John Watson · Sherlock Holmes · Summer · Writing Prompt

Writing Prompt #2.3

Memory #3: Sherlock’s Little Helper

An explanation: I know the prompt said “First 3 memories”, and this is definitely not the first. But I think it’s the first example of wild imagination?

When we were kids, my parents thought that to have listless, restless children during summer was a crime. I don’t know what the other kids did almost every summer, but our family already set the pattern to travel one year, and staying home the year after.

In the year we did stay in the country, the parents put us through a melee of activities. Summer camps, filled with activities, sports, trips, and several incidents with a psychic child and a ghost haunting the girls’ bathroom. There were several swim classes that ended with beaming certificates (of participation, not competitions).

Over the odd years, these summers sort of blurred together, becoming a ball of tedious, sometimes painfully embarrassing memories. There was one summer that stood out from the rest though. They decided (as always without consulting us) to enrol us in computer classes. The place was quaint. From the outside, it was almost invisible, just a pair of standard glass doors, with an unmemorable sign above it.

Inside, surprisingly, it was spacious and brightly decorated. Two receptionist greeted us everyday. We went in, and for an hour, we’d either play games, or go through Microsoft programs. I don’t remember much of the actual “lessons”, but things got mighty interesting when we entered “Mystery week”.

We played a mystery game. Not just any mystery game, but one that features Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. The story is told from Dr. Watson’s POV, and we should help him (and by extension Holmes) piece together clues to solve the mystery. As a young reader who just started to love the mystery genre, I LOVED it.

Going through each level, I imagined that I really was helping Holmes (digital Holmes) to solve the mystery. I’d use my noggin’, aptly listened to what was said, hungering for the next scene for me to shine and find the clue that would get the two gentlemen one step closer to solving the crime.

That summer, I was Sherlock’s little helper. How many kids can claim that as their best childish memory? 

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