Many Happy Returns, Again
I surprised Sherlock Holmes today. That sounds like something that should be impossible, but it wasn’t. I didn’t even make an effort. Would you believe the man who can rattle off a list of every serial killer ever active in Britain forgot his own birthday?
I went round to Baker Street today after work with a cake Mary baked and found Sherlock scouring his messages for exciting cases. He looked like he hadn’t been expecting me, and as it turned out he hadn’t. He asked me why I had a cake and I said happy birthday. Then we spent a couple of minutes arguing over whether or not it was really January 6th. It was one of the few arguments we’ve had that I’ve actually won.
Anyway after cake we played Jenga and he beat me at it. That’s not the sort of game that has rules you can bend easily, so he couldn’t cheat, but he spent a long time analysing the tower of blocks to figure out which one to pull whenever it was his turn. He seemed to be having fun, though, and that’s what matters.
I’m home now, and because Sherlock’s had a lot on his plate lately and I want his inbox to be filled with something other than thefts and murders, I’m sharing this with the whole world: Happy Birthday, Sherlock Holmes.
The Past Three Days
I can’t even begin to describe the past three days.
I don’t need to tell you what happened – I know you all can read. We’ve had reporters from every paper you’ve ever heard of on our tails since the trial. Can’t go outside without stepping on one. They all want a statement from Sherlock.
It was worst right after the verdict. Not because of the reporters, but because I had to take the Tube back and when I got there, he was pulling away from the curb. Moriarty. Just like that, casual as anything. Blew me a kiss as he drove by, I thought for sure I’d go upstairs and find Sherlock lying dead on the floor.
But he wasn’t dead. I’m sure you knew that. A murder would really make the headlines. No, we’ve been keeping our heads down and plan to for a little while longer. At least, I do. Sherlock’s already getting restless.
Tuesday was also the anniversary of the day we met, Sherlock and me. He remembered. I didn’t. I suppose that’s just how it goes.
The Falls of Reichenbach
It was a dark and stormy night.
… is how you all would like this story to begin, I’m sure. I know what you’re after, all of you new readers and members of the press. Phone’s been ringing off the hook since that article ran on Thursday.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you’re here. Sherlock’s been in a mood, but he’s Sherlock. The reason this is all a bit strange to me is because I think this is one of the least interesting cases we’ve had in a while – it only concerns a stolen painting, and the last one I wrote up involved giant glowing hellhounds. Either way, welcome everyone. My hit counter is telling me there have certainly been a lot of you…
Before I forget…
The only really exciting thing that’s happened in the past couple of weeks is Sherlock’s started taking driving lessons.
I know. I can’t believe it either.
He’s getting them from Victor though so at least he’s in good hands. They went out this afternoon and came back in one piece, which is reassuring.
Just thought I’d let you all know so you can steer clear of the streets.