The Hunted Chapter 21: Step Right Up, Ladies and Gentlemen!, a sherlock holmes fanfic

Oh me oh my! I am ever so worried!

At first, Sherily and I were the bestest-westest couple you ever did see! He's oh-so handsome and strong and very, werey, clever, so all the other ladies of course kept staring at him, so of course I had to, I simple was forced to hold his arm tighter! He's mine, my little Sherily-Beryliy! But then, oh woe! He looked at me like I was one of the icky-sticky stray-away dogs that came up and sniffed my dress. Then, oh! Oh! It breaks my heart! He said in a really-weally cold tone "May I have my circulation back please?" And so I said to him "How can I give it back if I don't know what it is?" in my best I'm-so-confused voice, because I really don't know what that is and aside from the diamonds that he gave me, I haven't taken anything from him! And then, he, he, he looked at me again! Like I was the village idiot, not a princess! So of course I cried.

And soon I had my Sherily back, but I'm not sure if I can forgive him. I must show him exactly how much he hurt my delicate self.

Oh my God what have I done.

OhmyGodwhathaveIdone.

OGodwhat'veIdone.

GodI'mdonefor!

Holmes is panicking.

Apparently, he hurt his love's feelings.I never would have thought that slip of a girl would cause so much panic, but apparently she's a devil when angry. Tears are used like weapons, and only a shower of diamonds and kisses can break them off.

I do hope he doesn't go through with the wedding, after seeing this, although it's looking less likely that he'll actually go through with it, thank Heaven.I say this not because he hasn't proposed yet, but because he's running around furiously packing and trying to get me to help him fake his death.

Today Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj and I got mobbed.

Quite literally, in fact. Apparently, some bonehead (oh the irony!) contractor decided to build a hotel over the resting places of several prominent Jacobean businessmen. Needless to say, they zeroed in on Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj like a pack of wolves, clamoring for the businessman to develop the pox, for the beams to rot quickly, and for rats to eat the flesh of the workers.

As much as I would be fascinated to watch Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj work, I decided that they were taking things a little out of proportion. I mean, those poor rats! The average hotel-builder is hardly very clean, and if the rats eat them, they'll get lots of nasty diseases which they'll spread to the rest of the population, and possibly cause an epidemic killing thousands. Including the rats.

So of course, I immediately stepped forward just as Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj was conjuring up his dry-ice globe and began to mediate between irate businessmen and The Spirit of Foul Tombs and Moldy Graves, Which-Are-To-Be-Cleaned–Immediately-Or-That-Nice-Silverware-I-Gave-Our-John-Will-Be-Cursed-Immediately.

"Excuse me, but aren't you being a bit unfair to your fellow business man?" Twenty-three eyes turned to me, with miffed expressions on their owners faces.

Heedless of their frosty stares, I ploughed on. "The fellow probably doesn't realize what he's doing. As far as he's concerned, some man at the real-estate office sold him a piece of property that looks like a good investment. If you go through with your plan, you'll ruin him for something he wasn't even aware he was doing."

The businessmen looked at each other in their ridicules outfits. "Nonsense." A man in a purple velvet cloak, a ruffled linen shirt, with a cream-colored doublet of semi-respectable quality stepped forward, electing himself to be the spokesperson after casting glances to his fellow grave-mates. "Once he doth begin to build his hostel, the blackguard will disturb our rest. And what can we say this villain will do with our bodies?"

I closed my eyes and smiled. I knew exactly what to do. "If you could be buried anywhere, where would you be buried?" I let the smile play around my lips and I heard the congregation shift around nervously and look at each other questioningly and hesitantly. I opened my eyes and gave Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj a wide grin.

"George, can you show these gentlemen some lovely spots that currently are free to be buried in?"

He looked a bit surprised, but he hid it well as he brought out his globe, and as it started to smoke, the Mortal souls crowded around as he intoned in a surprising imitation of an announcer selling a horse,

"Gentlemen, here we have a stunning three-grave plot of land, attractively located by the sea shore. You will be able to enjoy all of eternity to the soothing repetition of the waves, and when you crave excitement, you and thy neighbors can glory in the raw power of nature as you create a storm for your amusement.

Also to your left, you will see an attractive oak tree, with room for one and a perfect resting place for those of a poetic nature with bluebells and other charming flora growing about the roots, which coincidentally, as your body decomposes, will feed the tree, allowing you to "branch out" and move into the tree itself. That is a lovely rare commodity much sought out in today's market. I suggest you get it before someone else does, as this offer is limited!

And to your right, Mortals, for the more exotic among you, we have the first cherry tree to ever have been successfully brought over to England. Although the tree itself hath perished long ago due to the harsh winter, ye can use thy powers to give the spirit of the tree cause to rise on full moons, thus allowing thy soul to revel in the delightful scent of the blossoms to accompany you until Kingdom Come, and it's perfect for a romantic night with thy favorite lady! She shall be sure to love it.

Speaking of thy charming female companions, there's no reason men can't be friends with diamonds either! Here lies a fine catch, a diamond cave that won't be found until the last week of Existence! Feel free to make thyself at home among diamonds of the first water, and make them shine with thy glow! The shiny reflective surfaces will give Eternity a grand and mysterious flavor.

If diamond aren't thy cup of tea, we have this lovely tea plantation surrounded with the most beautiful scenery this side of the Void…"

After much deliberation, each of the spirits chose a new resting place according to their tastes. Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj promised to have bricks spell out their wishes when their corpses were discovered, and personally promised that they would be moved to their new resting places.

I nodded to myself, pleased at this outcome. Now no one would die, and the hotel would flourish with the ghost legends, especially since one kind spirit asked if he could become the resident ghost- a helpful one, of course. All in all, most satisfactory.

After each of the ghosts had drifted off, chatting excitedly, I turned to Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj with a disbelieving smile on my face.

"George, you were magnificent! Where did you learn to sell land like that?"

I saw the most astonishing thing in my life. When Qu'z'nt'k'u'nt'k'zit'de'geordj blushes, he blushes white.

His skin several shades lighter, his skin now really resembling paper, he answered in a low, deep voice, as though he was whispering from the bottom of the well.

"I used to mumblemumblemumble…"

'What's that George? Speak up!"

He blushed whiter.

"I used to sellmumblemutermutter…"

"What?"

"I USED TO BE A HORSE AND EQUIPTMENT SALESMAN MORTAL SMYTH!" His shouted, shoulders hunched, head forward, eyes closed, feet apart. At least, I think his feet were apart. I never did ask him if he had feet or not…

"A…what?" You could have knocked me over with a feather. And it probably would help that I weighed less than a feather myself.

He was blushing in his eye sockets. "Mortal Smyth, surely thee know of the Apocalyptic Riders with their Fell Weapons of Death, Pestilence, War, and Famine and Skeletal Horses? And the Flaming Swords and Wingéd Steeds of the Angels? Where did you think they got them?"

I confess I was a bit taken aback. "I…I always thought God gave them to them." I stuttered.

He was white as the stereotypical ghost.

I realized I was being incredibly foolish. "George, you're a marvel!"

He quickly looked up. "What did thou say, Mortal Smyth?"

I started talking airily, excitedly even, using my hands to emphasize my points. "George, that's one of the most incredible things I've ever heard in my life! You should be proud of skills like those! Without you, half of the powers of Heaven and the Apocalyptical Five would never have existed!"

He held my gaze, his blush receding, and drew himself into a proud posture. "Yes, that is true Mortal Smyth. I have indeed provided much power to the side of God. Why, not even the blacksmiths of Hell have ever managed to break a sword or kill a horse of mine!"

I smiled, and we chattered on a bit as somewhere, a crowd of workmen ran screaming for the local priest, their supervisors, and their mothers.