SHERLOCK: Mystery at Pondicherry Lodge

I. An unexpected invitation

THE MARRIED LIFE IS WHAT I HAVE NOW. No more adventures, no more mysteries, just me and my darling wife Mary Watson. Even though I know nothing of her youth, I will always love her, and if she decrees it I would follow her till the end of the universe. My friend on the other hand, although despises the emotional connection I have with my wife, wouldn't have it any other way. When I told him that I was going to stop running around London with him, he simply smiled and bid me farewell, as he wanted nothing more than me to be happy. I hear he is off finding Mr Moriarty, his nemesis whom apparently came back from the grave, and even though the search started two months ago, Sherlock still has no leads. I pray he doesn't get himself into trouble, although I know he would, he always has a knack of doing so.

With my body in one easy chair and my legs upon another, I surrounded myself with a cloud of newspaper, it was quite a rather queer read today,

Pondicherry Lodge [it read] with its old stone walls and broken glass was purchased earlier this week. No one knows who would be crazy enough to live there after the tragedy that bestowed upon it many years ago. Whoever bought it is seen as ludicrous, as no one has set foot there since Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson found the poisoned corpse of professor Thaddeus and solved the case-

"Odd isn't it?" Mary sighed "honestly I'm glad to see that place bought" I had to agree with her, the place was rather splendid and beautiful before the murder, yet due to the unusual death no one wished to set foot or buy that place until now, and I believe that to be grand to see it bought.

After I saturated myself with the news of the day, I lazily tossed the paper away and sat in silence, until my wife spoke up.

"Oh, and before I forget, John you received this in the last post." She smiled handing over a small yellowed envelope "oh do read it aloud"

The note was undated and without either a signature or address from the sender, just neat cursive writing saying Dr John Watson and Mrs Mary Watson née Mortsan. I opened and read the contents to my wife. "There is a masquerade they wish us to attend to-night, at eight o'clock." It says "the host desires us to come dressed in our finest cloths, you shall be trusted with the matters that this ball is not publicised. Be at Pondicherry Lodge at the hour, and do not take it amiss if your host wears a mask"

***

ON THE HOUR WHICH FOLLOWED WE HAD finally agreed that we would attend, Mary left soon after, for luncheon with her old friend Charlotte, someone my wife had met when she was well, an assassin, leaving me alone to ponder on my old life.

My various notes and journal entries of that life made me sad, so I decided to visit old Mr Holmes to see how he was. The methods and ways of my dear friend are quite peculiar to the common folk of London. While the people of London go about their days, drinking tea and smoking pipe, Sherlock Holmes is solving crimes, experimenting on bodies and smoking whilst knowing nothing about the universe. Oh, how I loved the days when I too solved crimes, living at baker street as a mere bachelor.

Sherlock Holmes as I expected was lounging around in his dressing-gown, reading a passage in The Times, and smoking a pipe. He greeted me in his quietly genial fashion.

"Marriage life suits you," he commented after we were both seated. We caught up with each others lives, I listened to his tales of mystery since I was gone and he listened to my boring talk about my married life.

As the hour grew short, I realised I would soon have to go and meet up with Mary. I bid farewell to Holmes and promised to visit more often.