"Believe me" Moriarty the patriot/Donten ni Warau

I'm back.

The Queen went to rest in her chambers, and I sat in the middle of the office at a huge carved oak table. A red carpet with gold trim ran from door to table. Not far from the table, on either side of the carpet, were two small rococo sofas in a delicate cream color with gold ornamentation. The walls were decorated with paintings from different eras and wall sconces. The study was strikingly light: there was a huge crystal chandelier under the ceiling in the very center of the study, antique floor lamps were located in the corners of the room, and exquisite candelabra flaunted on small pedestals.

Mechanically turning the page of the book, I was immersed in my thoughts. Having come to some conclusion, I decided that it was time to visit my old friend, I hope he did not die of boredom. I slammed the book shut and quickly flew out of the room. I was given full access to all rooms in the palace. I never dared to ask the Queen why she trusts me so much.

Leaving the palace, I put thecloak in my bag, but for a second my gaze lingered on the mask, from whichfeelings of pain flooded again ... I put the mask back in my bag, I don't want to think about him right now.

I rolled up my shirt sleeves, draped my black jacket over my shoulders, and headed toward my friend.

It was an ordinary cloudy day in London. There was no rain, but the cool wind was pretty annoying. Dirty gray clouds crawled lazily across the sky, occasionally revealing azure gaps to an attentive gaze.

London has never really pampered its residents with good weather. A small yellow disc in the sky is already a rarity. Not to mention a full hot day.

Walking quickly through the streets of London, I was completely oblivious to people, lost in the clouds and my thoughts.

Someone, grabbing my hand from behind, pulled me back. A second later, four pairs of horse hooves galloped over the place where I stood. I swallowed. My heart was pounding somewhere in my heels.

"Next time, be careful, Miss" - a deep, rough voice rang out behind me.

Turning around to see my savior, I did not find anyone, only a glimpse of a tall man hiding in a crowd of people. He helped, and immediately disappeared, why?

"Miss, are you all right?" - The driver of that ill-fated carriage gently touched my shoulder.

"Everything is all right" - I answered, smiling at the coachman - "sorry for the situation"

Two knocks on the door, clear and loud enough to be heard, the door opened and a short woman. She was wearing a homemade dark pink dress and a flour-stained apron. And judging by the pleasant smell of pastries from the apartment, she was cooking.

"Luka, where have you been for so long, Sherlock got me all worked up!!" - said Miss Hudson, to which I only smiled embarrassedly.

"I'm sorry I've been away so long. I went to pick up my family in another country and stayed there for a while" - I said and calmly entered the apartment, closing the door behind me. I looked around, nothing has changed in a year.

"Maybe he'll get to work now, He's on the second floor" - said Miss Hudson, returning to the kitchen.

Climbing the creaking steps upstairs, I entered the room without knocking. If everything in the hallway was perfectly clean, free and even felt a certain comfort, then the detective's living room was significantly different. A centimeter layer of dust was visible on the windowsill, which was not wiped off here. A cobweb was visible in the corner on the wall. The table was littered with various things, ranging from who knows where and why the skull had taken to and ending with a burnt match. The same chaos was happening on the floor, where books and newspapers were scattered. Completing this picture is a detective, sitting on an armchair near the fireplace, and looked at me with a heavy look.

"I see you missed me very much Sherry" - I said, picking up the book, which fell at my feet.

"Does my face not match your expectations?" - said the exhausted Sherlock, putting out a cigarette into the ashtray, which had long been stuffed with butts.

I opened the window a little to dispel the smell of tobacco in the room.

Paralyzed, crippled, inoperative, exhausted. Deprived of strength or presence of mind, lost effectiveness, shackled hand and foot, deadlocked.

In short, Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective, was BORED.

"Luka, I feel so bad!" - he moaned from his chair.

"And you don't have to yell like that, I'm still here" - I didn't even look at him when I looked at the envelopes that were nailed to the mantelpiece with a knife.

"Luka, where is your revolver?"

"Sherry, we've been through this before. Mrs. Hudson can't stand new holes in the walls"

"I wasn't going to blow holes in the walls. I want you to shoot me! End my suffering!"

"You're such a kid, Sherri. Why don't you go down to Scotland Yard and ask Lestrade for some old unsolved cases?"

"No"

"Okay. Well, then you could do the cleaning"

"What?! No! Chaos helps logical thinking and deduction!"

I sighed heavily. Dealing with a bored genius wasn't fun at all.

"Would you like to go for a walk in the park?" - I asked, sitting down on a chair near his chair.

"Boredom"

"Then I can't help you"

"This is important!" - Sherlock jumped out of his chair too abruptly. Did he ever get dizzy from such sudden movements? - "My brain is going to rot, it needs stimuli!" - he cupped my face in his hands - "HE NEEDS A DIFFICULT CASE!"

"What will I do?" - I said, removing his hands from my face, while trying not to laugh at such drama. Sherlock returned to the chair.

"My senses become dull and atrophied when I'm not working" - the dark-haired detective said, turning sad eyes and burying his face in his lap.

While Sherlock was suffering from boredom, I decided to clean up the room.

"You actually did it...!" - and not a speck of dust is left when he runs his finger across the table.

"So that I don't see any more "Chaos of logical thinking and deduction" in Sherry living room"