Sooo... I've re-read my own story and decided to modify it a bit. Maybe I'll even give it a few more chapters.
Enjoy reading!
Chapter 1 You have no idea what you've done…
Thick fog drifted through the streets and created tiny drops of water on his coat. They slowly seeped through the fabric and soon the layers felt cold and clammy. City sounds were muffled by the thick murk London had been under for days now and especially here, near the River Thamse, it was an arduous task to follow someone in this weather. Always keeping enough distance to stay undetected, but not losing sight of the person.
Sherlock Holmes was stalking a friend. No, he would not call it stalking. Spying on him was rather a necessity to calm the recent uproar of his mind. The other man had a secret and had kept it hidden by lying to him.
Sherlock wasn't one to be bothered by a secret but continuous lying simply offended him. Although his friend knew how secretive Sherlock could be, he had chosen not to trust him with something that kept him wandering the nightly streets of London at times. And THAT bothered him.
And what odd places his friend visited! Derelict and abandoned buildings, bridges and piers seemed his favorite places to meet strangers at night. Sherlock never got close enough to hear what they were talking about, though. He had played this game three times before and tonight the man had chosen an abandoned industrial complex near Thamse Barrier Park.
Sherlock's chase had almost ended abruptly when his friend had suddenly exited the Docklands Railway train at West Silvertown station. The detective had to be very creative in order to stay hidden due to the lack of passengers at that time of night.
Not sure if he had been detected, he quietly kept following his friend at quite the distance, sometimes only being guided by his hearing. Now Sherlock carefully crept along the wall of an old building until he could peek around the corner.
There he saw his friend and two other men standing in the open space behind the old factory. The ground was covered with dirt and rubble as well as a sound amount of pioneer plants. It must have been deserted for many years.
To his utter surprise, the two men held swords in their hands! After the initial shock, he couldn't contain his curiosity anymore and advanced as far as he dared, always keeping in the shadows, until he was able to eavesdrop.
"Glad you could make it. Tom here thought you would run, though." The man who had just spoken was very tall, with blonde hair and of a bulky build. He carried his sword casually flung over one shoulder and pointed a thumb to his companion. The second man was as tall as the first one, but with a more slender outline. His hands rested nonchalantly on the elegant hilt of a French cavalry sabre. The blade gleamed in a deadly silver.
"Sometimes running is futile. I don't suppose your friend here", Sherlock's friend pointed to the man with the sabre, "will just be watching, no?"
Sherlock got the impression that the voice he thought he knew so well belonged to a different person. It sounded cold blooded and eerily calm in the face of two armed opponents.
"Now, where's the fun in one on one, hm? I really think those rules are for cowards who dare not taking on two adversaries at once. Are you a coward?" The blond guy lifted the sword off his shoulder and weighed it in both hands. It was a beautifully crafted medieval Ivanhoe sword. Sherlock congratulated himself for his unprecedented interest in trivia.
Sherlock's friend just shrugged. "Let's get it over and done with." He reached into the inside of his coat. "I have a breakfast appointment to keep."
And with these words he drew a short sword out of his coat and swung it once. The Spanish gladius – as Sherlock couldn't fail to note - zinged as it cut through the damp air. All three men fell into a fighting stance and started circling each other.
Sherlock was baffled. His friend intended to fight – with a sword? Against all odds?
He couldn't help watching with morbid fascination as the first blows fell and marveled at how proficient all three men moved. And suddenly it dawned on him that this was not some bloody sports game.
This was not a show, no. It was a real fight to death! Blow after blow his friend parried with incomparable grace and riposted with great cunning.
He has fought like this before, Sherlock realized, but why? The detective couldn't for the life of him fathom why an academic would engage in a deadly sword fight!
A sudden cry of pain pulled him from his reverie. His friend had received a rather deep cut on his upper thigh. Although no major blood vessel had been hit, the wound clearly impeded him. However, his attacker didn't hold back.
When his friend stumbled to his knees, Sherlock had enough. He decided to take action and pulled a gun from the pocket of his coat. "There can only be one!" the attacker yelled and swung his Ivanhoe way up high above the head of Sherlock's friend.
"Stop it!" Sherlock jumped out of hiding and aimed at the two strangers.
"No! You cannot interfere!" they shouted. Sherlock's friend raised his head and glared at him.
Sherlock cocked his head. "Oh, but I will", he answered with dry sarcasm and as the fighter with the Ivanhoe charged toward him, he shot him right in the heart.
"William!" the other one screamed in fury and Sherlock had just about time to grab the now abandoned medieval sword in order to defend himself.
"Watch out!" Sherlock's friend yelled and tried to get back to his feet, but the injured leg failed the man.
Seeing that his friend was still down, the detective launched himself into a furious sword fight. All the sword fight and fencing lessons he had collected either in his teenage years or later were paying off now.
After a while he managed to escape a particularly risky maneuver of his opponent by countering with a dirty trick he had learned on the streets years ago. That finally put him in the position to land a lethal stab right into the heart.
The man crumpled to the ground, deadly wounded with the Ivanhoe still in his chest, and closed his eyes. Sherlock was sweating, his arm was shaking badly from the unusual exertion. Coming down from his adrenalin high he exhaled slowly a couple of times and then staggered backwards away from the corpse.
A groan behind him made him jump and he turned around. The man he had shot in the heart started to move again!
"Sherlock!" His friend was back on his feet and called to him. "Sherlock! Are you okay?" He grabbed the detective by the shoulders and shook him.
Finally, bright blue-green eyes met hazel-green ones. Sherlock still gasped for air. "Ben! What about…", he started and stared at the now non-existent thigh wound, but he didn't get any further.
"Listen, whatever happens now – stay away! Got it?" The detective got pushed towards his former hiding spot and if looks could kill, Sherlock would've dropped dead by now.
"You have no idea what you've done, you fool!" his friend hissed at him and then turned around to meet the revived fighter.