A/N: I am adept at many things, but finishing projects is sadly not one of them. This is a test to see if I enjoy writing this. As stated, in this version of the Sherlock BBC-continuency, Jack the Ripper has never existed. There will be deviations from the murders of real life, mainly in situations where conflicts in history will not allow it, or where I find it more of personal interest to switch things up.
Without further ado – the game is afoot!
Prologue
8:13 AM, Thursday, September 1, 2011
The morning was silent. London was cold for the time of year.
"...Bored." Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective extraordinaire stared into the ceiling of the flat he shared with me, Dr. John Watson, with whom he was having a very one-sided conversation while the latter was trying to read the paper on his laptop.
Holmes inhaled sharply, before launching off into a monologue:
"My mind rebels at stagnation! Give me problems, give me work! Give me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can then dispense with artificial stimulants," he touched the nicotine patch on his left arm. "But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave mental exaltation!"
I didn't react. I had learned to shut off the part of my brain that acknowledged my flatmate during his lengthy and not so infrequent speeches. Sherlock went on, however.
"That is why I have chosen my own profession, or rather, created it." He took a breath, before continuing with a note of pride. "I am the only one in the world."
"The only unofficial detective," I pointed out, a slight irritation present in my voice, but Sherlock was quick to correct me: "The only unofficial consulting detective. I take no credit for my cases. The work itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my particular powers is the highest reward."
I just snorted and took another bite of my sandwich. I had to get to work, and didn't have all that much time, so I quickly scrolled through the front page of the website.
SHOCKING MURDER IN WHITECHAPEL
I froze for a moment before opening the page and calling for Holmes who had disappeared into the kitchen for a bite.
I began to read out loud:
"Woman murdered on Buck's Row, Whitechapel. The woman, Mary Ann Nichols, 43, was found early on the thursday morning by a taxi driver who had driven past her corpse. According to himself, the driver had believed her to be unconscious and had tried to communicate with her, but, getting no response he had left his car to check up on her."
I kept on reading the article, seeing Sherlock approaching me from the kitchen. As I got to the part describing the wounds she had sustained in detail, I saw his lips curve into a slight smile.
"Ah! I will follow this with great interest, Watson. I wonder how long it shall be before we are summoned."
"You, Sherlock. I have a job. Someone needs to pay the rent while you're just lying here."
"I'm not just lying, John. I am brooding." Sherlock sniffed.
"Whatever. I'm leaving. I'll be back at four. Don't do anything stupid."
I could hear the offended huff coming from Holmes as I left the flat, grabbing my windbreaker and closing the door behind me.
8:26 AM, 1/9/2011
Was seated in front of John's laptop seconds after he left the room. Read through article myself. Interesting. No job mentioned, quite possibly a prostitute. Will investigate further.
Drank orange juice. Texted Watson about needing more.
Need more orange juice.
SH
No reply.
Inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled again. Exhaled again. Rose. Changed clothes. Left John's laptop on; revenge for not replying about the orange juice.
Left flat and got into taxi bound for the station.
Want all available info on Whitechapel murder
SH
Not my case, Sherlock
Lestrade
Not my problem
SH
Left taxi, entered station. Commented on Donovan's poor choice of clothes as I passed her in the hallway. Pointed out the zipper she had forgot to pull up. Mockingly asked with whom she had a tryst this time. Noted faint blush she tried to hide behind the name-calling.
Entered Lestrade's office. Group of people turned their heads toward me.
"Sherlock, I'm busy!"
"Good. Just get me my information."
"Not my case. If you really want to help, I'll send a message to Chief Inspector Abberline after this meeting. Now, if you would kindly leave."
I left and texted John.
Don't forget my orange juice.
SH
Get your own orange juice, Sherlock.
John
Busy.
SH
Doing what?
John
None of your business.
SH
No reply. Again. Made a mental note to bother John about it later.