Chapter I: Sherlock

My first thought, before I even open my eyes, is Moriarty. Understandable as it is given the circumstances (namely the two gentlemen entering through the window, knocking me unconscious, and leaving with me as surreptitiously as they had come), my thoughts begin to shift as my eyes flicker open.

I glance as far as my eyes can reach without moving my head (who knows what damage can be done when one is being moved without the use of one's limbs), and take in trees, benches, children chasing squirrels down dirt paths. Hyde Park. What am I doing in Hyde Park? Judging by the amount of people around, I'd say it's the weekend, possibly a Sunday. But to the point- what am I doing here? How did I get here?

I was just…at…Nothing comes to mind. Nothing comes to mind. Well this certainly is a first. My fingers tap out an unidentifiable rhythm on the back of the bench. Before I was here in Hyde Park. I must've walked here from Baker Street. Then why can't I remember doing so?

I follow a yellow leaf's lazy descent through the air, until my eyes catch on the image of a young man, strolling alone down the path. He is crisply dressed in a cream-coloured, three-piece suit and perfectly matching leather oxfords. Hair immaculately slicked back, vest buttoned up, tie straight. A consort professional at…whatever he happens to do, for some unsettling reason I cannot place it. Though he walks casually, I note a slight tension in the placement of his shoulders and hands. He is obviously moving towards some goal or another. I glance about one last time, pull my scarf closer against the wind, and follow him.