This is boring beyond belief. Today I got into a situation that lead to the consequence of starting my own ridiculous blog. I imagine how I fell into this misfortune would be as good a place as any to begin.
Introductions are pointless. Everyone knows who I am. My name is Sherlock Holmes and I am the consulting detective for Scotland Yard. I usually assisted the work of Detective Inspector Lestrade. Most people are convinced that I am dead. I can tell you with certainty that I am not.
I suppose my time streams are a relatively out of sync with the rest of the universe. It honestly was only yesterday for me when all these events took place. As most must know, before my alleged demise I was grappling with the criminal mastermind James Moriarty. He took my career and put it into shambles, but that was not what he was really pursuing. He was going after what he called ‘my heart.’ I assumed that meant the only three people I had any inclination for. I was approached by Molly Hooper, of all people. Truthfully I had forgotten about Molly until she revealed to me a story about her dying father. She could see that I was aware I was going to die.
What she told me about next was extraordinary. This is coming from a man who finds very little even remotely interesting. She asks about the details that I had deduced about Moriarty’s plan. From this she told me of a man who she believed could help.
After returning from a phone call, she told me of a traveling partner she once had. It was a fanciful tale that soon after I determined she was insane. As I was about to leave and spend the last moments of my life somewhere interesting, a whizzing sound filled the small room and a blue box appeared along one of the walls. I did my best trying not to seem surprised, but Molly’s tale was illogical. The story she told me of an alien who owned a time machine didn’t seem plausible. Here was the proof before me. Seconds later a young man with floppy brown hair and a bow tie exited the box. He extended a hand toward me saying, “Hello, I’m the Doctor.”
“THE Doctor?” I replied not bothering with shaking his hand. “Parents decided against a real name?”
He responded rocking back on his heels and holding his suspenders. “Well, everyone calls me the Doctor; I don’t know why. I call me the Doctor, too. I still don’t know why. ”
It appeared as if I had fallen back into some old Science Fiction television show. I couldn’t throw aside logic and believe everything these two idiots were saying. The only proof I had was his ability to slide a big blue box inside without my noticing how he had accomplished it. That in itself was pretty impressive, I have to admit. I walked over to the blue box and took out my slide-out magnifier. The box appeared brand new. I hadn’t ever bothered to fill my head with the useless information about police boxes, so I couldn’t determine the model verses timeline. It seemed like a preposterous material to compose a time machine out of. There wasn’t a single mark on the surface to imply anything. I glanced to where Molly and “the Doctor” were talking and noted that they were distracted. I scratched the surface of the box and flicked away a few chips of paint. I blinked and then the scratch was repaired.
“Its the chameleon circuit.” He explained not turning back around to face me. “Its only a cloaking mechanism. It isn’t really wood. You couldn’t just scratch my space ship that easily.” He spun around on the balls of his feet and snapped his fingers. The doors of the blue police box opened. The wrong direction I might add.
I examined the Doctor, but couldn’t gain his entire life story from a glance. He was married. I could see that by the lipstick on his collar, and the way he seemed to talk to Molly, although he didn’t wear a ring. He appeared to be rather young, but his eyes gave the impression of being incredibly old. Most of the rest of his appearance made it indeterminable to figure much about him. Anything that was recognizable was highly unlikely to have actually taken place. “You are a mystery aren’t you Doctor?” I had hesitated before continuing, but I knew it had to true because it was the only explanation of all the facts. “I have to admit that your alien technology is far superior to ours on Earth, and this leads me to the conclusion that I have no other choice than to trust you.”
“Great.” He exclaimed clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “I’ve caught River so many times from jumping off buildings, I know that we could catch you easily and make it look convincing.” From his protective but endearing nature that he spoke of this woman, it had to be his wife.
We cultivated a plan, and I set off to find John and sent him away. Before I knew it I was on the roof of Saint Bart’s Hospital and about to make a leap off of it. I had to admit that I was nervous. I called John as he arrived at the scene on schedule and urged him stop at a point where his view of the ground was obstructed by another building. When I jumped off it felt as if my heart was in my throat. It was only seconds before that the police box appeared below me and I made a dive right into a swimming pool. I climbed out of the water and realized that this box was much bigger on the inside than the outside. That was almost enough to make me a little insane. I just kept repeating to myself 'alien technology, alien technology’. I quickly dried off. The Doctor moved back a little in time and we began to stage my death on the sidewalk. I was still standing on the edge before jumping. I had many of the homeless network help me to keep John away as I prepared the landing. To keep John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson safe everyone would have to believe I was dead.
I knew John wouldn’t be satisfied that I was unless he had checked my pulse and had no response. The Doctor had a medicine for that as well. It just made me appear as if I was dead, and then I was carted off to Molly for examinations.
The Doctor had offered to take me forward in time so I wouldn’t have to hide and risk being seen. “I could also show you things that you wouldn’t believe.” He said as we stepped back inside the police box. “I could take you places you could never dream of.”
“While I could care less about space, I would like to see the outcomes of many puzzling occurrences to see if I am correct.” I responded as he climbed to what I imagined as a control panel. “But,” I interrupted him. “I shouldn’t leave John alone. He has been a faithful companion when no one else has even given me the chance. I should tell him that I am alright.”
The Doctor’s eyes appeared to be pained and I could tell he had lost many people during his lifetime. “How far do you imagine it would take for Moriarty’s people to believe you are actually dead?” He asked.
“A month. They should be uninterested by then since Moriarty is dead.” As the words escaped my mouth he had thrown a switch and the entire box was shaking and making the whizzing noise again.
We landed and he motioned towards the door. “One month from your death, Mr. Holmes.” He handed me a slip of paper with a number on it. “Inform your companion and call me when you are ready. Don’t lose this number, or allow anyone else to have it. I was even hesitant to give it to Winston Churchill.”
The police box occupied a space outside of 221 B Baker street. It was dark with very few people on the street. I looked back at the box and realized it didn’t look out of place. It wouldn’t be noticed by the common person. It started disappearing and I knew I couldn’t go back any longer.
As I unlocked the door I could tell something was off. The flat was dark and no one was here. To the untrained eye, the place appeared to be just as it was when I left it. But I could spot differences. All of my belongings had been cleaned extensively while the rest of the house didn’t appear as if it could be bothered. I tossed my coat on the couch, and took a turn about the room. I evaluated that my chair had been occupied predominately over John’s chair. That didn’t seem possible unless he had already gotten another flat mate.
I flipped the light on in my bedroom, but it was all as I left it. I could assume that John hadn’t replaced me already. Supposing that John was staying at a new girlfriend’s house I climbed into bed and drifted to sleep after my long day. I could surprise him tomorrow. For now I needed to get caught up on the necessity of sleeping.
I heard it before I smelled it. The sounds of footsteps in my room was audible enough to wake me from a deep sleep. The room was very dark, so I could assume it was still the middle of the night. That was when the smell hit me. It reeked of booze and London’s night air. I tried to look around, but just as I went to do that something hit me really hard against the back of the head and I went unconscious again.
The next time I awoke I could tell by the angle of the sun coming through the curtains that it was almost noon. I turned to find John perched on the edge of my bed. My head pounded against my skull and the pain was overwhelming. I reached up and found an icepack laying on my forehead.
John reached for something on the nightstand and I realized it was aspirin. “Take this.” He said handing me the pills and a glass of water. “It should help with the pain.” I had noted that his eyes were red and a little puffy. He had been crying and suffering slightly from a hangover. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was the one that hit me last night.
“Damn it, John. That really hurt.” I said rubbing the back of my head. I could see the hurt and disbelief in his eyes. I sat up. “I’m okay.” I reassured. “I’m not going anywhere any more.” I laid my hand on his shoulder trying to comfort him.
He leaned forward and hugged me tightly. I allowed it since I knew the type of distress he must have been put through. I spotted a cricket bat in the corner assuming it was the culprit for my new source of pain.
I got up and went into the sitting room. “I’ll tell you all about it.” I took my spot in my chair discovering it was transformed to cradle a person with slightly wider hips, but had a lower center of gravity by the feel of the back rest. It was obvious John had made use of it while I was gone. He had made tea for the both of us and settled down to listen. He waited patiently and didn’t interrupt me at all. He didn’t wear the look of disbelief like I had while first hearing about the Doctor.
When I finished he leaned back in his chair scuffing a hand over his face. “Sherlock, it hasn’t been a month. Its been eleven.”
My gut sank. “Eleven? That blasted idiot! It was supposed to be one month exactly.” I laid down my tea and looked around the room. The sun outside was moderately bright. It could be spring, but it could be fall as well. I searched quickly for a calendar even though we had never kept one in here before. “I’m so sorry, John.” Many people say that I don’t have a heart, but John was one of the few people who knew that wasn’t true. He had saw how attached I could get to a few select people. Himself more than anyone.
To repay for my absence John came up with the plan that I was to start my own blog as penance. I hate writing down my thoughts and it seems a pointless way to remember them since I have my mind palace. It is such a mundane activity. Still, I will acquiesce to his demand to display how remorseful I am for his suffering.
I am now off to surprise Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade with the news that I am not dead. John wants me to text it to Mycroft just so that he knows.