How are you, my dear Watson?
"You thought you escaped, didn't you? Well, my dear Dr. Watson, you were sadly mistaken. A man with your past does not simply just get up and leave it all behind. There is baggage, doctor. Lots of it. Now, as for your lovely wife, she shall be staying with me presently. What will it take to free her, you ask? Well the answer, as you might have guessed by now, is Sherlock Holmes. Bring me Sherlock Holmes, and you shall have your lovely little wife of yours back, safe and unharmed. He'll know who it is when you show him this letter."
Beads of sweat rolled down Watson's face, as he tried to comprehend the magnitude of the situation that had befallen him. He crumpled to his knees, face in his hands, trembling at the mere thought of harm being inflicted on his dear wife.
"Oh my lovely Mary, I am so sorry, this is all my fault", he whispered to himself, clenching his fists and making a wow to make sure this heinous criminal gets the justice he or she deserves.
Watson got up and frantically looked for clues in the bedroom, looking for anything that the kidnapper might have left behind, that would help in identifying the criminal. But there was no trace of any evidence to be found. The kidnapper had executed the deed perfectly. No stone was left unturned. Or so it seemed. It was time, Watson decided, to do exactly what the kidnapper intended him to do. It was time to return to Baker Street.
Over at 221B, Sherlock was engaged in a deep conversation with a fellow named Albert Einstein, and was discussing what would happen if man could achieve a speed greater than or equal to the speed of light. "You see, I've worked out an equation which suggests that the closer an object gets to the speed of light, the more mass it accumulates", explained Einstein. Sherlock began to explain his query.
"Surely, doctor, this cannot be true, because if the object gets heavier, it would also get slower, and hence get lighter at the same ti-"
when there was a crackling burst on the door, which suggested that a matter of great importance was forthcoming.
"Oh for Heaven's sake" exclaimed Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock's landlady, as she huffed past, trying to find out who was making such a racket at an ungodly hour as this. She opened the door, and to her bewilderment, there stood John Watson, visibly shaken and in a lot of distress, his face as white as ash, looking as if he had just been run over by a horse.
"Oh Lord what happened to you?" cried Mrs. Hudson as she ushered him in and took his coat.
"I can't explain right now, Mrs. Hudson, I need to see Sherlock now".
"But he as a visito-"
"NOW"
Without waiting for her response, Watson thundered up the stairs, and burst into the living room of Sherlock Holmes, taking both him and Einstein aback with shock.
"Oh my, what a pleasant surprise!" exclaimed Sherlock.
"Come in, come in, how are you, my dear Watson?"
"We need to talk. Alone." muttered Watson, barely able to contain himself.
"I'm afraid we'll have to continue this conversation at another time, Herr Einstein, my old friend here seems to be in a spot of bother."
Einstein nods understandingly, puts on his coat, tips his hat, and leaves.
Sherlock ushers Watson into a chair, and pours him a drink.
"Now, my dear Watson, how can I help you?"