Chapter One
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dr. John H. Watson. My best friend’s name is Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
You’ve probably heard of us. Well, you’ve heard of the actual Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. They weren’t real people; they were characters created over a 100 years ago by an author named Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock Holmes was a famous detective—in fact, he was the World’s Greatest Detective— and Dr. John Watson wrote about all of Sherlock’s adventures and crime-solving skills. They were pretty cool guys.
Unfortunately, we are not those guys. We are cats. Those aren’t even our real names. My name is Fluffy because I am orange and white and very fluffy. My friend’s name is Spot. He is a Siamese cat. He has a brown body and black paws that make him look like he’s wearing rain boots all the time. Oh, and he has blue eyes the color of ice.
He does not actually have any spots, but, when we were adopted, our little girl, Mary, named us; she was only three at the time (she’s almost six now) and didn’t know a lot of words. These days, we call ourselves Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, because, just like the characters in the books, we solve crimes no one else can solve. Sherlock Holmes is the World’s Greatest Detective Cat. And me? Well, I write down his adventures.
This story is about our very first mystery, and how we became the crime-fighting duo we are today.
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Sherlock and I live with Mary and her parents in a big house. The Lady calls the house “Victorian style”. The Man calls it “a money pit”. Mostly that means something always needs to be fixed or repainted, which costs a lot of money.
My favorite room in our house is called the library. It’s not the kind of library where you have to show your library card and bring the book back in three weeks. It has comfy chairs and a fireplace and lots and lots of books. There are books stuffed into every bit of space on the bookshelves, and there are even books piled up beside the bookshelves. The Man loves his books.
But the Man’s absolute favorite book is a big, thick book with the words “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes” stamped on the front cover. The book has gold on the edges of the pages, but it’s been read so many times that some of the gold color has worn away, and the cover isn’t quite as shiny as it once was. The Man says that when a book is worn out like that, it’s very special.
The Man we live with is a big, big fan of Sherlock Holmes. He even has one shelf in his bookcase devoted to Sherlock Holmes; there’s a strange hat with ear flaps, a pipe (even though the Man doesn’t smoke) and a magnifying glass, which is a big glass circle with a wooden handle. If you look inside the glass, everything looks bigger than it really is. These are all things that the real Sherlock Holmes used.
Also on the Man’s shelf is a Sherlock Holmes doll. (The Man says it is a “collectible”, not a doll, but we all know it’s really a doll.)
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One fateful night, during a big storm, all of the electricity in the house went out. It was very dark and quiet, and nobody could even watch TV or tap away on the computer. The Man said this was a good time for us all to “slow down and enjoy the evening the way the Victorians had.” (There weren’t many people who had electricity in the Victorian times, so they used candles and oil lamps back then.)
The Man lit some candles and opened “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes”. He began to read aloud while Mary played with me and Sherlock on the rug and the Lady drew in her sketchbook. It was a very cozy evening, and the Man and Lady liked it so much they decided to do it as often as they could. On most nights, after Mary was all tucked into bed, the Man and the Lady would go into the library, light a fire in the fireplace, and the Lady would crochet or draw in her sketchbook as the Man read aloud to her.
Of course, that meant he was reading to Spot and me, too, because we would be curled up in our cat beds listening.
So, there we were, listening to these great adventures, and when the Man got to the part in the story where Sherlock Holmes was about to solve the crime, Spot’s ears perked forward, and his eyes grew large. As the Man read, Spot moved from his comfy cat bed underneath the chair and jumped up into the Man’s lap. He looked like he was hanging on the Man’s every word. Which, of course, he was.
Just when we were getting to the really exciting part, the Man yawned, and then said, “I think that’s enough for one night,” before he placed a bookmark between the pages and closed the book. He reached over to scratch Spot’s head and smiled at him. “That was a good story, wasn’t it?” he asked. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Sherlock Holmes had been a real person?”
The Man chuckled. “Maybe you can be the next Sherlock Holmes, Spot!”
Spot’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
“Goodnight, boys,” said the Lady, and they turned off the lights and went upstairs to their bedroom. I snuggled down in my own bed.
Spot watched them leave, then jumped to his feet, ran over to the desk and pulled the little chain on the lamp with his teeth. Immediately, light flooded the library, and I squinted at him.
“What’s the matter?” I asked sleepily.
He turned to me with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Finally!” he said. “I have finally found a purpose,
instead of just lying around and sleeping in the sun and eating.”
“We’re cats,” I said, kneading my blankie so that it felt just right for sleeping. “Isn’t that what we do?”
“Don’t you crave more?”
“Uh…no. Not really,” I said. “I guess I’m pretty content. We’ve got a nice family, and a warm place to live, and we get lots of tuna. I’m very thankful for tuna. And tuna melts, tuna casserole, tuna sandwiches…” my voice faded away as I imagined all the wonderful tuna meals we’ve had in the past.
“Honestly!” Spot exploded. “Listen to me, Fluffy. From now on, I am going to be Sherlock Holmes, the World’s Greatest Cat Detective.”
I curled into a ball, getting comfy in my bed. “Okay,” I said sleepily. “Whatever you say.”
“And you, of course,” he said dramatically. “Will be my faithful friend, Dr. John Watson. The one who writes down all of my adventures and shares them with the world! We’ll be famous! Everyone will know the name ‘Sherlock Holmes, The World’s Greatest Cat Detective!’”
“Mm hmm,” I agreed. I wasn’t too worried. I was sure that, by morning, Spot would have forgotten all about becoming Sherlock Holmes.
Boy, oh boy, was I wrong.
