Free No Place Like Holmes by Jason Lethcoe

Although it was June, it was chilly in London, and Griffin was eager to warm up. He sat down, extending his hands toward the crackling flames. This was what he’d imagined it would be like when he’d read about Sherlock Holmes’s apartment and Mrs. Hudson’s hospitality!
    The housekeeper appeared bearing a silver tray laden with a steaming pot of tea and several plates of small sandwiches, succulent-looking pies, and heaping piles of scones and cookies. Griffin’s stomach growled loudly at the sight of so much food, and he blushed.
    Mrs. Dent smiled. “Please help yourself, dear. You look like you haven’t eaten a thing in weeks.”
    And Griffin realized that it wasn’t that far from the truth. He had barely eaten anything since arriving in England. Seconds later Griffin was biting into a freshly baked scone covered with something Mrs. Dent called clotted cream. It tasted absolutely delicious. He was so preoccupied with eating that if it weren’t for the fact that Mrs. Dent turned her attention back to the case, he might have forgotten about the entire investigation.
    â€œHave you found anything yet?” she asked. “I’m absolutely beside myself with worry.”
    Griffin paused between sips of Earl Grey tea, noticing for the first time just how distraught Mrs. Dent was. He felt slightly ashamed that he’d not noticed her distress sooner.
    â€œWe’re making headway,” Snodgrass replied proudly. “With the help of my mechanical devices, we’ve been able to both authenticate the details of Mr. Dunn’s story and the location of the actual event.”
    Mrs. Dent leaned forward, her eyes wide with anxiety. “Do you mean that everything he said was true? A monster actually ate my . . . my—”
    Snodgrass interrupted. “Now, now, I don’t believe that there is a monster or that anyone was eaten , Mrs. Dent. After conducting a thorough investigation of the shoreline, I believe that something else was at work, something mechanical. At this point, I’m suspecting that what we’re dealing with might simply be a kidnapping.”
    â€œKidnapping? But why would anyone abduct my husband?” she said.
    â€œWe have yet to establish a motive,” said Snodgrass coolly. “But I’m convinced that with further investigation we shall.”
    Mrs. Dent began to breathe more heavily and quickly. And as Griffin watched, the color began to drain away from her face, leaving her pale and trembling. Griffin knew she was relieved that her husband had not been eaten, but kidnapping seemed to scare her almost as much. Snodgrass didn’t seem at all aware of her condition as he helped himself to a small mince pie and another cup of tea before consulting his notes again.
    Moved with compassion, Griffin went to sit next to Mrs. Dent and took her hand. “I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Dent,” he said. “I’m sure what you’re feeling right now is terrible. My uncle is very good at what he does. I’ve witnessed his amazing inventions at work, and they are truly remarkable. I promise you that we’ll do all we possibly can to find him.”
    The woman looked up at Griffin with tear-filled eyes. She nodded and gave him a small smile as she tried to compose herself.

    Snodgrass watched the two of them closely as he chewed. In all the years he’d been trying to build a reputation as a great detective, he’d never once truly thought about a client’s feelings. A case was nothing more than a puzzle to be solved. Besides paying the bills, a new client mainly served as a chance for him to prove himself a superior investigator to Sherlock Holmes and make a name for himself, or at least that’s what he had always thought.
    But seeing the grateful look on Mrs. Dent’s face gave him pause. For the first time, he saw her as she looked through Griffin’s eyes. She was a person, not just as a client, and