WHOLOCK: Mysteries through time

i

"MY DEAR WATSON, " SAID, SHERLOCK Holmes, as he and John sat either side of the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street. "Life is infinitely strange, and some things have I come across confuse me greatly. Just earlier this evening before you arrived, I had a rather strange inquiry. A new case actually. I investigated as requested, as shooting the wall was deemed ineffective to my boredom. "You see Watson, I initially believed it was a simple disappearance, a kidnapping or run away but as the hour grew short I found myself rather stumped."

John was rather intrigued by this new case, but mostly by his companions predicament, as far as John was concerned, it is highly improbable to stump or even fool Sherlock Holmes. Yet here he is stating pieces of a case as if it was the most unsolvable.
"I will compress the story as far as may be done without omitting anything vital to the case. It is conceivable that you have read some account of the matter. It is the of the disappearance of a young woman; Rose Tyler"

"I have heard nothing of it"

"The only attention of it was sort of the girl's mother. The facts are two weeks old. Briefly, they are these:
"Henrik's shopping centre as you know was blown up seventeen days ago, one of the people in question was an employee named Rose Tyler - now it so happens that Ms Tyler disappeared the very next afternoon." John scrunched his face in thought "Suspicious, don't you think?" Sherlock grinned, he loved how invested in the story John had already become.

"Very. Upon my chat with the mother and investigation at the females house, only two things add up to her disappearance which needs to be investigated further. "The first, my dear Watson, is a man who visited earlier that day stating compensation for the trauma at work. According to the woman's mother, the man came around early in the morning, he was a strange man and proposing a lot of money. The events involving him, [that the mother stated] went like this.
"'So I was in my room, still in my dressing gown, a daft thing I am, when Rose opens and invites this guy in. First I think it's a random or her boyfriend Mickey. He was quite an alright looker, tall, short dark hair, wearing a leather jacket.

"'He stated that he was offering millions for compensation after he enquired some information about the previous night, I didn't think twice about. I mean why would I, but now that I think about it, I only saw him the once, and that was before she vanished. I didn't even get a name of company either'
"The other person, she accused was Ms Tyler's Boyfriend- "

"Boyfriend?" John asked questionably.

"Yes, boyfriend. Her mother accused the boy several times for the crime"

"And did he?" John questioned, earning an 'are you stupid' glance.

"Would I be here with you talking about a case if it was? Don't be daft Watson" Holmes groaned "he isn't the culprit, however, he did know what happened, whether or not he'd tell us. The only thing he did state is that she went to his place to use the computer; tell me, John, why would she use his?" John sat there thinking about the reason before concluding to "she needed to not be traced back, for it was something important she would have searched."

"Indeed, Sherlock," Sherlock said, walking across the room to pick up his violin "I looked through his search history to find a queer site, 'Do you know this man?' It read, followed by a contact. Assuming she, about the previously met the man, Young Ms Tyler contacted the site owner. I contacted him and he will be here in a few minutes to discuss his part in the disappearance."

"So you haven't solved or even began a theory about Rose Tyler?"

Sherlock struck a wrong note upon his violin purposely before pointing the bow towards Watson. "It is a capital mistake to theorise before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts."

They sat in silence for a good ten minutes before the buzz of the doorbell rang through the apartment, soon followed by loud footsteps going up the seventeen steps. A rather large man stood before them, his clothes were messy and stained, his hair balding and thin. "You must be Clive" Sherlock snarled. Clive looked around the room before seating himself upon the sofa. "Clive, can you tell or give us any information about the disappearance of Rose Tyler?"

"She came to me inquiring about a man."

"Yes, I know, I saw your site" Sherlock hurried waving his hand about.

"She wanted information on him, and I showed her some pictures, and told her my theory"

"Boring!" Sherlock yelled, "Do you have what she asked for or not?" The man seemed unsure at first, but after much thought handed over a large brown paper envelope. "It's what she came to me for, it's all the photos I showed her, as well as a couple notes, diary entries, anything I could find about the man" he sighed.

"Thank you" Sherlock sneered snatching it away "you may go"

"Don't you want to know my thoughts on him?" Clive asked, almost desperate to tell him every theory he had conducted.

"Nope," Sherlock said popping the p, "I have no time for theories, now if you don't mind leaving; that would be more helpful" Clive looked up at Dr Watson, who gave him a sullen look as if to say 'it's for the best.'

Standing, Clive walked towards the door before stopping "I hope you understand that death follows him. The girl you're looking for; she might already be dead." After the door had closed and the footsteps faded away, the package, Clive brought sat still on the coffee table. Sherlock picking it up, inspecting the paper that covered the content, slowly with an envelope knife, he began to open the package, it was bulky and filled with photos and notes, no more no less. John watched as Sherlock slid out the first picture, taking a quick look before dropping it. Struck with fear Sherlock Holmes went stiff and stared at the door. Clive was not wrong.

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It was late December of 1988, the houses were decorated with Christmas lights and tinsel, children everywhere were asleep awaiting their visit from Father Christmas, every child except one. Sherlock Holmes was a peculiar child, even more so at that age than any other. He lay tucked in his bed wondering why every other child his age believed in a fat man in a red coat when a loud ruckus began to grow outside. The wind picked up soon after, stirring the snow around. As the noise and wind continued, the young eight-year-old Sherlock crept out of bed and down the stairs to investigate. The myth of the fat man couldn't be real. Yet curiosity to prove himself right led him to the backyard. Snow swirled around, the wind grew, blocking his face with his arm, young Sherlock saw something any adult would claim as an apparition or hallucination, something someone mental would suggest.

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"Sherlock? Sherlock?" John yelled, shaking the stunned man. As time passed Sherlock managed to mutter a few syllables.

"I -I've seen this before." For the image that lay on the floor was that of an old blue police box, the same as the one he saw appear on Christmas Eve.