Writing Sample – Incident at The Green Dragon Inn – Part 1

A few weeks ago, I watched an episode of Granada Television’s Sherlock Holmes series. The episode was “The Adventure of Shoscombe Old Place.” In the show (as well as in the book), it mentioned that Holmes and Watson visited an inn, called “The Green Dragon.” As soon as I heard the name, “The Green Dragon,” I immediately thought of the inn of the same name in Hobbiton from The Lord of The Rings. So, this is part 1 of a crossover story about what really happened at “The Green Dragon Inn,” in the form of a letter from Dr. Watson to Mr. J.R.R. Tolkien.

My dear Mr. Tolkien,

In response to your inquiry I believe that this most singular incident that occurred during the case of the Shoscombe Old Place might be just the idea you desire for your novel. I have not dared to publish this account, seeing that no one would believe it. As you are an author of fairy stories, I trust that this account of our adventure might be more useful to you than to the public.

For this narrative I have copied below, I have chosen to drop the more formal style that I reserve for my published works, seeing that, you, Mr. Tolkien, will be the only one to lay eyes on it.

Yours sincerely,
Dr. John Watson
221b Baker Street
London, England

“Incident at the Green Dragon Inn”
Thus it was that on a bright May evening that Holmes and I stood outside the door of the inn, where we had the most remarkable experience. The inn was a tiny building, looking barely big enough for a man to enter without hitting his head. Surprise and puzzlement were written across Holmes’ face, but these emotions did not hinder our entrance. We stepped inside the inn, and to our shock, found it overflowing with children. From the sudden silence, the children seemed equally shocked by our appearance.

“This was not in my calculations, Watson,” said Holmes.

“Who are you? Friend or foe?” demanded a voice at my elbow. Directing my gaze lower, I found the voice belonged to a female child with coppery red, ribbon-adorned curls. More startling than the hair was the small pan clasped in both her hands, held high and threatening to swing, as if it were a weapon.

Next Tuesday, I’ll post the next part of the story. Kind criticism is welcome. 🙂

~ Kayla


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