Okay, People. I've fixed a few small errors and no big change here. I think
this is MUCH better, or going much better than my first story. And I expect
some reviews rolling in. *grinning shyly* Please?
And sorry, I'm as lazy as one can be when it comes to fixing errors (sorry,
sorry!) But you know how the story goes. Enjoy.....
He wiped the sweat off the palms of his hands on his trouser legs. His father, the colonel, would have scream at him for that. His mother would have been distressed to see him like this, for she did not want him to come in the first place. However, Sherlock Holmes was here for his fencing lesson, which was part of what his father called "a man's training." Before he knocked at the magnificent mahogany door, a slight trace of fear came to him before it was brushed aside hastily. A bland-faced servant opened the door and inquired who he was before leading him to the library. His boots treaded on the dark red carpet like the finest burgundy wine. The servant mumbled something about his master not being present at the moment. The tall, dark-haired young man did not hear him, for he was in one of the most splendid room he had ever seen. It was as large as an ordinary house, with books stacked to the roof, which was at least fifteen feet high. All the golden letters on the leathery spines glittered in the sunlight, which came in from the panes of glass on the roof.
He had probably stood there with his mouth open for at least ten minutes after the servant left. A throat cleared behind him. "You must be Mr. Sherlock Holmes," a female voice said. He turned and faced a young girl. She wasn't too young, she seemed older even, standing there aloof and unblushing like the Queen of Sheba. "My uncle, Lord Wilkins, is waiting for you in the exercise court." She turned and started walking before he could say a word. He bit the inside of his lower lip and followed her. She was about five-foot tall, too skinny to be in good health, and disliked her uncle's guest by the fast pace which she walked. Her hair was dark brown and reddish, with green eyes to match. Holmes bit his lip again. She reminded him of his mother. With looks like that and her uncle's wealth she could marry well, and just like his mother, marry well into a not-well marriage. Poor girl, he thought.
Lord Wilkins and his father had met a month ago, at a club in London. Apparently, the old man had a hobby of teaching young men at the old art of fencing. The young man himself thought it was rather a waste of time. What good is a body but to support the mind? It is the mind that it is essential here. Waving metal sticks while wearing masks that wouldn't let you breath properly was nothing but a waste of time.
The girl stopped at the side of an opened door and outspreaded her hand, gesturing for him to get in. He saw a man, whose back was turned to them, bending a fencing sword in front of a rack. On the rack, there were almost fifty swords. Some were long and some were short. Some were fancy and some were not. His guest's boots made a disrupting noise upon the hard stone floor, and he turned and smiled, "you must be Sherlock, how do you do? I am Lord Wilkins."
"How do you do, sir," he finally croaked the words out. For some reason he turned, but the girl was gone from the side of the doorway.
"I see that you have met my niece, Aline. Please do not mind her, she is not the sweetest-tempered soul I know. I believe you would want to change into your fencing suit now, so we can begin properly."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He didn't want to lie to him, but he had no choice. Lord Wilkins seemed to be a nice enough old man, though. Nevertheless, he just had to get out of that mansion. He was running out of breath and patience. He told him that his father wished him to go home early, for there were proceedings for a party that night. It wasn't a complete lie. There was going to be a party, although no one asked him to come. He scratched his head and entered the local town-square bar. He father took care that he wouldn't wear anything lavish as long as he lived under his roof, so his clothes were good enough for a young country lad looking for a good night of drinking, chatting, and guffawing. He did not expect the local pub to be busier than the port of London. People coming in and going out. This young stranger was going around unnoticed, it seemed. He settled himself down at a comfortable spot, with a jar of hot gin in hand.
"Hey, care for a goo' game ov'darts?" he heard someone said behind him, but it was directed to two rough farmers sitting on the stools.
"H-ll no, demmit. You're just too goo' for us, Billy ol'boy. Go find someone else."
"Yeah, how 'bout that new kid sittin' o'er there?"
I'm not deaf you know, you stupid boorish peasant. He muttered under his breath and sipped more gin.
"Hey, you! Hey, you with tha' drink o'er there!" One of the men called to him.
That's it! He stood up and faced them for the first time and he almost choked.
Standing next to the two men, the dart-player, was that green-eyed girl. Except that now, she wore a patched-over jacket with a large wool hat pulled over half of her face. What was even more interesting, there was a scar down her left cheek. It looked very real under the orange-yellow gaslight. Her face was tanned brown with makeup, but it almost turned back to its original paleness when she saw him. She cursed under her breath, something about his mother, it seemed, and gave an excused to her companions before storming out. The two men were too drunk to act otherwise, turned back to each other for more gibberish conversation.
A/N: *evil chuckles* what do you think of the story so far? Well, I know I do horrible accents, (I didn't even know it's cockney!!! Ahem, just a little laugh, don't take it harsh) but you get the idea. I think I've made a pretty good (I didn't say great or the best, etc.) version of SH as a kid. Well, tell me if you like/hate/don't get it.
PS. Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! I'm desperate!!!
He wiped the sweat off the palms of his hands on his trouser legs. His father, the colonel, would have scream at him for that. His mother would have been distressed to see him like this, for she did not want him to come in the first place. However, Sherlock Holmes was here for his fencing lesson, which was part of what his father called "a man's training." Before he knocked at the magnificent mahogany door, a slight trace of fear came to him before it was brushed aside hastily. A bland-faced servant opened the door and inquired who he was before leading him to the library. His boots treaded on the dark red carpet like the finest burgundy wine. The servant mumbled something about his master not being present at the moment. The tall, dark-haired young man did not hear him, for he was in one of the most splendid room he had ever seen. It was as large as an ordinary house, with books stacked to the roof, which was at least fifteen feet high. All the golden letters on the leathery spines glittered in the sunlight, which came in from the panes of glass on the roof.
He had probably stood there with his mouth open for at least ten minutes after the servant left. A throat cleared behind him. "You must be Mr. Sherlock Holmes," a female voice said. He turned and faced a young girl. She wasn't too young, she seemed older even, standing there aloof and unblushing like the Queen of Sheba. "My uncle, Lord Wilkins, is waiting for you in the exercise court." She turned and started walking before he could say a word. He bit the inside of his lower lip and followed her. She was about five-foot tall, too skinny to be in good health, and disliked her uncle's guest by the fast pace which she walked. Her hair was dark brown and reddish, with green eyes to match. Holmes bit his lip again. She reminded him of his mother. With looks like that and her uncle's wealth she could marry well, and just like his mother, marry well into a not-well marriage. Poor girl, he thought.
Lord Wilkins and his father had met a month ago, at a club in London. Apparently, the old man had a hobby of teaching young men at the old art of fencing. The young man himself thought it was rather a waste of time. What good is a body but to support the mind? It is the mind that it is essential here. Waving metal sticks while wearing masks that wouldn't let you breath properly was nothing but a waste of time.
The girl stopped at the side of an opened door and outspreaded her hand, gesturing for him to get in. He saw a man, whose back was turned to them, bending a fencing sword in front of a rack. On the rack, there were almost fifty swords. Some were long and some were short. Some were fancy and some were not. His guest's boots made a disrupting noise upon the hard stone floor, and he turned and smiled, "you must be Sherlock, how do you do? I am Lord Wilkins."
"How do you do, sir," he finally croaked the words out. For some reason he turned, but the girl was gone from the side of the doorway.
"I see that you have met my niece, Aline. Please do not mind her, she is not the sweetest-tempered soul I know. I believe you would want to change into your fencing suit now, so we can begin properly."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He didn't want to lie to him, but he had no choice. Lord Wilkins seemed to be a nice enough old man, though. Nevertheless, he just had to get out of that mansion. He was running out of breath and patience. He told him that his father wished him to go home early, for there were proceedings for a party that night. It wasn't a complete lie. There was going to be a party, although no one asked him to come. He scratched his head and entered the local town-square bar. He father took care that he wouldn't wear anything lavish as long as he lived under his roof, so his clothes were good enough for a young country lad looking for a good night of drinking, chatting, and guffawing. He did not expect the local pub to be busier than the port of London. People coming in and going out. This young stranger was going around unnoticed, it seemed. He settled himself down at a comfortable spot, with a jar of hot gin in hand.
"Hey, care for a goo' game ov'darts?" he heard someone said behind him, but it was directed to two rough farmers sitting on the stools.
"H-ll no, demmit. You're just too goo' for us, Billy ol'boy. Go find someone else."
"Yeah, how 'bout that new kid sittin' o'er there?"
I'm not deaf you know, you stupid boorish peasant. He muttered under his breath and sipped more gin.
"Hey, you! Hey, you with tha' drink o'er there!" One of the men called to him.
That's it! He stood up and faced them for the first time and he almost choked.
Standing next to the two men, the dart-player, was that green-eyed girl. Except that now, she wore a patched-over jacket with a large wool hat pulled over half of her face. What was even more interesting, there was a scar down her left cheek. It looked very real under the orange-yellow gaslight. Her face was tanned brown with makeup, but it almost turned back to its original paleness when she saw him. She cursed under her breath, something about his mother, it seemed, and gave an excused to her companions before storming out. The two men were too drunk to act otherwise, turned back to each other for more gibberish conversation.
A/N: *evil chuckles* what do you think of the story so far? Well, I know I do horrible accents, (I didn't even know it's cockney!!! Ahem, just a little laugh, don't take it harsh) but you get the idea. I think I've made a pretty good (I didn't say great or the best, etc.) version of SH as a kid. Well, tell me if you like/hate/don't get it.
PS. Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! Please review! I'm desperate!!!