It was about 7 in the morning when Kate Hawthorne went out for her usual stroll out in the park, but the yet it was different. Instead of wearing her usual sweat pants, tank top, and sneakers, she went out in dress pants, a blue blouse, and high heels. Replacing her iPod, she carried a briefcase. She was nervous about her meeting with her boss. Kate wasn't sure if she had done the job correctly. If she didn't, then she knew what the consequences would be, and they weren't good. She sat down on a nearby bench and drummed her fingers on the briefcase nervously. Then she felt someone sit down next to her.
" Ah Kate, you made it."
"Yes, I did."
"Let me see it." He reached out his hand. She carefully handed him the briefcase. He shifted through the papers, then he took out a small box. Inside it rested a very small square. He put it in a scanner and it turned red. Kate paled and froze, she knew what that meant. She had done it wrong.
"Tsk, tsk, I thought you would have been better than that Kate. It's a pity. I actually liked you." He sounded disappointed. Kate tried to run but before she get up she felt a needle prick her skin. Her vision became blurry, then blackness.
Many hours later, a biker was riding down the park when he thought he saw hair coming out of a bush. I wonder if someone is hurt he thought. He got off his bike and walked toward it.
"Hello? Are you alright?" He called out. No answer. "Hello?" He called out again. Still no answer. He walked toward the bush and then gasped. Behind the bush laid the body of Kate Hawthorne.
Sherlock Holmes was sitting in his leather chair in his flat at 221 B Baker street. He had just finished a case and was terribly bored. John Watson sat across from him holding a gun in his hand. Now this was just a precaution do that Sherlock didn't start to shoot at the wall out of boredom.
"John! I'm BORED!" Sherlock cried. All he remembered was getting up in the morning and feeling extremely dull. As well as John yelling at him to get out of his sleepwear and into his normal clothes.
"Well I'm sorry. I can't do anything about it. I can't go out and make a murder for you!" Then Sherlock's phone rang.
"Sherlock Holmes. Yes? At the park? Ok, on my way." He hung up. "We've got a case John! YES! Finally the end of my boredom!" He quickly put on his scarf and coat, " Coming?" He asked John.
"Yes I am." He replied and got up to rush after Sherlock. Once they had gotten in a cabby John asked what the case was.
"A woman was found dead in the park with no apparent signs of why she died."
"That must be exciting for you."
"Indeed." They were silent the rest of way. When they arrived at the crime scene, Sherlock's eyes lit up. Lestrade came running up.
"You came." Lestrade said.
"Yes, of course I did. Don't I always?" The detective said, annoyed.
"I suppose you do." He replied; Sherlock smirked.
"So where is the body?" John asked.
"Over here." Lestrade led them over to a bush. Behind it laid a woman. Her eyes were closed and her hair was perfectly spread out on the ground and her hands were crossed on top of her chest. Resting between her hands was a single red rose. "Her name is Kate Hawthorne. She lives here in London. Some people who I have spoken with say that she usually comes here to take a morning stroll and that was all I could get." He said.
"It almost looks as if she is asleep!" cried the doctor.
"Yes, it does. Well, Sherlock, what can you do?" Lestrade asked. The detective immediately went into action. He inspected the body quickly and in about a minute he was done.
"She is 29 years old. She obviously came here for business, but whatever happened went wrong and she somehow ended up here. The person who killed her must have felt sorry or else we wouldn't have left her this way. " Sherlock looked worried he furrowed his eyebrows.
"Is that all?" the inspector asked.
"Yes. It is all I can deduce. Who ever killed Ms. Hawthorne did a very good job of cleaning up. Her murderer left me nothing."
"Moriarty?" John asked.
"No. This is not his type of style. He at least would have left me a clue. There is nothing on her to tell me anything!" Sherlock shouted.
"Don't tell me to calm down! This has never happened to me before!"
"Sherlock, lets go back to the flat. Maybe you can think things through there.I'm sure Lestrade will call you if he gets anything else." John said.
"Fine." Sherlock said curtly. They walked off and got into a cabby.
Sherlock slammed the door. "How could this happen to me!" He cried. The detective tried to reach for the gun laying on the counter, but John was faster.
"Everything will be fine. Just don't go shooting the bloody wall!" John yelled. Sherlock went to the couch and sulked. "Sher-"
"Don't talk to me. I need to be alone." He looked up at his friend with such a look that he complied. Once John had left, Sherlock laid on the couch and tried to think. He thought back to the crime scene, and went over everything. Nothing. Just nothing. How could I only get the simplest of deductions? he thought. After awhile he came to the fact that he might need help. Help from someone had an extremely high intelligence, someone could get information quickly... He took out his phone and sent a text that he never thought he would send in his life.