Day Two

I awoke early the next morning to a scream. I ran out of my room, but Sherlock had beat me. In one hand, he clutched a revolver. In the other, a magnifying glass.

On the ground, water dripped from an unknown door. Sherlock threw open the door to his lab, and the source of the water. Sherlock light a candle, and a mystery was resolved. A visitor was slumped across the floor. Sherlock’s well-trained eye immediately drew him towards a class cabinet, which had been shattered. Inside, a collection of knives and daggers lay. And there was a relatively dustless area, were a long knife had once rested. Sherlock light a lamp, and all was clear. St. Owl was dead. A bloodstained knife lay on the table.

“Water dripping. Water, water, everywhere. And not a drop to drink.” St. whispered.

SHerlock looked at the floor. There was clear, pure water everywhere. Lab instruments had been pushed to the back of shelves, or across the floor. It seems a struggle had taken place.

“Holmes, my name is Lestrade.” Police Inspector Lestrade said.

“Ah, good. Why don’t you tell your bumbling friends that I am perfectly fine.” Sherlock said.

“HOLMES! I am here to make sure nobody else is murdered. Three people have been murdered in your house today. Allow my help, please.” Lestrade said.

“Got it! Lestrade, get as many police as you can. And go to Scotland. There, you will find Moriarty.” Sherlock said, and ran off.

I retired to my quarters after breakfast. Holmes joined me there.

“Watson, I have a discovery: Moriarty has sent a assassin here to kill me. I think that is why the visitors have been killed off: they want me alone.” Holmes said.

Later, I walked out. I saw a figure dart into a hallway. I followed. I saw the candle in the figure’s hand flicker, and the face of Lestrade was revealed.

“OUT!” I yelled.

“I must search here. Go, tell Mr. Holmes. I still need to be here.”   replied.

I heard a gunshot. I ran to the Late St. Owl’s room. It had been rooted through, and gunpowder was dusted in a corner. There was also a crumpled envelope. I grabbed it.

The envelope was dark red, and there was a name which had been scratched from the surface. I looked inside, and a crumpled banknote lay. Clearly, this was the letter to the assassin from Moriarty.

Then, I saw a bullet hole in the ceiling. A wire ran out, and I pulled slightly, and I soon found a telegraph key. Someone was using this room as a base.

The game was on.

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