Fire and Ice

Sherlock is a Girl's Name

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Chapter 5: Sherlock is a Girl's Name

When I woke up in the morning at around 7, I went through all of Kevin’s records. There were many familiar names but a lot of Beatles and Elvis. The record player itself was a little rusty but I got it working after a few tries.

After laying around and listening for an hour or so I got up and left my room quietly. I crept down the stairs and stumbled upon the kitchen while I was wondering. On the fridge, which was huge and silver, there was a yellow sticky note with mine and Sam’s name on it. It read:

Dean and Sam, help yourselves to anything in the fridge.

I opened the fridge to see about a dozen beers. I said a silent thanks to Kevin for being so thoughtful and took two. One for me, one for Sam.

I strode back upstairs to Sam’s room and walked in. He was sitting at a desk in the corner and there were books all over the room.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Taking notes,” He replied.

“Huh, OK. So Castiel said that this Sherlock Holmes guy was at the center of all this. Maybe we should go talk to the guy,” I suggested.

“Sure, but who as? We can’t go as British FBI, if there’s even such a thing, we don’t have the accents or the badges,” Sam responded.

“We could go as reporters. For the ‘London Times’ or something,” I laughed.

“I don’t know. If I were him right now I wouldn’t want to have anything to do with the media.”

“OK. You’re the genius. Come up with something!”

He thought about it for a minute, “We could go as American agents. What if we were investigating Moriarty because he was a suspect in a bunch of, I dunno, genocides or something?”

“That is how it’s done, Sammy,” I smiled, handing him a cold beer.

“Are you sure? What if he doesn’t believe it?” Sam asked.

“Where does he live?”

Sam pulled our laptop out of it’s bag beside the desk. he quickly googled ‘Sherlock Holmes address’.

“221B Baker Street. It’s a flat,” He said and looked up at me.

“I’m pretty sure that’s British for apartment building,” I said.

“No, I know that. But how are we going to get into a flat, that could be harder than a house.”

“We could talk to the person who owns the place,” I suggested.

“Mrs. Hudson?” He said, quickly reading about the landlady that rented out 221B.

“Ya, I bet she’s gullible,” I said and took a sip of my beer. Sam took a sip of his too, as if suddenly remembering that he had one.

“Before we go in there we’re going to need to plan every detail,” He said.

“Right. Pick a number,” I said.

“Uh, three?”

“Great, so 3 massive genocides in America and he’s the prime suspect,”

Sam laughed, “Massive genocides?”