On The Trail

"What do you mean?", asked Watson, his face appearing from between his hands.

"You heard it right Watson, I have a theory as to who took your wife. The theory is in the beginning stages right now, but I won't be surprised if we find Mary before long."

Watson immediately stood up.

"Who is it? Tell me who that bastard is and I'll go teach him a lesson he will never forget.", said Watson, with his fists clenched.

"Now, now, my dear Watson, let us not get ahead of ourselves. Let's pursue our theory, and we shall see where it gets us."

"At least tell me who do you think it is?"

"You know my methods, Watson.", shrugged Sherlock. "I refrain from sharing my theories until I am certain that they are right. Come, let us go. Just follow me, and hopefully we shall have some answers, or at least some insight as to the whereabouts of your dear wife."

Watson nodded understandingly, having seen Sherlock follow his instincts and eventually turn out to be right far too many times to not let him have his way.

Sherlock gestured Watson to follow him as he left the house. Both men exited the door, and after Watson locked the door, they went out on to the street. Sherlock called the carriage, which had been waiting for them since they went inside Watson's house. Sherlock got in the carriage, and Watson quizzically followed.

"Where to, sire?"

"Thirty Two Guild Street"

The carriage began to move.

"Guild Street?", remarked Watson, "That's a twenty five minute journey. What does that have to do with this case?"

"Patience, my dear friend. If I am right, you shall be reunited with dear Mary soon enough."

Watson looked at Sherlock, and Sherlock gave him a nod of confidence.

"I sure hope so, for both our sakes.", said Watson, in a dulled tone.

It was a wet night, with light showers earlier in the evening, and the carriage could be seen splashing water at objects on the road, as a light breeze blows underneath a cloudy sky. Inside the carriage, there was a pin drop silence, as both men were immersed in their own train of thought. Holmes, thinking of ways to prove his theory right, and trying to come up with an alternating theory, if the first one fails to come to fruition. Beside him, Watson was immersed in a different line of thought entirely.

"What will I do if Holmes can't find her?", thought Watson to himself.

"Do I sacrifice Holmes? Surely it won't come to that.", he consoled himself.

After about ten more minutes of heavy thinking from both parties, the carriage grinded to an eventual halt, and both men snapped out of their respective trances and proceeded to get out of the carriage.

"So", Watson remarked, "We're here. What is next in this plan of yours? Whose house is this?"

"Follow me.", replied Sherlock, paying no heed to Watson's queries, and lead him down a stone path.

Ivy and ferns grew through the crevices of the old winding stone path, which led directly to the colossal structure, which came into view as they turned into a corner. The mansion loomed proudly behind creaky iron gates, flanked by rows of skeletal trees crowned in crimson, swaying gently to the chilly wind. At its threshold stood the delicate marble fountain, the soft gurgling of the clear water melodic as it resonated in the surrounding silence. It was a grand scene.

"Wait, I think I've seen this place before.", remarked Watson.

"Go on, then. Rack that military brain of yours. You're right, we have been here before. Do you remember why?"

"Hold on, let me think."

They kept on walking towards the mansion, and just as they were about to reach the gates, Watson shouted, "MILVERTON."

"Ah, you finally remembered. Our dear friend here got into a spot of bother while trying to negotiate with the Duchess of Kent.", smiled Sherlock, "Indeed, we are in front of the home of Charles Augustus Milverton, the king of blackmail."

"But why do you think he has anything to do with this?"

"At your home, while you were on the floor being of no use whatsoever, I noticed a piece of glass lying near the edge of your bed. Turns out it was a piece of a spectacle. It appears your wife knocked them out of his head while struggling to free herself from his grasp."

"That's my Mary", whispered Watson, to himself.

"So how did you know it was Milverton?", continued Watson.

"Upon closer inspection, there was a small "M" engraved upon the corner of the glass, which I happen to know is Milverton's personal monogram. It gets it engraved on almost all of his belongings.", finished Sherlock.

"Just let me see him, and by God I shall make him wish he never came out of his mother's womb." threatened Watson, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

"Calm down, Watson, we shall have our answers soon enou-"

As Sherlock was speaking, he noticed a small note taped to the wall, near the doorbell. He approached the wall, pulled the note from the wall, and what he read made his hair stand on end.

The note read :

"Dear Mr. Holmes,

If you are reading this, as expected, you have made it this far. I should thank the dear doctor for helping my plan along quite nicely. I'm afraid you won't be able to have a face to face, as I am quite busy with some other matters. Meanwhile, I strongly suggest you go home, and notice a few, well, changes I made to your current living arrangement. If all goes to plan, we shall meet soon.

Until next time,

M"