#adlocked

IRENE ADLER

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Day 1: I’m not sure I know what’s going on right now. I woke up a few hours (?) ago, to find myself in some sort of stone enclosing or room. I was passed out on one side of the room; Sherlock, the other. In between us were 14 foot-long taper candles and 28 matches, thrown on the ground quickly and carelessly. Placed next to these was a journal and some writing implements-I guess someone graciously realized that I would need to write out what is happening. That must mean that whoever put Sherlock and I here must not be completely closed-hearted and sadistic. Or at least, I believe so... Sherlock hasn’t woken up yet so I haven’t talked through any of this with him. It’s cold, but just to the point of chill. The candle’s giving me a bit of heat as I write, I suppose, but I think that’s just me willing myself to believe that it is.  I have tried waking Sherlock up several times, but he appears to be out cold... the walls are (at least coated with) chalky rock. I don’t think it’s chalky enough to break through, at least, not with what we have here, so I suppose it’ll just serve to messing up the back of my coat each time I rest up against it. I have no idea how long Sherlock and I have been out. I had initially supposed that I could determine that based on my stubble length, but then I realized with a start that I had no stubble (I hadn't shaved for at least three days since my last memories, because Sherlock’s and my most recent case kept us on our toes the whole time. At least I’m pretty sure-? I remember a fair deal about a woman and something about a bird... but my brain is scattered. Anyways, I digress,) meaning that whoever it is that put Sherlock and I here gave us a shave beforehand, likely to disorient us regarding time. Well, I haven’t checked whether or not Sherlock still has his stubble, I figured that might be better done by him, but I can’t imagine why they’d get rid of my stubble and not his.  I’m beginning to sound like Anderson, prattling on and on about this “stubble” deal, but it doesn't add up. As you (you referring to whomever may someday stumble upon this journal, whether it be in my life or in my death) may have noticed, I titled this entry “Day 1.” I have absolutely no idea why we’re here, nor how long we’re going to be here for, but I do know that Sherlock and I aren’t getting out of here any time soon. Update: I realize I haven’t expressed the fact that it is dark... but trust me when I say I can’t see much past my nose. I was only able to find the candles and matches by feeling around, and the rest I discovered upon lighting one of the tapers. I’m going to attempt to get some rest, and hopefully Sherlock will be awake when I wake up. He may be able to figure out some of this mess. John H. Watson