This story has been bubbling away in my head for weeks and now I think it's ready to be told. I hope you like it.

Fatal Breath

by

thedragonaunt

Prologue

Sherlock Holmes stood in the shadows, squeezed into a narrow alcove, his back pressed to the wall, hidden from view to any casual observer - of which there were none. He had been standing there for nearly three hours. He knew this thanks to the timely reminders of the repeater chimes, which sounded every 15 minutes from the cathedral clock tower, and the striking of the hours. And now it was gone midnight so, officially, it was no longer Friday night.

He pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow into a frown - partly of annoyance at his wasted evening and partly due to disappointment. He had just spent three hours standing stock still on this freezing cold December night, waiting for someone he was absolutely certain would not turn up. By rights he should have been smugly self-satisfied to have been proven right in his assumptions yet again but at some level he had actually hoped she would put in an appearance. This was another reason for his annoyance - with himself for being so illogical.

The quarter hour chimed once again. He wondered idly how the locals put up with all this ringing of bells. Didn't it keep them awake at night? He assumed they must just get used to it and filter out the chimes - as he had with the traffic on Baker Street. There was very little traffic noise on the crescent where he lived now and what there was was effectively blocked by the new double glazing. Also, the master bedroom which he shared with his wife of almost one year was on the side of the house and therefore shielded, to some extent, from both noise and light from the street.

His mind strayed to a warm, inviting bed and the warm, inviting person who would currently be occupying that bed but he quickly banished such thoughts as they were a dangerous distraction.

He resisted the urge to stamp some warmth back into his icy extremities, not because he thought it might give away his position - there was, after all, absolutely no one around to witness it! - but because he hated to submit to such a weakness. This stake out was a complete waste of time, he finally acknowledged to the John Avatar in his Mind Palace, who simply shrugged his shoulders in a manner which positively oozed 'I told you so.'

Taking an executive decision, he pushed off from the wall and marched purposefully along the Dark Entry in the direction of the cathedral itself, past the Main Library which housed all the archives and records, in the care of the Dean and Chapter. Like every other building in the Precincts, it was securely locked and shrouded in darkness at this late hour. As he approached the arched portal which led to the monastic ruins which bordered the northern aspect of this great and ancient ecclesiastical building, a movement in the air – no more than a breath – caught his attention and arrested his progress. He froze and employed all his distance senses to search the impenetrable dark for the source of that phenomenon.

'Please, sir, could you help me?' a reedy voice enquired.

He brought up his arm, simultaneously switching on the mag light held tight in his hand, and aimed the beam in the direction of the utterance.

Immediately in front of him, on the opposite side of the wrought iron gate which gave access to the cloisters, crypt and, via the Dean's Steps, the cathedral itself, stood a woman dressed entirely in black from head to toe. She was small in stature - perhaps five feet tall - and her posture was stooped, making her appear even shorter. In one gloved hand, she held the handle of a walking stick on which she leaned quite heavily. Her other hand was held in front of her face, shielding her eyes from the glare of his torch as she spoke again.

'Can you help me, please? I am unable find my way out.'

Sherlock stepped up to the metal railings of the gate and looked down at her.

'One must ask how you found your way in,' he drawled, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

'The gate was not locked when I entered, sir,' she replied, with more than a hint of indignation.

'Well, I don't have a key but I might be able to assist you,' he replied, before transferring the handle of the torch to his mouth and reaching into his inside jacket pocket to retrieve his lock pick kit.

'Let me see now...' he murmured, unfolding the kit and scanning the contents in the torchlight before selecting the right tool for the job. He then looked up once more to give the woman an obsequious smirk before getting to work on the padlock which secured the gate.

But she was gone.

ooOoo