Tansy Undercrypt
Author, Illustrator, Purveyor of Doom & Whimsy


March 1st 2018 in Microfiction

“If we could, somehow, help the poor thing … gift it with closure and … release,” Watson started, leaning forward over his breakfast to whisper. “A draft is not a phantom, my dear Watson, and it is not a living thing that hears,” Holmes responded, not looking up (but raising his voice exactly as much as Watson had softened his). “Nor does giving said draft a name pulled from the metaphysical prattling of our housekeeper lend credibility to any kind of intervention.” “It is not just a draft,” Watson sighed, irritated. “Something has been seen; things have been … interfered with.” “Yesterday, Mrs. Hudson entered the apartment to remove two pairs of my shoes for polishing,” Holmes replied flatly. “She left one of her handkerchiefs on the mantle and a tea kettle sitting on the floor in her wake. I was most decidedly interfered with, yet no ghost was required.” Watson picked at his poached egg and dropped the subject, a tiny bit of doubt tugging at the edges of his mind. In Holmes’ bedroom, the phantom retreated forlornly into his armoire, sulking and turning all of his underthings ice cold.

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