The Grass Doctor

Do you folks like my short story? Please reply quickly, if it's good then I will show it to a friend.?

It was by chance that I happened to pass by Baker Street. I had absolutely no intention to visit my ex-room mate Hemlock. It was a cold Sunday morning, and a bitter wind blew all day, making my thoughts equally bitter. Hemlock Jones had borrowed twenty shillings from me. Feeling an overpowering desire to get my money back, I stopped. I tried looking through the window for signs of life, but all was dark and I could not see any sign of Jones pacing in his study. I rang the bell and was shown up by Mrs. Hudson. Hemlock was plucking his violin in a manner which suggested that he shared my mood. His face was pale and his cheeks were deep, almost hollow pits of darkness. He ushered me to an armchair beside him and suddenly threw his violin aside. “It’s a most terrible to happen during your visit, Watson. Do you remember the Persian slipper?” “Yes. It had your favorite Shag tobacco and you had brought it from a street hawker for ten pounds.” “Well, you will be grieved to know that it has been stolen." “Stolen?” “Yes, dash it, Stolen! Now enough of this trifle! I think that I can safely deduce that you had been over a patient’s house.” “How the deuce did you deduce that?” “You have blood marks dotted over your vest which shows that you had visited a patient to conduct an operation. Besides, you are carrying your tool box, which you usually carry while visiting a patient.” “It’s all so simple when you explain it!” I exclaimed, although I had carried the tool box to threaten him with my knife if he refused to pay. “Besides that, I think this would interest you.” Jones said with a shy smile. It was a sheet of the worst quality foolscap which could be ever found, torn in places and yellow with age. On it was written- “Mr. Jones, tonight at exactly seven o clock, a man wearing a trench coat shall visit you. He might wear a mask, so please don’t think him to be a robber lunatic and listen to him. It is of the utmost importance. Please postpone any other cases that you have. You will be paid well. ” “Well, Watson, I think our visitor is an eccentric one who cares for his friends. That’s why he’s telling us to bear with this man. He will send a messenger, who, undoubtedly, is the writer of this message himself. He has ink splattered on his forefinger which shows carelessness. Well, I think I hear the man on the stairs.” I heard the thumping of footsteps on wood. A minute later a man emerged from the door. He was about seven feet tall, with the chest and limbs of a man who ate a good deal. He was a neat man who wore a black trench coat, black trousers and a pair of branded shoes. His face was hidden behind a black mask. He was smoking a pipe. “Today is an unusually cold day! The weather might give you an idea of my problem.” He paused to brush snowflakes off his coat. “Someone was murdered.” replied the pessimist. “Correct! And do you know who was murdered?” I thought, how on earth would I know? I for one didn’t kill the man. “My father was murdered by my wife!” “What! Murder, Mystery and hysteria all in one! Pray let me have the details now!” snapped Hemlock. “Well, the facts are these. My father was taking an evening stroll in the lawn. I was gazing at the sky. Suddenly I heard a most blood-curdling scream. On reaching the place from where the noise occurred, I found my wife and the dead body of my father. Irish was holding a bloody knife in her hand and was staring at me with her eyes dark as beads. How she could have committed such a crime had occurred I don’t know. There was no enmity between my wife and my father. He never objected to my choice of a wife or anything of that sort. I can-n-t do anything! Please tell me what to do!” he began to whimper. “Calm down, man,” Jones said. “You are in a terrible dilemma! Watson! Come here! Pour brandy down his throat” I hurriedly did as I was told to do. On removing his mask, I saw a terribly agitated face, with lines and other pale features. We waited for a few minutes while I kept pushing brandy down his throat. A while later Hemlock had revived the patient and asked him to leave as he was feeling very excited at the thought of solving a new case. (NEXT MORNING) “Get up, Watson! Get up!” On opening my eyes, I saw the loathsome face of Hemlock Jones, almost insane with excitement. His breath smelled of tobacco. Just the thing you wanted on a Sunday morning. “There is no need to dress up now Watson! We must immediately go to our noble friend’s hotel now. I have hailed a cab, so for god’s sake get up!” “I just had an urgent phone call from Robert de Sable, our client.” Jones said as we sat in the cab. “He says that he is going somewhere.” “Where’s he going?” “How in the name of Shag tobacco would I know?” He said “Well, I thought he would have told you over the phone.” “My dear Watson, Even a complete dimwit like you can figure that out, can you not? Now we must prepare to get down, for Bingham is near.” The cab screeched

Public Comments

1. welll, if its supposed to be like sherlock holmes, the characters are very dramatized with all the insulting. they don't sound authentic.