Sherlock Holmes and the Red Maverick

Chapter 1- A Robbery

It was a strange day indeed at 221b baker street. Though from appearances no one would suspect something strange was about to unravel. But at a moments glance you would notice thats how all days begin isnt it? Plain and non-descript until they become singularily unique. I found that above all things,the person who was about to enter my companion's life and mine, was blessed with the incredible ability to make each passing day special.

She truly went out of her was to make each day indivually unique and exciting. It is said that that one must make life worth living, it does not simply become extra-ordinary although as we stumbled upon this person we found that life had a strange way of forcing you to enjoy it. Just as she forced herself to enjoy each passing minute of it.

Although it was sad when it ended, I think the people she knew found that shovel full of dirt as a symbolic period. The last period on the last page on the last sentence in one of the greatest stories I have ever had the priveledge of experiencing. Her life was one she shared and happiness radiated from her. Even after she was gone. 

Sherlock and I were sitting around that mahgony table that we had a habit of eating breakfast at. Sherlock lit his pipe and leaned back in his chair with a silent huff. This business of barely any interesting cases around London was wearing on him. He had always said that reality was far more interesting than anything a fiction writer could come up with and if one could be a fly on the wall for every house in London you would find more remarkable things under each roof than any writer could ever script into a book. This quite month for his business was certainly putting that theory to the test. 

Yet as he sat back in his chair there was an emergance of pounding footsteps on the stairs outside our door. A knock interrupted our breakfast and Sherlock raised an eye brow at me pointedly as he wiped his mouth and walked over to the door. He opened it to a sweaty faced man with a top hat on and a overall pained expression.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes?" He asked in a highed pitched voice than what would have fit him

Sherlock nodded though his eyes danced around the new comer in that familair analytical way. The man gave out a cry and hugged Sherlock. Sherlock replied with a small grunt of indignation and the man stepped back with a smile and strode into the room where he began to pace. His eyes flitted over to me and he held his hand out apologetically. 

"You'll forgive me I hope for interupting your breakfast." He apologized 

His rubbed nervously at his forehead as he paced back and forth at a speed he did not seem capable of. Finally he stopped abruptly and turned to Sherlock. 

"I think I accidently let a young boy rob my bank." He said nervously

Sherlock looked around in some surprise and motioned for the man to take a seat. 

"Can we get you anything?" Sherlock asked walking over to the table "Before you begin your narrrative."

"No no," He waved his hand "Im in much to much of a fluster to possibly ingest anything. I am afraid it would end up on your floors. Thank you though."

Sherlock gave a short nod and sat down in his high backed chair across from his new client leaning in with interest.

"Im afraid you forgot to introduce yourself sir." Sherlock said 

"Oh yes," he nodded profusely "My apologies. My name is Daniel Huffings. I am a manager at a bank called the Barkley's on st james. I was hired on as a teller when I was young and have worked my way up to being one of Mr.Barkley's most admirred employees. As such I was able to persuade him to hire on a young boy that I found in the gutter who I thought had potential. I hired him on as a janitorial staff and now that I think about it I realize why Mr. Barkley had so many inhibitions about the matter. I have so many tellers and other folk working at the bank for me that I am barely needed there and as a result I only come into work twice per week. I , of course, asked other staff members to watch over the boy but I'm not sure it made a difference. You see. Each time I would go into the bank I would look over the vault and make sure it was in good condition. That is what Mr.Barkley had hired me on for originally was upkeep of the vault. As such I kept those responsibility and I regret to say that in my old age I have lost the ability to pay attention to much detail. And it wasnt until yesterday that I realized anything wrong. There had been several holes drilled manually from the inside of the vault so that it would stop locking. As such when I walked in at 6 in the am yesterday I found the large vault and all of the deposit boxes empty. I shut down the bank and I have yet to tell Mr.Barkley about hte occurance. The only other soul that knows is the boy I expect to be the thief. I confronted him about the issue when he walked in for work yesterday and he denys all accounts. He, in-turn, suggested that I go to you. He told me that you were by far the most able bodied detective and could find out what exactly had happened with complete descrepency. Naturally I came to you as soon as I could come without being seen. Hence the strange hour and my appearance."