The Case of Paul Johnson

The Case of Paul Johnson
It was a dark and stormy night in the streets of downtown Victorian London. Sherlock Holmes and Watson sat, looking closely at every clue of a ghost haunting the streets. They had been looking for hours, Sherlock still puzzled at the case of the haunted town.
Suddenly, a vague, milky white figure stood up to them, watching closely as he pondered the streets. Sherlock knew that this was the monster.
Looking into the eyes of the detective, Paul Johnson whispered into his old friend’s ear: “You will die… die… die…”, still shuddering at the feeling of his lips pressing to make the ghastly word.
Sherlock could see the ghost, sure that it was taunting him to just give up. Thinking back, he thought to himself: “Well then, Paul Johnson it is…”, and stopping to glance at the ghost figure a second time.
He knew his friend’s darkest fear was the fear of death. He couldn’t blame him. Death was possibly the scariest thing out there. Knowing this, he tested the air, and knew a light, short wind would soon come, floating the lightweight figure up, but only for a while. He had to use every last second of the few minutes. He thought to himself. A flashlight and a knife.
Luckily, a small store was still open, only open for a few more minutes in the deep night. Everybody had already been fast asleep, Sherlock himself getting mightily sleepy after hours of searching. He had to keep focused.
Soon, the wind came, floating the ghost like a balloon. Without a second wasted, he dashed to the only open store, rushing his fingers through a number of racks, and finally finding a small flashlight, and a cooking knife. He rushed to the counter, seeing the old man on the counter looking at the items he bought.
Running out the store, Sherlock catched his breath as he came just in time for Paul Johnson to appear, much to Watson’s horror.
Watson asked: “Why a flashlight and a knife?” Sherlock swiftly explained: “Well, the flashlight will show the ghost, and the knife will keep the ghost on the ground.”
Flashing the old light, he confronted the ghost with a knife, while Watson struggled to the nearest telephone, calling his local special martial arts trainer, Jim. He dialed the number, saying that he had confronted a ghost and would need help.
Minutes later, Jim came, running down the cobble streets with sweat running down his forehead. He arrived in a dark suit, matching in the dim light of the flashlight.
Soon, he glanced at Sherlock, moving him aside, and started to battle the monster, while Sherlock knew that this ruckus would wake the block’s people, making them help drive out the monster and make sure that he would never be seen again.
He was right. In time, lights of the rooms started appearing, and people one by one filed into the block, wondering why a detective came to visit. Looking behind Sherlock’s back, people gasped and soon, joined the beating, making sure that the ghost’s body was beaten down to the bone.
A townsfolk took out his small box he had brought, ducking under the ghost and trapping him in the box and making sure that he would never see the light of day in a very long time.
Soon, everybody rushed back to sleep, assured that they wouldn’t see the ghost haunt them for years to come.