Hello, my lovely readers,
As most of you know I am writing a novel. I have been in a funk lately, and I have so many ideas floating through my head for so many different stories. I thought one way to possibly help me out of my funk, get my creative juices flowing, and hopefully give me ideas for my novel is to just simply write. I have decided to write a series of short stories using writing prompts. This first one was inspired by B.W. Ginsburg and a contest she entered on Instagram. The contest was started by writing_tips_and_memes. I discovered this too late to enter the contest, and I am also way over the 500 word limit. I am hoping to enter the next one. Anyhow, this sort of turned into fan fiction, which I wasn’t planning at first, but I went with it anyway. I hope you enjoy!
Here is the prompt:
A genie actually grants everyone’s 1,000,000th wish, but nobody has figured this out. Some don’t get to a million; others waste their millionth. You were just granted your very strange millionth wish.
My day had started off like every other day, doing the same mundane routine, that is until I got to work and saw the Post-It note that was left on my computer screen that read: Your next wish will be granted. Confused, I re-read the note at least three times to make sure I was reading it correctly. I walked into the nurses station.
“Hey, Amanda. Did you leave this note for me last night? Is this some sort of joke?” I asked as I placed the Post-It on her desk.
“What are you talking about?” She asked as she read the note. “I didn’t leave this note, why would you think I would do such a thing?”
“Well, you were the only one still in the office when I left work yesterday.”
“Oh, well it wasn’t me. Who would leave such a message?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“Hmm… “ she said as she stroked the side of her jaw trying to think of the possibilities. “This is strange, if only Sherlock Holmes were real.”
“I wish!” I exclaimed. “If he were here, he could help me for sure.”
The rest of the day carried on as usual, with the exception of Amanda making a big fuss over the note. It wasn’t until I arrived home that I found an unusual surprise. For starters, my door was unlocked. I scratched my head as I tried to remember the events of that morning. I had grabbed my coffee and headed out the door. I was sure that I locked it. I walked inside scanning my living room when all of a sudden I heard my tea kettle whistle. I positioned my car key between my pointer and middle finger as it was the closest thing I had to a weapon, and I made my way into the kitchen. I saw a man standing in front of my stove, and before I could stab him in the jugular, his long fingers wrapped around my wrist and pulled me towards him. He narrowed his eyes at me.
“Who are you, and what are you doing in my kitchen?” I asked the man as he let go of my wrist and poured himself a cup of tea.
“The name is Sherlock Holmes, and I am making myself a cuppa tea, would you like a cuppa?” He replied in his deep, baritone, British accented voice.
“What? How? This can’t be real.”
He looked me up and down before looking straight into my eyes, and I got lost in his beautiful green orbs as he took a deep breath and responded as quickly as possible. “I got in with the key hidden under your obviously fake painted rock on your front porch, not very clever by the way. I too was confused at first as to how I got here, I was on the roof of a building in London, peering over the edge, when all of a sudden I appeared on your door step. I deduced that no one was home judging by the lack of vehicles in the driveway, so I let myself in and looked around, and this is very real.” He picked up the magic lamp I had found in my grandma’s attic after she died. “Did you make a wish sweetheart?” He asked with a crooked smirk and a quirked eyebrow.
I shivered as he asked this. I hadn’t noticed that during his rambling he had gotten closer to me. He was tall, I’d say probably around 6 foot, he had high cheekbones, he was thin, a little muscular,and he wore a dark purple shirt that fit him very smugly and black dress pants. He was quite handsome and he smelled of old books and sweet tobacco. I swallowed thickly before answering. “Yes, but that couldn’t be. I rubbed that lamp years ago, I was only a teenager when I found it.”
“Of all the things you could have wished for, you wished for me? Why?” He asked mockingly.
Pulling my eyes away from the gorgeous locks of dark curls on his head and moving them to his beautiful eyes I said “Well, I didn’t think it would actually come true, but I wished you were here to help me solve a mystery. Someone left me a note on my desk this morning, and…” I gasped as I remembered the note. I was so taken away by the man standing in my kitchen that I completely forgot about the note. “Oh. My. God. The note said that my next wish would come true. I mean I didn’t really think anything of it.” I started pacing back and forth while running my fingers through my long, black hair. “I mean this is preposterous. Genies aren’t real, right? And even if they were this has to be my millionth wish.”
Sherlock handed me a cup of tea and led me into the dining room.
“It’s alright.” He said. “We’ll figure this out.”
We spent the rest of the night researching genies and alternate universes, and much to our surprise, both exist. Sherlock comes from an alternate universe that was created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Doyle didn’t realize as he was writing his fiction that he was, in fact; creating a whole other universe where Sherlock, Dr. Watson, and their adventures were a reality. We found that the magic lamp I had discovered was indeed real, and while I never actually saw a genie, there was one, he was real and for this particular lamp he grants people their millionth wish. Some people never get their millionth wish, and of course no one actually realized that there was a genie to grant a wish, because he was never seen.
According to medical records Sherlock had died on January 15th, 2012. Sherlock’s eyes widened as realization seemed to hit him. “All of this time, and I never asked you your name.” He stated.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. My name is Kristin. Kristin Watson.”
Once again he smiled that crooked smirk at me.”If my deductions are correct, my dear Watson, You are a doctor?”
“That is correct, Mr. Holmes. I smiled as realization finally hit me. I am a doctor, and the address here is 221 Baker Street.”
His eyes lit up and his smile widened. “I think this is just one of many adventures we’ll encounter Dr. Watson.”
I crossed the living room to the fire place where I picked up a skull and placed it into Sherlock’s hands. “Welcome back, Mr. Holmes.”