Murdoch, Julia, Brackenreid and George had just been to see a roaring rendition of Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream and were regaling the funniest moments as they strolled down a darkened street. Every few seconds the clack of Brackenreid's cane resounded. For the first time in his life, it wasn't just a style statement, he actually had need of it. The brutal beating O'Shea and his brother had given him had left him permanently crippled. But thanks to Julia's unfailing deliberations, he had managed to reduce the extent of this impediment and could now hobble along at a decent rate if he so desired.
They stopped at the corner and bid each other goodnight. Just as they were turning to leave however, there was the unmistakeable sound of gun fire. The team rushed towards a nearby alley where the shot was estimated by Murdoch to have been fired from. A man lay in a pool of blood. And kneeling over him was his killer!
"Police!" yelled all three men at once.
Brackenreid whipped out the gun he now always carried with him for protection and levelled it at the distant killer.
The armed man cocked his head in their direction and then took off down the bend. All four of them chased after him even though Murdoch told Julia to stay put. They zigzagged along the alleyways for some time until the killer had been trapped by a dead end.
Understandably Brackenreid showed up last. Once more he raised his gun towards the bloody, crazed looking man.
"There's nowhere else to run!" the inspector barked, severely winded. "Drop your weapon!"
The killer eyed them all in turn and then snapped his gun up with surprising speed. Brackenreid let loose a shot at the exact same moment as the killer and everything went black.
All four of them crumpled to the ground in a heap.
The now seriously injured man staggered over them and to freedom...or death.
Upon regaining consciousness, the first thing Murdoch experienced was a severe headache followed by an intense inability to breathe. Thinking his lungs had been punctured, he frantically patted himself down and immediately realized something was amiss. There were stiff protrusions coming out of his chest. If he wasn't much mistaken, he had breasts!
What on earth! he yelped internally, lurching upright. One look at his hands and clothing was all the confirmation he needed to tell him that he was not himself. And when he glanced around him and found his body lying a few feet away, he knew exactly where his mind currently resided. Still, he couldn't, wouldn't believe it until he had more visual proof. So he scuttled over to a puddle on all fours. Julia's horrified face stared back at him.
This can't be happening! I must be dreaming!
After hesitating a moment, he slapped Julia's face hard a few times but the scene remained much the same.
Then as if out of a horror story, his body moved of its own accord and put a hand to its head. "Oh, what happened?" it lamented. "I feel as though I was run over by a carriage."
It looked over at him and its mouth dropped open.
Hyperventilating, the corset dug into his sides terribly, getting tighter and tighter as if he were in the death grip of a boa constrictor, until he swiftly passed out again.
Yes I know, I am 100% certifiable. XD But this idea refuses to go away so I apparently have to get it out of my deranged system now. And yes, it's going to get much stranger/funnier than this.