Chapter One – The Letters

 

 

 

       fternoon, winter, a desk, my wool coat trapping the

       heat my being from the cold that lurks around me, a sound of the old wooden steps creeks, telling me of the coming of my wife Adeline.  A well keep women in my mind, blue eyes and all; regardless of the few extra pounds about her waste she is my world at home and missed when I’m away.  Much like my old faithful desk; which I now sit at.  My mind feels there’s no need for alarm; knowing it’s her forwarding me a hot cup of tea on this cold morning.

“My word dear put you slips on or you’ll catch your death of cold.” I felt comfort in her words regardless of my stubborn nature.

“I’ll be find love; the tea should keep these old bones of mine warm.” Adeline always sits keeping me company these days; now that Holmes is absent; in her own way she felt my loss.

“I see your back at it again, are you ever going to finish that bloody book?”

“Are you ever going to cut your hair now that you sit on it?” I said still gazing at my writing. I glanced up tipping my glasses and, and seeing her beautiful smile.

“Here would you indulge me?” I said handing her my novel as if it was my life’s work; a last endeavor before I die.

“My word,” she said gasping; set with amazement. “You never invited me to examine your work” looking down at it, then she glanced back up. “But its best if you read it in your own voice to me love.”

She promptly handed back to me.

“As you wish,” I said.

 

 

The Last Adventure of Sherlock Holmes

A narration by Dr. Watson

 

As the failing light gives way to the next day, and             time passes from my years; it only brings me news of which I could not fathom. The loss of his written words escapes me these days; I can only surmise and conclude this to be his passing. But hindsight affords me the luxury of denying this. I sit here; images of the past cascade through my mind of younger years. His presents seem to creep in, as he did in the strangest cases one could image.

It’s late September, these cold nights fill the streets with a dusting of flacks, a sight Holmes loved seeing; just as footsteps in the powder are like sent to a bloodhound on the trail of a criminal.

           

My name though not importation is Doctor Watson, and on this day in question I was headed towards the steps at 221B Baker St; what a grand old home it was, now gone from the face of these lands and replaced by a shopping mall; what a pity. That evening was one I remembered so well; a cold snap hit the shores of London. The air crisper then it’s ever been before; why I believe if I twitched my fingers I would snap it. The sounds of cats fighting echoes off in the distance; went unnoticed in the crowd. My five o’clock shadow was in place; my disguise, but well groomed of course, and my favorite wool coat grading me from this cold lonely night. As I reached my destination; a tip of my black bowler was requited to evict the few flakes that hindered my arrival. Then off in the distance a female’s screams echoes throughout the town.

Being of keen mind and body I hear the words from a crossed the street. “Some whores getting hers, I may say,” from a group of men laughing, as they huddle around old oil barrow keeping them self’s warm with the fire now in golfing it. The screams went unnoticed by most, as if it’s a common occurrence. “I’m sure my dear friend Holmes perceived these small details!” I thought.

I stopped for a moment looking up as if waiting for Holmes to peek out the window, but this was not the case; strange I may add. I entered and made my way to the seconded floor where Holmes was waiting to greet me as he always does.

“Right on time I see Watson,” said Holmes as he snickered; something I rarely see him do these days. 

“Oh funny Holmes, slipping in your old age I see.”

“Not at all, I merely wanted to see your reaction with a change in pace.”

I sat in my chair, the chair he assigned to me, adjacent from him as we both watched the fire dance. Holmes reaches over tapping the old cobblestone fire place as the partially unlit log rolled to the front of the fire. “It seems he always has everything calculated, but I’m in fear as to what he would do pitted against someone whom was incalculable?” I thought.

“I see you’re nice and toasty here, ever think you leave your abode again?” I asked, removing my coat and black leather gloves. The gloves a gift from Holmes last Christmas I dare not forget when visiting.

“My dear fellow only if a heinous crime occurs, hence needing my attention shall I embark from my comforted,” said Holmes. 

We sat a bit talking of the last case, but my time was short that night. “As much as I hate to leave,” I said grabbing my coat and gloves.

“No doubt off on an adventure of your own my dear Watson?” asked Holmes.

“Maybe, your best guess?” I asked.

“Off home for a snippet of brandy and a fine cigar; after just returning from dinner, meatloaf at your ant Stephanie’s house in the East side.”

“How in the world did you know all that?”

“Elementary my dear Watson, you came from the East where it’s snowing; west is clear; Stephanie lives East of here; I can smell her famous meatloaf on your breath and a dash of tomato sauce on your cuff; you’ve been eyeing my brandy, and the box of cigars on my desk periodically licking you lips.”

“You’re so right my old friend, have a good night and see you tomorrow afternoon,” I said.

As I was leaving I looked up to see Holmes noticing his shadow waving with the motion of the flames. I shook my head in disbelief, as I have done so many times in the past. That was the last time I ever seen my dear friend Sherlock Holmes. From this point on it was only letters, and newspaper articles that he sent me and his new associate in the land a cross the pound that gave me insight into his whereabouts and doings. I will be accurate in my reading of them to ensure a true to life recall of the events that took place so as you may better understand them, but one can never be completely accurate about past events or times.

 

The Letters

 

“My dear Dr. Watson; I’m giving you these letters in hope they may find you well and in order. That night your left my flat was one of mystery and thought; as well as I can recall. Looking out the window at you distracted my attention from the resonating popping sounds of the fire place; my mind trying to figure out a pattern where there was none. I felt that this idly standing by is driving one mad.

            I grabbed my pipe, and rests my old bones, on the chair I so cherries, a gift from my grandmother before her untimely death some years ago. As I close my eyes darkness loomed over me, drifting off to sleep. My Dreams that night were unbearable; the last case has somehow found its way out of my past and into my present. My wits should have been stronger. I would have saved all those poor soles in London; they had succumbed to my lack of swiftness, and diligences. What seemed like minutes later, a sleep void of dreams, the only peace of mind I had in weeks, then only to wake the next morning by a knocking at my door?

            “From the size of the shadows of his shoes it must be a man, and the darkening of the peep hole tells me he’s at least 5’8”,” I thought, getting up and carefully walking over to the door and swiftly opening it. There stood an international courier with a tell-a-gram in hand. “Mr. Holmes I’m from….”

            “Yes, dear boy, I know, now be quick about it and show me where to sign….”

            The boy pulled out a list and handed it to me. “I see, you’ve been busy as of late?” I asked, seeing all the names on his list.

            “Yes, Sir….”

            I tossed the boy a shilling and closed the door entranced on the tell-a-gram, retaking my seat as I read the all-consuming letter.

 

“Uncle Holmes, I send this letter in the hopes you will reciprocate, I have been charged with a most heinous of crimes, murder for which I had no hand in the making of, I implore you to come to the Americas and seek out the true villain of this crime.

Teddy Kendrick”         

           

            I looked up, gazing out the only window in the room. “I have been summed, the games afoot; I must seek out my destiny,” I thought.

            I packed my things and made hast to Billingsgate dock in London, a mystery always seemed to follow me where ever I would travel. Black trench coat, pocket watch, bowler hat and a new cane supporting my right side; a healing injury I incurred in my last investigation with you my dear Watson. I’ve been so prod, so well defined, with structure of distention, and sure of mind that I fail to see the light. But I shall not falter this time my dear Watson.  

I made my way up the gangplank to the ships Cruise Director, a short chap, glasses, and a small scar on his wrist. I noticed as I extended my hand to the chap.

            “Welcome aboard the Queen Ann III, my good man,” said the Director.

            Walter Write, his name tag states, I nodded my head, and made off to room 112 on the port side of the ship. The walkways were packed with people shuffling about to their room, like ants securing about a nest. After arriving at the room I makes ready for the journey. I took my rest at the desk under a port hole, and pulled out my journal and made these entries.

 

            “Well I made it with no hesitation, knee still giving pain, but my thoughts are clear to me, I just hope Teddy is able to hang on until I arrive in ten days from now, the rest should do me well.”

 

            I lied down on the bunk for a nap hearing the creaks from the old hull, as people move about the ship. This was music to my ears; placing me into a deep sleep. Later that day as the ship was under way I opened my eyes and headed up to the lounge for dinner, but on the way there the caption ran by me. Right then I notices a spot of blood on his shoulder and a slight limp. “Something’s afoot, a crime has been committed,” I thought, stopping in my tracks. “This does not concern me,” I said.

            Then another ear piercing scream could be hear, throughout the ship, this was too much for me to disregard, I turned about and quickly heads to the bow, only to find a group of people standing around a women’s body lying on the deck, void of life, I quickly kneeled down beside her, using my pencil to poke around lifting her shawl exposing a stab wound, then I noticed an indentation of a button. “Quickly, give me a mirror,” I requested, a bystander handed me one, I places it up to her face seeing the mark was one of the cruise line only worn by the crew, then a spot; an un-tanned mark on her finger where there once was a marriage ring. “It’s clear this crime was one of passion, and inflected by a crew member,” I said. “Were there any witness?”

            “Yes, my governor,” said the caption, pulling a man over to me as he stumbles about. “Well speak, or over board you go.”

            “Yes caption, I only seen his hand slipping in the closing hatch,” he said pointing. “Over there it be.”

            I looked over seeing a tag above the door labeled crew only. “He had this scar on his hand,” said the witness.

            I quickly stood up and notices the one of the crew is missing, one that should be here when it comes to the passengers safety. “Caption any new crew members on the ship?”

“Why yes, our Cruise Director just came aboard for this journey?”

“Well I sagest you seek him out, your find he’s the X husband of this poor women. After a long battle of divorce, he slipped aboard disguised as your CD to kill his X.”

The caption and some guards head off as I returned on my path to the dining room, wishing to be alone I sat off in a far corner; where there sat this dimly lit table. “It seems crime follows me like the wind in a storm,” I thought. I’m happy to report that the rest of the trip was uneventful; I remained in my cabin to avoid the outside world. As the ship reached its destination, New York harbor, a port of call for any liner headed to the US. I looked out my window seeing the statue of library. “What a grand gift, its true meaning of justice doesn’t go unhindered in this new land, or so I believe.”

After landing I left the ship headed to the Harbor Inn, booked a room for the next month. As I walked into my somewhat dingy room I was dismayed that there were the case notes siting on the small desk near the bed. “How could this come to past, the room was random and I just now arrived, to most this would seem like magic, but to me it was pure deduction.” I said, looking out the window for the perpetrator of these notes. I wasted no time reading them to their fullest. I acquire the lasts information regarding Teddy plight, I next found myself flagging down a cab. “26 Federal Plaza, and be quick about it my dear boy,” I bellowed in a raspy voice.