Deducing in Time

We all know the story of Sherlock Holmes. The mad man who seems to have all the answers. The man who is a mystery in himself. All are scared, except one. The one girl who might have the bravery to understand Sherlock like no one else. And to along the way, solve the mystery of time.


10. The man on 57th



     We entered the front of the pub to the sight of smoke and dimly lit lights. A musty smell carried throughout the hole in the wall, enough to make my skin crawl. The pub was empty except for a few men in the corner booths hollering for another round. 

    "Why are we here Sherlock?" I ask, wondering what the point of a drink would be. His eyes fluttered around taking in the surroundings. You could tell so distinctively when his mind was putting the pieces together.

     He didn't reply as he bellowed forward towards the bartender behind the bar. 

     "A blue police box. Have you seen it down the block away's from your pub?" Sherlock asked, glancing the bartender up and down and on occasion biting at his lip.

     The bartender didn't reply as he dried the glass in his hand, narrowing his eyes. Sherlock obviously had no idea that in local privately owned pubs, snooping or asking questions without reason or even buying a drink is unspoken suspicion. 

     Sherlock raised his eyebrows and stepped back as he realized the man wouldn't reply. So Sherlock wants to know what people have seen. If the "blue police box" was actually there and for how long, I think to myself. 

     As I watch Sherlock look around the place once more and walk past me to the door, I have an idea of my own. If the bartender won't answer, then maybe we can take advantage of the drunkard fella's in the back. From what I can tell, they are local. Comfortable with the place and know it well, I take from the way they feel there way to the bathrooms. This won't be too hard.

     "Sherlock, wait outside." I say handing him my coat and bag. He looks at me raising his brows and then opening his mouth only to shut it again, with no reply.

     "What are you-"Just do it!" I cut him off shutting the pub door behind me, leaving him waiting outside the window. I slip off my sweater in the entryway, leaving a tank top only. I pull at it a little making it tighter, and slightly more seductively I ruffle my hair, pout my lips and walk up to the bartender.

    He looks at me widening his eyes as I slam my hand down on the bar with some change for a round. 

    "A round for those gentlemen over there." I say nodding in the direction of the gag worthy group in the corner. The bartender takes the money and glances back at me questionably. 

    I don't say anything, all I do is smile slightly and nod. As I walk closer to the sounds of hollering my heart beats louder. I've never done anything like this before, this is the kind of thing you only see in movies. I guess we'll see if it works. 

      "Have another, will ya?" I say, pushing the drinks to the men across the table, spilling beer here and there. I stand there leaning down with my hands on the table, waiting for a reaction. 

    I grin and try my best not to show how horribly uncomfortable I feel. They immediately hang there heads to look at me. 

     "Oi! We got ourselves a winner nowa do we not boys?!" The one in the back yells grabbing the drink and nodding toward me, taking one long chug.

     The rest all do the same, and after eyeing me, they may or may not have agreed to keep me for company. That's just what I wanted. 

     I squirm into the booth, squished beside the ugliest of the group. And eager to get away from the stinch, I cut to the chase. 

    "So, fella's...You seen a blue police box, here down the road?" I ask, trying to sound casual, and hopefully masking my disgust for the situation. A couple men stop there drinking and look at me.

     "Now hang on little lady ya haven't even had a drink yet!" One of them yelled looking down at his drink with a wrinkle to his nose. 

    This is so crazy. I don't even know what I'm doing, nobody does this in real life! Like Sherlock said, I don't even think twice about running into things like this. And once again, I chastise myself for being outrageously unrealistic in my endevours. 

   One of them slid his drink at me across the table, only to startle me as it slammed into the turned up table corner. I jumped a little, then quickly realizing that they expected me to drink it. My stomach churned to the thought. The mug had already collected the mans slobber strings, how else am I going to get them to talk?

     I grab the handle and swing the cup to my mouth swigging it down in one big gulp. My stomach disaproved as soon as I did it. Trying to forget what's in my mouth I raise my fists in the air and yell. 

     Whatever distrust they had in me quickly released. Within a matter of minutes I had them mumbling things about the police box and every once in a while something about the man on 57th street. 

    A few men passed out at the booth and while others were in the bathroom I took the opportunity to jump ship. I got about as much out of them as I could, given their current state. As I hurried toward the door I grabbed my sweater and stumbled out into the fresh air sighing. That was about the craziest thing I've done in years. 

    As I pulled my sweater back over my head I could see Sherlock watching me. I wonder how long I was in there? It felt like forever. 

    "How long was I in there?" I ask him, pushing my hair out of my eyes.

   He watched me as I caught my breathe never cracking a word. 

    "What?" I ask him finally. 

   "What did you find out?" He replied. 

    "The blue police box has been there for about 3 days until early this morning. Nobody saw who brought it there, but there was a man who went inside last night. He hasn't been seen since." I say.

   "Hmm. What did he look like?" Sherlock asks, twiddling his fingers.

   "Tall, floppy brown hair, a tweed suit and bow tie. Said he looked out of place and slightly clumsy." I reply.

    "They also kept mentioning a man living on 57th street. They said he knew lots about my questions." I say again. 

   Sherlock remains quiet until we start walking down the road again. He doesn't say where we are going but I assume 57th street. For a long time we are silent and I start to wonder why he is reluctant to talk.

   "Nice swigging." Is all he say's. 

   "You saw all that?!" I say stopping in my tracks. Now I know why he's been to quiet. 

   "Not bad." Is all he replied with.

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