The Case of the Maze Gardener ch5
Title:The Case of the Maze Gardener ch5
Rating: G
Word Count: 858
Summary: While on a case in west England, Holmes and Watson find that almost nothing is as it seems.
Warnings: umm....none...
I believe Abercrave Inn has been around since well before Holmes’ time, but I do not know if it is anywhere near where this story takes place, except it’s in Swansea. I tried…..
"There were no personal artifacts missing, yet there was no sign of struggle. The bed was lightly slept in, confirming Mrs. Jacobson's account that he was put to bed, the only clothes missing are the ones he wore, and they didn't leave from the window."
"Holmes!" I cried, "But how, the window?"
"Was a red-herring, my dear Watson." he corrected rather smugly. "As I had indicated before, there were no scuff marks; even on the sill where you would ..." Holmes laughed then, not the barking, half-mad laugh our clients see, but the laugh I have only seen a handful of times, before or since. "Indeed, I must me more weary of you, comrade, lest I reveal all I have deduced! Your interrogation skills have improved greatly!"
"I wasn't interrogating, Holmes," I defended, but I knew my ears had tinted red, which was my tell.
"Really Watson, you know you know you can't bluff me! Your face is like an open book, nothing can be concealed!"
"We can't all be actors, Holmes, and many things are hidden in the lines of a story." I grumbled in reply, "I'm sure, had you the inclination of writing up one of our cases to the public, such a tale would not be received as well as my own."
"That sounded like a challenge, my friend."
"Then take it as such," I was grinning then, as Holmes seemed to be plotting the story line in that very moment as we exchanged barbs, "At the conclusion of this case you should compose, and publish, the report. We'll see if your series of logical lectures are well received among the masses!" Holmes leaned back in the hansom, confident he would prove me wrong but, again, I have leapt ahead of myself. Our confrontation was well finished when the small town came into view. I could smell chicken wafting in the wind, which caused my stomach to sound it’s annoyance at the lack of food it had received.
“Worry not, Watson, sustenance is near.” Holmes drawled as we came to a halt in front of a building whose sign read “Abercrave Inn”. It was an elegant two-story building, white washed with a few vines that grew towards the window panes. As we disembarked from the cab, Holmes had left instructions for Joshua to return as the sun made its final rounds and we entered the establishment. In the rear corner, there was a small table that the detective had deemed sufficient for our purposes of that afternoon, cloaked in the grey of the clouds that shielded the outside sun.
“Holmes,” the line of questioning that I would have continued was cut off with a unobtrusive wave of his hand.
“A moment, Watson,” we sat in silence for some time, only breaking it to order a chicken sandwich for myself, and for Holmes, much to his chagrin, I ordered broth. Much to my surprise, he offered no protest, but lent back and scowled at me. I knew Holmes well enough to remain quiet, but I was unable to restrain myself from a rather smug countenance as he, to remain inconspicuous, was forced to eat instead of ignore the bowl. No conversation took place, but I knew what the detective was doing. Each person was scrutinized under his sharp gaze, but he did not find what he had set out to. I refused the local ale(which I was assured was of the finest quality), and instead drank water knowing that, at any moment, a brawl could have occur over the probing stares some of the women had received.
After watching him so closely, I had seen the change in Holmes immediately. His shoulders tensed, and there was no attempt on his part to hide his stare. I followed his line of sight, which landed on a rather urbane looking couple dressed in tones of greys that had entered without sounding the bell above the door. I chanced a glance at my friend, who had seemed to not have moved, or even breath, and had seen what I have always seen in his eyes at the climax of the case: a thrill that was bone deep.
I turned towards the couple, who had not yet noticed us, and took in there features. The woman was fair, but I could see she was down-trodden by the way her shoulders slumped and her raven hair hung limply down her back. The man was in much the same shape as his companion, with the exception of the rusty curls that had held some shape, but his eyes were brimming with a strange sorrow. The man must have felt my clumsy stare, for few ever felt Holmes’, and raised his head to observe us.
“Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes,” said he as the pair came to a stop in front of us. I started at the use of our names and my title, I was almost certain that I had never seen the man before in my life, “you’re early, Detective.”
“Perhaps, Mr. Jacobson.” Holmes has since assured me that my facial expression in that moment was quite comical, though only he(as usual) noticed, and has teased me for it since.
Rating: G
Word Count: 858
Summary: While on a case in west England, Holmes and Watson find that almost nothing is as it seems.
Warnings: umm....none...
I believe Abercrave Inn has been around since well before Holmes’ time, but I do not know if it is anywhere near where this story takes place, except it’s in Swansea. I tried…..
"There were no personal artifacts missing, yet there was no sign of struggle. The bed was lightly slept in, confirming Mrs. Jacobson's account that he was put to bed, the only clothes missing are the ones he wore, and they didn't leave from the window."
"Holmes!" I cried, "But how, the window?"
"Was a red-herring, my dear Watson." he corrected rather smugly. "As I had indicated before, there were no scuff marks; even on the sill where you would ..." Holmes laughed then, not the barking, half-mad laugh our clients see, but the laugh I have only seen a handful of times, before or since. "Indeed, I must me more weary of you, comrade, lest I reveal all I have deduced! Your interrogation skills have improved greatly!"
"I wasn't interrogating, Holmes," I defended, but I knew my ears had tinted red, which was my tell.
"Really Watson, you know you know you can't bluff me! Your face is like an open book, nothing can be concealed!"
"We can't all be actors, Holmes, and many things are hidden in the lines of a story." I grumbled in reply, "I'm sure, had you the inclination of writing up one of our cases to the public, such a tale would not be received as well as my own."
"That sounded like a challenge, my friend."
"Then take it as such," I was grinning then, as Holmes seemed to be plotting the story line in that very moment as we exchanged barbs, "At the conclusion of this case you should compose, and publish, the report. We'll see if your series of logical lectures are well received among the masses!" Holmes leaned back in the hansom, confident he would prove me wrong but, again, I have leapt ahead of myself. Our confrontation was well finished when the small town came into view. I could smell chicken wafting in the wind, which caused my stomach to sound it’s annoyance at the lack of food it had received.
“Worry not, Watson, sustenance is near.” Holmes drawled as we came to a halt in front of a building whose sign read “Abercrave Inn”. It was an elegant two-story building, white washed with a few vines that grew towards the window panes. As we disembarked from the cab, Holmes had left instructions for Joshua to return as the sun made its final rounds and we entered the establishment. In the rear corner, there was a small table that the detective had deemed sufficient for our purposes of that afternoon, cloaked in the grey of the clouds that shielded the outside sun.
“Holmes,” the line of questioning that I would have continued was cut off with a unobtrusive wave of his hand.
“A moment, Watson,” we sat in silence for some time, only breaking it to order a chicken sandwich for myself, and for Holmes, much to his chagrin, I ordered broth. Much to my surprise, he offered no protest, but lent back and scowled at me. I knew Holmes well enough to remain quiet, but I was unable to restrain myself from a rather smug countenance as he, to remain inconspicuous, was forced to eat instead of ignore the bowl. No conversation took place, but I knew what the detective was doing. Each person was scrutinized under his sharp gaze, but he did not find what he had set out to. I refused the local ale(which I was assured was of the finest quality), and instead drank water knowing that, at any moment, a brawl could have occur over the probing stares some of the women had received.
After watching him so closely, I had seen the change in Holmes immediately. His shoulders tensed, and there was no attempt on his part to hide his stare. I followed his line of sight, which landed on a rather urbane looking couple dressed in tones of greys that had entered without sounding the bell above the door. I chanced a glance at my friend, who had seemed to not have moved, or even breath, and had seen what I have always seen in his eyes at the climax of the case: a thrill that was bone deep.
I turned towards the couple, who had not yet noticed us, and took in there features. The woman was fair, but I could see she was down-trodden by the way her shoulders slumped and her raven hair hung limply down her back. The man was in much the same shape as his companion, with the exception of the rusty curls that had held some shape, but his eyes were brimming with a strange sorrow. The man must have felt my clumsy stare, for few ever felt Holmes’, and raised his head to observe us.
“Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes,” said he as the pair came to a stop in front of us. I started at the use of our names and my title, I was almost certain that I had never seen the man before in my life, “you’re early, Detective.”
“Perhaps, Mr. Jacobson.” Holmes has since assured me that my facial expression in that moment was quite comical, though only he(as usual) noticed, and has teased me for it since.