Well, I'm on a writing bug. No more writers block! Ok, essentially I have nothing to say. So I'll repeat what I've said for a while. If you have story ideas, review and tell them to me. Remember, it has be centered around my characters (although I will make exceptions). I gave my e-mail address in Chapter Two I think, but try not to use that (Mum doesn't like me giving out my e-mail). Have fun reading this chapter!
Chapter Four: Let Us Begin
Fluffy bunnies ran around everywhere. They were nice and fluffy and...
"Watson, get up."
No, fluffy bunnies don't talk. They just hop about...
"Watson, come along. You need to get up."
I woke from my dream involving fluffy bunnies and looked at the face that loomed over me.
"Deja vu, Holmes. Just a little while longer?" I mumbled incoherently. Holmes squinted at me, then realized what I said.
"Yes, deja vu does suit us right now, but it's time to get up. You said we could look around the river bank today. Besides, we have to go to school," Holmes gently prodded me. I gasped.
"Oh my gosh! How late are we, I forgot to set my alarm! Man.... get out of here, I have to change!" I shrieked. Holmes stepped out of my room as I began to rummage through my dresser.
"Oh, by the way Watson, it's five in the morning," Holmes announced. I stopped digging through my dresser and looked at him.
"You mean to say that you got me up at five in the morning to go to school?" I rumbled. Holmes smiled mildly.
"You did say we could look around the river bank today. Oh, and don't put on your clothes yet. It is time for Stanley Young and his assistant to live again," Holmes continued. I sighed.
"Give me the clothes," I grumbled. Holmes smiled and tossed me the dingy clothes I had worn last time. After I put them on, a thought occurred to me, and I dashed out into the hall.
"Holmes, I can hardly be Olivia Cardia again. Who am I this time?" I questioned. Holmes looked up from the jar of oil he was holding.
"This stuff is disgusting. I hate having to put it in my hair. You'll be... Samantha Johnson, a transfer such as myself from America," Holmes said. He dipped his hand into the oil and grimaced.
"I'm hoping that Samantha Johnson isn't one of your past girlfriends," I mused. Holmes smiled.
"Nope. I don't think I've ever met a Samantha. Change your appearance, will you please? Put on glasses or something," Holmes replied. I went into my room and managed to dig out a pair of sunglasses.
"Holmes, this is the best I can do," I showed him the sunglasses. He sighed.
"Fine, you're blind. Just do something. Oh, and find sunglasses that AREN'T purple."
"What is wrong with purple sunglasses?"
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The riverbed was slick with mud and other disgusting things. I used my stick to whack Holmes in the ankles.
"Stanley, what are we looking for?" I asked in a youthful, yet depressed voice.
" 'We' are looking for nothing. However, I am looking for footprints, blood, anything. But since you're blind, you can't see much of anything," Holmes stressed.
We were amongst the many police officers that flooded the bank of the Thames river. Holmes had gotten us in by flashing a very fake badge. I nearly hadn't been able to come, but Holmes promised that 'Samantha' was very sure of foot.
I smacked him again with my walking stick.
"But the girls ended up here. Why do expect to find anything here?" I drawled. Holmes spun and yanked the stick from my hand.
"Stop-hitting-me. I don't. But there is a chance," Holmes snapped. He tossed the stick back to me. I caught it and started to hobble around.
As I was walking, something got caught on my stick. Snarling, I tried to shake it off, but it wouldn't come off.
"Stanley, dearest, their is something stuck on my stick. Would you be a dear and get it off?" I warbled. Holmes stalked over and yanked off the piece of fabric that had gotten stuck.
"For heaven sakes Samantha! Can't you- what's this?" Holmes cut off to look at the odd piece of fabric that had caught on my walking stick.
"Well how would I know? I'm blind!" I broadcasted. Holmes glared at me.
"Where did you find this?" he asked. I shrugged.
"Over there," I said pointing. Holmes walked over to look at where I found the fabric. After a moment of digging through the mud, he uttered a cry of amazement. Standing quickly, he pocketed multiple things and turned to the nearest officer.
"Well, not much to find here sir. We'll be on our way now," Holmes said with that flawless Brooklyn accent of his. He grabbed my arm, smiled at the officers, and dragged me from the crime scene. After about five minutes of walking I could stand it no more.
"What is it Holmes? What did I find?" I asked, putting emphasis on the 'I'. Holmes glanced at me.
"Very well, we'll credit this as your find. You found a scrap of fabric, and a little purse, which yielded the drivers license of Sandra. Obviously, she wasn't strangled and then thrown into the river. She was probably drowned on the bank, and then left for the police to find," Holmes answered. I shuddered.
"Ew."
"Yes, well, we have to get to school. You have some of my clothes at your house, I think? Yes? Well then, I suggest we run, as we have only five minutes before the bell rings."
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Holmes and I came into school late, looking very disheveled. Holmes muttered excuses and ran to the chemistry lab, leaving me to deal with my staring classmates.
When lunch came around, and Holmes wasn't there, I went to the chemistry lab in search for him. Indeed, he was there, hunched over some repulsive smelling chemicals with the fabric scraps I had found.
"What did you find?" I asked, startling him. He jumped and then looked at me.
"Do you mind? Not much. Some fibers of someone's hair, which is sandy blond. Sandra, according to the newspapers, had light brown hair, not blond. So her killer was a male, which we already knew, and has sandy blond hair. Not much to work with, if you ask me," Holmes replied. I shrugged.
"So we look for new evidence," I said matter-of-factly. Holmes stared at me.
"I didn't finish the analysis yet. Did you get my homework assignments?" he asked. I nodded and pulled them out of the bag I carried with me.
"Yeah, two pages Algebra, some other junk in English, a mind teaser in Advanced English, and we have chair placements tomorrow in band," I said, holding the papers out to him. He groaned.
"Lovely. That fool Lindsey will be wanting first chair, and I haven't practiced in forever. Ah, well, I'll beat her next time. Hand me the microscope, will you?" said Holmes. I handed it to him and he began going through her purse, pulling out items.
"Lipstick, nail polish, blush-just like a girl, carries makeup everywhere- tissue, drivers license, and a pocket planner," Holmes rattled. I picked up the lipstick and looked at it.
"Why would she wear black lipstick?" I asked to myself. Holmes looked up from the microscope.
"What was that?" Holmes asked.
"Nothing," I answered.
"No, no. What did you say?" Holmes encouraged. I sighed.
"I don't know, Sandra kind of struck me as the popular type. But she has black lipstick," I replied, tossing him the lipstick. He looked at it carefully. Eventually he put it under the microscope lens and stared at it.
"This isn't hers," Holmes said. I stared at him.
"What?"
"Well, the fingerprints on here aren't hers. The pocket planner, the drivers license, the rest of the makeup-they all have the same fingerprints. These aren't her fingerprints, hence this isn't her lipstick. But why would Marie have her henchman replace her lipstick?" Holmes mumbled. I shrugged.
"I don't know. Ask Irene. She probably knows better than anybody else," I suggested. Holmes stared at the lipstick.
"All right," Holmes resolved, "I suppose I'll go talk to Irene. But here's another thing that is bugging me."
"What is it this time?" I sighed. Holmes tossed the lipstick into a bag.
"The fingerprints on this are a male's."
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Irene sat back in her chair.
"A male who wore lipstick? Jeez, you guys meet the strangest people on these cases," she said. Holmes sighed.
"Irene, you probably met this person first. Could you please just tell me who he is?" Holmes pursued. Irene looked at the lipstick critically.
"Well, three men come to mind. One was a guy named Roger, the other Berkley, and the last was Sam. They were all Goth, and not very important in Marie's rank. But only one wore this particular kind of lipstick," Irene told us. Holmes looked at her with interest.
"Really? Who?"
"Let's see, let's see. I think it was Berkley, but it can't be," Irene said. Holmes dropped his head and it banged against the table.
"Why can't it be Berkley?" I asked for Holmes. Irene looked at me earnestly.
"To tell you the truth, Berkley is dead."
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"Twists and turns, that is all this case is! If we don't get substantial evidence soon, I'll go insane!" Holmes ranted. I rubbed my eyes wearily.
"Sit down. Obviously Berkley isn't as dead as we thought. Lets think now, shall we? A male, maybe Berkley, who has black lipstick. And sandy blond hair. Problem is, he's dead. How did he die?" I asked. Holmes sighed and pulled out the book of notes he kept.
"According to Irene, he was murdered. No one ever found out who did it," Holmes said. I nodded.
"Ok, I'm lost. Marie has really got one on us now," I said. A voice from the doorjamb spoke up.
"Now then, I never said that Marie was involved with these crimes, now did I? I just said she was the link," Irene said and entered the room. Holmes stared at her.
"Are you telling me Marie isn't involved in these crimes?" Holmes asked. Irene smiled.
"I'm not saying she isn't. I'm just saying, don't get to caught up with Marie killing these people," Irene protested. Holmes held his hands up in the air in a praying gesture. After a bit he lowered them and looked at Irene gently.
"Sister mine, do you know if she is the murderer or not?" Holmes forced a smile. Irene grinned.
"Sorry to say, I do not. I can find out if you want," Irene laughed. Holmes jumped up, livid.
"Irene, can't you take this seriously? Five girls dead and you're laughing!" shouted Holmes. Irene frowned.
"Six. They just found a girl. Witnesses too," Irene declared. Holmes whirled around in disbelief.
"When?"
"Five minutes ago. If you hurry you can get to the scene of the crime before long," Irene replied. Holmes sat down.
"First of all, answer this. What did the witnesses see?"
"Well, one lady said that she saw a girl standing on the edge of the bridge, but then she realized she was being held there. Next thing she saw was a man shoving her off the bridge and the girl, clad in a white dress, falling toward the river," Irene responded. Holmes smiled at Irene and stood.
"Come along, Watson. Those fools in Scotland Yard will be to busy inspecting the body to go up to the bridge. Irene, I thank you," Holmes said, pulling me up. He knelt by his sister and kissed her on the cheek. Irene stiffened and pulled away. Holmes smiled at her once more and started out the door.
"Let us begin with an investigation worth looking into," Holmes announced.
