I'd been in London for a few days now. I knew a few more people, like the guy who ran the book store, and my other neighbor a few doors down, but Sherlock and John were still the people I knew best. I really needed to get out and get to know some people . . .
I got a text from Sherlock again.
John wants to interview you for his blog. Come over as soon as you read this. He says he can't write anything more until you are interviewed. -SH
I typed in a response.
I'm coming right now. Be there in just a moment.
I knocked on the open door of Sherlock's and John's flat.
“Come in!” Sherlock called. I entered the room, to find Sherlock fiddling with a Rubik's cube, and John in his chair with a cup of tea, his laptop in his lap.
“Ah. Bridget. Hello.” John said, rising from his chair to walk into the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Yes, please.” I said, sitting on the couch, “That sounds nice.”
“This is boring.” Sherlock remarked, twisting the Rubik's cube. He already had four of the sides done when it had been completely mismatched when I had entered the room. He tossed the brightly colored cube over to me. “Just put it on the side table, there.”
I set it down while John brought me a cup of tea. “So what do you want to interview me about?” I asked, “And what's your blog's web address? I'll look it up.”
“Johnwatsonblog.co.uk.” he replied, “And I want to know what you think of Sherlock, in general. Something you said helped him crack that case.”
“What was it?” I asked.
“One of the first things you told me was 'people are weird'.” Sherlock started to explain, “I tend to assume that people do the obvious things, such as turn around when they hear a noise, or whatever. This time, the victim didn't do the obvious thing. They did something unusual, something clever, that a normal person wouldn't do. Once I realized that, we could eliminate a lot of the suspects, and bring back other ones who we had eliminated before.”
“Ooh, so I helped solve a murder?”
“A theft. But an important theft.” John told me.
“And then a murder because of that theft.” Sherlock said, “But the police are handling that one. I don't accept boring cases.”
“Is there such a thing as boring cases?” I asked, wondering who could possibly find any police case boring.
“Yes. The ones that I refuse to help with.”
I nodded my head. I supposed that was an acceptable answer.
“Alright, let's get started, shall we?” John said, putting his laptop in his lap. “What made you say 'people are weird'?”
What an odd question I thought. “Um, well. Sherlock said something like 'people are usually offended when I tell them their life story', and I said 'people are weird'. That's really it.”
“But why did you choose those words?” John asked. I . . . I really wasn't sure how to reply to that. Sherlock must have seen the expression on my face, because he started laughing that deep, slow chuckle of his. I joined in pretty soon, and then John was just saying “What? Whats so funny? Why are we laughing?” between laughs.
“Do you . . . realize how ridiculous. . . that question was?” I asked John between laughs.
“Well . . . I . . .” John started.
“It was completely ridiculous, John.” Sherlock said. His laughter had died down.
John was obviously embarrassed. “Well, um, let's continue.” he muttered, and hit the Page Down button on his laptop. “Well. That's it.” he said.
“That was it?” I said, sure that my mouth was gaping open. “John, you could have just done that through text! Why did you bring me all the way over here for that?”
“Well . . . um . . . Sherlock, why'd you make me write this?” John said.
Sherlock smiled. “Bridget, I need your help on a case.” he said.
“The murder caused by the theft I helped you solve?” I asked.
“Yes.” Sherlock replied, “The police think that they have this under control, but they're wrong. Habit of theirs. I'll just show up with some knew evidence that proves them completely wrong, and then they need my help. But I'm getting off subject. I need you to go post this ad in the newspaper, and then I'll need to spend a few nights in your flat.” Sherlock handed me an envelope, “I'm afraid the newspaper would have cameras snapping in our faces if John or I tried to go over there, and I'm afraid that my address is too easily recognized. Hope you don't mind. John will stay here, to keep a lookout and text me if he sees someone coming to the door. Just in case I don't realize it.”
“Why would the newspaper people snap cameras in your faces, and why is your address familiar?” I asked. No, I didn't say anything like 'what does the ad say?' or anything important like that. I wanted to know why Sherlock was making it sound like he was famous. Good thing I ask the important stuff first.
“John. Explain.” Sherlock ordered his flat mate.
“My blog's . . . sort of popular.” John explained, “I've got almost 2000 hits on there. And Sherlock's what made it so . . . famous.”
“Oh, that's a rubbish explanation, John.” Sherlock groaned, “John writes down the best of the mysteries that I solve, and then people found them interesting, so they started reading them. He know has almost 200 people reading about me, and now we can't go anywhere without having cameras in our faces as we leave the flat, and John wisely posted our address on there, so now all the criminals know where we live. I can't try and send one of them here, so that's why I'm using your flat for that.”
Then it dawned on me to ask the important question. “What does this 'ad' say?”
“Oh, it's just a trap to get the murderer to come to your flat. That's why I'll need to stay over.”
John and I spoke – more like yelled, really – at the same time. “What?!” Apparently, Sherlock hadn't told his flat mate about this, either.
“This is going too far with a case, Sherlock!” John said, “You can't just send a murderer to someone else's home!”
“Oh. Then, um, could I have that back?” Sherlock held out his hand, reaching for the envelope.
“No, it – it's fine.” I said, “I know how to use a gun, and you'll be there. I'll help you.” In my mind, I was going why did you agree to that, you idiot?
I dropped off the envelope at the place where London's main newspaper is run. I was afraid of what Sherlock had said, so I warned the person at the desk.
“I'm just dropping this off for my neighbor.” I told her, “I have no clue what it says, so just so you know, I didn't write it.”
She nodded and chuckled. “Sherlock Holmes wrote it?” she asked.
“Um . . . yes. How did you know?”
“He's the only person who would write something like this.” she said, looking at the 'ad', “Plus, he's the only person who signs all of his ads and things 'SH'. We have to make sure to delete that before we put it in the paper.”
