Sherlock Holmes’ Rapid-Fire Thoughts While Solving a Murder

The scene is set. A dimly lit London townhouse, the unmistakable scent of gunpowder lingering in the air, a body slumped over an antique writing desk. Scotland Yard’s finest have already blundered their way through the crime scene, but now—now the real work begins.

Holmes steps forward, his gaze sweeping the room. And inside his mind, a storm of deductions begins to rage.

Ah. The body—male, mid-forties, well-dressed but with a loosened tie. Panic? Struggle? No—there’s no sign of defensive wounds. He knew his killer. The ink stain on his cuff suggests he was writing when he was interrupted. A visitor, then. Unannounced? Perhaps. Expected? More likely.

The angle of the gunshot—downward. The entry wound suggests he was seated. Shooter standing. Close range. No sign of forced entry. The assailant was welcomed inside. Or had a key.

A glance at the desk—scattered papers, an overturned glass of whiskey. The smell is fresh; he poured it recently. A gesture of hospitality? Or a last drink before death? No fingerprints on the glass except the victim’s. The guest did not drink.

The gun—a Webley revolver, common enough, but curious placement. Not in the victim’s hand. Dropped near the door instead. A staged suicide would have placed it differently. This was a murder. Clumsy, rushed. The killer was startled? Unexpected interruption? Or just inexperienced?

Footsteps outside. Lestrade, no doubt, ready to bumble in with a half-baked theory. No time to waste.

What else? Ah, the bookshelf—dust disturbed on the third shelf. One book missing. A gap too small for a novel, too wide for a journal. A case file? A ledger? Whatever it was, the killer took it.

And then—the scent. A faint trace of something floral, out of place in this study filled with tobacco and paper. Not the victim’s cologne. A visitor’s perfume. Jasmine and bergamot. A woman. Recently present.

Holmes straightens, a flicker of a smile at the corner of his lips. “Lestrade,” he says, turning toward the approaching footsteps, “I do believe we are looking for a woman. And she is already on her way out of London.”

The case is afoot.

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—Silviya.Y