Young Sherlock | School of Deduction (Book One)

Chapter Eight

Sherlock weighed up his options in a nanosecond, deciding that as there was blood coming out of the back of Sophie's head that needed immediate attention, he would take her home and call the ambulance from there.

But he knew he didn't have much time - 10 minutes at most.

He scooped up his fallen companion in his arms and jogged round the corner. Just as he had predicted, a sign at the end of the road said 'Baker Street'.

He raced along to 221B and hammered urgently on the door.

"Hello dear-" a middle-aged woman with silvery hair began, then noticed the unconscious Sophie in Sherlock's arms.

He knew that Sophie rented an apartment and deduced this woman was the landlady.

"Hello Madam, my name is Sherlock and you need to call an ambulance immediately and I need to use your first-aid kit."

"Sophie! Oh my goodness!" the woman gasped. "Bring her in, quickly!"

Sherlock carried Sophie up a flight of stairs, into an apartment and lowered her onto the nearest couch. The older woman scurried off to retrieve a first aid kit, leaving Sherlock alone - at least that was what he thought until he noticed an old man standing by the window, mouth open in shock. Surprisingly, he also looked slightly indignant.

"Sophie?" he said. "What happened?"

"Calm yourself," Sherlock sighed. "I need to call 999."

Pulling his mobile out of his pocket, he thumbed in the number and paced impatiently until he received a reply.

"Which service do you require?"

"Ambulance - a man threw a rock at the back of my acquaintance's head and it knocked her out. She's bleeding quite seriously and she still hasn't regained consciousness."

"Where are you, and who's speaking?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes and I am at 221B Baker Street, London - NOW HURRY UP SHE'S DYING!!!"

"An ambulance will arrive shortly," the woman replied and hung up, leaving Sherlock to observe his surroundings.

Sophie's apartment was covered in folders and paperwork. There were a few empty pizza boxes on the table and several pictures lining the wall, but excluding this factor there were very few personal touches.

The landlady returned with a first aid kit, but her face fell when when she saw the old man standing in by the window.

"Charles!" she cried. "A little help here?"

"You know what, I might get some air," he croaked, and scuttled out.

"Oh Sophie, my poor girl..." the landlady whispered. "I'm here, don't worry. Thank you for bringing her home, Sherlock. How did you even know where she lived?"

She undid Sophie's ponytail and moved the hair so she could get at the wound.

"We know each other from college," Sherlock explained, pulling out antiseptic and bandages from the first aid kit. "You seem to know Sophie quite well too for a landlady."

"I'm also her great-aunt, and that baboon who was in here earlier is Charles, her great-uncle" the lady explained simply, continuing to attend to her great-niece's wound. "I'm Mrs Hudson, by the way."

They spent the next few minutes in silence tending to Sophie until the wail of an ambulance sounded outside.

As Sophie was carted off with a growing sense of urgency into the vehicle, Mrs Hudson smiled sadly at Sherlock.

"She's lucky to have you, Sherlock Holmes."