For reasons I don’t care to explain — this has been my weapon of procrastination today. Followed by tiny snippet from a 11pt font, single-spaced, 158 page word document:
Duncan Reynolds II: I hear you’re the best, which is why I came to you… looks around the disorderly flat …but maybe I’m better off going to the police…
Sherlock: If you would like to go to the police, by all means, do. However, they will most likely call me in anyway, therefore it would be much more time efficient for all involved parties if you would just sit. Sherlock drops back into his own chair, steepling his fingers impatiently
John: Mutters Well, at least you didn’t “deduce” him—it’s progress.
Sherlock: Just because I didn’t say anything doesn’t mean I haven’t done it. The man sits in John’s chair uncomfortable Now, what is it exactly, that you’re here for?
Duncan: You’re going to tell me I’m crazy…but I swear I’m not. You can put me through all the psychoanalysis tests you like. I have to tell you, first, about when I was a boy during the Blitz. The air raid sirens went off while I was delivering newspapers—I was late getting home, and the streets were completely empty. Except for one man, running down the street. He waved at me and smiled, like nothing was wrong. I was terrified that, somehow, he was a Nazi, but he wasn’t dressed like a soldier—anyway, he grabbed my hand and told me to run and to not turn around. I don’t know what was chasing us, I onlt caught glimpses…but I think that man saved my life. I got home and he disappeared. Then, last week, I saw the man again. I knew it was him, he even had the same outfit on. And he hadn’t aged at all! I need to know who he is. He never told me his name or anything…but I need to know how this is possible. That’s why I’m hiring you.
Sherlock: Raises eyebrow How old were you then?
Duncan: I was eleven. And there’s one more thing: when I saw him last week, he’d just stepped out of this blue police box: the old-fashioned kind that you don’t see any more…I don’t know if that’s useful at all…
Sherlcoi: Right. Sits back in chair and looks at John over his steepled fingers then back at Duncan, who shifts nervously I’ll take the case.
John: John looks at Sherlock in surprise
Duncan: Th-thank you! He had a ridiculous haircut, all floppy on one side, and brown. Youngish, looked to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties both then and now. His face was all forehead and chin, and deep-set eyes. Bowtie, tweed jacket, very thin trousers, funny little boots and red braces. And he liked to talk very, very fast…does that help?
Sherlock: Not in the slightest. Not yet anyway…