Uncharted - Ch3 - H+WChapter Three:
Watson took a single, deliberate step backward. Holmes' shoulders went cold at the absence of his friend's touch as he rose to his feet. He had thought about this very moment a hundred times over what he would do, what he would say. He even dared to consider a happy ending once or twice, and he was not one to cling to optimism when all evidence pointed to the contrary. Yet now that it was real, tangible, he could truly grasp the foolishness of his thinking. He had been an idealist to even entertain the notion that this situation could end in anything other than the demise of the most important companionship he had ever come to know. All of this was waiting behind him, and in that moment he would have sooner fled London than faced what he had done.
With one tense motion, Holmes turned around.
The blank expression on Watson's face was almost too much to behold.
It was clear that Watson had been shell-shocked. He was unmoving, unblinking, barely existing. Holm
Uncharted - Ch2 - H+WChapter Two:
-Three Days Later-
Waiting was the bane of Holmes' existence.
The detective had never been terribly apt to tolerate anything that required a great deal of patience if it meant he had to sit and stagnate while he did it, and this particular endeavor required a tremendous amount of quiescence. This on top of the fact that he had gone three days with no case work and he was on the brink of, what ones with a lesser vocabulary would refer to as, 'losing grip with reality.'
Holmes sat in his room, playing Beethoven on his violin but not really taking the time to enjoy the sound and feel of the music. Watson was off in his old room, perusing the newspaper for possible work and probably taking a few minutes to brood now and then for good measure. Ever since their last dinner at The Royale, the doctor had taken to brief bouts of quiet contemplation whenever it seemed he could get away with it. This was, undoubtedly, a direct cause of Holmes throwing the riddle his way
Uncharted - Ch1 - H+WChapter One:
Sitting at a table in the middle of The Royale restaurant in London, Watson absently pushed the potatoes around on his plate as he stared down at them with a furrowed brow. He directed the pieces into the juice from his untouched steak and watched as the vegetable soaked up the liquid at a moment's notice.
Another case solved, yet something was wrong.
As it had turned out, to everyone's surprise but Holmes', the culprit of the recent string of slain women had been a mild-mannered nurse maid with quite a possessive nature where her employer, a sturdy businessman, was concerned. It seemed she didn't care for viable marriage candidates wandering into the businessman's path so, to put things in gentle terms, she took it upon herself to remove the competition. A briefly lingering stare from the maid to the object of her devotion in the presence of Holmes had led the great detective down the mental path that concluded her guilt, and thus a three week long case came to a n