Young Sherlock Holmes: Fire Storm
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and easy to understand – so why couldn’t he turn the written music into something that Rufus Stone could listen to without wincing? Sherlock knew he wasn’t progressing as quickly as Stone would have liked, and that irked him. He would have liked to have been able just to pick up the instrument and play it beautifully, first time and every time, but sadly life wasn’t like that. It should be, he thought rebelliously. He remembered feeling the same way about the piano that sat in his family home.
time it was apples wrapped in pastry and cooked until they were piping hot. Steam rose from them just like miniature versions of the steam rising from the train’s engine. After a while Sherlock headed back to the compartment, even though the train wouldn’t be leaving for a few minutes. There was only so much walking up and down the platform that he could manage. The idea of exercise just for the sake of exercise had never appealed to him. He slumped in the upholstered seat, staring at the
beside them and engage them in conversation. Sometimes it was a woman with more make-up than was necessary and wearing clothes that looked as if they hadn’t been washed in a while, but more often it was an unshaven man in a stained suit or a grey collarless shirt and braces. Matty always said the same thing – ‘Our dad will be here in a minute, and he wouldn’t like it if he found you here’ – and they quickly left with a muttered apology or a curse. The first time it happened Sherlock just shrugged
with other letters would result in a completely scrambled set of meaningless words. So the code had to be something else. He took a pen out of his pocket and quickly scribbled down the initial letters of the words in the margin of the newspaper, but he only got a little way – f t i p t r a r . . . – before he realized that he was on the wrong track. Perhaps it was the last letters, he thought. He scribbled another set of letters – d e l e o t d x . . . No, that didn’t look right either. Perhaps
He couldn’t give Amyus and Virginia away. ‘Don’t . . . know . . .’ he choked. The quiet man sighed. ‘Another falsehood. You would not have come all this way if you did not know where your teacher is. Are you stubborn, or just foolish?’ He raised his hand again, just an inch off his knee. Despairingly Sherlock tried to kick out with his feet to hit the crouching man in the head, but the weight of the stone that was pulling his ankles downward was too great. The man reached into the shadows