upon investigation, it became apparent that he had been poisoned, and small amounts of the same poison was found in the cranberry juice he left half drank 90 minutes prior.
"We will all miss Crew." said Steve Thriftson, the Director of the film, titled '99 Suspects' "He gave a great performance, and was always the one giving the most energy on set. We all hope that the culprit will be brought to justice as soon as possible."
The police, lead by Detective Inspector Lestrard, have been looking into the case, which was most certainly murder, and have called into questioning his costar, Ruby Kendrick, along with an extra, who reportedly was the one to give him the drink. This all occurred while they were filming in the Flow Country, a swamp in Scotland, for a scene involving tracking down the murderer, and we hope that the police will do the same. It is as of yet unknown if the movie will continue production with a new actor, but, Julia adds, I think that is the last of our worries.
I finished reading, and glanced up at him. "Lestrard?" I asked, narrowing my eyes, and staring at his. Detective Inspector Lestrard, as common readers of my blog will remember, is a good friend of mine and Sherlock's, and commonly the one to call on Sherlock whenever a new case of particular interest arises. He gave me a look that told me that his mind was in a similar place, and had been for a very long time, and it was getting very boring watching me catch up. Not a moment later, Mrs Hudson walked in, and handed me my tea, which I sipped on, thoughtfully, wondering when we would see Lestrard, and hoping it would be soon.
AN: This was written as a challenge irl to write a small part of a Sherlock Holmes story, which, I checked, was allowed to be modernised. I'm not sure if I'll write more after this, but I couldn't let it go to waste.