221b Baker Street Flat Novels & Stories

Must have been late evening when the incident happened. Eknath was at the crime scene with one more constable waiting for Anya to arrive. It was a tiny flat on the second floor. The building looked dilapidated but was clean. There were no lifts and no CCTV cameras. The door was taped by the cops. The constable lifted the tape to allow Anya and her team to enter. He directed them into a small cosy bedroom. Like the rest of the building the flat was run down but clean. You could see that the girl loved plants. The tiny overhanging balcony outside the living room window was lined with potted plants which looked healthy and well taken care of.

"I know you can. That's why we wanted you." Next, she takes us to my flat. It's in Kensington, a charming neighborhood with tree-lined streets and Georgian townhouses. The flat is on the second floor of a converted building, with three bedrooms, high ceilings, and a small balcony overlooking a garden square. "The master bedroom has an ensuite," Catherine explains. "The second bedroom we thought could be Leo's, and the third is set up as a nursery for the baby. But you can rearrange however you like." Leo runs from room to room, excited. "Chloe, look! My room has a window seat! And bookshelves!"

Placing the things back to it's place I step out my eyes watching around to spot the guards, making sure that it's safe I scurry in dark swiftly getting out successfully. I stop in my tracks when the sound of a ceramic piece crashing on the ground gets into my ears, rushing to a dark spot by the side of a lane I stick to the bricked wall peeping my head to the side my expression maintaining the calmness when I see two men making their way upstairs to the second floor of the flat. A gasp leaves my lips when I realise it late, the house they are heading to is Yi Han's.

His gentle voice and eyes were doing things to my body that I couldn’t quite control. “What is your flat?” Alvin called after me, “I know I’m sounding pretty much desperate like a fucking teenager” he cursed under his breath but I heard him. “why?” I paused and turned to him “nothing, just in case I want to have some flowers delivered to you” he said finding a quick come back. “that is very thoughtful of you, how interesting” I said as I thought he made some sense. “Third floor, suite 19, and that’s my window” I pointed at it.

Well, I don't think doppelgänger exists. “I don't understand, what are you talking about?” I asked, crinkling my face in confusion. “How do you mean this isn't the place you've been asked to come? What address were you given?” “Just a moment, please.” she said, trying to confirm the place of address on her cellphone. “Alright, it's 223 East 34 Oasis Street, apartment 3B.”

“No need for a meet up, you got it. The house is 84th street, 2nd avenue. Do you know there?” I stared at my phone for some seconds, that was it? Just like that? Why was it so easy? Was he some sort of serial killer looking for an easy target in desperate and homeless women like me? What if it wasn’t a man? Well that would make my life much more easier. “Yes, I grew up here” I texted back. “Perfect then, house key is under the flower pot, the one that looks like an angry grandma, you’ll know when you see it”

I asked. "You f*cking lucky enough to be accepted by me, look I couldn't sleep from thinking before the new investigation that my chief already assigned to us but he knows that you're sick, aren't you supposed to take some f*cking rest?" "I'll take some prescriptions for migrations and medications for fevers" I answered with a smile that she'll never see through. "Alright Sherlock, the investigation is about homicide in district twenty-one beside the alleyway of HenLin Flat, it seems the victim is a she that was sexually assaulted and murdered her for resisting the suspect's desires"

"Well, what you said makes sense. I live in Flat 4B, Maple Court, on High Street!" She had simply and neatly exposed her exact address in complete detail. Sebastian was speechless. Hayes let out a burst of laughter from the front seat, but received a sharp glare from Sebastian a second later. "Sir, this young lady's sense of self-preservation is... ahem... truly impenetrable!"

Down south, a storm was loud, violent, over in an hour, leaving the white stone streets smelling like clean pine and salt. Here, it was just a grey, endless drizzle that seemed to ooze straight out of the old brickwork, turning the pavement into a greasy mirror that reflected nothing but red buses and black umbrellas. Sophia sat on the edge of a deep velvet sofa that smelled faintly of damp and someone else’s lavender perfume. The flat belonged to her father’s holding company, a tall, narrow building in Belgravia where the heating pipes clicked and groaned through the night like old bones.

The same woman who bought the photographer had likely bought the silence of a young, terrified girl. "Damien, get the transport," I said, my voice shaking with a sudden, dark realization. "We’re going to the Quimby flat. Now." We sped through the rain-slicked streets of the Northcrest district. When we arrived at the tenement, the door was ajar. My heart plummeted. Inside, the small apartment was trashed. Forging tools were scattered, and the scent of struggle was thick in the air. But there was another scent. Faint, yet unmistakable.