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<blockquote data-quote="Kid Charlemagne" data-source="post: 2429632" data-attributes="member: 93">London, 1887221B Baker StreetThe young man shifted nervously on his feet.&nbsp; He had been ushered into the sitting room by a kindly old woman, the landlord, he had deduced, but now he had stood in front of the two older men for what seemed an interminable period of time.&nbsp; He knew that in fact, scarcely thirty seconds had passed, but it had never occurred to him just how long thirty seconds could seem, leaving aside certain coursework in his first year or two at the university.One of the two men sat in an armchair, the slightest hint of a grin beginning to play across his face as he looked first at the young man, then at his companion, who was engrossed in the afternoon newspaper.&nbsp; He made no sign of acknowledgment, and finally the man in the armchair could stand it no longer.&quot;I'm sorry, dear boy,&quot; he said, as if apologizing for his friend.&nbsp; &quot;What did you say your name was?&quot;&quot;Spenser,&quot; the young man replied.&nbsp; &quot;Nigel Spenser.&quot;At this, the other man crisply flipped down the top half of his paper.&nbsp; He took in the young man's appearance in a quick glance, and gave a small, dismissive snort.&quot;So, Mr. Spenser, you have decided to take it upon yourself to make my lodgings the very first stop after your graduation from Oxford.&nbsp; I am certain that I can see no reason for this.&nbsp; Perhaps you could explain.&quot;Nigel was caught off guard by the man's instant, yet accurate stating of his recent activities, but only for a moment.&nbsp; He smiled a wide grin.&quot;That's very good, Mr. Holmes.&nbsp; Quite excellent, in fact.&nbsp; I see that Doctor Watson does not exaggerate in the slightest when he describes your deductive powers.&quot;&quot;Doctor Watson is an exceedingly painstaking chronicler.&nbsp; But my question, you have failed to answer it.&quot;&quot;My apologies.&nbsp; As you have rightly guessed, I am recently graduated from Oxford.&nbsp; This morning in fact.&nbsp; I took the first train to London in order to present myself at your door and offer myself as your assistant.&quot;He stammered for a moment and continued.&quot;I have made an intense study of the history of crime, as have you.&nbsp; I have degrees in history and in chemistry, and have had some small success in minor matters at school…&quot;Watson rested his chin upon his hand and grinned, watching Holmes for his reaction.&nbsp; Holmes, for his part, stared intently at Nigel, sizing him up.&quot;I'm very sorry, Mr. Spenser,&quot; he replied.&nbsp; &quot;That is Spenser with an 's', I presume?&nbsp; I have no need for an assistant at this time, nor do I anticipate a need in the future.&nbsp; What assistance I require is ably provided by Doctor Watson.&nbsp; Perhaps you might find opportunities with Scotland Yard.&nbsp; I understand certain insurance companies employ detectives as well.&nbsp; Lloyd's of London is well known for that sort of thing.&nbsp; With your high marks in school, you could certainly find employment there.&quot;Nigel started again as Holmes seemed to pull facts about him out of thin air. Then his grin returned.&quot;Of course.&nbsp; You saw the seal denoting my academic honors on my degree.&quot;&nbsp; Nigel was clutching his graduation papers like a dying man clinging to a raft, or a witch doctor to his totem.Holmes afforded him a small smile.&quot;Quite right.&quot;He flicked the newspaper back up to resume reading.&quot;Good day, Mr. Spenser.&quot;Nigel was stunned, suddenly speechless.&nbsp; Doctor Watson showed him downstairs to the door, continuing to apologize for Holmes' brusqueness.&quot;I'm afraid Holmes can be a little harsh with visitors at times, Mr. Spenser.&nbsp; You should pay it no mind.&nbsp; He really does have very little need of help; I often wonder if I'm truly helping him myself.&quot;&nbsp; He showed Nigel the door, and shook his hand as he left.&nbsp; Nigel took it, in a kind of sleepwalker's daze.As the door shut, it seemed as if he came out of a dream.&nbsp; He started towards the street, then turned on his heels as if to return to the apartment, and then came to a full stop again on the sidewalk.&quot;Hmph.&nbsp; Well.&quot;&quot;That was silly of me!&quot; He finally declared to no one in particular.&nbsp; &quot;And why should the great Sherlock Holmes take me on as an assistant, after all?&quot;A street vendor looked up at him, as if the question had been asked of him.&quot;I oodn knooow,&quot; he offered, unhelpfully.&quot;I have no real experience.&nbsp; Nothing to recommend me besides my marks in school.&nbsp; And what good are marks in school?&quot;&quot;Nayver poot mooch stok in graydes meself,&quot; the street vendor ruminated.&quot;Lloyd's of London.&nbsp; That's not a half bad idea, even if I say so myself,&quot; Nigel said, his grin returning.&nbsp; His hand went to his pocket, and pulled out a newspaper advertisement.&nbsp; Lloyd's of London, it read, seeks Talented Investigators For Important Work.&nbsp; He glanced at the notice, and then stuck it back in his pocket.He walked down Baker Street to where it met Paddington Street, several blocks down, and hailed a hansom from there.He did not look behind him, but if he did he would have noted that his progress down the block was being watched intently from the window of the sitting room of 221B, Baker Street.</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Kid Charlemagne, post: 2429632, member: 93"] [i]London, 1887 221B Baker Street[/i] The young man shifted nervously on his feet. He had been ushered into the sitting room by a kindly old woman, the landlord, he had deduced, but now he had stood in front of the two older men for what seemed an interminable period of time. He knew that in fact, scarcely thirty seconds had passed, but it had never occurred to him just how long thirty seconds could seem, leaving aside certain coursework in his first year or two at the university. One of the two men sat in an armchair, the slightest hint of a grin beginning to play across his face as he looked first at the young man, then at his companion, who was engrossed in the afternoon newspaper. He made no sign of acknowledgment, and finally the man in the armchair could stand it no longer. "I'm sorry, dear boy," he said, as if apologizing for his friend. "What did you say your name was?" "Spenser," the young man replied. "Nigel Spenser." At this, the other man crisply flipped down the top half of his paper. He took in the young man's appearance in a quick glance, and gave a small, dismissive snort. "So, Mr. Spenser, you have decided to take it upon yourself to make my lodgings the very first stop after your graduation from Oxford. I am certain that I can see no reason for this. Perhaps you could explain." Nigel was caught off guard by the man's instant, yet accurate stating of his recent activities, but only for a moment. He smiled a wide grin. "That's very good, Mr. Holmes. Quite excellent, in fact. I see that Doctor Watson does not exaggerate in the slightest when he describes your deductive powers." "Doctor Watson is an exceedingly painstaking chronicler. But my question, you have failed to answer it." "My apologies. As you have rightly guessed, I am recently graduated from Oxford. This morning in fact. I took the first train to London in order to present myself at your door and offer myself as your assistant." He stammered for a moment and continued. "I have made an intense study of the history of crime, as have you. I have degrees in history and in chemistry, and have had some small success in minor matters at school…" Watson rested his chin upon his hand and grinned, watching Holmes for his reaction. Holmes, for his part, stared intently at Nigel, sizing him up. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Spenser," he replied. "That is Spenser with an 's', I presume? I have no need for an assistant at this time, nor do I anticipate a need in the future. What assistance I require is ably provided by Doctor Watson. Perhaps you might find opportunities with Scotland Yard. I understand certain insurance companies employ detectives as well. Lloyd's of London is well known for that sort of thing. With your high marks in school, you could certainly find employment there." Nigel started again as Holmes seemed to pull facts about him out of thin air. Then his grin returned. "Of course. You saw the seal denoting my academic honors on my degree." Nigel was clutching his graduation papers like a dying man clinging to a raft, or a witch doctor to his totem. Holmes afforded him a small smile. "Quite right." He flicked the newspaper back up to resume reading. "Good day, Mr. Spenser." Nigel was stunned, suddenly speechless. Doctor Watson showed him downstairs to the door, continuing to apologize for Holmes' brusqueness. "I'm afraid Holmes can be a little harsh with visitors at times, Mr. Spenser. You should pay it no mind. He really does have very little need of help; I often wonder if I'm truly helping him myself." He showed Nigel the door, and shook his hand as he left. Nigel took it, in a kind of sleepwalker's daze. As the door shut, it seemed as if he came out of a dream. He started towards the street, then turned on his heels as if to return to the apartment, and then came to a full stop again on the sidewalk. "Hmph. Well." "That was silly of me!" He finally declared to no one in particular. "And why should the great Sherlock Holmes take me on as an assistant, after all?" A street vendor looked up at him, as if the question had been asked of him. "I oodn knooow," he offered, unhelpfully. "I have no real experience. Nothing to recommend me besides my marks in school. And what good are marks in school?" "Nayver poot mooch stok in graydes meself," the street vendor ruminated. "Lloyd's of London. That's not a half bad idea, even if I say so myself," Nigel said, his grin returning. His hand went to his pocket, and pulled out a newspaper advertisement. Lloyd's of London, it read, seeks Talented Investigators For Important Work. He glanced at the notice, and then stuck it back in his pocket. He walked down Baker Street to where it met Paddington Street, several blocks down, and hailed a hansom from there. He did not look behind him, but if he did he would have noted that his progress down the block was being watched intently from the window of the sitting room of 221B, Baker Street. [/QUOTE]

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