Dear William

In the quiet street of Westbrook Avenue, a man in his late forties sat in his study, glancing over several high importance mysteries he had solved some years previous. The man's name was Sherlock Holmes – a brilliant detective acknowledged all over Britain. At the other side of the dimly lit room, Dr. Watson, sat at a similar dark oak desk, pouring over some of the best solved mysteries. Watson was a man who very much enjoyed reading, oh yes, and being a faithful and trusty sidekick to Sherlock.

Suddenly there was a rap on the door: a servant poked his head out of the door and walked briskly to Holmes and handed a letter over. Sherlock peeled open the seal and saw the word "URGENT" plastered in red, on the top line. His eyes skimmed the whole letter in a matter of minutes, "Hmm, this isn't going to be easy Watson. I hope you are up for a challenge." He looked intently at his friend and recognised that grimace.

"Whatever it is, I shall be up for it", replied John, "Nothing has been a challenge yet and I am positive this will not be. It'll be another victory for us!" He gazed towards that precise spot where Holmes had just been sitting, smiling to himself.

"Alright then, you should probably see this for yourself, at least you will know what you have signed yourself up for."

"Certainly, certainly sir," Dr. Watson said as he saw the letter for himself. He finished it several seconds later, so fast, in fact, his eyes looked slightly blurred. "Oh, I, err. Well this seems very complicated, definitely. Only the best will be suitable to solve this. Fortunately, I am more than confident we will be the ones to find out what happened to Mrs. Mafalda Marchbanks' husband."

Mr. Holmes replied with a weak smile, and an indefinite look in his eyes.

The next day both woke up bright and early, just like both always did. Sherlock reminded Dr Watson by telling him, "A half a day is wasted if you don't rise early!" or "Remember let's be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed!"

John muttered something about "But I'm tired," and decided he couldn't get a word in edgeways from the icy glare Holmes gave him which clearly said, 'don't bother.'

"Remember, we have a very important meeting today with Mrs. Marchbanks, who is very anxious about her husband's whereabouts." Holmes calmly explained, "He hasn't been sighted since Monday morning – after he left to go fishing at the dock by the local creek he wasn't seen again."

A solid silence filled the air like a dense and foggy chill.

"Oh, yes, now I remember." Dr Watson murmured, rather flustered at the sight of him forgetting about a potentially thrilling experience. "Right, then, when will we get going?"

"Ah, I thought we would get to this point soon." Holmes included, peering at his weekly schedule "Right, oh, um, err." His face went paler from disappointment to himself.

"What is it my friend?"

"My schedule says that we are supposed to be meeting poor old Mrs. Marchbanks in less than fifteen minutes."

"That should be plenty of time shouldn't it," said Watson, now starting to grow evermore worried, "so what are you trying to tell me then?"

"Mrs. Marchbanks lives at the furthest neighboring village, which will take at least half an hour to get to, oh how I hope she is late. If we are late, she may think we are inadequate for this job!"

Half an hour later they arrived at the small countryside village of Moorfield. The pair got out of their horse and carriage, careful not to stand in any cow pat. Mrs. Marshbanks sat on a weathered wooden bench, waving cheerily at them. Old and frail, she explained to both that she had been unable to help search. "My husband, a great man", she said while putting her hand on John's knee, "a man with a brilliant mind, great sense of direction. I can't understand what happened to him. He wouldn't leave me without telling, before going to the pub he would always say 'Just going down to the local to get a pint with the lads.' I don't know what happened to him but please, I beg you, help me uncover the truth."