Sherlock was walking down Bakers Street, humming a jaunty little tune he had been playing earlier on his violin. Spotting his good friend, Watson, he sauntered across to him.
“Watson, my good chap! How are you today?” he asked, tipping his deerstalker hat in acknowledgement.
“Not too good old bean,” replied Watson, looking rather worried. “I’ve been hearing things about a new murderer sweeping across the streets of London and praying on the most unusual of victims.”
“How so?” inquired Sherlock, taking out his pipe and puffing on it in thought.
“The first was a young boy, around 18. He was found face down in a ditch, his glasses broken nearby. He’s since been identified as Larry Trotter, a local lad who lived a rather sorry life as a shoe shiner. Bit dim I heard… Anyway, he seems to have been suffocated with treacle. Nasty business, I’m sure!”
“Ahh, most intriguing” said Sherlock, taking another puff on his pipe. “Any others?”
“Yes. A young Harlott named Ginevra Weezleby or Wesley or something like that. She was found near the docks by the Thames, also suffocated with Treacle. Here brother was also attacked though he lived, seems he managed to eat the treacle.”
“Did the murderer leave anything behind, Watson?”
“Yes, a calling card of sorts. At each scene we found a yellow rubber duck, one that looked rather dazed and confused, almost concussed!”
“Aha, Watson I know where we need to be! Follow me!” shouted Sherlock, darting off to the alleys, his trench coat whipping behind him.
Watson sighed. He was used to his companion running off like this without a word as to why. That was just his nature, he was reckless but he sure was brilliant. Watson ran as quick as he could, following Holmes into the alleys and found that they were heading towards the south of London.
“Holmes old chap, wait for me would you!” called Watson, regretting the fact that he had told his friend about the new mystery.
Suddenly, Sherlock skidded to a halt and pulled out his magnifying glass. He knelt down on the ground, inspecting the curb before him.
“Holmes what are you do-“
“Shhh Watson! The game is afoot, the killer was here last night, just look at how suspicious this pavement looks.”
“By golly, you’re right!” exclaimed Watson, doing a jig in delight.
Suddenly, the area around them grew dark though the sun was still shining brightly. Sherlock looked up and to his horror, saw a rather large man standing over them with a large frozen leg of lamb in one hand and a tin of treacle in the other.
“So, you’re on to me are you?” wheezed the man. He was the sort of man who you could tell had been handsome once but and since eaten too many meat pies and drank too much ale.
Holmes stood up, straightening out his waistcoat and began doing a sort of circle dance with the man.
“What is your name, sir?” he enquired.
The man hesitated for a second then, under very mysterious circumstances, decided to spill the beans. “Tom,” he growled, “Tom Riddle.”
“Well, then Tom, riddle me this, what is a chap like you walking round in London with a leg of lamb and a tin of treacle.
The man scowled and took a step forward, “Wouldn’t you like to know!” he said menacingly, advancing towards Holmes.
To be continued! Hope you enjoyed it, super sleuths!
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