My dear friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for the continued prosperity and fame of his intellectual detective work, has once again asked me to document some of the latest of the cases we have worked. I attempted to object due to the influx of patients the winter months bring to my medical practice but Holmes insisted, claiming that my memory is more pristine than his. This could not be further from the truth, as any of his previous cases would indicate at a mere glance. I deduce that the real reason for his persistence is that writing these memoirs would interfere with his latest hobby of alchemy. Therefore, I reluctantly agreed and will do my best to recount every detail of the case as it happened.

            This particular case was one I, myself, found hard to comprehend. The sheer improbability of occurrences and happen-stance are too far beyond my reason to muster. Nonetheless, here is the case of the murder of Henry Blakesley.

            The flowers were in full bloom; their scent overpowered the study of Holmes’ apartment at 221B Baker Street. Holmes was indulging in his springtime hobby of creating elegant displays of window boxes on the outside terrace. I was bogged down in mountains of paper, trying in earnest to categorize Holmes’ well accumulated book of terms, people, companies, and events in which he has graced in his short but eclectic life. I was meticulously organizing the different tobacco leaf information that comprises the bulk of the botany section when the buzzer at the front door rang through the study. Out of curiosity and the immense boredom that such work entails, I left my post in the study and ventured into the parlor to see who could be calling. As I walked into the parlor I was met by Holmes suited in his lab coat and gardening gloves. He glanced at me while removing his dirt stained outer attire.

            “It seems that Mrs. Mills has forgotten how to answer the door.” quipped Holmes.

“Surely she couldn’t have forgotten already, Mrs. Mills was just hired as your maid yesterday!”

“Well regardless, it seems that I will have to answer my own door today, Watson. What a terrible first impression! It is quite unbecoming to open your own door this, or any, side of London.”