Friday, November 25, 2011

Sherlock Holmes: Ice






A piece of fanfiction honoring the great Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.




Ice


Holmes had been studying the clear, glass box with more interest than it warranted. It was an empty box after all, how much evidence could be left behind? I wondered how much longer he might stare at the blasted thing when he pulled his black, clay pipe from the overcoat he was wearing and began to puff in earnest. You could almost see the clock work in his head - the gears turning.

"What we have here, my good fellow, is simple evaporation" stated my long-time friend Sherlock Holmes. He leaned closer, to the now infamous glass container, which should have held a magnificent, 10 carat diamond. The box, however, had been found empty and the question of how the clever thievery had occurred was one question which left all stupefied.

"Look closely, Watson, and you will see what I see". I did as my colleague suggested. I studied the empty box and could only come to one conclusion- it was empty. I stood up slowly. "I'm afraid I don't understand how a diamond disappearing can have a thing to do with evaporation - you've lost me Holmes".

"Indeed", Holmes proclaimed, "Notice the stain Watson, on the silk pillow -silk was such a foolhardy, fabric to choose- and then ask yourself why would anyone put a rare, African cut diamond, during it's brief, first time debut, on a soiled, silk pillow?"

"My God man, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" I stated, my mouth agape at the possibility.

"The simplest answer is always correct, my dear Watson. It was a puzzle, surely, but not one that couldn't be solved with deductive reasoning. You have a diamond in a locked glass box. The box has not been shattered, cut or manipulated in any fashion. We stand in a windowless room with only one entry and exit point which during the time in question was being guarded by two sentry's. The viewing of the diamond was restricted to one half hour only, short and sweet. Finally, we have those", Holmes made a sweeping gesture with his hand indicating the two security lights which at the moment had been turned off due to the heat they'd been emitting. "The question to the riddle Watson is not 'how' the jewel was stolen, but 'when'."

I rubbed my five o' clock beard and chuckled, "So whoever stole the diamond did it before 200 people ever bore it witness".

Holmes nodded and said,"The diamond those people witnessed was a forgery. A forgery created from ice - perhaps if the thief had chosen a different fabric for his pillow, it would have fooled even me. But the water stain was as obvious as a fingerprint and I dare say, too obvious for such a brilliant rouse and calculated criminal enterprise! Come now Watson, we have work to do - clues to uncover - the thief is leading us by our noses, and should we allow it, we may have this case solved by daybreak."

We set out then, methodically investigating the box, dusting for prints and finally opening it's lid and handling the soiled diamond cushion. When upon closer inspection of the pillow I noticed something odd. A piece of paper was carefully folded and inserted into an open seam. "Holmes!" I shouted, "By Jove I think I've found something". With calm assurance Sherlock pulled the paper loose and unfolded it. I held my breath and listened as he read the note aloud.

"Out in the cold, Holmes?" "I'll tell you what's true" "Don't melt from the pressure" "Freeze up for a clue"

My cheeks flushed red, my anger was barely containable, the deviant was mocking us! I glanced over at Holmes, expecting a similar outrage, but instead he smiled and said, "To the ice box then Watson?"

"Is that what he means?"I asked.

"Indeed, my dear fellow. The ice diamond had to be stored somewhere. To leave a note, hinting that the diamond was made of Ice, and must be kept "cold" so that it wouldn't "melt" but instead remain "frozen" is the height of narcissism. He assumed we would not have gotten as far as we have. This bodes well for us. And my Dear Dr. Watson, his clue, has yielded more information than the crook originally intended".

My ever confidant colleague, leaned towards me, note in hand, and revealed numerous points on the script where the writing was smudged. I smiled broadly as the weight of this clue pressed itself upon me.

"Excellent!" I cried, "Elementary" said he.

We made our way to the back pantry where the Ice Box was kept and it didn't take us long to discover our next clue. There etched into the wall above the box was another anonymous note. Holmes withdrew his pipe, and re lit his extinguished tobacco. He ran a finger along the engravement and closely inspected the brick wall.

LII' XXV N I' LV W

"Cut into the wall by the very diamond we seek" stated he. I gasped in astonishment."Indeed Watson, most surprising, but not unexpected from a criminal such as this".

I studied the wall for a moment longer and suddenly knew what the numbers meant. "Good Heavens, Holmes! It couldn't be"

"But it is, he has left us his destination, and it is not far from here".

My eyes grew wide and I could not comprehend the motive behind such a clue. Surely now he would not escape. "Let's get going then Holmes! Lets catch the blasted thief!"

Sherlock shook his head. "It would be pointless lest we know whom it is we seek". I released a trapped breath in a heavy sigh and watched as Holmes pulled a measuring tape from my bag. From the bottom of the wall to the tip of the etchings, Holmes measured 5ft 8 inches in height. He quickly scribbled the measurements down in his note pad and turned to me.

"Inspector Lestrade has done the legwork on this case, gathered information and here say from the victim at hand. Now that I have dealt with the hard evidence and thoroughly processed the scene, I can now bother myself with the possibly inane suspicions of others. So what has Inspector Lestrade learned from the only victim in this interesting case?"

"According to the victim, Mr. Jones, who relayed his suspicions to Inspector Lestrade, the thief must be one among three individuals he once employed. He believes it was either the Butler, the Chef, or his Maid. But how are we to know which one it is, if it is in fact one of them?"

"The process of elimination, of course", said Holmes. "It has long been my belief that the little things are infinitely the most important. With this in mind my stout fellow, please review the facts as Inspector Lestrade has gathered them".

"Alright, Holmes, according to Inspector Lestrade's thorough notes the three suspects in question are as follows: The Butler, Mario R. Carlito, 45 years old, dark coloring his unique feature is a missing limb. His left arm was lost in the War", I glanced at Holmes who merely nodded, but the twinkle in his eye was not lost upon me. "The Chef, Thomas K. Anthony, is 32 years on, with light coloring and stands at the unusual height of only 5'2. And finally, the Maid, Jasmin, T. Raymore, who was described as "God awful in appearance, but brilliant at her job". She was a brown haired, blue eyed lady whose height saw her tower above most other women, and some men. She was unusually tall, 6ft and a few inches; and here is the most peculiar part, all of them has left the employee of Mr. Jones and gone on an extended vacation".

"Brilliant summation, and another perfectly executed move by the perpetrator!"

"Are you suggesting that the thief is the one who arranged the vacations?" I inquired.

"Why of course, Watson, to cast suspicion upon many person's would create an easier means of escape, would it not? Why, I couldn't have done it better myself! Except for a few glaring discrepancies that was purposely left to us, and some that were cleverly discovered by us, the thief might have well gotten away with it. But the answer should now be clear. By the process of elimination, one person is left" My friend looked at me as though all the pieces were as easy to combine as a Toddler's six piece puzzle. I shook my head and tried to concentrate. Was there something else I was missing, something vital? By the look in my old friend's eyes I knew I only had to ask, "Well Holmes, who is it then?"

Sherlock Holmes stamped out his pipe before returning it to the pocket of his overcoat and replying, "With a preponderance of evidence to guide us, and the final piece of the puzzle which has fallen into place, I must say Watson, the answer is obvious. But if the clues are not revealing themselves to you then I tell you this - it is the person whose ego got in the way - the one who used their true name..."


To be continued...


If you are clever enough, why not guess the answer yourselves, my ever brilliant readers!

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Traveller

Inside my iced chamber my atomic structure vibrates so fast that I can't feel the cold. I can only observe what must be sub zero temperatures from the ice that frosts my enclosure, and my own breath which snow flakes around me.

Although I lay naked I am not exposed, the chamber has been designed with only one transparent window and it is directly in front of my face. I touch the glass and my heat melts the thick frost which settles there. I close my eyes and mentally go through the HUT's checklist. I imagine that the scientists whom I have hand picked are at the controls right now eager to begin.

Within minutes I hear the whir of the machine as the technicians begin the start up protocol. The thundering of it's engine reaches a deafening degree and I know it has begun. My vibrations take on a new intensity and I can feel the molecules in the air match my own oscillations as though I were a human tuning fork.

Suddenly the oxygen is sucked from what now feels like my coffin and everything becomes still. My last vision of this world is of Marie who stands safely behind the glass of my iced pod. She gives me a nervous smile and a weak thumbs up. I raise my arm to give her one back but darkness descends and within seconds I begin my travels. As I float in between universes I understand more about my own atomic structure than I ever have before. I am everything and nothing. The sum of my parts equal Zero. I am the big bang, the ultimate creation, I am God and Science.

I revel in this new found knowledge, this stunning revelation when suddenly I am whole again and standing naked in the rain. I raise my head to the skies and notice giant thunderheads rolling above. I glance down at my feet and the asphalt that lay under them. This new world seems surreal. My senses are so sharpened that it makes everything around me dizzying to look at. Suddenly every sense I have is tingling and I am bombarded by the feel of the rain, the smell of the asphalt, the sounds of oncoming traffic, the light from an SUV's headlights...

My eyes focus on the truck that is barreling straight for me, going much too fast for the conditions I now find myself in. My brain perceives too late something that the driver has already realized...I am in the middle of the road and I will never dodge the vehicle in time. In an instant I understand the irony and brace for impact. I close my eyes shut and pray my death is quick and painless so that when I am brought back to my world I am not broken and begging for help from the clausterphobic confines of that damned cold casket. The truck swerves and to my relief narrowly misses me. It's tires squeal in protest and it tips dangerously towards the drivers side. He over corrects his error and sends the truck into a terrifying death roll. Something is thrown from the vehicle and lands with a sickening thud upon the road a mere ten metres from where I still stand. I am frozen from my travels, and now from the horror I have inadvertently caused and stand stupidly looking at the twisted scene before me.

Finally the truck comes to a skidding stop 100 yards down the deserted road and I turn to seek out the driver when a voice weakly calls out, "mom?"

I look to the crumpled form before me and in a horrible instant realize...what I have done. I race to him, my feet slapping against the wet pavement and I crouch beside his broken form. The tears fall freely as I stare incredulously into the eyes of my son...

I clutch his tiny hand and he smiles at me. "You aren't mine" he states as though he understands that I am only a traveller, only a person who looks like his mother.

I can only shake my head and hold his little hand when he whispers, "I travel now too".

We leave together, hand in hand to the place between worlds. And in an instant I decide not to return to my body, to my own universe that I have left behind. It's true that I have succeeded in travelling to new realities, to new worlds, but I failed at accurately predicting my impact on them. So, with only the dead to greet my fellow scientists, they will declare my mission a failure, and the experiment will be abandoned in the search for something more attainable.

And so I remain, but continuously travel in between, alone and with company. For I am everything, and nothing.

The truest of travellers...