The ShotPanic rising inside my chest, I dashed through the trees where I believed my closest friend, Sherlock, to be.
A few hours previously, he received a message from a stranger, but would not reveal its content. Upon reading it, however, his face took on a kind of grim determination, and he said 'Watson, I must leave you here for a time. If I do not return within the hour, then come to find me here.' With that, he scribbled an address on a piece of paper, handed it to me and walked swiftly from the room. In a state of confusion, I looked down at the address he had written. It merely stated 'Winfield house'. Unable to figure out the reason for this, I resigned myself to a newspaper and comfy chair to await his return.
After an hour had gone by, Holmes was still absent. I immediately ran to the road to call a cab, for if Holmes said he would return within the hour, he kept to his word unless something went wrong. The cab pulled up outside, and I ran through the gates in search of my friend. T