Sherlock singing
Greg singing
...
Greg Lestrade, a young sailor, stood at the bow of the ship; the damp air of London mixed with the smog of the industrial factories that plague the town ruffled his dark hair. It should be noxious, but how he has missed that chocking air while away at sea. There is only so much sea spray one can take at a time.
I have sailed the world, beheld its wonders
From the Dardanelles
To the mountains of Peru,
But there's no place like London-!
There was truly no place like London. He had the satisfaction, also, of knowing he saved a life; one Mr Sherlock Holmes; a tall, thin, pale man with sunken, haunted eyes with dark smudges below them betraying countless nights' lost sleep. Speak of the man; he came strolling behind Greg adding, in a rather grave voice, to the balled for London.
No, there's no place like London.
"Mr Holmes?" the sailor asked, anxiously. Mr Holmes was the silent type who hadn't said much of anything to anyone; and on the rare occasions he had said something, it was not taken kindly. He had betrayed the crew's darkest secrets as they tried to rouse him and let him eat. Greg was intrigued to hear that his Captain was a cross-dresser behind closed doors – but had not let on for fear of execution.
You are young.
Life has been kind to you.
You will learn.
"Lord ... takes your breath away, doesn't it?" Greg asked, almost overwhelmed by the scale of the city. Sherlock seemed to almost shudder at the question.
There's a hole in the world
Like a great black pit
And the vermin of the world
Inhabit it
And its morals aren't worth
What a pig could spit
And it goes by the name Of London.
At the top of the hole
Sit the privileged few
Making mock of the vermin
In the lower zoo,
Turning beauty into filth and greed.
I too
Have sailed the world, and seen its wonders
For the cruelty of men
Is as wondrous as Peru,
But there's no place like London!
Greg looked towards Mr Holmes as the mysterious man closed his eyes and the demons melted from his vision, his expression softening slightly. "I beg your indulgence, Lestrade... My mind is far from easy. In these once familiar streets I feel shadows everywhere..."
As the two made their way off the, now docked, ship, Greg felt the need for further elaboration; "Shadows?" Greg asked, curious.
"Ghosts." Greg gave the man a questioning look.
There was a barber and his John,
And John was beautiful,
A foolish barber and his John,
He was his reason and his life,
And he was beautiful,
And he was virtuous.
And he was...
Naive.
Sherlock remembered the last time he had seen John, in that market place all those years ago; just strolling and talking. It had been bright and sunny, flowers and bakery bread aromas raised from the side stall pulling the two men in. The last time Sherlock was anywhere near happy.
There was another man who saw
That he was beautiful,
A pious vulture of the law,
Who with a gesture of his claw
Removed the barber from his plate.
Then there was nothing but to wait
And he would fall,
So soft,
So young,
So lost,
And oh, so beautiful!
That day, years ago, Judge Moriarty, eyed John through the luxurious bunches of flowers. He stalked him, desiring him.
With the Judge was his nefarious creature, Beadle Moran. The Beadle was a tall, muscular man.
The Judge whispered to the Beadle, indicating Sherlock; the queue for the Beadle and several policemen swept in and drag Sherlock off. The Judge moved in on John like a predator, wrapping an arm around his waist; John flinched at the gesture.
Greg interrupted the dark thoughts in Sherlock's head, "And the man, sir... did he succumb?"
Oh, that was many years ago...
I doubt if anyone would know.
Sherlock took a breath to try to cut through the constant droning of his mind. "I owe you my life, Lestrade. If you hadn't spotted me, I would be lost on the ocean still... Thank you."
Greg felt pride swell in his chest as the haunted man hauled his duffle bag over his shoulder. "Will I see you again?" he asked.
"You might find me, if you like, around Baker Street."
"Until then, my friend." Greg offered his hand to Sherlock, who accepted it and turned to leave. Lestrade stared after the man and wondered what cloud of darkness it was that seemed to continually loom over Sherlock's head.
As he walked down the damp, dark streets, his mind reeling, he muttered darkly; "There's a hole in the world – like a great black pit – and it's filled with people – who are filled with shit – and the vermin of the world – inhabit it..." as he disappeared into the darkness.
...
Hey guys! Have you figured out who everyone is going to be yet? I hope not! I hope I didn't make it too obvious! ;)
Did anyone get the reference to Stardust?
Please review! :)