221B SOI BAKER — Chapter 3 of 'Sherlock Holmes and the Scarlet Thread'
The third chapter of 'Sherlock Holmes and the Scarlet Thread' by Michael Chambers
Welcome to Sherlock Holmes and the Scarlet Thread, the first novel in the Sherlock Holmes: Thailand mystery thriller series. Each novel is a standalone mystery.
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Previously in The Scarlet Thread…
Dr. John Watson has been robbed. The thief stole an expensive necklace meant to be a birthday gift for Watson’s girlfriend, Ploy.
Unwilling to go to the police, John Watson hired a mysterious stranger named Sherlock Holmes to recover the necklace before Ploy’s birthday.
While traveling to his apartment at 221B Soi Baker, Watson grew suspicious of Holmes, believing him to be some kind of con man.
Watson challenged Holmes to a test to see whether or not his abilities of observation and deduction are real.
Chapter 3: 221B Soi Baker
“How did you do that?”
John Watson stood frozen. Around him, Lumphini Park existed as normal, but he felt lost, separated from it. As others strolled along the winding paths or lounged in the shade, he stared in near-horror at Sherlock Holmes.
Holmes had continued a few more steps towards the park’s exit, but now looked back.
“How did I do what?” he answered.
Watson’s voice shook as he spoke. “How did you know that man was a retired U.S. Marine Corps officer? You took one look at him and knew immediately.”
“I told you, doctor. Observation and deduction.”
“No. Explain it to me, in detail. Explain to me exactly how you knew.”
“I have no time for trifles,” Holmes said, bluntly. Then with a smile, he continued, “Excuse my rudeness. So you actually were not able to see that the man was a retired American Marine officer?”
“No, how could I possibly have been able to see that?”
“It was easier to know it than to explain how I knew it.” Holmes rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If you were asked to prove that two plus two equals four, you might find it difficult, even though you are quite sure of the fact. Even across the path I could see a small eagle amongst the collection of tattoos on the man’s arm. Below the eagle, “Semper Fi” was spelled out in small letters, the U.S. Marine Corps motto. Easy enough. You must have observed the way he held his head. Unlike you, he carried himself with some amount of self-importance and a certain air of command, so there we have an officer. The shiny ring on his fourth finger and large gut told a fairly common story: he’s retired to Thailand, married a local woman, and hasn’t held back on the Chang beers. All of these facts showed very clearly that he was a retired United States Marine Corps officer.”
“That’s…” Watson paused, glancing from Holmes to the retired officer who was still jogging in the distance. “That’s incredible!”
Holmes had a blank expression.
“I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“Commonplace,” Holmes said calmly, though he looked increasingly pleased at Watson’s surprise and admiration.
“No, Holmes. It’s truly incredible, I mean it. Everything makes much more sense now. You do these things with, what did you call it? Observation and deduction? And that’s why you wear the sunglasses! Even inside. So people don’t see your eyes while they’re moving around all crazy, observing.”
“You can imagine that people, especially women, do not always take kindly to being observed with hyper-efficiency.”
A thought struck Watson. He paused for a moment, then burst into laughter.
“What is it?”
Watson laughed harder and harder, losing control.
“Doctor Watson?”
“Oh, I really get it now,” Watson said through fits of laughter. “There’s more to it than people not seeing your eyes. I don’t think you like telling people about your method. Instead, you prefer people thinking that you do have some kind of magic powers.”
Holmes looked hurt. “That’s not true.”
“No, it is true,” Watson said. “You said yourself that people all around the world have called you some form of a magic man, a wizard. And you don’t correct them? It all makes sense now, you like having that reputation.”
“You’re wrong,” Holmes snapped. “You know why a magician never reveals his tricks? Because once he’s explained things, he gets no more credit. Everyone stops caring. It’s the same with me. If I show too much of my method of working, people will come to the conclusion that I am a very ordinary individual after all. They’ll stop caring.”
Watson stopped laughing. “That’s not true at all, Holmes,” he said seriously. “You’re able to know all these things about people just by looking at them. In some strange way, it’s almost as if you do have powers. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s fascinating. Your method of observation and deduction is one of the most incredible things I’ve ever witnessed.”
Holmes looked caught off guard. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
“I mean it.” There was a brief silence, and they both seemed to struggle for words to say next. “And I’m sorry I called you a con man.”
Holmes nodded. “It’s alright.” A smile spread across his face and he chuckled. “You might have had grounds for being suspicious. I’m guessing most people are aware, as you say, that the earth goes around the sun?”
“They definitely are.” Watson grinned. “But then again, most people wouldn’t be able to look at a man and know exactly what he did for a living.”
“Yes, right.” Holmes cleared his throat and adjusted his sunglasses. “Well, we still have work to do. Let’s go see about that necklace, then.” He spun on his heel and continued towards the park’s exit.
📚 If you love the novels, there’s more!
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In this story, Holmes searches for a lost treasure deep inside the Amazon rainforest, and stumbles onto a danger that locals believe is supernatural.
From Lumphini Park, it was only a short walk to Soi Baker. Short, aged buildings lined both sides of the soi, dwarfed by the rows of gleaming skyscrapers that could be seen beyond. Unlike other areas of Bangkok, there wasn’t a mixture of locals and foreigners; tourists typically didn’t wander far enough into the maze of side-streets to reach Soi Baker. There was a feeling of familiarity, of community: laundry was hung to dry on balconies, children played on the sidewalk while their parents cooked food or sold goods, and everyone acknowledged each other in passing.
Watson pointed to a beige two-story building with “221” stamped above the door. “That’s it.”
As they approached, Holmes was looking down at the sidewalk, muttering to himself. “Interesting.”
“What is?”
“Nothing.” He looked up, then noticed a brown dog lying in the shade of a large flower pot near the building’s entrance, beside a full bowl of food. “What’s his name?”
“He doesn’t have one. He’s a soi dog. They roam through Bangkok on their own. He showed up a few weeks ago. Mrs. Hudson feeds him.”
“He’s breathing so loudly.”
“We don’t know how old he is, but he’s definitely up there.”
There was an electronic keypad by the front door. Watson entered the code, then held the door open and they entered the building. The inside had seen better days; the paint was chipped on all the walls and the porcelain floors were cracked. A stairwell ran up from the entryway to the second floor.
“Mrs. Hudson lives in 221A,” he said, pointing to the door directly across the entryway. “I’m upstairs.”
They made their way up to the second-floor landing. A bronze plaque on the wall had “221B” printed on its face. Watson removed a key from his pocket and unlocked the door.
A massive, airy sitting-room was revealed. Sunlight poured in from two broad windows on the far wall, with a view of Soi Baker below. Disregarding the map of Bangkok hanging above a plush couch, one had the impression of being transported from Asia to Europe. Framed pictures were hung all around: Big Ben, the Abbey Road album cover, a black and white photograph of Queen Victoria in full regal attire. The apartment’s floor was of polished hardwood, with an intricate red rug in its center. Two armchairs, with a table between them, were positioned opposite an imitation fireplace. A wooden mantle ran above the fake flames, which housed a variety of items: an antique clock, a toy double-decker London bus, and a violin and bow positioned upright in a stand. High above the mantle, an air-con blasted cool air throughout the room. A small kitchen-space with table and chairs was in one corner, and two doors led off of each end of the sitting-room.
Holmes stood in the doorway, speechless.
Watson shrugged. “It’s something, isn’t it?”
Holmes took off his sunglasses. “It’s magnificent.” He stepped across the threshold and entered the room, leaving the door wide-open behind him.
“Mrs. Hudson is convinced that it will get more bookings on Airbnb if it has some kind of theme. That’s my room over there. The other is for the guests.”
Holmes didn’t seem to hear him. He walked all around the room, studying the framed pictures, looking out the window, poking a finger at an armchair’s cushion. “This place…” he said, in awe. “It reminds me of—” He stopped at the mantle, right in front of the violin.
“Do you play?” Watson asked.
“I used to. But it’s been some time.”
With great care, Holmes lifted up the violin and bow from the stand. He plucked at the strings, slowly adjusting each peg until he was satisfied with the tuning. Then, quite abruptly, he began playing the instrument with a level of musical expertise that Watson had seldom witnessed in his life. Holmes’ fingers danced across the neck of the violin, the bow sweeping back and forth across the strings. He concluded with a grandiose display, the final notes hanging in the air. Then, the sound of clapping.
In the doorway, a short, round Thai woman stood, beaming. She bobbed up and down as she clapped, a smile stretched from ear to ear across her wrinkled face.
“Very good, Mr. Holmes!” she said. “Very good!”
“Why, thank you, Mrs. Hudson. It is nice to see you again.”
Watson waved sheepishly. “Hey, Mrs. Hudson.”
She ignored him, moving across the room to Holmes. She had to look up to address him, the top of her head not even reaching his shoulder. “You play music very good, Mr. Holmes. I not hear violin for long time. It was my husband’s.” She held a finger to her lips and blushed. “You play much better than he did.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Hudson.” Holmes set the violin and bow back on the stand. “Your husband had excellent taste in violins. I trust that all of these items belonged to him?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Holmes. He from England and work at embassy in Bangkok. We live in this building long time. Upstairs was guest apartment for when family come visit. When my husband die, I rent upstairs on Airbnb. I decorate in England style to get more customer.” She scanned the room and there was a twinkle in her eye. “And remind me of him.”
“You did a tremendous job, Mrs. Hudson,” Holmes said. “It’s been a few days since I’ve seen you. I trust that everything worked out with your problem?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Thank you very much, sir.” She bowed and pressed her hands together in a wai. “You are life saver, Mr. Holmes.”
Watson nodded thoughtfully. “I never did get the details about that, Mrs. Hudson. What exactly did you need help with?”
“Mind your own business!” She snapped towards Watson. Then, as if a thought was triggered by looking at him, she spoke softly. “Mr. Holmes, you see dog outside building? Very sad. Dog won’t leave. He in much pain.”
Watson took a deep breath. “I told you, Mrs. Hudson, hire a veterinarian.”
She pointed at him. “But you doctor. Why you not do it?”
“It doesn’t matter if I’m a doctor. I am not putting that dog down!”
Holmes’ calm voice sliced through their argument. “What are you cooking, Mrs. Hudson?”
Her anger disappeared and she instantly returned to her pleasant temperament of moments before. “I told you, John! Mr. Holmes is magic man!”
Watson held his tongue. It didn’t take someone trained in the Science of Deduction to know that Mrs. Hudson had been cooking. All it took was one look at her messy apron.
“I make Tom Yum soup,” she said. “Taste very good. Are you hungry, Mr. Holmes?” She glared at Watson. “John no offer you food?”
“We just walked in!” Watson said.
Holmes chuckled. “Perhaps later, Mrs. Hudson. Doctor Watson and I have work to do. We need to find that necklace.”
“Oh, yes, yes. Please help him, Mr. Holmes. He no help himself.” She turned to Watson. “How can you lose necklace?”
“I told you, I didn’t lose it. It was stolen.”
She covered her mouth with a hand and whispered to Holmes. “You know, I not so sure he even bought necklace.”
“I can hear you!”
She dropped her hand from her face, then wagged a finger at him. “Ploy is sweet girl. She deserve nice gift. But John barely pay rent, and I give him good deal. I old friend with his mom so I help him. He can ask me for money for gift. He don’t have to make up story!”
“I’m not making up a story!”
“Then why not go to police. Hmm? You waste Mr. Holmes’ time. Go to police and talk to—”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson!” He ushered her back across the room and out onto the second-floor landing. “We’ll let you know if we need anything.”
As he closed the door, Mrs. Hudson yelled through the gap. “If you lose that girl, I kill you!”
“Thank you for stopping by, Mrs. Hudson!” Watson slammed the door. “Okay, where were we? Oh, right. My room is just over here. I kept the necklace in the dresser.”
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Watson’s bedroom felt like a shoebox. There wasn’t much room to stand, with most of the space taken up by the twin bed and matching teak-wood dresser and desk. The space was otherwise bare except a suitcase in one corner. Some sunlight filtered in through a small window, but the room felt like it was in some basement rather than on the second-floor.
Holmes stepped to the dresser. “Hum! Your room is much smaller than expected.”
“I guess the other room is a bit—”
Holmes pointed to the made-up bed, the comforter folded over crisply. “You certainly keep things tidy.”
“Well, the army teaches you that whether you like it or not.”
“Based on the state of this dresser, I would think that you keep your most valuable items in the bottom drawer. So that must have been where you kept the necklace.”
“That’s… correct. But how could you tell?”
“The bottom drawer is shut completely, while the others are slightly ajar.” Holmes opened the drawer; it was empty except for a black handgun and spiral notebook. He bent down, ran his index finger against the bottom of the drawer, then brought it to his face and examined closely.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He brushed his finger against his sleeve, then stood up. “The handgun is military issue, I presume.”
“Yes.”
“And the notebook?”
“That’s not important—”
Holmes removed the notebook and flipped to the first page. There was a handwritten title in the center. “A Study in Black by John H. Watson. What is this?”
Watson grabbed the notebook. “It’s nothing.” He placed it back in the drawer.
“It is certainly something if you kept it in the bottom drawer.”
“It’s just a story I used to work on.”
“A doctor who dreams of being a novelist? The case of Dr. John Watson gets more intriguing. Why did you stop working on it?”
“It’s complicated.” Watson rubbed his shoulder. “But I guess you could say reality became a lot stranger than any fiction I could ever write.”
“My dear fellow, life is infinitely stranger than anything the mind of man could invent. We wouldn’t dare to conceive the horrors which are an everyday part of existence.”
Watson stared into the distance, trying to push the memories of the bullet out of his mind.
Holmes shut the bottom drawer. “I’ve seen everything I need to in here. Let’s examine the other room.”
They crossed the sitting-room and entered through the door on the opposite wall. While Watson closed the door behind them, Holmes remarked, “Now this is a room.”
The guest bedroom was much larger than Watson’s, and almost felt like its own apartment. Ample space was available despite there being a king-sized bed, multiple bookcases, an extra-wide desk, and a leather arm-chair positioned in front of a huge bay window.
“Yeah, it’s a bit bigger,” Watson said, miserably.
Holmes stood in front of the window and basked in the sunlight. “The view is much better than in your room, too.”
“Yep.”
“Though it could do with a cleaning. The last guest to stay here certainly had some crude habits.”
Holmes was right. In contrast to Watson’s impeccably clean living-space, it looked like a bomb had gone off in this bedroom. The bed was unmade, with a torn Lays bag near the pillow and crumbs spread all across the comforter. Crushed beer cans covered the desk, with a Johnnie Walker bottle resting on its side, the spilled brown liquor settled in a pool beside it. The trash can was overflowing with odorous street-food containers, more beer cans, and crumpled receipts.
“It’s been untouched from last night,” Watson said. “Everything is exactly as he left it.”
“What did this person look like?”
“I barely saw him, but I still remember his face clearly. I don’t know if I could ever forget it. It was puffy and red, and had a big scar running down a cheek. Just looking at him really made you—”
A delicate voice interrupted him. It was coming from the sitting-room. “John? John, are you here?”
Watson felt sick. “Oh no.”
“Who is that?” Holmes asked.
“Just— Just stay in here. Take a look around, whatever it is you do. I don’t want her to know anything is wrong.”
Leaving Holmes in the guest room, Watson hurried out into the sitting-room and quietly shut the door behind him. He watched her at the opposite wall.
“John?” she said, knocking lightly on his door.
“Ploy?”
Her expression turned to delight when she saw him. “There you are!” The sunlight from the window made her light skin seem to glow. She was dressed in her Immigration Office uniform, a long-sleeve button down with epaulets on the shoulders, and her long, black hair was tied back in a bun. A plastic bag dangled from one of her wrists. “What were you doing in the guest room?”
“Nothing.” He crossed the room and gave her a hug, lifting her petite body in the air and spinning her around so her back was to the guest room door. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have work?”
“It’s my break,” she said, looking up at him. Her big, brown eyes often made him lose his train of thought. She held up the plastic bag filled with two Styrofoam containers. “Are you hungry? Sorry to drop in on you like this. I tried calling.”
“No problem at all. My phone has been on silent. But I’m not really hungry.”
“You sure?” She giggled and continued in sing-song: “It’s pad kra pao. Your favorite.”
“I’m sure. Actually, now isn’t a good time…”
“Oh, really? Is everything okay?”
Watson looked past her shoulder, at the guest room door. “Everything is fine. Just fine. It’s just that I’m not hungry.”
“Oh, okay then,” she said softly. “Do you mind if I sit in here and eat really quickly? I would go home, but it’s his day off, and he’s been in one of those moods… You know how he gets sometimes.”
“I definitely do.” Watson wrapped an arm around her and walked her towards the front door. “I’m kind of in the middle of something right now, though. I think Mrs. Hudson is hungry. She would love to eat with you—”
There was a sound from across the sitting-room. The door to the guest bedroom opened and Sherlock Holmes stood in the doorway.
“Oh, hello,” Ploy said, startled.
Holmes nodded. “Hello.”
Watson sighed.
Holmes stepped into the sitting-room. “You must be Ploy. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Sherlock Holmes.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Holmes. Sorry to disturb you. I didn’t realize anyone else was here. How are you enjoying the room?”
Watson stammered. “The room? Right. The room. Mr. Holmes is staying here for a few days. I was just showing him… something.”
“The room is marvelous. Thank you for asking, Ploy. Did I hear you weren’t hungry, doctor?”
Watson feigned a smile. He hadn’t eaten all day. “That’s right, Holmes.”
Ploy opened the plastic bag and removed one of the containers. “I have an extra pad kra pao. You can have it if you like.”
“That sounds quite excellent. Thank you very much.” Holmes took the container. “Well, we best be on our way, doctor.”
Ploy glanced at Watson. “You two have plans?”
“Yes, I’m going to show Dr. Watson a new part of Bangkok.”
Ploy pursed her lips, her eyes darting back and forth. “You’re giving him a tour?”
“Shall we, doctor?”
Watson kissed Ploy on the cheek. “I’ll call you later.”
Holmes opened the food container as they stepped out onto the second-floor landing. Inside, there was a plastic spoon that he used to start on the white rice, spicy pork, and fried egg. Watson followed him down the stairs.
Mrs. Hudson was sweeping the first floor. She shook her broom at Watson. “If you lose that girl—”
“I know, I know! You’ll kill me.”
Holmes spoke between bites. “This pad kra pao is outstanding.” He opened the first-floor door and they stepped out onto Soi Baker.
“Where are we going?” Watson asked.
“To get Ploy’s necklace back.”
“You know where it is? How? You only looked at his room.”
“It was elementary. All life is a great chain, the nature of which is known whenever we are shown a single link of it.”
Holmes took another bite of pad kra pao and started down the sidewalk.
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“Will you at least tell me where we’re going?”
Holmes had led them through a labyrinth of side-streets, finishing his food and not saying a word. As they went on, the frequency of bars on each additional soi seemed to increase before finally it felt like every business in the general vicinity catered to Bangkok night life.
“Don’t worry. We’re almost there.”
They weaved past a young Thai women on the sidewalk, wearing a short dress and inviting them to have a drink with her inside, before turning the corner and—
Watson froze.
Far ahead, colorful bar signs lined all the buildings on either side of the street. But in the middle, there was a grassy patch of land, the grass growing wildly, with a run-down building that looked abandoned. The building was swarmed with police.
There were police motorbikes parked in front. Officers were going in and out of the building, and yellow tape was fixed across the sidewalk with “POLICE - DO NOT CROSS” printed in English and Thai script.
Holmes crossed his arms. “Hmm. That changes things.”
Watson couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Holmes, what is going on?”
“Back at your apartment, I deduced that your roommate did in fact steal Ploy’s necklace. There were potato-chip crumbs in your bottom drawer. While looking in his room, I found receipts in his bin that revealed he has been frequenting one particular bar every night.” Holmes pointed to a bar at the end of the soi, past the police activity. “But now it seems he may have not arrived at his destination.”
“You don’t think—?”
“I don’t know. But there is one way to find out.”
“Let’s talk about this for a—”
Holmes marched straight towards the abandoned building, approaching the tubby police officer stationed at the yellow tape.
“Sawadee khrup,” Holmes said, greeting the officer. “Do you know what happened here?”
The cop shook his head politely. “Sorry, sir. This police business. I cannot say—” The officer looked past Holmes and his face lit up. “Sawadee khrup, Doctor Watson! What you doing here?”
Holmes looked amused. “You two know each other?”
“Oh, yes,” the officer said. “Everyone know Doctor Watson. What you doing here?”
Watson coughed. “Just passing by. Actually, we were just leaving.”
The officer looked over both shoulders and lowered his voice. “It’s a farang.” He slid a hand across his neck and made a click sound. “He dead.”
Holmes was staring down at the grass, then looked up. “How did he die?”
“Much much blood. But no wound on body. We did rapid DNA test. Not his blood. But also no other match.” He covered his mouth with both hands. “I say too much!”
Holmes stroked his chin. “No wounds?”
“That is really something,” Watson said. “Well, it was good to see you, but—”
Holmes cut in. “What did the man look like, Officer Bunya?”
The officer’s jaw dropped. “How you know my name?” His eyes were huge. It didn’t seem to cross his mind that he was wearing a nametag. “Your friend very smart, Doctor Watson.” He gave a thumbs up. “The dead man look very scary. He very big. Have big scar on face.”
Holmes and Watson exchanged a look.
Officer Bunya looked angry with himself. “I say too much again!”
“Can we see the body?” Holmes asked, sounding rather excited.
“See the body? Oh, no, no. Police only, sir.”
“Didn’t you hear the man, Holmes? It’s for police only. So let’s just keep walking—”
“Doctor Watson can identify the body.”
Officer Bunya blinked. “You can?”
“I can’t. Now, we really should be—“
Holmes grabbed Watson by the arm and pulled him aside. He spoke in a hushed tone. “The necklace is almost certainly inside that building.”
Watson ran his hands over his face. “How sure are you?”
Holmes grinned.
“Fine. One minute, okay? We go in, confirm whether or not it’s him, grab the necklace, then leave.”
Holmes faced Officer Bunya. “Watson would be happy to help.”
Officer Bunya led them inside the building. Watson scratched at an eyebrow, using his palm to hide his face. They were brought into a large square room, which seemed even bigger due to the absence of all furniture. The wallpaper was blotched in places with mildew, and here and there strips were detached and hung down, exposing the yellow plaster beneath. The room was crowded with police officers in their usual khaki uniforms, as well as some in full-body forensics jumpsuits.
Watson felt stunned when he saw him. The guest who had stayed in 221B Soi Baker the night before was sprawled face-up on the ground, dead. Blood surrounded him in a ring. There was a horrible look on his face, his features were all twisted in a grimace.
What on earth happened to him?
Then, a familiar voice made Watson shudder.
“John, what are you doing in here?”
A man stepped out from the crowd of police. He was wearing a suit and tie, clearly in charge.
Watson couldn’t form any words.
The man pursed his lips together, his eyes darting back and forth, then pointed at Watson. “Who let this man in here?”
Holmes looked back and forth between the two, then chuckled. “It’s all becoming clear now.” He lowered his voice. “I understand why you didn’t want to go to the police.”
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Next: Chapter 4 - Crime Scene
Watson is questioned by Bangkok’s top detective, while Holmes stuns the surrounding police officers with his eccentric methods of investigation.