Most of these characters belong to the BBC and aren't mine. However, the ones that I did create myself, I take credit for.
Also, the idea for the story is mine, so please don't take any of my ideas. Imagine I have an actually copyright license or something please. Thank you!
The Juvenile Holmes
Chapter One
"Boom"
"It must have been a premeditaed murder. He's been dead for a while." Doctor Watson observes. "But why he is dead, I don't know."
"Yes, thank you for your useless deduction, John. It's a joyous thing that I have about four ideas of how he died, isn't it?" A voice echoed across the tiled room. It came from a woman stood in the doorway to flat. She had already thrown her gloves at one of the sofas in the living room that the door led to.
The Doctor stood from his kneeling position beside the body and turned to look at his partner in crime, not surprised in the least. In fact, he even rolled his eyes and muttered, "Of course you do," under his breath as he walked around the cluttered dining table in the middle of the room to sit in one of the overly padded sofas. He crossed his arms across his chest and clunked his shoed feet on the coffee table in defiance.
She had heard but she ignored him and stalked, long-legged, over to the victim. Her lean frame seemed to crumple to the ground in her long coat as she knelt to examine the corpse that lay in front of her. He was on his side, so she could see the length of the Roman nose the man had and his big brown eyes that had glossed over about four hours ago. She poked and prodded the body, checking inside the expensive tweed jacket pockets and in his mouth too. The man was around thirty, she deduced. 'But under stress most of the time and ages badly,' she thought as she spotted the gray in the victim's dark, short cut hair.
Then, 'Oh…' as she sees no other way the man could have died other than- "Oh," escaped her lips. A piece of crumpled paper caught her eye. She fished it out from where it lay under the stove next to the dead man's outstretched hand. The killer had deliberately placed the man's arm underneath his head to point to the note than she now held in her hand. It didn't need to be opened to know the message scrawled across it in messy cursive, like the others.
"John!" she called, but the man had left. 'Good', but she thought too soon, John reentered the room with a male cop dressed in the usual reflective yellow coat and communicator wires.
"Andy, tell the police what you've got, it's time to go." The dark blond haired man said.
"Oh, it's definitely time to go, John" came the haunted reply. The female's thoughtful gray eyes flicked up to the gas buttons on the stove. "Shit," she murmured.
The cop whispered something into John's ear and left, the front door creaked as they exited it. The car's sirens could be heard as the officer drove it away.
'I hate old houses in the middle of nowhere, always so loud.' The woman by the body thought, distracted for a moment.
"Andromeda…" He would have said more if the woman he addressed had not stood quickly from her crouch beside the body.
"Go!" She turned to face the man, her pitch-black hair swishing along her back as she did so. "Go!" she repeated, actual worry in her eyes as she made shooing motions with her hands at John.
The man didn't question her and slid out the door, and into the hallway. The dark haired detective knew he hadn't really left, because there was no creak of the front door, but she didn't care anymore. If he didn't want to save himself, then so be it. The answer she had had in her mind for about ten minutes now was voiced, but with no one but the dark shape in the corner to listen.
"He choked to death in odorless stove gas, very clever. I guess the gas has faded enough so I can breathe, but not enough so that some could light a fire safely…" A pair of green-blue eyes widened as she saw movement in a particularly lightless hallway (probably leading to the victim's bedroom.) The man in the dark shuffled so Andromeda could see his silhouette against the light emitted from a curtained window. He held a lighter.
"John, I told you to leave!" She cried as she ran out of the living room and skidded into the hallway leading to the door, where John stood, wide-eyed. Her arms flailed as she caught her balance from sliding on the hardwood floors and ran after her partner, not bothering to shut the door. She watched John jump the wooden fence surrounding the house, in too much of a hurry to open the gate.
He turned around in the dirt road to look for the detective, but she was not far behind. Her black trench coat swished as she landed her jump over the fence. John marveled at her beauty as gravity pushed her hair to frame her face. It swished much like her coat. Once he saw she was okay, he turned to run. He didn't have long to do so, because before the he could hear the woman's feet thud against the ground as she ran, an explosion behind them threw both of their faces forward and into the dust.