"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you there?" John shouted as he walked up the stairs. He entered the flat. Sherlock was sitting in his usual chair with his violin on his lap, plunking a melody.

"Oh, hello John," he replied, "Give it to me."

"What? Oh, yes, there's a letter for you," John answered.

"I noticed. Hand it over," Sherlock said.

"Here," John threw the envelope in Sherlock's lap.

"Careful! It's important."

"How could you know that?" John asked a little surprised.

Sherlock did not reply. He examined the envelope and the address on it carefully.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes

221B Baker Street

London NW1 6XE", the address read. Nothing less, nothing more, not even a reply-address on the back. Not that anything else was needed. Everyone knew his address and certainly the person who wrote this letter. Sherlock opened the envelope and read its contents.

"Dearest Sherlock,

How are you? I haven't heard from you for a long time, as you haven't gotten any letters from me. I heard some strange things about you jumping off St. Bartholomew's roof, leaving a dead Moriarty behind, while a few years later you're alive and kicking–

Anyway, of course I didn't write you out of concern for you. You know I never do that. You wouldn't do anything like that for me either.

No, something else has come to mind. A new puzzle if you will. This riddle, however, is nothing like the ones I wrote to you before about. This is no puzzle I can tell you every single detail of and you reply with the answer at turning mail. No, I need to show this one to you.

So I was wondering when and at what time I can come to London. I'll have to overcome my fear of big crowds and come to the biggest, busiest city of Great-Britain.

But never mind that, it won't kill me. Please answer as soon as possible.

I look forward to finally meeting you.

Love, Elizabeth

P.S.: Could be a matter of life and death."

Sherlock smiled. Finally, he was going to meet Elizabeth. They had been writing letters for quite a while now. It started five years ago, when she wrote him about a strange riddle someone had given to her. He gave the answer immediately and after that, she had written seven more letters. The last letter she wrote, was 2 years ago and he hadn't heard from her ever since.

That wasn't worrying or something, because she, as she had written in her letter, would only write him when she had a problem to solve. And finally, she had written a new letter, about a whole new problem she couldn't solve. Not even with his guidelines. This puzzle he would have to solve by himself.

"At last," he thought.

"Have you heard anything I just said?" John asked, slightly angered.

"Did you say something, then?"

"Yes, I just asked you five different questions!" John said angrily.

"Ask them again," said Sherlock calmly.

"Okay, I asked how you knew it's important, who wrote it, what he or she wrote, why you aren't replying and why you keep doing that," John said. Now he was very annoyed.

"Oh, well, listen then. I knew this letter is important, because I recognized the envelope and the handwriting. This letter is written by an acquaintance of mine, who would only write me when it'd be important. She wrote me about a riddle of hers and asked to come over. As for your last two questions, I didn't hear you and when I don't hear you, I don't reply. Apparently I do that a lot," Sherlock said without the slightest emotion.

"You're serious? Apparently you do that a lot?! Sherlock, you do that all the time!" John shouted, "You seriously do that constantly and I have had it!"

"Relax, John," Sherlock said calmly.

"No, I won't relax! I, you–" John was outraged.

"I said, relax, John," Sherlock repeated, 'I have been expecting this letter. This is a new case. I need a pen and paper. Oh, and silence."

John handed him a pen and a piece of paper.

"Why don't you text this woman?" John asked. He calmed down a bit.

"She doesn't have any range in her place," Sherlock replied.

"Where does she live then, in a forest?" John said. He smiled.

"Yes, she does. Sherwood Forest to be precise," Sherlock said without any sign of a smile.

"Oh, sorry…" John mumbled.

"Now some quiet would be marvellous," Sherlock said as he focused on his letter.

"Dearest Elizabeth,

How nice to hear from you again. Of course you can come over.

In fact, you can come any time and day you wish. If I am not home, you just tell Mrs Hudson you have an appointment with me and she'll let you in. She'll probably offer you a cup of tea while you're waiting. She makes a fine cup of tea, so no problem there. Your description of the riddle has truly piqued my interest. I look very much forward to finally meeting you and I can hardly wait to see and solve your riddle. Please don't take my excitement wrongly. I'm just thrilled to meet an interesting person such as yourself.

Do not be afraid of London.

Love, Sherlock

P.S.: Do come quickly. John doesn't believe I have more friends beside him."

Elizabeth smiled as she read the last sentence. She grabbed her coat and walked downstairs.

"Raymond, I'm going to London. I won't return until tonight I think," she shouted.

Her little brother murmured an answer. Elizabeth opened the door of the garage and walked to her Ducati Multistrada 1200. It was a special edition with a less polluting engine, made especially for her. "You're a filthy rich nature- and motorcycle-lover or not," she thought. She also owned a special Harley Davidson Wide Glide, designed just for her.

She loved riding her motors. They gave her a certain feeling of freedom. She put on her motor suit and her helmet and drove off.