The Canterbury Problem

It was February, it was cold and I was still moderately angry with Sherlock for dying and not telling me that he was still alive. It had been a month since he just showed up in the living room, excusing for the trouble he had caused and asking Ms. Hudson for a tea. She almost had a heart-attack, said she thought she was seeing ghosts, but Sherlock ensured her that he was well and alive and it was all a plan to keep everyone save and get rid of Moriarty. At first I had hated him for it. I wanted to skin him alive for making me feel bad about everything, but it started to glow off with the weeks. Molly on the other hand didn’t seem all too surprised when he marched into the morgue the other day.
Sherlock was lying on the sofa, his eyes directed to the ceiling, probably thinking about how boring it was without the case we had yesterday. I was reading the newspaper, looking for something that might catch his interest so he would stop being annoying.
“This is terrible. I’ve never been so bored in my entire life.” He exclaimed, as he jumped up and paced from one side to the other.
“Sherlock you are making me nervous with that pacing, sit down.” I answered, ignoring his actual words.
“We need a case John, a good one.” He said “Something not as easy as the last one.”
“Two people died.”
“It used to be more.” He shrugged.
Sometimes I asked myself why I even stayed here or how I got along with this man.
Out of the blue Ms. Hudson walked into the room “You have a letter, Sherlock.” She said and held out an envelope towards him.
“Maybe it’s a case.” He said turning the envelope in his hands, before ripping it open “Hand written, by a woman. Rather young.” He stated, before his eyes started to scan the lines “This, is what I waited for. John we’re going on a trip.” He said, letting the letter fall onto my legs. I picked it up and started to read:

“Dear Mr. Holmes and Watson,
I suppose it is unusual that people write letters these days,
But I’m coming to you with a special problem that needs
Special treatment. I am living in Cornhill-on-Tweed close
To Scotland and over the last months I have noticed that
Several people are starting to disappear. Most of them are
Living alone, with no one to notice that they are gone. Today
I found Mrs. Henderson by the river, she was dead and it didn’t
Seem to have been a natural death.
On that call I need your help. I have asked around the village
If anyone knew something about that matter, but it was
Only silenced, some people even threatened me.
I hope that you find interest in this problem.
Yours dearly
Isla Rowley.”

“Come on John.” He mused already up to the door “We’re going up north.”
I sighed to myself, it was still the same. The last time he was in such a hurry he demanded that we were going to Dartmoor right away, but this time it would be much worse. 5 hours in the same car with Sherlock would be my death I thought.
It turned to be far less bad than I expected it to be. We arrived in Cornhill-on-Tweed at about, much to the displease of the people that were living there. We followed the directions that were attached to the letter to a farm a little outside the actually village. It was literally right before Scotland.
We were greeted by the barking of a rather big dog, which Sherlock recognized as a German shorthaired pointer, a gundog. Seconds later a young woman came from inside the house.
“I supposed you’re Isla Rowley.” I said trying to be kind, while Sherlock was already walking around the grounds.
“Yes. Doctor Watson, right?”
“John.”
“Nice to meet you.” She spoke with a soft smile.
“Nice to meet you too...That’s Sherlock Holmes.” I said pointing over to him.
Isla nodded in reply and wrinkled her eyebrows at the way he was looking at things “What exactly is he doing in my carrots?” she asked in confusion.
“Don’t ask me...half of the time I have no idea about what he’s doing.”
“Where did you find her?” Sherlock suddenly asked, approaching us.
“Down by the river, but that’s already 4 days ago.” She said to him.
“Show me where it was.”
“I’ll just get Dickens.” She said then and put the dog on a leash that was hanging over a tree. We followed her away from the farm down to the river. While Sherlock was strutting behind us, I decided to ask her some questions about the whole thing.
“So...when did the first people disappear?”
“John that’s a bad question.” Sherlock commented from behind us.
“After Christmas; I was doing my round, you know I bring some of the people food, like fresh vegetables and fruits I grow at home, and I noticed that Mr. Grayson wasn’t there anymore and it got me worried that he might have passed, but no one said something about it so I started to think about it more. And later more people disappeared and I thought that it wasn’t normal because none of them ever showed up again, until Sunday, that’s when I found Mrs Henderson.” She explained her voice full of worry.
I nodded “How many people have it been so far?”
“About 9.” She replied.
“Who murders 9 old people?” I asked, expressing my confusion about all of this.
“Someone that wants attention.” Sherlock said.
“Someone?” I asked “That someone?”
“He’s dead.”
“They didn’t find him?”
“I was there he shot himself...in the head; he’s most likely to be dead.” Sherlock replied.
I sighed “How did you get the farm? I mean you seem rather young...and that thing seems rather old.”
“It’s always been the family’s property. It was build probably around 1760. I got it when my father died a few years ago.” Isla explained “It’s not my dream, but it’s nice, really calm and stuff. Grew up here, you know. Never seen anything else than this...maybe Edinburgh...not much more.”
“Countrycide.” Sherlock mused as we reached the river. He made his way down to a tree where a corpse was hanging in the branches.
“And no one contacted the police?” I asked in disbelieve.
It almost seemed unreal that no one cared about these people. Sherlock started to examine the corpse, lifting its arms and searching for evidence or the cause of death.
“John will you help me with this one. We need to get him out of the water before he starts to rot even more. And Isla you have a farm, you probably have something like a slaughterhouse or a room or whatever.” He spoke turning to Isla who just replied with a confused look “You said we can’t use the police, means we have to investigate for ourselves in this one, as well as...the medical examination.”
Isla choked lightly “Well the house does have a room in which they used to slaughter the animals, back when there were some on the farm, but it hasn’t been used for ages.”
“That will do. You probably have a jeep of some sort so we can move him over.” He continued to which Isla nodded.
“I’ll go and get It.” she said “Could you watch Dickens for a split?”
I took the leash form her hand and with that she marched off. The enormous dog was pulling on my arm, trying to get after her, until he soon realised that he only had to wait. Sherlock on the other hand had decided to take a closer look on the surroundings of the corpse.
“Who even names their dog Dickens?” He stated not even looking up.
“Maybe someone that likes Dickens books?” I replied, obviously defending Isla choice of a name for the animal. It was a fantastic name for the animal.
A few moments later the roaring sound of a machine was to be heard, coming from a rather old Jeep that was ratting over the small path.
“I thought some bin bags might be useful.” Isla spoke, while coming from the car. In collective work we managed to heave the body up onto the load area. Isla covered the body with the bin bags and announced that someone would have to sit in the bag, with the dog and the corpse. Sherlock decided that I was the one that should watch the dog.
We were back at the farm sooner than I thought and Isla parked the old Jeep, right in the old slaughterhouse, so no one from outside would see.
Isla invited us to stay on the farm, as there was no actual hotel or bed and breakfast in the village. She said she had two guestrooms upstairs and that we could stay there as long as we would be here. Sherlock had retarded himself to the slaughterhouse for further examination on the corpse, while I stayed to help Isla with whatever she would need help with. I wasn’t exactly up for the organs of an almost rotten man before dinner.
“So are you doing this all on your own? It’s a quite big thing?” I asked cautiously.
“Well...actually I do. The people aren’t exactly fond of my concept.”
“Concept?”
“I don’t sell on the markets. I produce for myself and few other people, but mostly for myself. The only thing I need to buy is milk and dairy products. You won’t find a piece of meat here, apart from the stuff Dickens gets.” She said with a little smile.
It wasn’t exactly the worst concept to have, I had to admit that. Isla started to pack out all sorts of vegetables and put them on the kitchen counter.
“So you’re on your own here?”
“I have Dickens.” She said quickly, before she rested her hands on the counter and sighed heavily “Who am I kidding, it’s terribly. The village is keeping away from here, they say the farm is haunted or something, when actually the only weird business is happening up there in the old mansion.”
“What’s up there?”
“Sometimes...at night you can hear this terrible noises coming from up there. I don’t know what they’re doing up there, but it’s no good.” She spoke with a low voice “It’s...”
“Poison.” Sherlock chimed from behind us, as he walked inside.
“He’s been poisoned?” Isla asked.
“Why would you poison an old man?” I asked.
“Maybe because he knew something or maybe out of grief.” Said Sherlock.
“He didn’t have much. No one’s really rich here.” Isla said then.
Isla then ushered Sherlock and I out of the kitchen.
Sherlock and I made our way through the house to the sitting room, which was located in the front of the building. It was a rather spacious room, with decent interior. You could even see the river from here; a winter garden was connected to the room, giving a bigger outlook on the place.
“What do you think about this? Dead, poisoned, old people, an old mansion on a hill and people that keep away from a place that is told to be haunted? Something’s really wrong around here.” Said I.
“Well...maybe we should get a closer look on that mansion later on; may be something of importance.” Sherlock replied, leaning back in the armchair he had occupied when we entered the sitting room “It’s way too quiet in this village. Something is most definitely wrong.” He said after a short break.
“If you say so.”
“It’s obvious. A young woman, most likely to be considered...attractive, living on her own, no one even wants to get close to this place, people disappear, she starts to investigate, people don’t even want her food anymore, though she is one of the only people that bring vegetables around here. The entire village is involved in this and for some reason our friend Isla Rowley isn’t. Maybe because she doesn’t go along with the flow, questions things, maybe that’s also the reason why she’s not wearing her marriage ring anymore.”
“How do you know that there ever was one?”
“She kept searching for it, running the thumb over the left ring finger as if there was a ring, but there wasn’t. Also she must have taken it off not too long ago; maybe a month or something, as the skin was brighter there.”
At times I wanted to punch Sherlock in the face, but at others I couldn’t help but be stunned by his deductions. I hadn’t come this far with questioning, but he already had figured out half of it. We still were to be confronted with the actual problem of the elderly people.

The hours passed, we had dinner and soon both Isla and I left Sherlock on his own; Isla at first, later I. He would probably stay up all night, thinking about the case, making deductions and regretting that he didn’t take the violin. I had trouble falling as sleep. It was almost past one, when I thought I was about to fall asleep, until I heard a terrible noise, that shook me to the core. I jumped onto my feet, directly to the window. The night was dark and I could hardly see a thing, besides some glowing lights on a mountain. A soft knock on the door ripped me from my trance “Door’s open.” I said, not letting my eyes wander off the lights.
“That was the noise I was talking about earlier. It’s horrible, sometimes it lasts for longer and Dickens starts barking at it. It’s become worse in the last weeks.”
Again the horrible howl filled the air.
“What the hell is that?”
“If I only knew it...it sounds like something big; maybe a wolf of some sort.”
“There are no wolves around here.” Sherlock piped up.
“Are you sure? I mean there’s not much population up here and the woods and so on.”
Sherlock just sighed, before he turned away and went to his room.
“I’ll try to sleep. See you tomorrow.” Isla said with a soft smile, before leaving the room.