Author's Note:
Hi everyone! :D
So, I've finally decided to give this thing a real beginning, even if it's a short one. In fact I've had the first few pages written for more than a month now (I'm one of those old-fashioned handwriters :P) and couldn't get myself to type it. At least now there's the chance of a quick update- well, faster than this one at least.
Thanks to everyone who alerted, favourited and especially to those who reviewed my snippets. This wouldn't exist if it wasn't for you- and therefore is also dedicated to you...
Enjoy and please R&R! :)
Disclaimer: I could lie and say that I own Sherlock... but, well, I guess no one would believe me anyways. So why take special trouble?
Prologue: Howling Wolf
The first time Lestrade saw the small sign on the wax, he found it sad.
They had gotten the news of the break-in only two hours ago by an e-mail asking Scotland Yard to send their best man. Still, there was no need to feel flattered- Lestrade had simply been the only currently free inspector in the year's zenith of London crime. The case wasn't even his division. A petty theft, some jewels of a rich lady stolen. The only reason they needed Scotland Yard at all was because the police themselves couldn't find any traces of the thief.
The jewellery had been hidden in a safe behind the portrait of some long-forgotten ancestor, the lock new and secure. Still, there were no marks of forced entry, nor fingerprints, nor scratches or hair or any other evidence. Hell, there weren't even marks in the snow that had fallen the previous evening! It looked like their thief was a ghost, able to appear out of thin air and vanish the same way after having taken a few rubies and a little gold. Leaving behind the bigger diamonds.
The police soon thought the lady had simply misplaced her adornment and left the case to Lestrade, some snickering or glancing pititful at the 'poor inspector' who had to deal with the 'loss'. They stopped laughing however, when said inspector found a piece of paper with a red seal within his first hour at the crime scene.
The seal would have been little more than a smudge of wax if it wasn't for the fine lines that were carved in it, forming the statue of a howling wolf. Everyone else was furious- at themselves for not seeing it earlier, but even more at the thief for being so reckless and taunting and skilled.
Only Lestrade saw the loneliness that seemed to radiat from the desolate figure. There was the sorrow of a solitary pack animal, a lone wolf, combined with the pure will to survive, to fight on, all captured in one beautifully made image.
It was also Lestrade who called the case closed and the seal simply the possession of some guest.
When he found the seal the next time, he wasn't quite as amused.
Again some gold had been stolen, again there were no visible traces; and of course the case had to be again assigned to him. Seriously, there was some goddess of fate up there who hated him. What else had he done to deserve this?
Like the last time it was pure luck that helped Lestrade to cover the whole story up so the public wouldn't find anything suspicious. After all the inspector couldn't just admit that, yes, the thief seemed to be no more than a shadow and no, he had no clue what to do or how to stop him if he one day decided to get something bigger than a little finery.
What seemed even more mysterious was the exact moment the crime was committed. The jewels were laid out relatively unprotected in the bathroom all night- but no, the Wolf as they now called him couldn't do an easy job and just grab them. He- or she, by all they knew it could be anyone- had to wait until the dear lady put her bracelet down to take a bath, making the risk of discovery even greater. As chance had it, the girl returned barely two minutes later, having forgotten her favourite towel. Only that by this time, the golden bracelet had already disappeared, along with a just as expensive ring.
Lestrade sat at the case files for hours, rubbing his temples and sighing from time to time.
All it earned him was the feeling of complete hope- and helplessness and a rigid head ache.
To rob a house and then leave without trace was hard, near to impossible even, but in the end theoretically it could be done. Given the right skills, experience and a few hours time should suffice to wipe any evidence. But to break in, take the gold, clear the place of proof and then leave again within two minutes simply wasn't possible. And considering that the lady, who had been next room the whole time, hadn't heard a sound, despite the creaking stairs and no- she wasn't deaf at all...
The Wolf was a miracle that none of them would solve anytime soon.
And the thief seemed to know that exactly as he always turned up where they weren't and disappeared only seconds before they arrived. If possible, the cases became each a little more dangerous and unbelieveable than the ones before, ruining their nerves just a tad more. For now, the only things missing were gold and silver, but who knew when the Wolf would get bored with that too and move on to the next step?
The thought made Lestrade inwardly shudder, even though he couldn't imagine what 'the next step' would mean for a criminal of his caliber. If the Wolf decided to start with the big things, no Scotland Yard or secret service was going to stop him. Lestrade knew this, and the thief knew that he knew. So that was why every new thievery seemed to mock them, the crime scenes laughing with their emptiness. The Wolf played a game, a huge game of hide-and-seek and catch-me-if-you-can, and the whole of London was his game board. Completely extradited to his moods.
And with every time Lestrade found it, the howling wolf seemed to look a little less sad and a little more infuriating instead. By the tenth time in two weeks, Lestrade swore to catch this thief, and if it took him a life's time to do so. No one should be allowed to toy with the security system of a whole country. It made them look incapacitated, and if the inspector couldn't stand one thing, it was to be helpless.
But even though now all Scotland Yard knew about the Wolf (of course, only rumours and whispers- no one dared to speak openly, as if that would summon him, Lestrade snorted), even though they had grown accustomed to his constant threat, nothing could have prepared them for the day the Wolf inally used all of his skills.
Poor Lestrade... :)
What do you think? A review takes a few minutes at the most and will make a lonely writer very happy (and maybe even this story better). So, please? *puppy dog eyes*
(Woah- I just noticed that my prologue+AN [without this note] has exactly 1234 words. Had to mention that... and on with the reviews ;P!)
