Lord Linden raced up the stairs. He had heard his wife scream in pure terror just moments ago. The servants of the house followed closely behind him. Linden reached his wife's door and started knocking furiously. When there was no answer, he backed up and ran into the door. It opened and he skidded to a halt, looking at the scene before him. There, on the bed, was his wife. But she wasn't moving. There was an open book with a plant coming out of it. Linden gulped.
    He'd warned her about the book. Now it was too late.
~~~~~~~
    Sherlock Holmes smoked his pipe and turned to his good friend, Dr. Watson. "Watson, how long has it been since our last case?"
    "Not too long," Watson replied. "Only about a week or so. Why?"
    "Only a week? I was thinking a month or two at least," Holmes sighed in frustration before throwing his head back and ruffling his dark brown hair.
    "Holmes, whatever is the matter?" Watson asked, concerned for his friend.
    "Oh, you know me, Watson," Holmes said, chuckling slightly. "I can't be cooped up for too terribly long."
    "Well, I'm sure something will come along," Watson assured. "A nice murder. That'll cheer you up."
    "I hope you're right, Watson," Holmes sighed.
    It had been a slow few months of work for him. All the cases he had taken had been relatively easy and boring, but he had needed something to keep him occupied. If Holmes didn't work, he would go insane. His brain would tear itself apart without stimulation, and that was never good. As he was thinking about all this, there was suddenly a knock at his door.
    "Coom in!" Watson called. The door opened to reveal Inspector Lestrade.
    "Ah, Inspector," Holmes said. "How wonderful to see you. That is, of course, only if you have a case for me. If that's not the case- if you'll pardon the expression- please leave immediately."
    "I suppose I'll be staying then," Lestrade shrugged. "There's been a murder."
    "There, now, Holmes," Watson said triumphantly. "What did I tell you?"
    Holmes only gave a huff in reply to his roommate before turning to Lestrade. "Tell me about the case, Lestrade."
    Lestrade went on to explain that the wife of an English Lord had died the previous night. The only clue that Scotland Yard had been able to find was an open book with a tendril of a plant in it. When Lestrade had finished, Holmes was sitting with his fingertips to his lips: his trademark position. Lestrade and Watson glanced at each other before looking back to Holmes.
    So, Holmes," Lestrade prompted, "will you take the case?"
    "Yes, I believe I will," Holmes said. "Watson, your hat and coat. Pack a bag and kiss Mary goodbye. We're taking a trip to Lord Linden's estate."
~~~~~~~
    About two hours later, Holmes and Watson were sitting in a first-class compartment of a train. Holmes was once again sitting in his trademark position. Watson was trying to get some sleep, but to no avail. He knews Holmes wouldn't want to be disturbed, so he took out a book instead. He reminded himself to thank Mary for telling him to bring said book.
    The train ride was a relatively quiet one. Holmes was in what he called his "mind place" the whole time, and Watson was engrossed in his book. When the train finally stopped, Holmes opened his eyes.
    "We've arrived," he remarked. "Watson."
    "Hm?" Watson was still staring at his gratifying novel.
    "We've arrived, old boy," Holmes said, amused. "Come along."
    Watson marked his page and stood up, disgruntled. Now he understood how Holmes felt when Watson interrupted him while he was in his mind palace. The two friends collected their bags and caught a cab. Holmes shut the door and leaned out the window to speak to the driver.
    "Hartwood Estate, please," he said.
~~~~~~
    When Holmes and Watson arrived at the estate, they were greeted with two well-dressed gentlemen standing outside, along with the servants of the house and Lestrade. Watson nudged Holmes and pointed to the butler.
    "I'll bet he did it," Watson said.
    "Why would he have done it?" Holmes asked.
    "Because it's always the butler, Holmes!" Watson said.
    "Maybe in detective novels," Holmes grumbled. "It is never the butler, Watson! Well, maybe once or twice, but not in this case!"
    Watson grumbled something about hoping that the butler murdered Holmes next before crossing his arms and sitting back. Holmes rolled his eyes at his companion's behavior.
    "Don't be so churlish, Watson," he said.
    "Oh, that's rich, coming from you," Watson muttered under his breath.
    The cab finally drew to a halt. Holmes and Watson stepped out. Holmes got their bags, which left Watson to pay the driver. He rolled his eyes. This always happened. He was going to be broke if Holmes didn't start paying for their cab rides soon.
    Holmes stepped up to the two gentlemen and offered his hand to shake. The taller of the two shook his hand vigorously. He looked tired and worried.
    "Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I presume. I'm Lord Linden, as you have probably figured out," the gentleman said.
    Yes, I did. As you have pointed out, I am Sherlock Holmes. My good friend Dr. Watson is coming now," Holmes said. He looked at the man next to Linden. "Who are you, sir?"
    "I am Thomas Crawford, Edith's brother," the man said.
    "Edith?" Holmes questioned, confused. He mentally slapped himself a moment later. "Ah, of course, the victim's name was Edith. How stupid of me."
    Watson was now at Holmes's side and shaking hands with Linden. "I offer my deepest condolences, sir."
    "Thank you, doctor," Linden smiled. "Shall I take you to the scene of the crime? I assure you, it was not suicide. Edith was always very happy."
    Linden took the dynamic duo up to Edith's bedroom. Her body was still there, which Holmes was grateful for. Now he could conduct a proper investigation. He got down on his knees and began to deduce. Edith's face was frozen in panic. She was dressed in a nightgown, so she had died either while she was getting ready for bed- Holmes should probably talk to her lady's maid- or while she was falling asleep. He looked to the book next to her and picked it up. It was open to the first page. The plant in question was ivy. Holmes narrowed his eyes. Could this have been an allergic reaction? He held Edith's limp and cold arm up to the light. No rashes. An airborne allergy was also likely. He looked closely at the area under Edith's eyes. Sure enough, there were dark circles there. He pulled one of her eyelids up. The eyeball under it was swollen and red-rimmed.
    "Holmes?" Watson interrupted his friend's train of thought. "Do you have anything yet?"
    "The cause of death was an airborne allergy to ivy." Holmes said. He turned to Lestrade. "Are there any primary suspects?"
    "Lord Linden. According to all the servants in the house and Edith's brother, he and Edith had a fight before he went up to bed," Lestrade explained. "Even he confessed to it."
    "Then eliminate him as a suspect," Holmes said. "If he had wanted to kill his wife, he wouldn't have confessed to having a possible motive to kill her. No, I need to question her lady's maid."
    "Very well. I'll fetch her," Lestrade nodded.
~~~~~~~
    Edith's lady maid was a young woman with blonde hair and green eyes. She looked utterly terrified. Holmes decided to play nice with her in hopes to get her to calm down a little.
    "Sit, Miss..."
    "Bates. Penny Bates," the young woman said, sitting down.
    "Well, Miss Bates, where were you last night at the time of Lady Edith's death?" Holmes asked.
    "I was downstairs with the other servants, sir," Penny said. "When we heard her scream, we all ran upstairs and followed his lordship up to her ladyship's room. It was only then that I knew she had died."
    "Have you ever seen this before, Miss Bates?" Holmes asked, showing the book with the ivy in it to Penny.
    "Yes, sir," she nodded. "Her ladyship was going to read it while she fell asleep."
    "Hm. Well, have you ever seen this?" Holmes asked, opening the book to reveal the tendrils of ivy in it.
    "No, sir," Penny shook her head.
    "Very well," Holmes said. "You are free to go, Miss Bates."
    Penny left the room. Holmes knew that he hadn't been lying. Her manner in speaking hadn't changed, she hadn't fidgeted for no reason, and she hadn't hit her mouth or eyes. Holmes mentally crossed her off of his list of people to interrogate. He decided to be safe rather than sorry and talk to Linden next. Holmes called Lestrade and told him to fetch Linden. Linden came in the room about five minutes later, looking nervous. Holmes motioned for him to sit down.
    "Now, Mr. Linden, I've heard that you and your wife had a fight the night she died," Holmes said. "Is that true?"
    "Yes," Linden nodded.
    "May I inquire as to what the fight was about?" Holmes asked.
    "Thomas- Edith's brother- needed some money. He and Edith are naturally close, so she wanted to give it to him," Linden said, thinking back to his and Edith's quarrel. "I, however, knew better. He had spent all of his inheritance money from their parents on drinking and gambling. She tried to persuade me that her brother would do no such thing. I wouldn't believe her and we got into a long fight about these matters. It ended when she stormed up the stairs to get dressed for dinner. We didn't speak comfortably with each other the rest of the evening," Linden paused before looking up at Holmes. He seemed ashamed. "There's one other thing that I didn't tell the police."
    "Well, let's hear it, then," Holmes said.
    "I'm very sure that Thomas was the one who killed her," Linden said. "When Edith had left, Thomas came in the room to say that he heard shouting. I told him that he wouldn't be getting money from us anytime soon. He looked very angry at me before saying I would pay for this. He stormed out of the room, too. A little later, I saw him tampering with the book that Edith took up to bed. I warned her not to take it since I didn't trust him, but she didn't listen."
    "I see," Holmes murmured. "Where would Thomas be now?"
    "The library," Linden said.
    "Take me there," Holmes commanded.
~~~~~~~
    Holmes walked into the library with Linden. Thomas, Watson, and Lestrade were all sitting at a table in there playing a game of poker. Holmes tsk'd at Watson.
    "I do not think Mary would approve," he said in a scolding tone.
    "Well, luckily, she's not here," Watson said, smiling.
    Holmes chuckled slightly before looking at Thomas. What Linden had said about gambling seemed to fit the game that was being played before him. Also, who would know someone's health conditions better than their immediate family? If Thomas didn't know his sister's allergy, he'd be a very inconsiderate brother. Even Holmes knew all of his brother's medical maladies. True, it was because he'd deduced most of them, but he still knew them.
    "Mr. Linden, were you aware that your wife was allergic to ivy?" Holmes asked, watching Thomas as he spoke and not listening to Linden's reply, which sounded like a no. Thomas stiffened a little. Holmes smirked.
    Gotcha, he thought.
    "Mr. Crawford, were you aware of your sister's allergy?" Holmes asked, tilting his head.
    "She had a terrible reaction when we were children. She almost died," Thomas said. "She made sure to steer clear of the stuff ever since. Whoever killed her must have known."
    "Well, you're the only one out of the people who I've questioned to say that you knew of Mrs. Linden's allergy," Holmes said. Thomas paled, realizing that he'd made a huge mistake. Watson and Lestrade stood up. Linden looked furious. Thomas stood up, too.
    "Well, it has been absolutely wonderful to meet you all, but I'm afraid I must be leaving," he said before taking off like a shot.
    "AFTER HIM, WATSON!" Holmes shouted.
    The two of them took off after Thomas as fast as they could. Holmes noticed that he seemed to be heading for the servant's hall. From what he could remember about houses like this, servant's halls always had a back door. Holmes calculated before forming a plan in his head. He turned his head towards Watson.
    "Throw me your revolver!" he yelled. Watson obeyed, and Holmes caught the revolver with ease.
    They ran outside of the house together. Holmes waited with the revolver held up in his hands, hoping that his calculations had been correct. Fortunately, they were. A few minutes later, Thomas sped around the corner in his care. Holmes waited for the perfect moment. Watson looked ready to run, but Holmes told him to hold his ground. Thomas didn't seem to care that he could ram Holmes and Watson down because he just kept driving like a maniac.
    Wait for it... Wait for it... NOW! a voice in Holmes's head screamed.
    Holmes listened to the voice and pulled the trigger of the revolver. The bullet hit ithe front window of the car, shattering the glass there. It had hit Thomas's shoulder. Holmes slammed into Watson, knocking them both out of harm's way as the car Thomas was in continued to run of its own accord. It drove into a clump of bushes and stopped there, stuck Holmes and Watson stood up, shocked. Linden and Lestrade were standing in the doorway, their mouths agape. Holmes looked to Lestrade and cleared his throat before brushing himself off.

    "You should probably arrest him or something," he said.
    "Um...right," Lestrade said, hurrying to the car.
    "I wish you'd killed him," Linden said.
    "Well, he'll probably get the noose anyway," Holmes said, shrugging. "Besides, this way you can get a few of your own punches in."
    "At least I've got something to look forward to," Linden chuckled. "So, what will you two do now?"
    "Oh, we'll return to our sleepy lodgings at Baker Street," Holmes said. "I'll be bored until the next case comes along. Life will go on as normal. Come along, Watson. If we want to catch the last train, we'd better be off. Goodbye, Mr. Linden."
    "Goodbye, Mr. Holmes," Linden said. "Take care, Dr. Watson."
    "The same to you, Mr. Linden," Watson said.
On the train ride home, Watson didn't read the book he'd been so eager to get back to earlier. Instead, while Holmes remained in his mind palace, he started to write up his account of the case of Mr. Linden's library.

-------------------------

Fourteen year-old me had a really good grasp on Sherlock Holmes.

I wrote this for English class and it got an A which I was proud of since the teacher was super strict. The prompts were these pictures with little captions underneath them and this was the one I chose:

At the start of it, the teacher had us draw up webs with details for the story and most of the kids had ones that looked something like this:

While mine was huge and insane and looked like this:

This is a recreation of mine- I couldn't find the original (EVEN THOUGH I KNOW I BROUGHT THE THING HOME) and the original was way bigger.

Everyone in the class was like, "HOLLY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! HOW DID YOU MAKE IT THAT BIG?!" And I was like, "...how is yours NOT this big? Also, this is what I do for fun." And they were like, "HOW IS THAT FUN?!"

And that was the moment I learned I was the only writer in my class haha.