The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part II by David Marcum

my old friend as a consequence.
    It was half past twelve in the afternoon of the following day when I arrived at the great house on Baker Street. Mrs. Turner answered the doorbell and I saw a glimmer of relief flash across her features.
    â€œGood afternoon, Mrs. Turner. Is he home?”
    The matronly Scotswoman rolled her eyes theatrically as she stepped aside to allow me to enter.
    â€œWhere else might he be, Doctor Watson? Where else could he conduct his odious scientific experiments or pace the floor at all hours of the night? How my sister tolerates that man is beyond my ken. I’ll be the one needing the holiday once she returns.”
    â€œRight you are. Silly of me to have asked in the first place, I suppose. Well, never mind. I’ll soon have him out of your hair.”
    â€œYou have a case for him, I hope?”
    I detected the hint of anticipation in her voice and knew that Holmes must have driven the poor woman to her limit.
    â€œIf all goes well I do, Mrs. Turner.”
    The last I saw of her was the smile creasing her lined face as I made my way upstairs to Holmes’s rooms.
    My old friend lay sprawled upon the davenport. Street maps were unfolded and lay strewn over the table and on the floor. An empty tea cup was overturned on top of the map nearest the front legs of the table.
    â€œWhat is it this time, Mrs. Turner?”
    Holmes did not even glance up as I entered the room. His toneless voice betrayed his boredom with his enforced solitude. I was relieved he had long since broken his addiction to that awful drug that so often claimed him at times such as this. I cleared my throat pointedly.
    â€œWatson! What an unexpected surprise!”
    His face registered what appeared to be genuine delight at seeing me.
    â€œIt shouldn’t be unexpected, Holmes, I have rung you three times since yesterday morning. You told Mrs. Turner on every occasion that you had no wish to speak with me.”
    â€œDid she tell you that?” Holmes asked as he sat up, stiffly. “The woman’s incorrigible. It’s high time I had her put down for distemper. Perhaps I’ll have her stuffed. I could keep her in the hallway next to the hat stand. She’d make a lovely conversation piece.”
    â€œOne must entertain visitors if one is to have conversations, Holmes.”
    â€œThat is a fair point, Watson, and a welcome reminder that you have business to attend to unless I’m very much mistaken.”
    â€œDid I say anything of the sort?”
    â€œWell, I certainly didn’t extend an invitation.”
    â€œThat’s perfectly beastly of you, Holmes, but also oddly appropriate.”
    â€œIs it? Pray tell me more.”
    â€œI have a case for you to consider taking and, coincidentally, it involves an acquaintance of mine who will not stay dead.”
    â€œYou interest me, Watson. Go on; go on... while I search for my socks.”
    â€œTry looking at the end of your feet.”
    â€œNot these socks, Watson!” he shot me a reproachful glance as he wriggled his toes. “I mean the socks I removed when I retired last night - or this morning.”
    â€œAlfred Habersham is the gentleman who refuses to rest in peace.”
    â€œHabersham... Habersham...” Holmes muttered as he leaned over to peer underneath the davenport.
    â€œYes, the late Alfred Habersham was a patient of mine. Not a particularly lucrative one, but respectable nonetheless. He was an author as well, although I daresay he couldn’t have made a go of it had he not been fortunate enough to come into a princely sum of money at an early age which allowed him to indulge his passion without fear of wondering where his next meal was coming from.”
    I had started to wander about the room as I spoke. It was the only way to keep my concentration while Holmes continued to be preoccupied with his missing socks. I spied the stray animals resting on the small writing desk by the window.