Chapter Text
Another drowsy day in London brought nothing but anticipation to the room of 221 Baker Street. A light fog hovered above the window sill, and rain drummed on the sidewalk. Watson was sound asleep, drained from accompanying Sherlock on his latest expedition, successful, as always. The detective himself, however, was wide awake. He sat at the side of his bed, his fingers tapping wildly of a Symphony he was playing earlier.
He would very much appreciate having his brain on alert than muffled in dreams. Mrs. Hudson knocked on his door, which he threw open ferociously. The widow has gotten used to his manner as to hand him the letter she carried on the platter calmly in reply.
“Mr. Holmes, someone knocked but left only a letter on the front port.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”
“What would you want for dinner…”
“Several days later if you will, thank you.”
The widow tilted her eyebrows, then walked away.
Sherlock observed the new present he received. The paper has an expensive texture, perhaps produced from an European company. This was quickly justified by the watermark inside the envelope. The hand writing was quite…naive, or rather, unlike someone that has reached the age of majority. Although the writer seemed well educated in calligraphy, all the letters ended with a stiff halt of quill, a common mistake for younger children. The ink was dry, with no smudge being drawn as Sherlock ran a finger across the last line. Therefore, the mysterious guest must have finished this before at least a full day before having it dropped off. Sherlock paused, then sniffed the paper. There was a faint smell of powder, which indicates that the writer is a woman.
Now, the content…
***
Mr. Holmes,
I found myself deeply troubled recently, as I found myself stumbling upon a dark secret in my household. It might lead me to an ultimate fate. I must seek help from you regarding the secrecy of this issue. However, the knowledge of this could also put you in danger as well. If you would allow me to introduce and explain things better, which I will be obliged to, then please put a page of the newspaper outside. I shall take that as a sign of acceptance and pay my visit at midnight.
If you do not accept this shabby form of request, I totally understand and will not disturb you anymore.
A helpless soul
***
Sherlock doubted a girl would be involved in a matter of death or life, but he would not dare rely on experiences rather than facts. If he opened the door to catch the girl red-handed, the “helpless soul”, timid in nature by what she wrote, would run off in fright. Therefore, it would be best to play along. Sherlock got up, grabbed a piece of random news, walked downstairs, and put it just outside the port. He scanned the pedestrians, somewhat knowing the girl would not be watching. From the level of intelligence she displayed, she would probably come by only near midnight.
With that thought in mind, Sherlock allowed himself a few hours of sleep: a simple refreshment before a new adventure.