The rain was trickling down around me as I walked down the sidewalk towards my new flat. I pull my coat closer to my body in order to keep me safe from the cold and the wet droplets that were already covering my hair. This was my first real day in the city and I was hoping to just get to what would be my new home. Of course that would all change the moment a man runs into my side and grips my arm, jerking me back against his chest. An arm is wrapped securely around my stomach while his other hand holds something cold and metal to my temple. I knew logically I could've easily turned the tables on him simply by the way he was positioned, but the risk was still too high for comfort with the damage he could cause with the gun. Fear rings in my ears like an alarm telling my entire body to be on high alert paired with my heart practically beating out of my chest.
"Stop! I'll shoot 'er! Don't come no closer 'olmes," The man holding me shouts.
My body flinches at his voice booming in my ear and I take the moment to assess this man a little more closely. His hands are shaking and I can practically feel the sweat soaked shirt wetting my own. I make a silent note to take a nice long shower after this. He's obviously nervous about something that recently happened. I'd bet he was about as nervous as I was in this moment if not more. In enters the tall man with black curly hair, his eyes looking from the gun to the man as if he were making an assessment of his own.
A blond man comes soon after the first man wearing a slightly panicked expression on his face. It was then that it hit me. My landlord had told me about two men that matched the description of these two with stories spreading all over London so of course my conclusion is that this must be the ever famous Sherlock Holmes and his doctor companion Watson. After a moment of silence, the good doctor tries to take a few steps towards me and my captor. This proves to be the wrong movement as said captors grip gets tighter on me and the gun. Sherlock throws his arm out to stop Watson once he seems to realize something. This gesture, however, didn't stop Watson from calling out to the man behind me.
"She's not in this. Let her go, Ronald," Watson says in what I assume is his demanding tone.
"I ain't stupid! If I let 'er go you'll shoot me," Ronald yells stubbornly back.
At that moment I could see the gears turning in Sherlock's eyes and all I could hope for was a miracle. For a few seconds I could've sworn I was going to end up a goner. No amount of planning could get me out of this mess and I was becoming painfully aware of this fact.
"You do realize that holding a hostage is worth another year, correct?" Sherlock voices this in an almost smooth and calculated tone.
A scoff leaves Ronald's mouth as he digs his meaty fingers into my skin painfully. I can't help the slight wince when he begins to move backwards away from Sherlock. My mind raced to search for a possible reason for this level of intensity. I ended up settling on the idea that he was a murder. This is one hell of an introduction to this city, that's for sure.
Sherlock Holmes, in all of his idiotically cocky glory, takes a few steps towards Ronald and me. This is a make or break moment and honestly I would've punched that sharp jawline if Sherlock had just been a little closer.
"You wouldn't shoot her. You don't have what it takes, do you?"
Is he mentally unstable? Yes. Actually I'm quite sure that Sherlock Holmes is officially insane.
Three shots are in the air within seconds of his words, "I said don' come closer 'olmes!" Ronald is freaking out now, his hands trembling under the sudden fear that threatens his sanity and my safety.
"Sherlock. Sherlock! Are you mad? I'm sure he didn't mean that, Rona-" Watson is of course cut off by the ever so eager Sherlock.
"I meant every word of it. In fact, why not shoot me? Prove that you can do it," Sherlock portrays himself as this cocky and fearless man when in fact he was just trying his best to switch Ronald's target.
"Sherlock please," Watson begs in a sudden new panic.
Silently I shush the war vet in hopes that he would let Sherlock do what he needed in order to get us out of here alive. Doesn't he see it's all an attempt to keep Ronald's attention? My anxiety has gotten pretty high at this point which only causes me to begin my spiral into a panic of my own. That's the last thing we need right now. The sound of sirens fill the obviously empty streets, most likely alerted by the gunshots, and relief hits me like a cloud of comfort. I could pick out the soft tapping of feet trying to sneak up on my captor even over the labored breathing he was doing.
I hear a number of guns cock around us, most likely aimed directly at Ronald which so happened to mean me as well. I could feel my chest constrict while my fingertips began to tingle. Ronald cocks his own gun at that point and pushes it harder into my temple. My head moves to the side by the force he added. My entire body tensed as I took in a deep breath of air and waited for the gun to fire.
"Put the gun down! Ronald, you are under arrest for the murder of Sheryl Morgan," a loud voice booms from behind us. Police.
This not only confirms my suspicions, but tells me that he murdered a female. Ronald falters when the name Sheryl is thrown at him. His grip practically disappears on me and it makes for the perfect time to escape. I duck out of his grasp and elbow him in order to get him away from me. The gun goes off, frightening Ronald into dropping the gun to the ground around him. Sherlock had been right, as painful as that is to admit.
Ronald never had the guts to do it.
Genuine relief washes over me when I notice him falling to the ground in a heap of sorrow. His sobs were heartbreaking to hear and I almost felt bad for him. My feet begin carrying me to the nearby female cop with her hand reached out to me. Everything in my body was trying to cope with the fear I'd just experienced. Everything was in slow motion as well.
I'm led to an ambulance where the paramedics check me over for any injuries. An orange shock blanket is thrown over my shoulders despite my insisting they have no need to worry about shock. As I'm removing it for the umpteenth time, a gray haired man with an air of tiredness approaches me. He wears a deep frown and isn't necessarily tall, though he is taller than me. Anyone could tell that he's the main police officer here.
No doubt his goal is to comfort me and ask his protocol questions. He lays a hand on my shoulder, his eyes softening when I move away from it. I, being me, don't particularly enjoy touching nor people in general and so I look down at my shoes as if they are the most interesting things on the planet.
"My name is Lestrade. I know this may have been a real shock tonight, but I'm going to need you to answer a few questions for me. Are you alright with that?"
"Yeah," I whisper softly in response.
"Did you know that individual?"
My eyes shoot up to his in disbelief. Did he really think I knew him? Nobody could be that blind. Of course I didn't know the man!
"Never met him before."
"Good. Do you plan to press charges?"
"No."
This time it was the officers turn to look at me in disbelief. It was pretty priceless if I do say so myself.
"Are you sure? He held a gun to your head."
"Yes. I'm quite sure," I confirm for him.
"Alright then, uh, you can go. Thank you for your cooperation, miss…"
"Elouise Stanton. It was nice to meet you, Lestrade."
"Yeah. You too."
With that I stood up from the metal floor I'd been seated and headed for my original destination. After a few steps I turn to a still fully dumbfounded inspector and decide to explain a little.
"We all make mistakes, inspector. I have no right assuming I could understand what that man has been through. He murdered someone, that I know. I couldn't tell you how he got there though. I can tell you that it was an accident. He was heartbroken. Real killers don't cry when they kill. They find pleasure in the thrill. He never meant things to go that far I'd say and I'd bet anything that he loved her dearly. She probably turned a blind eye to a lower classman and rejected him. We all have our moments of shame, inspector. Some just have the misfortune of feeling it too deeply and getting caught up in it all. Goodnight, Lestrade."
With that, I walk away from my first memorable moment in the great city known as London. I was only two streets away from the flat I'd gotten so it wasn't too long before I stumbled through the narrow doorway. My new flat is 221C Baker Street. I can't help the laugh that makes its way out of me. I haven't even gotten to step foot into my own apartment and I'd already been held at gunpoint. I think i'll like it here.