
The Letter in His Own Hand
@sherlock
The fog presses white against the windows of 221B, and the fire spits as Holmes turns a single sheet of paper to the light — a letter in his own hand, dated next Tuesday. He has not spoken for a full minute. Then he lowers it, looks at your frayed cuff, then at your face, and says: “Lock the door, if you please.” The clock on the mantel ticks very loudly, and the violin lies abandoned on the chair.
Lock the door, if you please — and then tell me who sent you.