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In London, a young doctor named John Watson had just returned from war service in Afghanistan. He was weak, short of money, and searching for affordable lodging. One day, an old friend introduced him to a man named Sherlock Holmes, who was also looking for someone to share rooms with. The two met at a laboratory where Holmes was experimenting with chemicals, and Watson was amazed by his energy and intelligence. They decided to take rooms together at 221B Baker Street, a quiet and comfortable place with a sitting room full of books, test tubes, and strange instruments.
Watson soon found Holmes to be an unusual man. He was polite but secretive, and he seemed to know something about everything—from chemistry and anatomy to law and crime. Yet he knew nothing about common subjects like astronomy or literature. One morning, Holmes revealed his profession: he was a consulting detective who helped the police solve cases when they were stuck. He explained his method of reasoning, where every detail, however small, could lead to the truth. Watson, curious and impressed, began keeping notes about Holmes’s investigations.
Not long after, a case arrived that would become their first great adventure together. A policeman named Gregson came to Baker Street to ask for Holmes’s help. A man had been found dead in an empty house at Brixton Road. There was no wound on the body, but the word “RACHE” was written in blood on the wall. The victim’s name was Enoch Drebber, an American. Holmes, Watson, and the police went to the scene. Holmes carefully studied the ground, the footprints, and even a cab’s wheel marks outside the house.
Inside, Drebber’s face showed terror. There was blood on the floor but none on his body. On the table were two candles, a wedding ring, and signs that two people had been there. The word “RACHE,” which the police thought meant “Rachel,” was actually the German word for “revenge.” Holmes quietly noted several clues that others had missed: the smell of poison, a second man’s footprints, and the ashes of a special kind of cigar. He also noticed that the murderer must have been taller than Drebber and had a square-toed boot.
Holmes sent some telegrams and asked a street boy to find a cab driver who had taken a man from near the house that night. Meanwhile, the newspapers were full of wild stories about the murder. A few days later, another American named Joseph Stangerson, who had been traveling with Drebber, was found dead in a hotel room. He had been stabbed, and again the word “RACHE” was written nearby. The police were confused, but Holmes remained calm and said the two deaths were linked.
Holmes then used his clever plan to catch the killer. He placed an advertisement saying a lost wedding ring had been found, hoping the murderer would come to claim it. The trick worked. A messenger came asking for the ring, and Holmes told a young street boy to follow him. When the boy returned, Holmes knew where the suspect was hiding. That evening, Holmes asked Watson to wait with him as he sent for a cab. When the cab arrived, Holmes suddenly grabbed the driver by the throat and declared, “Here is the murderer!”
The man, shocked and struggling, admitted everything. His name was Jefferson Hope. He was an American, once a hunter and driver from the western territories. After he was arrested, he told his story. Years earlier, he had loved a young woman named Lucy Ferrier, who lived with her father John Ferrier among a group of Mormons in Utah. Lucy was beautiful and brave, and Jefferson had promised to marry her. But when her father refused to join the Mormon faith fully, the leaders of the group, especially two powerful men named Drebber and Stangerson, forced Lucy to marry one of them instead.
John Ferrier tried to escape with his daughter, and Jefferson helped them flee into the desert. They rode for days, but the Mormons caught them. John was killed, and Lucy was taken back. She was forced to marry Drebber, and soon after, she died of a broken heart. Jefferson swore revenge. He left Utah and spent years tracking the two men across America and Europe. Finally, he found them in London.
Hope explained that he had disguised himself as a cab driver. One night, he picked up Drebber, who was drunk. He took him to the empty house on Brixton Road. There, he gave Drebber a choice between two pills—one harmless and one poisoned—so that fate could decide. Drebber chose the poison and died instantly. Hope then wrote “RACHE” on the wall to confuse the police. Later, he found Stangerson and killed him with a knife when Stangerson tried to fight.
Holmes listened to the confession and handed Hope over to the police. But before the case could go to trial, Jefferson Hope died of a heart condition in his cell, a disease he had carried for years. Holmes later explained to Watson how he had solved the mystery: by studying the footprints, the cab marks, and the cigar ashes, he had realized the killer was a cab driver. His use of the lost ring advertisement and sharp observation did the rest.
Watson was astonished at Holmes’s genius and decided to write down the story, calling it a study in scarlet—the scarlet thread of murder running through the colorless skein of life. The case marked the beginning of a lasting friendship between the quiet doctor and the brilliant detective, who would soon face many more mysteries together in the foggy streets of London.