A Tribute to Sherlock Holmes

Wicked murmurs spawned from sinister masculine voices, and rumbled amongst the shadows of the murky alleyways. Ill-omened whispers and heavy footsteps on deserted cobblestones echoed from behind. These unseemly sounds, combined with the clamoring of her heart, caused a sound that was as high-pitched as the Sunday church choir, shocking her into a state of panic and anxiety. She hastened her pace, her pulse raced, her face blustered. Each hurried step wedged her tiny shoes between the stones, forcing her ankles to twist and swell as she walked. She moved about so quickly, that it left her gasping for air, hardly able to catch her breath. The cool evening mist that many Londoners welcomed after a long hot summer's day was now uncomfortably mixed with perspiration, causing her blond tendrils to press against her face.

Feeling uncomfortable and tired, she reflected on her state. She knew in the deepest recess of her mind that suitable ladies did not travel about this time of the evening. Respectable women would only travel in escorted carriages, and certainly wouldn't be walking alone on deserted streets this time of night. However, her options were limited. Therefore, she was determined to reach her destination of 221b Baker Street. She had to speak with Detective Holmes.

Baker Street wasn't as impressive as she imagined it to be. After all, she had heard that Holmes was the so-called renowned detective that solved cases of the outmost intrigue. She expected a regal brownstone, a stately home, a noble apartment, or in the very least, some symbol of his great success. However, Sherlock Holmes didn't live in a grand residence. In fact, it was quite the contrary. He lived in a very ordinary meager apartment on the first floor of a rickety brick lodging house. The only remarkable element about 221b Baker Street was the flickering oil-lamp above the door, and that was only remarkable because gas lanterns illuminated the rest of the street. The street was rather dodgy and she wasn't entirely convinced that she would have set out on this journey had she known the area that he resided in beforehand. Unfortunately, there was no turning back, for she was determined as the indecorous snake in Eden.

As she approached the lodging house's sturdy red wooden door, she noticed two broad windows overlooking the street. She lifted her hand to the brass knocker, and found the metal ring itself to be peculiar, for it was shaped in a magnifying glass. It seemed as though Detective Holmes may be somewhat eccentric. She let the knocker go, and it cracked against its plate. The bang was thunderous, but no soul emerged from the place. She knocked again and again, until she was impatiently banging so loudly and aggressively that every person in Westminster could have awakened. Alas, she eyed a small light, bobbing up and down majestically in the darkness, moving towards the door. Sounds emerged from behind the red door, latches unhooking from their fastenings, and then finally, there was a small feeble opening, barely a crack in the door.

Two elderly eyes peered at her through the crack. "What is it?" The woman's voiced barked at her.

"I am Miss Mary Sutherland. I am here to see Detective Holmes," she responded.

"He doesn't receive visitors this late in the evening, especially a young Miss. Tis very improper. What type of person be you?"

"I shall not explain myself to a maid," Mary condescended. "Now fetch your master," Mary ordered, as she pushed her way into the small entranceway.

"I am not Mr. Holmes' maid. I am Ms. Hudson, the landlady," the woman declared. "You best leave...." Ms. Hudson was interrupted by a man's voice.

"Ms. Hudson, what is the disturbance? Are you in need of assistance?"

"Dr. Watson, this young Miss asked to see Mr. Holmes."

"Well, that is impossible.....," Dr. Watson began.

"You will excuse my calling so late," she began, and then, suddenly losing her self-control began to sob. "Oh, I'm in such trouble!" she cried; I do so want a little help."¹(Doyle: Man with a Twisted Lip).

"Yes, Miss," Dr. Watson patted her back, "I do understand, but Mr. Holmes is not in."

"NOT IN!" exclaimed Mary and Ms. Hudson in unison.

"Why it's twenty-five minutes past two," Ms. Hudson spoke irritated and suspiciously eyeing Miss Sutherland.

"Ms. Hudson, please go to bed. I'm sorry for the disturbance, I will speak with Miss, err."

"Miss Mary Sutherland," Mary injected.

"Yes, Miss Sutherland. I will tend to Miss Sutherland."

"Hmm, I'm not sure if it's entirely appropriate, but these old bones are too wary to care," and with that, Ms. Hudson, returned to her room.

"Now Miss Sutherland, as I explained earlier, Mr. Watson is not at home."

"I would say that was entirely true, my dear friend," came a voice from behind.

"Holmes, is that you? Where did you come from? Oh never mind. This is Miss Sutherland, she needs assistance."

"My name is Miss Mary Sutherland. I am need of your help, and I was told by my father that you were the best in the detective work. My father is missing."

"I would say your name is Mrs. Sutherland, not Miss Sutherland, and you are looking for not a father, but a husband."

"Yes, you're right. How did you know?" she queried.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people don't know"² (Doyle: Sherlock Holmes to James Ryder: The Blue Carbuncle).

"I also say that you are seeking a dead husband, not one of the living."

Mary paled a little. Her voice grew quiet. "Yes, my husband is dead. I am looking for his murderer. The last place I seen him alive is at Fortnum and Mason department store, where he worked."

"I believe it was a "murderess." I believe he was murdered by his mistress." Watson stated biting down on his pipe.

"Holmes, how did you know this?" queried Watson.

"I have a tum both for observation and for deduction"³(Doyle: Sherlock Holmes to Dr. Watson: A Study in Scarlet).

Turning to the woman, Holmes asked, "How long has your husband been missing?"

"He's been gone three months now. His solicitors want to declare him deceased and I need evidence of his death, in order to proceed with the paperwork."

"Why do your presume him to be dead?" asked Dr. Watson.

"Well, he must be dead."

"I presume with your the only benefactor?" queried Holmes.

Mr. Holmes didn't wait for her reply. "I shall take your case. Please meet me tomorrow, 181 Piccadilly Street, the Fortnum and Mason Department store, at eight o'clock."

He went to the door, called for his carriage and instructed the driver to take Mrs. Sutherland home. She thanked him graciously and left.

He turned to Watson, who was standing there with his arms crossed awaiting for answers.

"Holmes explain to me the reasoning for taking this case, and how you knew about Miss rather Mrs. Sutherland's marriage," Dr. Watson said impatiently.

"I know my dear Watson, that you share my love all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life"⁵(Doyle: The Red-Headed League).

"As for the details, well the marriage was easy. Her left ring finger had the indentation of a wedding ring. As for her husband's death, her veil on her hat gave that fact away. It's a traditional veil worn by widows in the Catholic religion. I once did a study on funeral traditions. As for the father, I never met an elderly Sutherland, but I have met her husband, Peter Sutherland. Yes, and when I met Peter, he was with a very young Miss indeed."

"The Mistress," exclaimed Watson. At that point, Watson knew he lost Holmes. Holmes went to his quiet state.

"Sherlock Holmes was a man, however, who, when he had an unsolved problem upon his mind, would go for days, and even for a week, without rest, turning it over, rearranging his facts, looking at it from every point of view until he had either fathomed it or convinced himself that his data were insufficient. It was soon evident to me that he was now preparing for an all-night sitting. He took off his coat and waistcoat, put on a large blue dressing-gown, and then wandered about the room collecting pillows from his bed and cushions from the sofa and armchairs. With these he constructed a sort of Eastern divan, upon which he perched himself cross-legged, with an ounce of shag tobacco and a box of matches laid out in front of him. In the dim light of the lamp I saw him sitting there, an old briar pipe between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the corner of the ceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him, silent, motionless, with the light shining upon his strong-set aquiline features. So he sat as I dropped off to sleep, and so he sat when a sudden ejaculation caused me to wake up, and I found the summer sun shining into the apartment. The pipe was still between his lips, the smoke still curled upward, and the room was full of a dense tobacco haze, but nothing remained of the heap of shag which I had seen upon the previous night"⁶ (Doyle: The Red-Headed League).

"Awake, Watson?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Game for a morning drive?"

"Certainly, where are we going?" Holmes didn't reply.

"Watson, no one is stirring yet, but I know where the stable-boy sleeps, and we shall soon have the trap out." He chuckled to himself as he spoke, his eyes twinkled, and he seemed a different man to the somber thinker of the previous night"⁷(Doyle: The Red-Headed League).

"Come, Watson, come! The game is afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come!"⁸ (Doyle: The Abbey Grange).

Watson and Holmes arrived at the Fortnum and Mason Department Store on 181 Piccadilly Street. However, Holmes does not enter the store; instead he enters the alley behind the building.

"Holmes, where are you going?"

"Watson, I have a theory that I'd like to test."

"What theory is this?"

"A dog reflects the family life. Whoever saw a frisky dog in a gloomy family, or a sad dog in a happy one? Snarling people have snarling dogs, dangerous people have dangerous ones."⁹(Doyle: The Adventure of the Creeping Man)

"What do you mean?," exclaimed a confused Watson.

"Well, here comes our opportunity to try the test. Like a mouse to cheese."

"Good morning gentlemen," spoke Mary Sutherland.

"Mrs. Sutherland," said Watson, tipping his hat in a form of greeting.

"Mary, please," she replied. "Why are we here?"

"What better place to be, then the scene of the crime," replied Holmes.

"I will need you to tell me the details of the day," requested Holmes.

"Peter and I traveled in his coach in the morning," she began.

"It happens that I know Peter. In fact, Mary I know he is not married."

"What? What do you mean?" said Watson and Mary in unison.

"

I know you are an imposter. I also know you are working for Moriaty."

"Your arch enemy?" exclaimed Holmes.

"You see Mary, when I met Peter he was with a young Miss. He was in a hurry and had no time for suitable introductions. I knew it wasn't his wife, or his mistress. I gave it little thought. But I remember that he was in a hurry and showed no intimate affections with this woman. You could tell by the body language. I did a study on body language, but I digress. He also had bags with him. He had no wedding ring. He was traveling, and has been abroad for three months. The young Miss was not a lover, but a family member. It was his sister."

"Where do you fit in?" demanded Dr. Watson.

"Watson, I shall answer that. Mary Sutherland is really a con artist. She wants to collect money from Fortnum and Mason employee life insurance and split the money with Moriaty. However, you plot is foiled. I believe that the bobbies will be here shortly. And you have all the time to tell them how you and Moriaty cooked up this scheme."

"I think that there are certain crimes which the law cannot touch, and which therefore, to some extent, justify private revenge," Mary stated aloud.¹⁰(Doyle: The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton).

"I confess that I have been as blind as a mole, but it is better to learn wisdom late than never to learn it at all," said Watson.¹¹ (Doyle: The Man with the Twisted Lip). Well done Holmes, well done."

"Elementary."¹² (Doyle: The Crooked Man). "The work is its own reward."¹³(Doyle: The Adventure of The Norwood Builder). "