Chapter 3: The Game is On
"-and she was nowhere to be found. I looked everywhere, but there was no sign of her. And that's when I saw the letter."
Watson held up the letter, and Holmes, who had been sitting completely still with the utmost concentration up until that point, sprung into action and grabbed the letter out of Watson's hand, and then proceeded to return to his chair, letter in hand, eyes blazen with thought.
"I hope you don't mind, Watson, what I'm hearing is deeply troubling, and I can only imagine what you're going through. Rest assured, I am going to find this rotten criminal and ensure Mary returns home to you safe and sound."
There was a desire in Sherlock's eyes, an intent for action that had seldom been there in the last few years. After his retirement, he had trained his mind to lay low, and not become obsessed with every mystery that came by knocking on his door. But this time was different. This time, it was personal. His dearest friend had been hurt, and although he wouldn't show it, a raging fire burned inside him, and he promised himself that we would find the person responsible no matter what happens.
He looked at the letter intently, and started to examine it thoroughly, first holding it against the light, then sniffing it, and finally examining the edges, as though he knew some secret was hidden there, amongst what others perceived to be nothing.
Almost any other person would be bewildered, and even impressed by this unusual method Sherlock was applying to examine this piece of paper. But of course, Watson was unfazed by this. He had seen this exact method countless times, being used not only for a piece of paper, but for a carpet, a mattress, even for a cup of tea. But this time, it was he who was the victim, and now he felt the same feeling of fear and hope as he looked upon the greatest detective in the world, giving his full and undivided attention to a piece of paper.
After conducting his initial examination of the paper, Sherlock began to read it, and Watson looked on for any clues Sherlock might give as to having any information about the kidnapper. Sherlock's expression remained unchanged, with only his eyes moving from line to line, word to word, letter to letter, as each stroke of ink contained a potential clue that could lead to the whereabouts or atleast the identity of the kidnapper.
"So, did you find anything?"
"Oh, I found lots of things. But not many that will help us in pursuit of the kidnapper, I'm afraid."
"What did you find?"
"Well", said Sherlock, with a twinkle in his eyes, "I know that the paper used in this letter was bought 5 days ago at most, that the plan had been in place for a long time, that the kidnapper was still inside the house when you entered, and that he has bigger than average hands."
"He?"
"Ah, yes, I forgot to mention, the kidnapper is a male, with a quality education, and is probably quite rich."
Now, to any normal human being, this information, coming with such panache and such authority, all deduced from a small piece of paper after 2 minutes of examination, would seem unfathomable, and many would have their reserves about it. But remember, Dr. Watson is long accustomed to this, knowing full well that Sherlock saw things no one ever could. But this didn't stop him from being surprised, and confused as to how did he deduce so much from so little.
"Out with it, then, how the hell did you see all that from a piece of paper?"
"Ah, my dear Watson. As I've explained to you many times before, I see what you see, what everyone sees. The difference is, I observe. But well, if you must insist, there was a faint watermark on the paper from Benedict Paper Company, and I happen to know that they changed their standard paper from the thin rough type to the slightly thicker soft one, which we see here, 5 days ago. So this paper was bought, at most, 5 days ago."
"I knew", continued Sherlock, "that the plan had been in place for a long time because they knew your routine, they knew you wouldn't be at home at that time, and that Mary would be alone in the house. If you read the handwriting carefully, the last few words were written extremely shoddily, which means that the kidnapper heard you come in, and as he couldn't very well carry a person without noticing, found a clever place to hide."
"And what about the hands and education?"
"That's just more information from the handwriting. The style of writing and choice of words all suggest a well schooled character."
"So what do we do now?" asked Watson.
"Now", said Sherlock, getting up from his chair, and wearing his coat and hat, "the game, my dear Watson, is on."
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