JimLock:The Consulting Detective and the Consulting Criminal

Message

     Sherlock paced the length of the flat. John sat in his armchair, nervously wringing his hands. He had sent Mary back to the house- he hadn't wanted her to get involved in all this rubbish.

     Mary, he thought to himself. Mary Watson. Yes, he decided. That's her name. Not A.G.R.A. Her name is Mary Watson, and that's fine with me....

      "......but how did he- John?!"

     John's head shot up. "Y-yes?"

     "Are you even listening?" Sherlock's voice was even and calm. John nodded.

     "Alright then, how do you think he did it?"

     "I... uh... he must've....." John stuttered.

     "Exactly," Sherlock retorted.

  John stood and started towards the kitchen. "Black, two sugars," Sherlock called. John sighed and filled the kettle. Sherlock resumed his pacing.

     John could hear him quietly mumbling to himself.

   Wssssssssssssh!!!

     "Could you keep it down, John?!"

    John half sighed, half chuckled, and set two teacups on the table.

   "Now, since you were most certainly not listening," Sherlock picked up his teacup. "I was wondering, how do you think Moriarty faked his death?"

    John lifted his gaze to meet Sherlock's eyes. "Well, I have no bloody clue! How did you do it?!"

     "All it took was a few willing volunteers," Sherlock said without skipping a beat. His eyes widened. "That's it."

  "What?" John asked.

      "A few willing volunteers, John!"

    "Yes, I suppose so, but who would they be?"

  Sherlock had already jumped from his chair and was reaching for his coat. "That, John, is what we have to find out!"

   John hastily stood and tried to gather the remnants of the peaceful discussion over tea he was hoping for.

     Just as Sherlock was reaching for the doorknob, the door swung open, revealing a cheery middle aged woman with an envelope in one hand.

      "Ah, Mrs. Hudson," John sighed. "I don't suppose you'd mind helping me out with this?" He glanced at Sherlock.

   Mrs. Hudson nodded knowingly. "Of course, dear." She crossed the room and set the letter in Sherlock's chair and stooped to pick up the tray. "Just remember, I'm not your housekeeper."

     Sherlock crossed the room in two long strides and snatched up the letter, tearing through the wax seal. He ripped the pale paper out and unfolded it. The envelope fluttered to the floor, allowing John to see the handwriting on the front of the envelope. He instantly recognized it.

     Sherlock re-read the letter three times, quickly strode over to his desk, and tucked it into a drawer. He returned to the coat rack, and began to put on his scarf.

     John, hoping Sherlock was too distracted to notice, slipped over to the desk and grabbed the letter, gingerly sliding it into his pocket. John opened the door and rushed out into the hall.

     "Now where are you two off to in such a hurry?" Mrs. Hudson called out.

    Sherlock turned on his way out the door; facing Mrs. Hudson, he replied, with the same old twinkling in his eyes, "The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!"

A/N: I know, not a very long chapter, but it just seemed right to end it here. Please comment and tell me how I'm doing, my lovelies! Any theories you guys think I should use? Let me know!