You dolt, he almost nicked your soul!
Yes, yes, that was quite dangerous. But she had survived with only a slight head cold that the freezing sewer had given her.
Poor Alice had thought herself to be dead when she was tossed down a construction hole the other night. She'd seen too much. Murder, in fact. There was little hope when that happened between Londoneers. Not one is completely on its rocker and it's dangerous. But London was where the work was.
She sniffed uneasily, making her way down the cobblestone street, searching for the digits. 221 Baker Street, was it?
That is correct.
Yes, yes. Good, nearly there.
Alice's body gave a slight tremor from the muggy chill of morning. Looking up through the fog of London, she could see that the Moon was just beginning to fade for the Sun. It hadn't been that long ago then, when she had the run of her life. Just then, an automobile honked testily for her to move out of the road's path she'd begun to walk across. She waved apologetically and hurried over.
Left foot. Right foot. Keep going. You're almost there. Silent talking.
That was a bit not good. Thoughts were fine and dandy but these were nearly audible to her ears. How long had it been since Alice had taken her dose?
A week and a half.
Alice sighed wearily for the voice whispering through her eardrum. She knew it was correct but she grabbed hold of the watch-pendant around her neck. A night overdue by the looks of it. Digging through her bag, she grasped for a small glass bottle holding a dozen delicate little heart-shaped pills.
Insanity was a common disease in the world. Everyone universally had a certain level of madness that was intensely set on being controlled. To be exact, there were four levels of madness.
Level one was the least insane and by far the safest of people. As each level progressed, the madness was harder to control. You could be crazy enough to where hallucinations were seen through the eyes as far as mindless desire for killing. The higher the level, the more pills had to be taken.
Popping open the bottle, she deposited three pills into her palm and swallowed them down. Alice had been born a level two and her line of work had raised it another. So three pills it was for the illness.
Finally, she stopped at the front steps of a quaint little shop named Speedys. She placed her hand on the glass window. Even though it was dark, she could feel the warmth and smell of bread radiate from the shop. It would have been nice to go in and have a cup of tea when it was open. But a shiver pulled her mind from the notion and onto the black door to the side. The brass address read 221B and she walked nervously up the steps.
Alice hoped this 'Hatter' would be of use to her. She'd seen a small article in the paper from a John H. Watson and read his cases. He was brilliant by the looks of it. The proof was in the print. And of course people talked. His name was Sherlock Holmes but the press had tailored his title as 'the Hatter' along his mate John Watson, 'the Hedgehog'. A silly name for a man, she thought, but he seemed to carry quite endearing characteristics in both appearance and personality that, it seemed strangely fitting.
She pressed the button which sang a small alarm to the inhabitants that a guest had arrived. It was only until doing so that Alice felt rather embarrassed for calling help at this time in the morning. These men were probably still asleep. Alice didn't feel she'd have a choice or time though. Her life was still indefinitely in danger. She'd witnessed a killing. It hadn't been the actual killing that had frightened Alice, but the killer itself-
Silly brain you have. The Scotland Yard could have helped you, the voice interrupted.
Alice twitched at that comment and hoped the pills would kick in faster. Scotland Yard would be the last place she'd turn to after what she'd seen. Before Alice could think to reconsider her action, she heard the bustle of feet behind the door.
"Coming!" the sleepy voice of a lady called. Alice heard the clanks and clinks of clockwork and levers being pulled before the door opened. She gave her best smile as an elderly lady's feathery blond-gray head popped out. Guilt etched into her features when the lady rubbed her eyes of sleep. "What is it, dear?" she yawned. Alice smiled a bit more, the landlord's sweet disposition calming her nerves.
"I…I'm sorry I chimed in so early. I just needed to speak with-"
"The boys? 'Righty then," the lady cut in softly. She opened the door and ushered Alice in. She was dressed in a thick fluffy bundle of a gown and slippers along with soft cotton night cap on top of her head. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, come in, come in. You're freezing!" she pestered motherly. It was very comforting to the girl and she quietly obeyed.
Mrs. Hudson led her over to the staircase. "Now, I'll go see if Sherlock's awake. Sometimes he's up at this hour," she said, patting Alice on the shoulder before heading up the creaky steps.
There, Alice waited, warmth finally seeping itself back into her body. The lab coat she'd been wearing when she fell down the hole had soaked up freezing water and grime so she left it in a heap in the sewer before climbing out.
Her hands trembled, remembering how violently she'd been shoved into the abyss. The hole had been a construction site for plumbing. Alice had ran to the wrong place just as badly as she'd been at the crime scene at the wrong time. She thought back to the moment she'd awoken to the nightscape of stars trying to be seen through London fog; the dull pain in her knee that had banged against a lead pipe on her way down; and the heavy bump. bump. bump. of both her head and heart. The sound of trickling water and the squeaks of the rats forced her onto shaky legs. "I survived?" she'd mumbled dumbly. "That's interesting." There she'd begun to bawl from the overriding turn of events.
Alice sat in the hole, not daring to fall asleep, for what may reside in the sewers. She sat there alone with her thoughts- and oh those thoughts. If this doesn't level you up, I'm not sure what will. She bit her lip, trying to forget the images of a massacre from her head. There, Alice decided to count the drops of water that dripped into a growing puddle of muck. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Yes, yes, good. Keep busy. Just until help comes, she thought. And she sat there, looking at the sky, until night turned to day and construction workers bustled to pull her out. She'd refused to go to the hospital and-
"Yoo-hoo!" a sweet voice plucked her from the thoughts. She looked up to see Mrs. Hudson coming down the stairs. The lady tilted her head. "Are you alright, dear?" she asked. Alice swallowed the lump choking her voice and stammered, "Yes."
"The boys are waiting," she informed. "I'll go make you three some tea while you're at it. Just go on up, dear." Mrs. Hudson bustled evenly back to her own apartment, leaving Alice at the foot of the staircase. She took a shaky breath to compose herself and made her way up to the flat.