Moonrose: My dears, I descend from the heavens to grant you the joy of seeing me in person! And to speak to you as though I were mortal, as well, of course. Which, might I add, I'm not.
(Harness holding Moonrose suddenly snaps, and she spirals
back down to the ground.)
Moonrose: Ow... ok, I'm perfectly human. But I have a request for the other humans who read my stories. REVIEW, DARN IT!!! I'm only human, and I need praise and loving to keep going. And when I only get two reviews that praise me, I feel very discouraged. As much as I hate to do this, I will install a new rule. If I do not get 5 reviews, I will not post the next chapter. Harsh, is it not? I don't care if you pull a hobo off of the streets to review, but I want reviews. Quick, man, if you love me! See, look at that, I'm quoting the original Sherlock Holmes! What does that tell you? I'm desperate. Please review.
And those of you who have reviewed so far, you get a nice cookie. No, even better, a cake.
This a cake. Pretend, folks.
Also, this chapter has a few swear words in it. If you don't like them, just skip them or substitute not-so-sweary words in. And the disclaimer? If I owned Holmes, Watson, and Holmes! The Musical, do you really think I would be writing lowly fanfiction? I think not, dears. Christine and Kline are mine, though. And I love them to pieces.
This chapter is rated R, for excessive gore.
Chapter Whatever: Near Miss
I yawned quietly and buried my head further into the soft pillow, breathing in the familiar scent of... green tea? My pillow didn't smell like green tea, it smelled like lilacs. So why did this one smell of green tea?
I sat up quickly, staring at the pillow. It looked exactly like mine. It felt exactly like mine. So why the heck did it smell of some Japanese tea that I hated? A sharp snort alerted me as to the situation, and I glanced over to the desk.
Christine and Kline were slumped over it. It had been Kline who snorted, apparently murmuring something in her sleep. I was in Christine's room, I realized slowly. That was why the pillow smelled like green tea. Christine used green tea shampoo. I rubbed my temple wearily. I always had been rather slow on my feet in the mornings.
I kicked the covers off of my legs and crawled out of the bed, sniffing a bit and continuing to rub my eyes. I had an eyelash digging into my left eye, and that was bugging me a bit. Walking over, I tapped Kline gently on the shoulder. Her eyes snapped open, her alarming sky blue eyes piercing me with their gaze. Her hand shot forward, grabbing my wrist. I let a little shout of shock slip from my lips as Kline shoved me on top of the bed, looking wild. I stared at her in horror, thinking she was going to kill me, when she relaxed.
"Oh. It's you. Morning, Jenny. Sorry about that, you startled me," Kline apologized, offering me a hand. I accepted it, and she helped me to my feet. I looked at her, laughing a bit.
"You're worse than Christine," I whispered, gesturing to her sleeping partner. Kline looked over at Christine, and then shook her head frantically.
"Take it back! Take it back, Jennifer Anne Watson! That is the worst insult you could ever inflict upon me," she hissed, obviously teasing. Christine sniffed from her position at the desk, raising her head a bit, her own dark blue eyes peering out from the mass of her brown hair.
"Heard that, you bully. Good morning, Jenny. Sleep well?" she yawned, shoving her hair out of her eyes. I shrugged.
"I guess. How the heck did I get in your bed? Last thing I remember was leaning against the desk," I commented, recalling the very vague memory. Kline shrugged and went looking for her shoes.
"Holmes put you there. You fell asleep, I guess."
I tossed her a shoe absentmindedly, trying desperately to recall what had happened the night before.
"Holmes put me there?" I asked. Christine nodded and handed Kline her other shoe, which she accepted gratefully.
"Yeah."
"And then went to his own room?"
Kline looked up from her laces. "Well, he made passionate love to you first, but otherwise, yeah."
I scowled at her, sitting on the edge of the desk, and then wincing.
"Oh, eww... Christine, you drooled on the desk," I whined. Christine wiped her mouth, shrugging.
"Can you blame me?"
"Yes."
"Shut up."
Kline looked at us as she grabbed her brush, running it through the knots in her long blond hair.
"You two are like children," she snorted. I shoved past her.
"Like you're any better," I laughed. Kline rolled her eyes at me as I opened the door.
"Hey, look, I'm going to take a shower in my own room. I'll see you in a bit?" I asked. Christine lay back down on her bed, nodding sleepily. Kline just shrugged, mumbling some nonsense about her hair. I sighed and quietly left the room, heading for my own.
The next few moments were a complete blur, even to this day. I distinctly remember humming a tune from the show (Nothing More, sung by Holmes and Elizabeth), and then leaning against the wall, attempting to tie my shoe. Then, a sharp sound, and looking up to see Kline hurtling towards me.
"Get down!" she bellowed, slamming into me at full force. I collapsed under her weight, to hear a loud, sharp BANG! It sounded like a gunshot, I realized slowly. Kline stared at me, and then jumped up.
"Shit! Christine, follow her!" I remember her screaming. I vaguely recall the dark shape of Christine bursting out of her hotel room and sprinting after another shape, which seemed to remind me of my old porcelain doll I had. I stared dully up at Kline as she hulled me to my feet.
"Are you ok? Jenny, answer me, damn it! Did the bullet hit you?" she shrieked. I looked dumbly at her familiar face, and then began giggling.
"You have pretty eyes," I snickered. Kline grabbed my wrist, shaking it violently. I snapped out of my reverie and managed to refocus my eyes, to see Kline's gazing at me, looking quite fearful. I sniffed and nodded.
"It didn't hit me. I'm fine," I muttered. Kline sighed in relief and then led me to another door, which she slammed her fist on rapidly. I heard a groan from inside as the door swung open. Holmes stood there, looking quite suave in his pajamas.
"What is it, Kline? And what was that noise?" he asked, not noticing me yet. Kline shoved past Holmes, leading me into his room and shoving me down on the bed for the second time that day. Holmes looked at her in confusion, blinking.
"Someone tried to kill her, Sherlock. That noise was a gunshot," Kline said matter-of-factly. Holmes recoiled in shock, and then rushed by my side, holding my head in his hands.
"Are you all right, Watson? Dear Lord, tell me it didn't hit you," he pleaded. I smiled faintly, touching his hand.
"I'm fine, Holmes. It missed, thanks to Kline here," I whispered, gesturing at my blond friend, who was pacing by the bedside. Holmes sighed in relief, taking my hand in his own, and then looking sharply at Kline.
"And the murderer?" he asked. Kline glanced at him, barely sparing him a breath.
"Christine is after her."
Holmes looked at Kline skeptically, with a bit of worry in his eyes. "But if our assassin has a gun...?"
Kline swore violently and then threw Holmes' door open and ran out of the room as though the hounds from hell were after her. Holmes squeezed my hand tightly, and I squeezed back. He looked at me with concern.
"Are you sure you're all right?" asked Holmes, playing with my hair. I shook my head.
"I'm scared. I mean, since when have I been specifically targeted? Without the intent of hurting me to get to you? It's a terrifying thought..." I choked, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes. Holmes smiled weakly.
"Well, at least someone has finally noticed you," he reminded me, a weak attempt at humor. I barely cracked a smile.
"I would prefer to remain the background. You and Kline and Christine are the ones that dazzle. I like going unnoticed. I would prefer to remain your... biographer and girlfriend," I decided. Holmes smirked.
"Biographer?"
"Well, the greatx3 grandson of the famous Sherlock Holmes deserves his own book series, don't you think?"
"I prefer my anonymity."
At that moment, the door to Holmes' room was thrown open and Kline dragged a very unhappy looking Christine into the room. They seemed to be in a fierce quarrel, and didn't take notice of us as they shouted at each other.
"Damn it, Kline! You should have known that I had no chance of catching her. So don't go and blame it all on me!" yelled Christine, pulling her wrist out of Kline's hand. Kline swiveled around, facing her.
"You could have done better! There is no reason you couldn't have caught her! We nearly lost Jenny because of your stupidity!" Kline bellowed back, punctuating her sentences with wild gestures. Christine snagged Kline's hand from the air, yanking her friend close to her, dropping her voice into something that dimly resembled a growl.
"If you ever insinuate such things again I will snap your head off of your shoulders. It is as much your mistake as it is mine," she snarled. Kline ripped her hand out of Christine's grasp and turned to look at me and Holmes, whom I'm sure had a similar look of shock on his face.
"Hey. Are you ok, Jenny?" questioned Kline, smiling feebly. I blinked a few times, and then nodded.
"And what, pray tell, was that all about?" Holmes asked, sounding amused and stunned at the same time. Christine scoffed haughtily and took a seat on the radiator, causing Kline to glare at her.
"A few mistakes on our part. I sent dearest Christine after our assassin, who failed to catch her. Plus, there were some things before that," Kline said in disgust. Christine glared at Kline and shook her head.
"You know perfectly well that I am so out of shape that I couldn't have caught her, even if I died trying. As for the latter, that was right in front of your nose as well. You should blame yourself as well. And it wasn't perfect, we still have a few kinks to work out," snapped Christine. I raised my hand.
"Mind telling us who can't mind read what you're talking about?" I inquired thoughtfully, trying to ignore the quibbling of Kline and Christine. Christine dipped a hand into her pocket, removing a piece of paper from it. She wiped some drool off of it and tossed it to Holmes, who smiled grimly.
"Your nights work, Christine. A very nice piece it is. Very wet," he commented dryly. Christine sneered at him, obviously not in a good mood. He scanned the piece of paper, and then looked back at Christine, who was looking out the window in a very determined fashion. Scowling, he looked at Kline for explanation.
"Yeah, it's right, Sherlock. No doubts there. It was so blatantly obvious, I can't believe we didn't notice it before," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. I sighed.
"What?"
Holmes handed me the piece of paper, and I stared at it in horror.
It included the names of all the girls that were killed, including their chair positions. A first chair was killed first, then a second and third. Then a second, and then a first. No fourths, nothing lower than third chair. There was a pattern, too... a tidal wave, it would seem. A second would have to be the next to go in the pattern. I paled instantly, regretting my high chair placement.
"Oh god. I think I'm going to be sick," I choked, feeling the bile raising in my throat. Holmes immediately pulled me off the bed, leading me to the bathroom. I made it just in time, heaving my stomach's contents into the porcelain toilet. Holmes pulled back my hair as I vomited, gently rubbing my back. When I was done, he handed me a glass of water, which I sipped thankfully. He helped me back into his bed, sitting nearby. Christine looked grimly at me, her features drawn.
"Feeling better?" she asked softly. I shook my head and rubbed my head.
"I can't believe I was the killer's target."
"She needed a second chair. She knew you were poking around. You were the logical choice," Kline spouted off. Holmes started, looking at her in amazement.
"You know for sure it's a female?" he asked. Kline nodded.
"I didn't see her face, but when she was fleeing, I saw her hair. It was in a bun, like a dancer," Kline stated. I brightened. That was why the killer had reminded me of my old porcelain doll! Her hair had been in a neat bun, just like a ballet dancer.
"It's a dancer! The killer is a dancer," I blurted. Holmes nodded, his eyes gleaming wildly.
"This is excellent! We finally know some solid information. Not like it really narrows our search down... there are a lot of dancers," he said, trailing off in thought. I recoiled in horror.
"You mean that I interviewed the murderer last night?" I gasped, stunned. Christine nodded quietly.
"That must have been when she chose you for her next victim," she whispered. Kline smiled thinly at Christine, nodding.
"Of course. It's so obvious... now we just have to figure out which dancer of fifty-nine is the killer," she hissed, disappearing into thought.
"Fifty-seven," I corrected her. Kline glanced up, surprise etched across her face.
"Two are guys."
"Ah."
There was a moment of tense silence in the room while we all thought about the recent turn of events. I rubbed my stomach absentmindedly, a reminder of the last time I had gotten personally involved in a case. Holmes noticed my nervous movement, and patted me on the arm.
"Don't worry about it. We'll catch her," he whispered to me. Christine shot to her feet quite suddenly, crossing the floor, and leaving the room. Kline watched her leave, and then slammed the door behind her.
"Hope she goes off to think about what she did," Kline sniffed indignantly. Holmes looked at her curiously.
"What is wrong with you, Kline? You're being a bit unfair to Christine, don't you think?" he asked, looking at her with that horrible 'know-it-all' look he wore sometimes. Kline shrugged, leaning against the door.
"She'll get over it. Besides, this might remind her not to screw up next time," she said. I frowned at her.
"Come on, you're being kind of harsh. You made the same mistakes," I reminded her. Kline looked sharply at me.
"I didn't let the villain go."
With that, Kline spun on heel and left the room, slamming the door behind her. I stared after her, wanting to follow, but not feeling up to talking to a furious Kline. Holmes sighed and began pacing. I followed his movements for a few minutes, and then interrupted him.
"Holmes?"
"Hmm?"
"What is the killer going to do now that they didn't manage to kill me?"
Holmes looked at me sharply, his eyes boring into me. Finally, he relaxed and sat down at his desk, playing with a piece of paper quietly.
"Go after you again, or kill someone else. I would put my bets on the latter."
I nodded, taking a deep breath. Hesitantly, I stood up. Holmes glanced at me.
"Where are you going?" he asked me. I shrugged.
"For a walk. I'm going to see if I can be useful," I told him. Holmes nodded.
"Find Christine or Kline and have them accompany you. I don't want you to get hurt," insisted Holmes. I sighed.
"Very well," I acknowledged. He stared at his desk as I left.
Walking out in the halls, I glanced at the wall. The plaster had a huge dent in it, and I looked at it curiously. A bullet was lodged their, the front having shattered on impact. I winced at the thought of such a bullet hitting me. A soft nose, it would seem. I didn't know anything about guns or bullets, though, so I couldn't make any guesses.
A pale hand reached over my shoulder, holding a pair of tweezers. It pulled the bullet out, and I turned around to face Christine, who had her lips pursed in an agitated manner as she studied the bullet.
"A soft nose. It looks like it could be made of lead... but that can't be, can it? They don't make such bullets, do they?" she wondered out loud. After a second, she put the shattered bullet into an envelope and smiled thinly at me.
"Hello Jenny. Feeling any better?" she asked me. I shrugged.
"Not really. But I don't feel like talking about it. Mind telling me what was going on between you and Kline?" I asked. Christine's dark blue eyes glared at me, sparkling like deadly diamonds. I chuckled unconvincingly. She relaxed and began walking down the hall, and I followed her.
"We're just a bit edgy. Seeing friends get attacked has a tendency to do that."
"So you're not in one of your moods?"
Christine laughed. "No. Not at all. We'll be best friends again in about an hour. We just need some time apart," she explained. I nodded slowly and watched as she stared at the ground in front of the stairs. Reaching in her shirt, she pulled out her magnifying glass. I began giggling, remembering the first time I had seen that horrible device. Christine glanced at me, an eyebrow raised, and then she turned back to her work. She looked like an odd bloodhound, down on her hands and knees, studying the ground like that. After a moment or two, she uttered a cry of triumph.
"Magnificent! I am a genius! All must praise me," she cried joyously, scooping something into an envelope. I snickered.
"All must praise you? Really, Christine, don't you think you're being a bit egotistical?" I questioned her jokingly. A sardonic look crossed her face as she stood up.
"Dried blood. Presumably from the killer's shoes."
"And what does this tell us?"
"Absolutely nothing. It just means that we can track her shoes."
"Ah."
Christine grinned at me and began walking back down the hall, humming merrily to herself. I rolled my eyes and followed her, joining in the merry tune.
"Oh God!" someone yelled suddenly. Christine's head shot up, surprise and confusion on her face. A second passed when Kline came stumbling out from door, clutching her mouth and stomach. She slammed the door behind her and grabbed Christine.
"Oh dear Lord... I've never seen anything so horrific," she muttered, pulling Christine into a hug. Christine looked at her, stunned, but hugged her back, the blue eyes darting around wildly.
"Kline, what is it?" she asked. I admit, I was very curious to see what would cause Kline to be so demonstrative about her feelings. Kline choked back a sob.
"Jackie LeSalle... in my room," she sobbed, letting a tear slip down her cheek. I saw Christine shudder, and I could barely repress one myself. Kline crying was just scary. She never cried, not even when confronted with death.
"So?" I asked, confused about why Jackie LeSalle would cause Kline to cry. Kline shook her head.
"Jackie is dead. Very, very dead," she stammered. Christine shoved Kline aside, right into my arms. I tried to console a fully hysterical Kline as Christine opened the door- and immediately threw up. Even though I couldn't see the room, the stench alone was enough to make me feel ill all over again. Christine turned around slowly, putting a hand on Kline's shoulder. Her face was very pale, with a greenish tinge.
"Kline, come with me. Jenny, don't allow anyone into that room. If you look in there, be prepared. I'm getting Sherlock," she said calmly. Too calmly. I watched as she led a crying Kline away, and then glanced into the room. I barely managed to stop a scream from escaping my throat.
Jackie LeSalle's torso hung from the ceiling fan. And only her torso and head. Her arms were missing, brutally chopped off, as were her legs. Though it wasn't a mystery to figure out where they were. They were all over the room. And arm was spread grotesquely on the bed, the limb clutching at the pillow, bent at an unnatural angle. The other arm was hanging from the windowsill. The two legs were propped up against the desk. The torso had vertical slashes in it, and Jackie's head lolled to the side eerily, a sure sign her neck had been broken before she had been strung up like that.
But, in many ways, that wasn't even close to the worst part. I read the words that had been written on the wall- in blood.
"Meddling Detectives,
Stay away. I will not stop my revenge. This is your last warning. Leave me alone. Unless you want someone you care about killed in this way."
I winced and turned away, barely stopping myself from retching all over the place. Holmes was there, suddenly, and he shoved me away. I put my head against the cool wall, trying to stop the food from leaving my stomach. Christine took my hand and led me away, very quietly, not saying anything.
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"She is going mad, quite slowly, I think," Holmes announced, sipping some hot tea. He and I sat together on the radiator. The window rattled from behind us, sounds of the city creating eerie sound effects. Kline, who had calmed down over the past seven hours, nodded. She looked out into the dark night before granting us a response.
"She has to be, to do that. I mean, her other murders have been bloody. But that... that was vicious. Artistic, in a way," she reported. Christine nodded, fiddling with her hair.
"And now we have a motive. Revenge. It says so quite clearly," Christine reminded us. I nodded, taking a large swallow of my own tea.
"She seems to believe she has warned us before, too," I told them, trying to add my own thoughts. Christine smiled, nodding.
"In her own mind, she did. She shot at you."
"With the intent to kill. I doubt that that should constitute as a warning."
"To her, it is."
"Why do we care what she thinks?" I asked impatiently. Kline smiled at me.
"Because if we don't know what she thinks, we can't know how she thinks, and hence we can't figure out what she's going to do next. But we do know that she's becoming more agitated. Her previous murders were much cleaner. Did you see the messy cutting of Jackie's body? It wasn't done with the same type of knife as before. I would say that our killer ran out of sharp knives, and had to use a dull knife on Jackie," commented Kline, standing and beginning to pace. Holmes nodded, joining her in pacing.
"She knows we're closing the nets on her. She's warning us, and yet trying to scare us off at the same time. She fears us, in a way. We're a threat. She must think that we know more than we're letting on," he said, running a hand through his hair. Kline nodded, and so did Christine, who managed to compose herself and not pace, much to my relief.
"She'll become more sloppy. She has to. She's scared, she's like she's caught in a trap. A lion who is caught doesn't kill in his neat and graceful way. He just kills to protect himself. Our killer is probably the same way. She'll get rid of her standards. The problem is, that will lead to more murders. Before she had planned them, to some degree," I observed. Holmes nodded, accepting my ideas.
"The problem with that is that a trapped animal becomes unpredictable," Christine muttered, half to herself. Holmes let out a grunt of exasperation, and sat down in a huff.
"We're working in the dark! This killer is completely unpredictable. We know who she targets, but what she's going to do and when she'll next move is a complete guess. I think it's a guess for our killer as well. I am quite ready to believe that she's mentally unstable. But it takes an organized mind to commit such crimes. We can't even make a criminal profile for the murderer. This case is completely exhausting and exasperating!" Holmes exclaimed, practically shouting. I put a comforting hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down.
With a deafening crash, the window in Holmes' room shattered, glass fragments flying everywhere. I dove to the ground, protecting my head desperately. The glass tumbled on top of me, burying Holmes and I. I let out a small shriek as the glass cut me. I felt a bit of blood trickle into my mouth.
A hand shot down, pulling me out of my glass prison. It was careful to make sure I didn't hurt myself as it drew me to my feet. Christine glanced at me, and then helped Holmes to his feet. Kline wasn't in the room, but a new wall decoration was. An arrow. With a note attached to it. Holmes, careful to avoid the glass, dashed over and carefully removed the note.
Your last warning. Next time, my arrow won't miss.
Holmes set the note on the bed stand, glancing at me and wiping some blood off of his face. Christine was by his side in an instant, with a first aid kit, using some antibacterial stuff on his various cuts. It didn't take long to clean him up, and soon Christine turned to me and began mopping up the blood on my face.
"Where's Kline?" I asked, a bit shakily. She pointed distractedly out the window, forcing me to sit down while she taped gauze onto my hands, which had gotten the worst of the cuts. I slapped her away, looking at her accusingly.
"Shouldn't you take care of yourself?" I asked angrily. Christine frowned at me.
"What are you talking about? You're the one hurt, not me," she snapped. I pointed at her shoulder, where she looked down curiously. A large chunk of glass was stuck there. A small frown crossed her lips, and she yanked it out. Her black shirt turned a curious mud color as some blood began to flow. She pulled back the shoulder of her shirt, and shook her head.
"Just a small cut. You are much more serious than I am. Now sit still!" she demanded, pushing on my shoulders until I sat down on the floor far away from the window. She finished patching me up, and I'm sure that I looked more like a mummy than I did a human, but Christine didn't seem to care.
Holmes was looking out the window, trying to see someone. I joined him, but couldn't see anyone.
"Where did you say Kline went?" he asked, his voice fairly distant.
"She jumped out of the window. I think she is tracking the murderer," Christine replied, peering over his shoulder. Holmes cursed and then climbed out the window himself.
"Holmes!" I protested. We were only on the second story, but it could be quite a fall. Christine shook her head, beginning to look upset.
"There's an overhang right there. He can just slide right to the ground. Come on, let's follow him," she said, climbing out the window herself. I sighed and climbed out the window after her.
Christine had been right, of course. I slid quietly to the ground, landing softly next to Christine. Holmes was already halfway down the street, pausing occasionally to look at the ground. Christine grabbed my hand and dragged me after her, chasing after Holmes.
I followed obediently, wondering why Holmes had cursed so angrily, and why Christine looked so frantic. After a second, it hit me.
The killer had said that if we didn't stay out of her way, one of us would end up just like Jackie. Had the arrow merely been a way to lure one of us out of the hotel? If so, it had worked.
I had to work very hard to keep up with Christine who, despite all her complaints, was a very fast runner. Not nearly as fast as Holmes, but much quicker than I could have ever hoped to be. The chilly winter air made needles prick into my lungs, and the fog that was slowly covering the London ground wasn't exactly helping either. Christine's perfect vision was the only thing that kept us in line with Holmes, and I certainly would have gotten lost had she not have been clutching my hand like a life preserver.
But slowly and surely, we slowed down. Christine's sprint slowed to a jog, and her jog finally gave way to a fast walk. Her and I were breathing heavily, struggling to catch our breath. I shivered involuntarily, knowing that the temperature was quite cold. Christine dipped her hand into her pockets, pulling out a pair of gloves, which she tossed to me. I accepted them happily.
There was no sign of Holmes. Christine was looking more frantic than before, her breath catching in her throat every five paces or so. I watched as her eyes darted back and forth, eying the buildings around us with suspicion. We were in a business district, but she was acting like our murderer was going to jump out at any moment. And there still wasn't any sign that Holmes had been there. Or Kline.
"We're lost," I declared after a moment's silence. Christine looked sharply at me, her eyes narrowing.
"Nonsense. I know exactly where we are. Mind you, I have no idea where Holmes and Kline are, but we are not lost," she shot back. But I could see that, despite her playful jabs, she was getting quite worried. I bit my lip, my lungs shuddering as I took a deep breath.
"Should we call for them?" I asked. Christine shook her head violently, her hair nearly hitting me in the face.
"No. That would attract attention. We need to lie low. Our killer is quite serious. If she finds us, she will not hesitate to kill us," she said quietly. I stared at her in horror.
"Holmes... Kline!" I whispered fiercely. Christine just looked at me, and I felt my panic increasing. I grabbed Christine's icy hand and squeezed it. To my relief, she squeezed back. I felt a twinge of deja vu, remembering that Holmes had done the same thing earlier that morning.
Hand in hand, we made our way down the chilly streets. The pavement (AN- no clue what the roads in London are like) had small puddles on it, from the recent rain, which we splashed through with no hesitation. The moon had long since rose, now hanging lazily in the lower part of the sky. Stars twinkled merrily, and the fog had become quite dense since we had left. The lights destroyed the shadows every once in a while, and we passed the occasional stranger, most of whom carried an umbrella. Our breath fogged each time we breathed, and I shivered unhappily. In the distance, I saw rain clouds gathering and heading towards us. Still, we carried on.
Christine stopped suddenly, looking at me.
"You once told me about Raze and the rest of the Baker Street Irregulars, right?" she asked sharply. I nodded, and it dawned upon me.
"Come on! There home isn't too far from here. A good mile."
"A mile? Damn it! We can't wait that long. Here, take this," she said, shoving some pound notes into my hands. I looked at her, and the half smile that Christine usually wore met my eyes.
"Hail a cab and go the Irregulars home. I'll stay here. Get them and bring them here. All of them," she said. I hesitated, and Christine shook her head. "I'll be fine. Go."
I nodded instantly and rushed away, shouting for a cab.
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"Let me in! Let me in!" I screamed, pounding on the makeshift door that had been securely bolted for the night. I couldn't remember the password, much to my dismay, and had to settle with beating the door as hard as I could.
"It's Jenny Watson! Holmes is in danger!" I cried. The door flew open instantly, a worried looking Raze wearing nothing but a bra and jeans gazing at me. I covered my eyes instantly, not one for seeing a woman in her undergarments.
"Wots this about Mister 'Olmes?" she asked. I sighed.
"Drop the accent, Raze. Get the entire gang and get dressed- Holmes is in danger, along with a good friend of mine. We need your help," I snapped. Raze disappeared, and within a minute the rest of the Baker Street Irregulars stood before me, ready to pile into the cab.
"Hey! I can't take that many people!" the cab driver shouted indignantly as we piled into the car.
"Extra money if you do," I yelled in his ear. His protests ended immediately, and we sped off.
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Christine stood by the light pole as we piled out of the cab. I tossed the money to the cab driver, who accepted it greedily and drove off. Christine nodded at me, thanking me in her own way.
"Right. Listen up, then. Holmes and Kline- a friend of mine and Jenny's- are after a killer. We can't find them, we lost them. We need your help to track them down. You know London better than I do, and most likely better than Jenny does. I propose we split up, and whoever finds Holmes and Kline first come and tell us where they were, while one of you follows them," Christine spat out rapidly. Thomas and Raze, the leaders of the group, nodded. The glanced at the younger children, and within a few minutes, we were off.
Christine and I headed off in the same direction as before, except twice as fast now. Panic was beginning to tug at our hearts, and we were seriously getting worried now. It had been an hour and a half since Holmes' window had been shattered, and we couldn't even possibly imagine that they had been taking by our sadistic killer. At least, we didn't want to imagine. It was too horrific to think about. All I could see was Jackie LeSalle's head and torso swinging in an invisible wind, her limbs spread out in that macabre way. Even Inspector Lestrade had been horrified, announcing it as one of the worst murder cases he had ever seen.
Christine and I stood side by side as we disappeared further and further into the depths of London. We were at least three miles away from the hotel.
"Christine, I can't imagine Holmes, Kline, or the killer wandering this far from the hotel," I said after an hour of silence. Christine glanced at me and nodded.
"I know. Let's go back, get some rest while we can," she sighed. Using my fairly useless talents, I hailed a cab immediately, and we climbed in, tiredly ordering him to take us to our hotel.
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It was 3 am, and I was still awake, I thought dimly to myself. My fingers began playing with the sheets as I listened for any sound of a returning Holmes or Kline. Preferably, Holmes AND Kline. But no sound met my ears.
Suddenly, my door swung open, and I let out a tiny scream. But the figure shushed me, and I soon realized it was Christine, a blanket wrapped around her and her arms clutching a pillow.
"I can't sleep," she said softly. I sighed.
"Neither can I," I replied. She closed the door behind her and padded over to my bedside, her black pajamas making her pale skin stick out in the dark room.
"Look, do you mind if I crash right here?" she asked, gesturing towards the floor. I shrugged.
"Sure, whatever floats your boat. I doubt it will help, though," I reminded her. Christine just nodded and spread her blanket on the ground. But before either of us could say anything, my door crashed open again. Christine jumped to her feet, and even I sat up straight.
"Watson? Christine?" came a very familiar voice. I let out a cry of joy and pounced forward, engulfing Holmes into my arms. He hugged me back, muttering soothing words into my ear. I sniffled a bit, clutching him to me. But Christine didn't seem to share my sentiments. She stood right where she was, staring at Holmes, her eyes wide.
"Kline?" she gasped out, her voice oddly choked. Holmes tensed suddenly, and he took a deep breath.
"I found this," he said by way of explanation, handing Christine something. She looked at it, and then dissolved into hoarse sobs, her small frame slipping to the ground. The piece of paper Holmes had handed her floated easily to the floor, and I quickly picked it up, reading it.
It was a simple note, only three words.
She is mine.
Christine's sobs filled the room as the icy hand of fear clenched my heart and squeezed.
Voila! My masterpiece! If you do not review, I will shoot you. Or worse, leave you like Jackie.
And I'm sorry that the rating had to change to R. I didn't mean for it to turn out so gruesome. That part was an accident. Everything else was completely on purpose.
So, who is the murderer? We will find out next chapter, maybe. Good luck...