Hi guys! This is my first Sherlock Holmes fanfiction! This is just the prologue, so don't worry, you'll find out more about all the murders and all the information about the case later on.
I don't own anything other than my own character (who is in the next chapter). :)
Love,
Bookworm
xxx
P.S I hope you like it!
P.P.S Please review and tell me what you think of it so far!
Prologue
Points of attack:
Downwards swipe to the calf.
Force the nose up into the brain with palm of hand.
Blow to the throat
Swift kick in the chest.
Total damage: Broken leg, hemorrhaging brain, crushed windpipe and three cracked ribs.
Total recovery time: Non existent.
Sherlock Holmes quietly incapacitated his opponent in precisely 6.2 seconds letting the body slide to the floor in a quiet slump. Holmes dragged the unconscious and bleeding man into a dark corner of the dusty room, making sure that if someone were to walk in, they wouldn't find the man and be alerted that an intruder was in their midst. Dusting his hands, Holmes swept from the room, his tailored coat flapping slightly in his wake. Ahead of him, Holmes heard the piercing scream of the serial killer's next victim. The Ivory Angel (titled by the reporters of London) was a notorious serial killer, who had killed over forty-six women in England alone, and was currently terrorizing London, it's industrious capital city.
Sherlock Holmes and his closest friend Doctor John Watson, M.D, had been tracking the case for the past three weeks, and after many fruitless hours and cold leads, they had finally reached its epic climax, here in a dusty warehouse just off of the Thames. Silent as a door mouse, Holmes hurried through the dark corridors and reached a large domed room that (by Homes' calculations) was a little over three stories high, though it was difficult to estimate the area. The room was dotted with large wooden cargo boxes, waiting to be shipped off to distant foreign lands, and in the middle of the large room stood two figures shrouded in darkness; one was tall and intimidating, the other a little shorter and shrinking away from the taller one in fear.
Holmes mutely ducked behind the nearest cargo box, and snuck his way towards the struggling girl and her captor, keeping out of view by crouching behind boxes as he went. As Homes got closer to them, the details of the couple became clearer. The tall figure was a man with silver blond hair and dull blue eyes. He wasn't the handsomest man in London by any means, in fact he looked quite dirty and disheveled. Holmes would normally have pinned this on the fact that he was a criminal, who was most likely sleeping rough, but the clothes gave him away. If the man had been sleeping somewhere dirty, or even the streets like the rest of London's vagrants, surely his clothes would reflect that? But alas, no. The clothes that this man wore were magnanimous, displaying that he was wealthy, and were in pristine condition, almost as if they were new.
This, Holmes assumed, was the Ivory Angel, for although he's killed so many women, no one had actually seen enough of him to give an accurate description. Holmes turned his analytical gaze to the weeping woman at the Ivory Angel's side. She had scraggly, unwashed, black hair set atop a gaunt face. The woman was a simple, middle aged peasant as she was dressed in old bedraggled rags. As the woman continued to sob and try to break free, a silver gleam caught Holmes' eye: a knife.
The Ivory Angel had whipped out a rusty butchers knife, still coated in the dry blood of his past victims. He raised the blade above his head, preparing to strike the screaming woman. Holmes made to jump out of his hiding place to try and apprehend the murderer, but was interrupted by a quick figure who had appeared from behind a box on the opposite side to Holmes. At first he thought that it was Watson, trying to be gallant and heroic in saving the poor woman from an early demise, but he quickly realized that it wasn't Watson at all, but the rather annoying and mysterious character who kept turning up and complicating Holmes' cases. He narrowed his eyes and watched the inscrutable cloaked figure dash towards the murder and his soon to be victim.
The stranger was dressed all in black with a large hood obscuring it's (for Holmes did not know if the stranger was man or a woman) face in shadow, masking his/her identity. As quick as a flash of lightening, the cloaked enigma had pulled out two long daggers, and in a flurry of arms, started to to slash them at the Ivory Angel. His eyes widened, taken surprised by the sudden onslaught, as he looked down to see crimson blood slowly spreading on the front of his crisp white shirt. The woman at his side gave a strangled scream and promptly fainted, falling to the floor beside her captor. Quickly the stranger sheathed his/her blades and fled from the blood filled crime scene. Holmes picked himself up from where he'd been crouched and followed hot on the persons heels.
The strangers short strides were fortunately no match for Holmes' long ones, and Holmes quickly caught up, flinging himself forward and pushing the assailant to the ground. Feeling exhilarated, Holmes leaped towards the winded figure, who was still on the ground, and pulled the stranger up by the arm. The stranger threw a punch at the detective, but Holmes promptly blocked it and retaliated by throwing a deft punch of his own. Holmes may have been faster at running, but these two were an equal match when it came to hand-to-hand combat.
Have I finally met my match?
Holmes finally managed to land a blow to the side of his opponents head, causing the latter's head to slip back slightly, revealing pretty silver eyes, too pretty, Holmes thought, to belong to any man. Holmes faltered in surprise at the fact that he had thought this woman had "pretty" eyes (and also that a woman was equally matched against him), giving the woman a chance to break free from the fight and flee. The stranger left Holmes standing there silently cursing himself for allowing her to get away. Again. Holmes sighed tiredly and turned to head back towards the bodies of the Ivory Angel and the unconscious woman, but froze mid step as something shiny caught his eye for the second time that evening. A silver necklace was lying coiled on the concrete floor with a diamond cross hanging off of it. Holmes slowly bent down and carefully picked it up with his gloved fingers. The chain was thing and frail, broken at the clasp. It must have broken during the scuffle that she had had with Holmes, and she hadn't noticed its absence, or she didn't have time to grab it as she fled.
He turned and started once again for the bodies in the other room, carefully slipping the necklace into his coat pocket as he went.
So yeah :) Hope you guys liked it, and once again, PLEASE REVIEW! :D
Love you forever!
(BTW, when I said about the whole thing with her being a woman, I wasn't trying to offend anyone, it was just the mindset in Victorian London back then :) Hope I didn't offend anyone.)
Bookworm xxx