Guess who's coming up with a new Merlock story?

This is set in the normal BBC world, where Sherlock is the same and is still working as a consulting detective for the Yard and alongside Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson. Merrows are mers, but there will be a bunch of names thrown around, I'm sure. I have that habit. Enjoy!


Clean And Clear: "The Detective And The Merrow"


It's living in the sewers, whatever "it" is.

It's probably been down there for quite some time, going by the refuse and carnage that Sherlock and the Yard has found since their investigation started. It's aquatic in nature, bound to move in water, and it requires enough to be submerged in, or at least partially submerged. There is evidence that it drowns it's food source before consuming it. That it prefers to be in the disgusting gunk that flows through these underground tunnels. It never moves outside of a certain, contained territory, until today.

Bits of bodies, small animals, large animals, bones... all of them littering the many winding waterways of London's sewer infrastructure as they begin their search. The sewer system is huge, and it will likely take days, if not weeks to find whatever it is down there hunting people. And it goes on for hours and hours after Thames Water was alerted to the problem from a street that had flooded with the recent rain. One street had turned into two, and then more, until a partially eaten body had emerged from somewhere below the streets with the flood waters, then a hand, and a foot. And once panic had set in and started running its course, the Yard was called in, and with the Yard almost always came the promise of Sherlock Holmes.

So here he was, in waders and up to his thighs in sewage water in one of the only remaining un-flooded areas of the sewers, looking at the remains of some poor soul who'd found there end at the very sharp points of something large and extremely dangerous. At first, he hadn't thought it was human. It had an animals instincts, a nest of sorts in a lesser-used area of a tunnel long since deserted, a dumping ground for remains it was no longer interested in, and it was clearly bound to water for means of travel. It had a set territory that it rarely deviated out of, until recently, and it marked the ground it traveled with long claw marks carved low into the walls at cross-sections. But the longer they investigated, and the longer Sherlock looked at the evidence and bodies, the more and more he was convinced whatever it was wasn't completely animal after all. It wasn't completely human, either, though it did show a high level of intelligence.

And whatever "it" was, it was living in the sewers.

Most of the time, it appeared to be isolated in a smaller section of waterways closer to the Thames itself. The greatest collection of remains had been found there, along with what looked like a nesting grounds of sorts, a direct access to the Thames itself, and a hoard of trinkets that had once been shimmery or shiny in appearance. They would have reflected the light had they not been submerged in drain-off for a long period of time, and most of them had tarnished with age and oxidation. But there were a few that were newer: a few coins, a belt buckle, and two metallic fingernails off a woman who had gone missing a week prior. Sherlock recognizes them from the woman's picture that was hanging on a wall in Lestrade's office. It's an indicator that whatever it is down here, committing these acts, is still present, and using this area as it's makeshift home. But recently it's moved further out, aided by the persistent rain and the recent flooding, and waterways that were often dry were suddenly filled with enough water for it to move around. It's dangerous, it's large, and it's cunningly well-adapted to the dingy, dank of the nearly opaque water down beneath their feet. It's like a story out right out of Murky Depths magazine. Sherlock thinks it's funny, but says nothing. It will only lead to further aggravation amongst those in his group, and Lestrade's already had to call off Donovan once.

"It's nearly nine feet in length, and moves much like a serpent would. But it's not a serpent." Sherlock's voice echo's strangely in these underground tunnels, distorting and twisting back at them all menacingly. He sees a few men jump at his sudden speech from the corner of his eye. "It has claws and limbs, for one, and it's been hiding from sewer workers and other technicians that frequent these lines. It never took any of them, only people who wandered in or fell down here. It clearly knew the difference and who would be missing and linked back to the tunnels."

"What do you mean, it? Is it a person, Sherlock, or an animal? Because I've got animal control on the line and I need to know what to tell them." Lestrade says exasperatedly. "I thought we might be looking at someone's pet let loose down here, but now you're saying it's picking it's targets like a person would. Which is it?"

"Both, Lestrade, clearly even you can see that." Sherlock frowns before picking up a hand that's partially submerged, only two fingers remaining intact, and only barely. "It's got reptilian features, but also claws and markings of some sort of mammal, along with scales that resemble a fish as opposed to a reptile. It's strange, like a mish-mash of creatures put together in a laboratory."

Lestrade balks.

"Do you mean to tell me that someone's lab experiment got lose and is now terrorizing London proper via the sewer network?" He all but shouts, and it rings down the way. "Who even has the knowledge for something like that? It sounds like something out of a bloody science fiction story!"

"Indeed, it most certainly does."

They go quiet after that, each lost in their own thoughts and conclusions. Their standing at a cross-ways, of sorts, and the surrounding branches go off in multiple directions with varying levels of water. Some deepen and widen out, allowing for more water to pool and collect, while some grow extremely narrow and shallow. The deeper ones are the ones that Sherlock is most concerned with. They hold a greater potential for hiding in plain sight if the creature is indeed fish-related, and hold more danger for those investigating as they travel. A body is easily pulled under and hidden from sight once down, and Sherlock has already advised going in small groups to prevent anyone from going missing during their search. But in the same breath, the narrow and small spaces could allow it to hide and be out of the way while they focus on the larger areas. It's quite the problem, and without seeing whatever it is down here, he's partially at a loss for how to proceed. He deals with people, after all. Not imaginary creatures and animals.

Sherlock detests the thought of having to involve Mycroft, of all people. But it is looking like an increasingly needed intervention. And if he stays down here any longer, he's fairly certain that even Mrs. Hudson will throw him out of the flat for the stench alone. He might have to cut his hair to get it out, and wasn't that a depressing thought?

Above them, the rain continued to pour down.

xXx

"It's been 48 hours, and nothing." Donovan says from her spot at the stone way stairs leading up to the street. She's wearing heels again, and for the life of him, Sherlock can't figure out where she'd exchanged them for her waders and boots. "Not even a sign of something down here, animal or otherwise. And the flooding is only getting worse."

"Yes, thank you Sally for your invigorating commentary." He doesn't mean to snap, but really, if she's not going to be helpful, the least she could do was keep her obvious observations to herself. They were distracting. "Like I can't see that for myself."

"I'm just saying, we're not really getting anywhere looking on foot. Maybe we should install motion capture cameras and traps, call in big game hunters, the works. It might be more effective then all this." She waves to the sewer walls around her, and Sherlock has to hand it to her, she may be right. It's just the two of them now, all the other teams have switched out already for fresh faces. "Im just saying."

Sherlock just grumbles and wades his way back to the platform she's standing on in front of the staircase, his steps slowed by the water resistance. It makes more noise then not, and in the deeper water, it's almost impossible to move around without making as much noise as a herd of elephants. Even if they were to find whatever or whoever is down here committing these acts of murder, they're more likely to have scared them off just by wading through the tunnels in their search. The noise resonates strangely down here, the sound amplified by the sounds of water and people breathing. Sherlock is convinced they've long-since scared whatever it is away.

With a heavy sigh, he hauls himself up onto the platform, his normal graceful movements hindered by the cloying water and the dingy smell. His shirt neck smells of peppermint oil where he'd dabbed some on his collar when the smell had gotten to be too much for even him, but by now it's mostly worn off. Now it just smells like rotten water, stale air, and decomposing flesh submerged in water for days on end. And even he's getting tired. Frustrated. It's time for a break, he realizes, to regroup his efforts and come at it again from a different angle. Perhaps call in Mycroft...

A loud splashing and a screeching hiss bounce down the tunnel, followed closely by the sound of something large moving in the water and the scrape-scratch of nails on brick and mortar. It's an eerie sound coming from the darkness of the sewers, and it makes both Sally and Sherlock freeze in place. They look at one another calmly, but where Sherlock's eyes are fever bright with anticipation, Sally's are burning with muted terror and anxiety. They are alone, unarmed except for Sally's singular firearm, and at a disadvantage in the darkness of the watery tunnel. Sherlock knows it, and so does Sally. She can't shoot in the enclosed space anyways, not without fear of ricochet, not without fear of hitting one or both of them. It is worse then being unarmed. Being armed and unable to use it due to the rounded walls and domed ceiling.

Another screech, but it's much closer this time, and Sherlock backs away from the edge of the water as quietly but as swiftly as he could. If he could protect Sally, he would. Despite their differences, he wasn't about to let her be attacked -or worse, killed- if he could stop it. Together, they retreat up the stairs as far as they can, quietly crouching in the shadows at the top where the heavy metal door has been shut and must be opened from the outside. It is a doomed sentence for them, but if they can keep quiet, then perhaps the monster, human or otherwise, will pass them up. Judging by the splashes and shrieking-like noises, the being they're looking for isn't human after all.

It goes quiet, after that, still in a chilling way.

Hair stands up on Sherlock's neck, his arms, and his whole body feels like a live wire has been set against it. The tension in his body tightening, preparing for the moment when their opponent was revealed... The muscles in his legs felt like they were made of iron bands. His arms felt like lead. This was it.

Something broke the surface of the water down below them.

One scaly, webbed, claw-like hand slithers out from the disgusting water of the canal and scrapes against the stone walk-way, gaining purchase as it grips tight. Another one follows suit, and soon a dark grey, greasy pair of shoulders emerges. Then a head of dark hair filled with nature debris and dotted with garbage next, like sludge and oil, hiding the decaying flesh beneath it. It looks like an animated corpse, Sherlock thinks, but when it turns slightly this way and that, he can clearly see scales that match the ones they'd found in the nest, and the claws are the right type and length to match the lines they'd found carved into the various tunnels.

This is what they'd been looking for, and yet, Sherlock didn't know what to call it. Monster seemed like a good word, though it was blunt and inarticulate. Non-specific, really. Demon was another, and so was beast, savage, a leviathan. Yes, leviathan sounded good. Because this was a monster of the deep waters. A greasy, oiled, water snake armed with thick claws and a deadened appearance as it hauled itself up and over the walk-way and partially onto the stone beneath it. It's head swung back and forth like a cobra's would, as if listening for something, some source of noise. It was slow, hypnotizing even, but something about it was horrifyingly scary, despite the distance between them.

Then Sally shifted... and a dark head whipped in their direction, a hissing gasp tearing past it's cracked and scaly mouth. Claws tugged it towards them slowly, but there was nowhere for them to go, backed into a corner like they were. Sally grabbed his arm. Sherlock held his breath as it's head resumed it's swaying pattern.

Damn. Double Damn.

It's hearing was phenomenally good.

And they were trapped.