"Wine. Please." Mycroft replied, when I gestured to the still warm tea pot. I summoned Mrs. Hudson and passed on the request. She eyed Sherlock's intruder with continued suspicion, having clearly not banished the crazed Scottish farmer he'd just been representing.

As she left, my companion chuckled quietly, "'My croft.' A lovely pun, given you were attempting to represent a crofter… from the Islands off the west coast I believe…" His speculation clearly hit the target. "But why the obvious mistakes, dear brother? There is more to this than is straight forwardly apparent."

He'd gone again. Inside that wonderful mind of his.

DoctorMikeReddy (joined over 10 years ago)
Visit Website

I do all sorts of things. Mostly badly. Mostly better than others. I tell stories. Occasionally, I lie.

No favorites

Story information

License

Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0

genres

Sherlock Holmes Victorian Crime

tags

detective consulting

Contact


We like you. Say "Hi."