A/N: This is my first real fic for Sherlock Holmes outside of my poetry. Please tell me if it is any good. And I would really appreciate some constructive criticism. From Holmes POV.
"Holmes save me please! Please Holmes!"
"Please save me Holmes! Please!" He giggled in mock imitation of the girl he had captured at knife point. He pressed it harder against her neck. "How do you like me now?" A small thread of scarlet dripped down her neck, so immodestly exposed.
"You won't get away with this Forester!" But I knew he would. With my hands tied to the chair and my legs fastened in the same manner, the only thing my struggle would achieve is the chair toppling over. No, he wanted me to watch.
"I'm sorry." She whispered. Her words conveyed this helpless tone. I didn't answer, couldn't answer. To do so would only end her life quicker.
"I trust you will appreciate what I've done Sherlock." Every word Forester spoke, was like twisting a dull knife into my stomach, even the flippant handling of my christian name. "She," he slit her throat in one smooth motion, " Was useless. A hindrance to great men such as you or I."
I couldn't answer, all I could do was replay the scene again and again. And watch the girl as her blood pooled on the ground around her, a scarlet puddle staining the once pure white dress. As I did she breathed her last breath.
I woke up.