The Murder of Sherlock Holmes

An Introduction for our dear Ms. Fletcher

The woman crept down the stairs in her light pink nightgown.  The house was dark and the wind was howling.  The lamp in her hand cast an eerie shadow over the room.  The light illuminated her face, her eyes darting  back and forth. The stairs creaked as she slowly tiptoed down them.

"Roger is that you?"  She whispered into the dark of the house.

The sound of a door creeping open startled her.  She turned toward it.  The wind had blown one of the balcony's double doors  open.  She hurried over to it and shut it.  Almost immediately, the  other door opened.  She shut it too.  Another sound came from behind her.  She whipped around.

"Roger...Roger please." The tears were beginning to form in her eyes, her ragged breathing became even more labored.

"For God's sake... if this is some kind of a sick joke..." 

She slowly began to walk toward the door where she had heard the sound.  It was only a couple feet from the balcony doors, but it felt like it took an eternity to get there.

She rested her hand on the knob.  It was ice cold to the touch.  She opened it.

A scream ripped itself from her throat.  Jut beyond the door was a man, dressed in executioner's clothing.  A mask covered his face, and he held a gleaming metal axe in his hands.

The woman fell to the floor, paralyzed with fear.  The man raised the axe.

"LIGHTS!"  The glaring lights shot onto the stage, killing the dark, foreboding mood that had been present just a few moments earlier.

"Still too long." The director, energetic and as critical as ever, rose from his chair and began walking towards the stage.

"We've got to pep it up people!  Alright, second act in 10 minutes. We open tomorrow night and I don't intend to close the night after!"

He turned to go up to the sound booth,  but three older ladies on the back row of the theatre room caught his attention.

"Ladies, this is a private rehearsal, no outsiders."  His voice was one of a stressed-out, tired man.  He really did not have time for this.

One of the ladies stood up.

"Ah, Mr. Chilene, you did ask us to meet you here."

"And why would I do a thing like that? I don't even know you."

Another lady stood up, a smile on her face.

"We're the refreshment committee--"

"from the PTA," clarified the last lady.

"Ah yes yes, the cookie ladies."

 Chilene massaged his forehead, to much to do and so little time to do it.

"George," Chilene yelled exasperatedly, "George will you sharpen up that last cue!"

He turned his attention back to the three women.

"Please," he clasped his hands in desperation, " see me after the rehearsal."

"Mr. Chilene I just love the show," gushed one of the ladies, obviously not aware of the stress Chilene was under at the moment.

"It's just so",  she paused, "mystifying."

"Gave me the goosebumps," the second one added in, a mischievous grin on her face.

"Ah yes, and I'm sure no one will ever guess the uncle is the killer," piped in the third as she made her way to the door.

Chilene stared after her, tugging at his collar, dumbstruck for a second. He found his voice.

"Uh, wait a minute, wait a minute," he said as he followed the ladies out the door.

They were already absorbed in their own conversation and ignored him.

"Hold it lady, hold it!"  

He ran around to get in front of them, trying to get their attention.

"Uh, whatever made you think that the uncle was the killer?"  He was trying to be nonchalant, but his frazzled, breathless state said otherwise.  

"Well isn't he? How delightful!  I was totally fooled."

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, he is the killer," Chilene said, a nervous laugh escaping from his lips.  

She laughed too.

"Ah, Ms.--," he paused, hand held out.

"Ms. Fletcher," she said, as she took his hand and gave it a good sturdy shake.

She turned to the other ladies, introducing them.

"Oh, and this is Mrs. Howie in charge of punch, and this is Mrs. Thompson, she's brownies and...macaroons?

"Macaroons," Mrs. Thompson confirmed.

"Charmed, charmed," Chilene said as he nodded his head at both of the ladies, a smile plastered on his face.

"Look, ah, somebody slipped you a copy of the script right?"  

"Oh no," Ms. Fletcher said, eyes wide, "no, but when the uncle showed up after the party wearing a different tie, obviously he changed it for a reason."

She paused, thinking.

"And then there was the phone call from the coroner,  I mean he couldn't have known about that, not unless he had overheard the conversation between the doctor and the priest."

She paused for a second, letting out a small laugh.

"Silly of me, here I am explaining your play to you.  I'm so sorry.  Come on girls, we'll catch the second act tomorrow with everyone else."

They walked around him and continued their walk down the street, already lost in their earlier conversation.

Chilene stood there for a second, speechless.  He then turned and began hurriedly walking back towards the theatre.

"George!  Get me that writer! I want to talk to him now!

So I haven't quite figured out how I'm gonna do this.  I'm thinking a chapter will be a segment between two commercial breaks.  Then again, it may just be whenever I get tired ;)  I highly suggest you go buy the disks or stream this TV show.  It's AMAZING!  Also, I don't know how many episodes I will do, nor do I have a set release schedule for new chapters.  Some words and names may not be accurate, purely because of accents, the speed at which they talk, etc.   Just to give you an idea.  This whole chapter is only about three and a half minutes of the episode.... and this episode in an hour and a half long.  If you like this, tell a friend, tell two friends, and then tell them to tell their friends.  Hope ya'll are doing good and remember to comment, like, vote, follow, whatever you do ;)  As always, thanks!

In the Name of Literature,

Paw Ostin