THE PAINTED MISDEMEANOUR

CHAPTER I

When will I become Mr. Holmes' sidekick? The same recurring thought resided after John talked about his escapades with me, almost as if he was bragging about working with the best detective in town. To be honest, I envied him. Despite both of us studying in medical fields and holders of PHD, he always got the chance to be by Mr. Holmes' side. But finally, for the first time, Autumn falls in July. John entrusted me with an opportunity of a lifetime; to work with my role model Mr. Holmes. It felt like a miracle, but it still got me wondering why he chose me out of the blue. With that being said, his reasoning was quite convincing: as a military doctor, he was required to attend training on the same day a murder case was reported. Mr. Holmes needed a sidekick, and my brother was the only option, so I'll be the one to replace him, temporarily.

I was supposed to meet Mr. Holmes at Land Park Cafe. I managed to muster up the courage to keep my composure when I was around him, though it was my first time meeting him in person. When I walked into the cafe, the bell jingled, which soon drew his attention. He glanced over his shoulder, with a tobacco pipe resting on the side of his lip. I nervously walked to the opposite side of his table and sat down, maintaining eye contact with him. None of us spoke a word and I didn't want to make things more awkward as it was so I just smiled at him.

He rolled his eyes, "So, you're John's sister?" He grasped on the pipe with smoke evaporating into the cold air.

"Uhh, yes Mr. Holmes, Dr. Julie Van. Colt Watson. I major in dentistry and recently graduated with my PHD and I'm honored to be your sidekick for the day," I said, words overlapping with nervousness.

Instead of a warm smile or even a simple nod, he glared at me sternly. "Okay," he then answered, clearly unimpressed with my introduction. He scanned the cafe's large window, smoked his pipe and sighed in annoyance. I sat there awkwardly watching him do his thing as the town's famous detective, but I was a little disappointed by his attitude towards me. Was he always like this with John? As I was slowly getting lost in my thoughts, he quickly stood up from his seat and strolled towards the entrance. I frantically got on my feet and tried to catch up with him.

It's been 10 minutes, and we were still strolling downhill. His gaze fixed ahead while I followed his footsteps behind like a lost duckling. It was a quiet stroll. I wasn't sure if he noticed I was behind him, or if we were actually going the right way. We finally stopped at a junction where there was a crowd of officers surrounding a mansion. A perplexed local officer's eyes lit up once he saw Mr. Holmes. Both of us crossed the road and immediately the officer rushed towards us. They had a one sided conversation; the officer kept blurting words after words whereas Mr. Holmes showed a deadpan expression trying to grasp everything he had explained. I scanned the mansion. From afar I couldn't see that well but as soon as I took a closer look, it was wrapped in yellow tape and at least half a dozen officers were having their own conversation. It appeared to be the crime scene that was reported to Mr. Holmes. It seemed like he was really heading in the right direction. I turned and listened to the frantic officer's explanation: there was a rumor, a terrifying scream, yesterday night at 11:58pm. It was the sound of someone getting tortured, glass shattering and stabbing noises that erupted the neighborhood.

Mr. Holmes began to smoke his pipe, "before midnight?"

The officer nodded.

"Interesting," he murmured.

The officer then led us to the mansion's entrance, past the yellow tape and chatty officers who sounded like they didn't know what they were doing. The mansion was grand, filled with luxurious furniture at every corner of the room and sophisticated antiques that were on display. Nothing like I'd ever seen in a mansion before. We walked through the corridor on its marble floors underneath the crystal chandeliers lined up in a row. At a dead end, there was a strange painting that was suspiciously large and almost filled the entire wall. The officer then pried open the painting and there was a secret door. He opened it and to my surprise it was the complete opposite of luxury. A grim setting, almost like a dark stairway to a dungeon. We walked down the creepy stairs and were met with another door. The officer shakily grasped on the door handle and slowly opened it. A stairway to a hidden basement, how unpredictable. A strange pungent scent of old cosmetics filled the basement; compared to the dozen chandeliers above there were only two down here and it was flickering. I peered behind Mr. Holmes who was obstructing my view and laid my eyes on a dead corpse.

—A dead woman.