SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

simon chesterfield

It was a rather pleasant drive to Manchester, the weather was dodgy, but then again, John lived in England. He had tried several times to read the notes, but they were locked, and John assumed they would open at a specific time Sherlock had set them. When the cab pulled into Heaton Park, John hopped out and grabbed his suitcase. The moment the wheels of his case struck the pavement, Sherlock’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Curious, John reached inside his pocket and took the mobile device out. A bubble appeared on the screen, saying “notes are now available to view.” Smiling, John looked at the time on the phone. Exactly six o’clock.

John opened the first note. They were directions from Heaton Park to what looked like to a warehouse or some desolate place. The second note was locked. “Well done, you,” John muttered, directing it to Sherlock in both an impressed and frustrated tone. He took his suitcase’s handle and began walking along the pathway, every once and awhile looking up at the luscious green grass that spread for miles. There were plenty of fields, each of them trimmed and cleared, making it a delightful invitation for a picnic. John couldn’t stare at them for long, for he imagined him and Alana sitting in the middle of such a field, enjoying a day alone from the city.

“John!” hollered a young British voice from in front of him.

John looked up and gave a wave. “Charlie, you doing all right?”

“Of course,” Charlie replied, pulling his black shades from his structured, handsome face. His blond hair was cut short all around, leaving enough fringes for him to spike attractively. “How was your trip?” the young man asked, relieving John of the extra baggage by taking his suitcase.

“It was all right. Sherlock seems to be on quite the mission. He gave me his phone, timed it like a treasure hunt or something. Kind of wish everything was spelt out.”

“Well, we are working with Sherlock, you never know what he’s up to. We’re going to cut across, go to my flat so you can meet Simon Chesterfield.”

John nodded his head in agreement. “Sounds good. Um, while we’re walking, who’s Simon Chesterfield?”

“Ex-police officer. He’s tough, smart, and, well, good at what he does. He’s not cold; he can be charming if he wanted to. But, he’s got an edge.”

“Ex?” John repeated in concerned voice. “Why isn’t he in service anymore?”

“His wife died—,”

John’s heart was pierced at the words. He felt like he would get along fine with Simon from just those three words. “You mind if I ask how?”

“Killed in action. She was also an officer. Got shot three times when the first shot would’ve been enough. It was a gang, Simon’s convinced that the one Sherlock is after, is the same one, which is why it was easy to recruit him.”

“I see, anyone else signed on?”

Charlie shook his head. “Nope. It’s just us three and Sherlock. But I think we’ll manage.”

“What’s Simon good at?” the two of them exited the park and began walking up a pathway bordered by hedges, old statues, a fountain with no running water, and other quaint items that had been abandoned.

“He’s a good marksman, his plans have never failed so far. People who know him call him ‘The Ghost’ because he appears and then disappears, leaving only the marks he intended to leave.”

“I see, he’s a ‘leave no trace’ kind of man. I hope Sherlock approves.”

Charlie stopped in front of a fence overgrown with weeds and thorns. Glancing back at John, he nodded to the mobile phone, “I suppose this is the place Sherlock would like us to stay. I recognized the address because it’s where I live.”