Well, I'm nearly done. I made the mistake of getting two jobs this summer so my chances to write have been erratic at best. I have a few works in progress and i hope to publish more adventures of the Irregulars soon.
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson belong to that wonderful genius Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, as do any plots and minor characters I may have "borrowed" along the way. This is jsut for fun, not for profit. Honest. If you don't believe me look at my bank account.
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Amara was less than happy with two strangers staking out her pub all night. I wasn't too pleased about staying up all night either. Amara looked a bit surprised when Holmes and I showed up at her back entrance, like we were just playing a prank on her or something. But she joined us when we took up a position behind the bar, with the painting in our line of sight.
We waited about two hours before a scraping noise came from the door. From the shadows on the wall, someone was at the door, trying to force their way inside. There was a rather loud bang as the lock gave way. The unknown person slipped inside, and softy closed the door and waited to see if he/she had roused anyone. The three of us held still and silent, and the thief began to move.
Holmes and I had discussed this before we arrived. I slipped around the far end of the bar. I could see the thief standing on top of the bar trying to remove the painting. Holmes and Amara had gone around the other end of the bar, Amara stayed in the shadows and Holmes moved silently behind our thief. I made my way to the light switch by the door while staying out of the thief's line of sight.
Just as the painting came loose from the wall, I flicked on the lights. The sudden glare dazzled everyone's eyes, but Holmes was ready for it and took the opportunity to drag the black-clad thief off the bar and to the floor. The painting scattered across the floor under a table. The thief struggled for a bit, but once he figured out Holmes had him securely pinned, he relented.
Amara's first move was for the phone, to call the police. As she replaced the receiver, Holmes hauled his captive to his feet. He was about 5'10" with bleached blond hair, and would have been rather handsome if not for the sulky look on his face.
"Kevin Ramius, I presume?" Holmes asked. I looked up, startled. Amara had the same reaction.
"Kevin! What in the hell do you think you're doing?" She cried.
"You know him?" I said incredulously.
"We went to high school together." Kevin answered. He looked like a two-year old being forced to eat broccoli. "Nothing personal, Amara. I just needed that painting."
"Why didn't you just ask?" She asked, bewildered. Kevin looked puzzled, as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind.
"Because then he would have had to explain why he wanted it." Holmes interrupted. He picked up the cityscape from where it had landed and examined the back. "When your roommate was so kind as to let examine your copy, I realized the common thread in the thefts. Every one of the canvas had its' back torn away in a well lit place. Your copy had been treated in a similar manner, but repaired. Therefore, you must be the one who was stealing the other copies. But why?" Holmes worked the back away from the frame.
"You must have been looking for something. This." An object fell out from behind the canvas and slid across the bar with a metallic clatter.
"Wow." Amara whispered, and I echoed the sentiment.
"The Sydney Star Necklace. A string of fire opals stolen from Countess Hillstone's hotel room last year." Holmes declared. He picked up the necklace by its clasp. The opals sparkled and danced in the light of the pub, like flame on a wire.
"I worked at the hotel where she stayed. The opals were lying right there on the table for the whole world to see. I just took them and left. I still can't believe you were never caught." Kevin said, suddenly determined to have his say. "I needed the money to get through college. But I had to go home, when my mom got sick. So, I hid it where no one would ever look for it. Andrea was my friend. I hid it in one of her paintings then got her to promise to give it to me. I wasn't till last week I realized I'd gotten the wrong painting."
"Geez, Kevin. How could you? You should have told us you needed help." Amara shook her head. Kevin didn't answer but stared intently at the floor.
The scream of sirens and flashing lights announced the arrival of the police. The first patrolman on the scene was rather startled when he responded to a break-in and found four college students and a million-dollar necklace.
By the time we left, the eastern sky had begun to brighten and the first news vans were arriving. As we walked back to the van, I stopped suddenly, remembering
"What?" Holmes asked.
"Anthropology. I have a huge test in," I checked my watch. "forty five minutes."
"Cheer up. With the reward money you can convince the professor to give you an A." Holmes said seriously. I turned to look at him, stunned. But he was laughing at me and the look on my face.
"Just for that," I said with mock-haughtiness, "you can buy me breakfast."
"Deal."
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I love reviews. Questions, comments, ideas, criticisms, complaints, meandering thoughts, should all be directed at that little review button.
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·.
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson belong to that wonderful genius Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, as do any plots and minor characters I may have "borrowed" along the way. This is jsut for fun, not for profit. Honest. If you don't believe me look at my bank account.
***********************************************************************
Amara was less than happy with two strangers staking out her pub all night. I wasn't too pleased about staying up all night either. Amara looked a bit surprised when Holmes and I showed up at her back entrance, like we were just playing a prank on her or something. But she joined us when we took up a position behind the bar, with the painting in our line of sight.
We waited about two hours before a scraping noise came from the door. From the shadows on the wall, someone was at the door, trying to force their way inside. There was a rather loud bang as the lock gave way. The unknown person slipped inside, and softy closed the door and waited to see if he/she had roused anyone. The three of us held still and silent, and the thief began to move.
Holmes and I had discussed this before we arrived. I slipped around the far end of the bar. I could see the thief standing on top of the bar trying to remove the painting. Holmes and Amara had gone around the other end of the bar, Amara stayed in the shadows and Holmes moved silently behind our thief. I made my way to the light switch by the door while staying out of the thief's line of sight.
Just as the painting came loose from the wall, I flicked on the lights. The sudden glare dazzled everyone's eyes, but Holmes was ready for it and took the opportunity to drag the black-clad thief off the bar and to the floor. The painting scattered across the floor under a table. The thief struggled for a bit, but once he figured out Holmes had him securely pinned, he relented.
Amara's first move was for the phone, to call the police. As she replaced the receiver, Holmes hauled his captive to his feet. He was about 5'10" with bleached blond hair, and would have been rather handsome if not for the sulky look on his face.
"Kevin Ramius, I presume?" Holmes asked. I looked up, startled. Amara had the same reaction.
"Kevin! What in the hell do you think you're doing?" She cried.
"You know him?" I said incredulously.
"We went to high school together." Kevin answered. He looked like a two-year old being forced to eat broccoli. "Nothing personal, Amara. I just needed that painting."
"Why didn't you just ask?" She asked, bewildered. Kevin looked puzzled, as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind.
"Because then he would have had to explain why he wanted it." Holmes interrupted. He picked up the cityscape from where it had landed and examined the back. "When your roommate was so kind as to let examine your copy, I realized the common thread in the thefts. Every one of the canvas had its' back torn away in a well lit place. Your copy had been treated in a similar manner, but repaired. Therefore, you must be the one who was stealing the other copies. But why?" Holmes worked the back away from the frame.
"You must have been looking for something. This." An object fell out from behind the canvas and slid across the bar with a metallic clatter.
"Wow." Amara whispered, and I echoed the sentiment.
"The Sydney Star Necklace. A string of fire opals stolen from Countess Hillstone's hotel room last year." Holmes declared. He picked up the necklace by its clasp. The opals sparkled and danced in the light of the pub, like flame on a wire.
"I worked at the hotel where she stayed. The opals were lying right there on the table for the whole world to see. I just took them and left. I still can't believe you were never caught." Kevin said, suddenly determined to have his say. "I needed the money to get through college. But I had to go home, when my mom got sick. So, I hid it where no one would ever look for it. Andrea was my friend. I hid it in one of her paintings then got her to promise to give it to me. I wasn't till last week I realized I'd gotten the wrong painting."
"Geez, Kevin. How could you? You should have told us you needed help." Amara shook her head. Kevin didn't answer but stared intently at the floor.
The scream of sirens and flashing lights announced the arrival of the police. The first patrolman on the scene was rather startled when he responded to a break-in and found four college students and a million-dollar necklace.
By the time we left, the eastern sky had begun to brighten and the first news vans were arriving. As we walked back to the van, I stopped suddenly, remembering
"What?" Holmes asked.
"Anthropology. I have a huge test in," I checked my watch. "forty five minutes."
"Cheer up. With the reward money you can convince the professor to give you an A." Holmes said seriously. I turned to look at him, stunned. But he was laughing at me and the look on my face.
"Just for that," I said with mock-haughtiness, "you can buy me breakfast."
"Deal."
***********************************************************************
I love reviews. Questions, comments, ideas, criticisms, complaints, meandering thoughts, should all be directed at that little review button.
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn ·»¦«·´¨`·.