Sherlock Holmes and John Watson strutted through the streets, merely admiring the looks of town, but studying for any sign of disturbance in the night. Watson's cane kept himself straight, though his limp was firm. The pain in his leg hurt incredibly, even with the medication he was giving. Holmes, on the other hand, walked with a quick pace, not wishing to miss an unforgettable murder. Holmes had this problem ever since he started this business. He couldn't forgive himself if he was only seconds away from saving someone from being murdered.

Watson eyed his friend with worry. Watson knew how Holmes was an incredible detective, but he tried so hard to feel misery for the people who were killed. Watson gave him credit for being so brave to find a notorious murderer just for a few people whom were not as famous.

Holmes knew his problem with these feelings. He never allowed them to meddle into his work, but it was one of the hardest things he has ever done. Not to mention, his lover, Irene Adler, had disappeared a few nights ago, which was driving him crazy. Watson could see it in his eyes.

"Holmes," Watson spoke up behind him. "Why on Earth do we continue walking the streets every night? Nothing has happened since Adler's disappearance."

Holmes stiffened. Watson felt sorry he ever said the last part.

Holmes spun on his heels, confronting Watson without friendliness in his eyes. "My dear Watson, I continue to wander the streets because, yes, nothing has happened since...her...but anything is possible, Watson. You should know that of all people."

Holmes continued to walk away, speaking his last sentence for the conversation. "You may leave my side whenever you consider it. But I am going to continue this."

Holmes never once turned around to see if his friend was following him. Watson sighed in exasperation. He knew it was no use. Holmes would continue this until he found some clue to finding his lost love. Watson began to walk in the other direction, but something in his heart tugged back toward Holmes. Watson huffed at himself, spinning around to follow Holmes once again.

This is impossible, thought Watson. I know he is a professional and genius at this stuff, but why does he accept on continuing something he never knows if he can figure out. She disappeared from existence in England. No one knows where she could possibly be.

Holmes checked over the area as Watson found explanations to why he would be so stupid. Holmes was his best friend, he would never turn his back on him, but he was being quite...impossible.

"HEEEEEELLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPP!" a woman's voice screamed from one of the buildings.

Watson froze in horror. Of course it was partially over the fact a woman was asking for help, but mostly it was over that Holmes was right. What if Watson had convinced him not to continue on this night? Another murder would be laying over their heads.

Holmes eyed the next few buildings as he speed hastened rapidly. Watson picked up his cane higher in his hands and ran after Holmes. At moments like these, Watson never needed his cane (except for a weapon). They ran together, finding the right building in this narrow street.

Holmes stopped in front of a certain dreary building, to his satisfaction. Watson eyed the depressing building. Holmes didn't stop in front of it for the fact it was creepy looking, it was because he heard the voices inside. Holmes had incredible hearing and sight. Holmes was overall the perfect detective.

Holmes took out one of his mysterious weapons, opening the door within seconds. Holmes and Watson crept into the building, finding the place of the voices. A hooded figure was towering over a woman, that lay half dead on the floor, blood spilling around her. Holmes and Watson only knew she was still alive because of her slight breathing and steady heart beat form from her chest (which was the first thing Holmes looked for: they may have stopped breathing, but their heartbeat may continue on).

Holmes nodded toward the figure, but was eyeing Watson's cane. Watson caught his plan immediately (they had some strange telepathic connection), handing over his cane. Holmes, silently, slithered over toward the figure, his body language telling Watson to begin moving toward the half dead girl. Holmes swung his cane, crashing the top into the figure's head. The figure toppled over, not moving. Watson picked up the girl as her breath was slowing rapidly. Watson was a well trained doctor, but he wanted a physician to check over her as well. Holmes and Watson carried her far away from the building, resting her on the ground as Watson did simple procedures and Holmes searched for help.

Holmes returned, explaining someone had called for a physician. Holmes kneeled beside the woman as she began panting. Watson watched Holmes as Holmes eyed her calmly.

Holmes brushed her cheek. "She resembles Irene."

Watson sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to the girl and speaking with the physician.

The figure watched from the roof a building near them. His thoughts were racing about the scene. These two men had somehow found the mysterious murderer of these woman and children, but they did not know his name or know his face. Irene? The man smiled. He knew who these men were. Inside his smile were two bright fangs.

"Come on, Tsukune!" Moka exclaimed.

Tsukune, the poor human boy, was being pulled away by his crazy strong friend, Moka, a beautiful vampire. Tsukune hated being dragged across the school by Moka. But, what could he do? She would only pout until she got her way.

"Where are we going?" Tsukune complained.

"I found this awesome room near the top of the school."

Tsukune felt a little fear. "It could be off-limits, Moka!"

She shrugged. "Oh well!"

Uh! Tsukune yelled in his head. He was frustrated. Moka never cared if they got in trouble. She only wished to have fun. He had to give her credit for being brave.

Moka led them into a fancy old-fashioned room. There was a four-poster bed on one side, with a large dresser. The other side had a desk, a lonely chair, and a vanity with a large mirror. A super large mirror, Tsukune admired.

"This room has stayed the same since the eighteen hundreds," Moka repeated as if she had been told to say this. "They say a woman named Irene Adler stayed in this very room."

"You mean, Sherlock Holmes' girlfriend?" Tsukune asked.

Moka was confused. "Sherlock Holmes?"

Tsukune waved a hand. "Nothing, nothing."

Tsukune wandered in the room until he turned around to see Moka studying herself in the mirror. Moka was stroking her hair in admiration, smiling gently. Tsukune joined her by glancing the mirror beside her. Moka's eyes grew wide.

"Do you see that woman behind us?" she asked, gaping.

Tsukune shot a look in the mirror and saw a woman in her late twenties with curly red brown hair and light blue eyes staring back at them. They both looked behind them and saw she wasn't there, but in the mirror, she was. Moka reached out toward the mirror. Tsukune watched, curiously, until half of Moka fell through the mirror.

"Moka!" Tsukune yelled, grabbing the hand that was still in the room with him.

They fell down a tunnel that spun in different directions. Tsukune could compare this to a strange slide he had been on as a kid. Moka was looking around in amazement. While she found this experience exciting, Tsukune felt like biting his fingernails. He didn't know what to do.

Thump.

Both of them crashed into ground, hard. Moka rubbed her head as they both sat up, glancing around. They found people meandering around a park, dressed in nineteenth century clothing. Moka stared, her mouth hanging open, but Tsukune understood where they were.

Eighteen hundreds England.

He could hear the accents all around them. Fear crept up his spine.

"Let's look around," he said.

They began walking, but Moka was curious, glimpsing around them. "Where are we?"

"England."

"Why is everyone dressing so funny?"

"It's the eighteen hundreds. You're a vampire. I thought you were as old as this place?"

Moka frowned. "I'm a bred vampire."

"Mhm," Tsukune said, continuing to find a place that could help them.

Tsukune and Moka stopped in front a skinny building that had stairs leading up to no porch, just a small place to stand in front of the door. Tsukune read the door, and knew they found a good place.

The door read: Detective Sherlock Holmes