The London Bridge Case – or A Series of Interrelated, Improbable Events (part II)
Yes, I know it took me quite some time to give you an update on this still very much unsolved case, but that has everything to do with it being unsolved and thus still puzzling @consult-sherlockholmes, driving him mad. But that’s also the reason why I want to give you a short, intermediate update regardless. Perhaps any of you might have seen or heard something that can help us solve this infuriating case.
Now, have you ever visited the sewers?
Any chance you’ll ever do?
My best guess is you won’t.
Well, I can’t say it was on my list either, but somehow it suddenly very much was.
Standing forlorn near one of the long-forgotten entrances, I really didn’t look forward to what I was about to do. The prospect of having to immerse myself in the dark, cold and most likely filthy underground labyrinth of London was not exactly alluring. So, it felt very counterintuitive to ignore the many warning signs all pointing to an imminent death for anyone trying to break in as I headed down the narrow, steep stairs.
I don’t know what I expected to find once I was down there, but I definitely was not expecting to be seeing a hatch hanging on its hinges. As I got closer, I noticed that something coppery-like was coating the handle and one side of the door.
Dried up blood, to be precise.
Now, I have seen a lot of blood in my life, which means that I am slightly desensitized when it comes down to seeing the red, familiar bloodily fluid. But encountering blood while I am searching for Sherlock is never a good, reassuring sign…
I remember rubbing the substance between my thumb and index finger, realising it wasn’t fresh and feverishly hoping I didn’t know to whom it belonged. I ducked down and crouched inside, the heavy feeling that had been bothering me throughout the day now being tainted with a rush of newfound adrenaline.
It felt pleasantly cool inside the tunnel and it was much less dark than I expected. On either side of the cool, wet walls were tiny fluorescent lights illuminating the long hallway. I praised myself as somewhat lucky that I didn’t have to use my phone as a torch, because I feared I needed to save my battery life for whatever I was about to encounter in the tunnel.
The layer of water below my feet was just not high enough to rise above the soles of my shoes, and with careful steps, I managed to keep myself dry. I strained my ears, hoping I would hear some familiar sounds, but I was greeted with nothing but the silent, rhythmic dripping of water running down the walls next to me.
“Sherlock?” It remained eerily silent in front of me. I decided to increase my step and I think I walked about a kilometre before I came to a sort of fork; two far-reaching tunnels on either side of me. My gut told me to go right, but that feeling was probably driven by the embodied metaphor to prefer right over left.
Just as I decided to walk towards the right-end tunnel, I noticed a few yellow stains on the left side of the tunnel that looked odd (as far as something can look weird in a sewer). I decided to have a closer look.
The stains turned into letters, and the letters turned into words. I furrowed my brow as the words turned into sentences;
“..fallen down, fallen down.”
Stepping into the left tunnel, I followed the yellow blotched words. As I muttered them out loud, they turned into a song.
Goosebumps rose on my arms and in an automatic movement of limbs I reached for my gun.
Children’s rhymes were written all over the wall.
Who would write children’s rhymes in a sewer?
It didn’t make any sense. It still doesn’t make any sense.
Now. I am not sure Sherlock wants me to disclose this peculiar fact, but I just want you, dear reader of this blog, to get that particular feeling like I did when I walked down the endless, dark tunnel in search of the detective…
….It was then that I saw a shadow move on the wall next to me. A tall shadow towering over me like a ghost plastered on the wall.
“Sherlock?” I remember yelling again while I raised my arm to fire at what I was hoping to be the actual source of the shadow towering over me. “Show yourself!” Although I actually hoped that the person wouldn’t reveal himself to be holding a deathly firearm as well.
The shadow moved but didn’t grow or shrink in size, meaning that the person wasn’t moving. “Show yourself or I’ll shoot,” I gritted through clenched teeth. The only response was a loud churning sound as if something was being wrought open.
And after that, a gush of water followed.
Someone had opened the hatch.
The water rose rapidly and within seconds it was knee-high. I turned around and tried to run back, but anyone who has ever tried to run through water knows it doesn’t go particularly fast, especially not when you’re in waist-deep.
I remember seeing the entrance, hoping I could make it in time. But the only thing I remember is that I reached out an arm to hold on to the door, only to being greeted with absolute darkness as I lost conciousness.
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