Sherlock,
I know it’s short notice, but an old friend of mine, Della, is going to be staying with us for a while. I’m going to the airport now to get her.
Now, there are a few things you should probably know about Della…
I crumpled up the small note, not really caring. Whatever I “needed to know” about her, I could easily deduce from her appearance. I frowned, wondering why John hadn’t realized that.
My phone rang from inside my pocket. It was Anderson. He informed me that there was a new murder case at the beach that they needed my help with. I instantly got excited—I love murder cases.
I opened the door, only to find a small girl standing on the other side. She had brown hair that was tied up in a messy bun, and was wearing a long black coat. She held a small suitcase in her left hand.
“I don’t have time for introductions. I have a murder to attend to.” I said quickly.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from that.” She replied, seemingly unfazed by my undeniable rudeness.
“Ah, Sherlock, I trust you got my note.” John said, coming up behind the girl.
“Yes, yes. More importantly, I got a call from Anderson. There’s been a murder. Let’s go.” I commanded.
“I’m going to help Della get settled; I’ll join you soon.” John replied. I rolled my eyes and looked down at the short girl.
“Excuse me,” I said icily. She stepped out of the way, still smiling. I gritted my teeth together and left the apartment in haste.
*
I groaned when I saw that Della girl step onto the crime scene with John.
“John, why on earth would you bring her?!” I yelled at him as they approached me. Della didn’t seem to hear me; she was staring at the body that was a few feet away from us. John, however, was quite angered by my comment; as though he was surprised I would say that. He was about to say something, but Della cut him off.
“Is that the fiancée over there?” she asked, pointing to the young man who was standing with some officers, crying.
“Yes.” I answered.
“And he was the one who found her?”
“Yes. They got in a fight and she ran away. He found her a few hours later.”
“He did it.” She stated. My eyes widened.
“Excuse me?” I asked. “I don’t believe you have the experience to—“
“He’s twirling her ring between his fingers. If you found your fiancée dead, your first thought wouldn’t be oh, I should get that ring back. And look at the way he’s twirling it—and obvious sign of guilt.”
“But you don’t know—”
“Excuse me.” She interrupted. She walked over to where the fiancée was standing and spoke to him briefly. Then she came back, a satisfied smirk on her face.
