AN: Okay just for clarification, this is the original story idea for my storyMasquerade. However, as a hopeless romantic, I changed Erika's character alot.. Masquerade is a bit true to the Phantom storyline, but this is my original ideas for Erika and her brood. In it Ruelle is a bit more cunning and the fued is a lot more deadlier. Warning: This is a much dark story. There are sexual situations and violence. Okay you all have been efficiently warned. So I DON'T want to hear it later or I'll sic Nightmare on you. Other than that, criticism is most welcomed. I don't own any of the songs in this fic they come from the following two musicals, Cabaret and Chicago. I DON"T OWN THEM! But buy the soundtracks. They rock. Enjoy.
Stranger Than You Dreamt It
Chapter 1- The Drop Heard Around the World
Fenwick walked into the smoky club. He smiled; it was great to be home. The Parisian criminal world was one of the few places where one could easily buy cigarettes and even smoke without fear. Fenwick waved to a few contacts he knew as he joined them. Maybe they would know something about this mystery man who was challenging his master's hold in Paris. True, Moriarty was busy trying to bring New London to its knees, but they couldn't afford to lose the Paris Underworld to some shadowy upstart.
Fenwick pulled out a chair and graciously accepted an offered cigarette. As he puffed, he looked over the crowd. At the table next to him sat a handsome young man dressed in very fine clothes. Fenwick blew out the smoke. He was obviously one of the few aristocrats left in Paris. Fenwick discreetly leaned forward to see the crest on his shirt and smirked. A de Chagny it seemed -- must be the younger brother. Everyone in the Underworld knew the de Chagnies since they were the biggest investors in the sale of illegal cigarettes.
Fenwick was about to ponder this point for a bit longer when the band began to play a fast jazz number. He turned his attention to the cleared off dance floor. Several pretty young girls dressed in very short flapper-style dresses danced around seductively. Fenwick grinned as a pretty blonde winked at him. That was another reason why he missed Paris. The women weren't picky as long as you had power. Suddenly they all dropped to the floor as a gorgeous curly haired brunette began to sing. Her dress was a deep sapphire color which matched her eyes.
Come on, babe I'm gonna rouge my knees
Why don't we paint the town?
And all that jazz
And roll my stockings down
And all that jazz
Start the car
I know a whoopee spot
Where the gin is cold
But the piano's hot
It's just a noisy hall
Where there's a nightly brawl
And all that jazz!
Fenwick watched as she moved very slowly almost deliberately. He could easily tell how long her legs were and how toned they were. Her voice was low, husky and very enticing. Normally the clubs were loud and noise and yet as soon as she sang the place was quiet.
Slick your hair I hear that father dip Hold on, hon
And wear your buckle shoes
And all that jazz
Is gonna blow the blues
and all that jazz
We're gonna bunny hug
I bought some aspirin
Down at United Drug
In case you shake apart
And want a brand new start
To do that jazz!
The girl continued her slow yet seductive dance around the floor as her eyes wept over the crowd. As her eyes passed over his table, Fenwick attempted to sit taller in order to look appetizing to the young singer. However, her eyes settled on the table next him. More importantly on the young de Chagny who began to preen. Fenwick glared at him.
It's just a noisy hall
Where there's a nightly brawl
And all that jazz
Find a flask Right up here Come on, babe
We're playing fast and loose
And all that jazz
Is where I store the juice
And all that jazz
We're gonna brush the sky
I betcha Lucky Lindy
Never flew so high
'Cause in the stratosphere
How could he lend an ear
To all that jazz?
The singer continued to dance slowly making her way to the table. Along the way she flirted with different men. Fenwick watched as the young man shakily reached for his drink and gulped some down. Fenwick looked back at the singer. He was obviously inexperienced. Maybe Fenwick could offer his services to her after she tired of the boy.
Oh, you're gonna see your sheba Oh, she's gonna shimmy till her garters I'm gonna rouge my knees
Shimmy shake
And all that jazz
break
And all that jazz Show her where to park her girdle
Oh, her mother's blood'd curdle
If she'd hear
Her baby's queer
For all that jazz! C'mon babe
Why don't we paint the town?
And all that jazz
And roll my stockings down
And all that jazz
The singer gracefully slipped on to the table crossing her exposed legs as she sang to the boy. She plucked his glass from his hands and took a sip in a way designed to speed up a man's heart.
Start the car
I know a whoopee spot
Where the gin is cold
But the piano's hot
It's just a noisy hall
Where there's a nightly brawl
And all that jazz! Oh, you're gonna see your sheba
Shimmy shake
And all that jazz
Calmly she pressed the glass to her throat and ran in down. With a smile she dipped a finger in the drink causing it to fizz slightly and touched it to the boy's lips. Hesitantly he licked it before she handed him his drink and returned to the floor singing. The boy watched her entranced before downing the rest of his drink. The girl had a predatory smile on her face as she watched the drink disappear.
Oh, she's gonna shimmy till her garters And all that jazz Show her where to park her girdle
break
Oh, her mother's blood'd curdle
If she'd hear
Her baby's queer
For all that jazz!
Fenwick went back to watching the girl dance. There was a new fire in her eyes as she moved. Soon there was a musical break. As the instruments played, a choking sound caught Fenwick's attention. He glared at the next table and smirked to see the de Chagny boy choking on his drink. A sick part of Fenwick was glad to see the boy get his just desserts for stealing the singer's attention. The singer sang out joyously.
Oh, I'm no one's wife
But, oh, I love my life
And all that jazz!
Soon the boy began coughing up blood. Several patrons jumped up in alarm as the boy collapsed to the ground choking on his own blood. Fenwick looked back up to see several dancers had stopped to watch the show. The brunette smiled maliciously as she retreated backstage. Fenwick shrugged it off. She must be used to people dying in the club.
Fenwick looked back as the crowd gathered around the dead de Chagny. From the whispering in the crowd, Fenwick knew they were scared. After all no one cared to defy the de Chagnies, let alone kill one. Heads were going to roll.
---------------------
Sherlock was finishing listening to the news when he heard Lestrade's steps coming up to the apartment. They were followed by a set he didn't know. Holmes listened closely to the pattern and slowly drew a picture of this new visitor. The visitor was about six feet tall with a medium build and quite possibly male.
Holmes was hardly surprised when the Inspector opened the door to let in a tall blonde-haired man. His brown eyes surveyed the room before falling on Holmes. His eye expressed surprise, and Holmes knew it was from how young he looked. Many people thought it quite logical that when he was brought back to life it should have been as an older man. At times, Holmes found that people rarely took him seriously because he looked so young. It was hard when he tried giving older people like Grayson advice.
Holmes bit back a sigh and continued to look over his visitor. He was obviously from money, considering the state of his clothes and the family crest on them. They were brand new and were what passed as high fashion on the Continental Europe. Holmes noticed that he was tidy and neat in every way, which showed he cared what he was presenting to the world. Holmes mused that it was like a mask and wondered what he hid underneath.
Holmes put on a composed smile and stated, "Welcome to my home, Count de Chagny. I trust your journey from Europe was comfortable."
The Count seemed taken back, "It is what they say. You truly know everything, Monsieur Holmes. I am Count Ruelle de Chagny. "
Holmes looked over to see the proud expression on Lestrade and felt his own smile become genuine, "Your family's crest hasn't changed in over two hundred years. I remember reading the accounts of the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny and the strange affairs surrounding the Parisian Opera House."
The Count visibly stiffened. "Yes, the Phantom of the Opera. An affair I would rather have forgotten."
"Understandably so. And yet this affair still rubs you raw," Holmes observed
"Yes, it does. It is a matter that was never settled."
Lestrade spoke up quickly, sensing the Count's irritation with Holmes. "The Count has come to enlist your services, Holmes."
"Really? With what?" Holmes queried, slightly intrigued.
The Count relaxed and sent a charming smile to Lestrade, "Merci, Mademoiselle, merci."
Holmes frowned as Lestrade's cheek took on a slightly pink color and cleared his throat, bringing the Count's attention back to him, "The case, Monsieur?"
The Count turned to Holmes. Holmes stiffened at the look in his eyes. Anger flashed for a brief moment before those gray eyes became cold. The Count took a deep breath and began to speak like he would to a servant. "My brother with some of his friends went to a club on the Rue Morgue called the 'Rose et Masque Rouges'. My family has visited the club several times without incident."
Holmes nodded. "And this time there was."
"Oui. My brother had ordered a drink. While he was distracted by the club's singer, someone poisoned his drink," the Count recounted coldly without any emotion, "He died after the singer finished her song, choking on his own blood."
Holmes suppressed a wince. He had seen people die in different ways but never one so gruesome and hopeless. He glanced at Lestrade who did wince. A look of sorrow came over her features for the poor young man who had died. Holmes looked back to the brother. His face was devoid of emotions. Holmes brought his attention back to the count.
"Isn't this the Surete's case?" Holmes asked nonchalantly.
"Oui, but they have been at a standstill for a week now," the Count sniffed. "I have come to commission your help, M'sieur Holmes. Money is no object."
"Fine," Holmes smirked, "700 credits a day."
Lestrade looked at Holmes in shock while the Count merely nodded his agreement, "We will leave for Paris in the morning."
"That will be fine." Holmes nodded back.
Lestrade was about to speak up when the Count gave her another smile as he took her hand. "Inspector, it was wonderful meeting you. I hope you will accompany M'sieur Holmes on this case. After all, as a New Scotland Yard officer you will lend some legitimacy to M'sieur Holmes' presence."
Lestrade began to stammer excuses until she finally agreed. When the Count kissed her hand, the pink tinge returned to her cheeks. Sherlock tried his damndest not to get angry or show any sign that he cared. The Count said his goodbyes and left Baker Street.
Lestrade turned back to face Holmes, who had returned to his computer. It was times like these when Lestrade wondered if he even knew if she was there. Brushing a stray strand out of her eyes, she walked over to his side. Taking a breath, she reminded herself that they had a professional relationship.
"Well?" Lestrade asked, breaking Holmes' thoughts.
Holmes flipped through the archives of news clippings until he reached the one about Raoul de Chagny's death. He felt Beth's eyes quickly scan it for anything the Count had left out. Holmes took a breath and her scent filled his nostrils. That was something he took comfort in -- that she would always be there. Turning, he looked at her as she read the article.
"What a way to go," Lestrade stated softly. "It was too fast to stop it and the poison was unidentified."
"By the authorities, but someone knows," Holmes remarked. "Someone knew what it could do and how to use it."
"Where do we start looking?"
"Elementary, my dear Lestrade," Holmes replied. "We go to Paris and to this club. Someone must have seen something odd."
"So we go to Paris," Lestrade sighed. "I guess it won't be so bad."
"I think we should check out the Count's background first. Don't you find it odd that he showed no emotions towards his brother's demise?"
"He was probably still in shock. I mean the kid was only twenty-one. It's hard losing a younger sibling, and so fast too."
"But still, he wasn't even regretful. Just very cold," Holmes pointed out.
"You have been described the same way," Lestrade tossed back at him. "He came to us for help."
"What better way to clear himself of any guilt. We can't rule out any possible suspects, Lestrade."
"Fine. But I'll bet you anything the Count is innocent in this."
"Fine," Holmes smirked. "The winner gets whatever they want from the loser. Is it a deal?"
"Deal," Lestrade agreed. "Then I have to go pack. Goodnight, Holmes."
Holmes watched her leave and waited until her hovercraft pulled away. Letting out his breath, he finally relaxed. It might be a new century but some things never seem to change. Lestrade, for all her street smarts, had much to learn. Holmes had seen rogues work on the affections of young ladies and the heartbreak that inevitably occurs.
Despite having a young body, he still retained over seventy years of memories. Ladies still blush when a handsome man pays them attention but never when a smart man does. It seems Lestrade was no different. He only hoped that the de Chagnies' reputation as womanizers had changed over the years, for Lestrade's sake.