Disclaimer: ::looks at name tag:: Nope, still don't own Sherlock Holmes.
::sigh:: if only I could change my name. ::wink::
A/N: Really sorry about the delay. I've been really busy with school lately, but I'll update as soon as I can. Well at least I got over the cliffie, ^_~.
Thanks to those of you who reviewed:
Anneliese: I'm not dead! Yay!! :ahem: Well, thanks for all your support, your comments make me feel all warm inside ^_^
Moonrose: ::smirks:: sorry about the cliffie, but being evil is fun. Besides, it was my first one, and it wouldn't have been as fun without it. Thanks for your encouragement though, I'll try to finish this soon. Oh, and if you want to know about Kathryn and Holmes's past, please read "University Life," as that story describes their college years.
Well, I've bored you enough with my blabbing, now on with the story!
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Chapter 15- Questions
"What's the matter?" Livingston's curious voice called from behind us, bringing me back to reality. I turned around to face the young man, who was desperately craning his neck this way and that in an attempt to take a glance at what had stopped the two of us dead in our tracks. Wearing a grave expression on my face, I led Livingston down the stone steps, and as the sound of our footsteps began to reverberate through the darkened tunnel, I beckoned him to stop. I hurriedly drew out my pocket notebook from within the depths of my coat and scribbled a few quick lines before pushing the piece of paper into Livingston's hands.
"Take this note to Scotland Yard as fast as you can, and hurry!" I called out to him. "It seems that we have a murder on our hands." Livingston's eyes widened in astonishment, but he turned on his heel without another word and sped down the dark and dank corridor.
Turning my attention back to the now vacated flight of stairs, I made my way back up the steps and into the room where the smell of death was still tangible in the air. The room itself comfortably furnished, with lavish though somewhat grotesque paintings hanging on its four walls, telling of a man with rich, though eccentric tastes. There was a large, ornately decorated four-poster bed in the centre of the room, with elaborate azure silk curtains tied elegantly with velvet fastenings. On the left of this was a chest of drawers of carefully hewn lacquered wood as tall as I was, beside which stood a walk-in wardrobe made of the same fine material. On the right was a desk full of books and papers, which were strewn all over its dusted surface in untidy stacks.
All of this I noticed later on, as my eyes were currently drawn to the man who was currently sprawled on the hardwood floor in front of the extravagant bed, while his blood stained the mahogany a deep crimson. He was propped up haphazardly with his back to the bedstead, with his limbs lying limp beside him, dangling as if they were about to sever from his torso. His wide face, marred by a single bullet wound in the centre of the forehead, was contorted into a gruesome, mirthless smile, as his twin dark beady eyes glaring daggers at me, causing me to shudder involuntarily.
"It seems that someone has paid an unexpected visit to Mr. Raquesh in the night," muttered Kathryn quietly as she peered at the grotesque scene with furrowed brows.
"Do you think Moran did this?" I asked, aghast.
"It is possible," conceded Kathryn thoughtfully. "But then again, so are many other alternatives."
She stepped around the small room making a minute examination of the surroundings and the dead man. The ornate furniture, the dust covered floor, the wallpapered walls, the bloodstained carpet, and the lifeless body were all under Kathryn's careful scrutiny.
"This is very interesting," Kathryn mused thoughtfully as she removed a thick sheaf of papers that had been hastily stuffed in Raquesh's coat pocket, causing the seams to rip in the tension. "I believe that the missing sonar detection plans that Holmes was searching for have been found." She handed me the pile of papers, which turned out to be page after page of schematics of some complex machinery, the mechanisms of which were beyond my comprehension.
"So Rao, who goes by the alias Raquesh, is behind all of this?" I asked bemusedly as I handed the blueprints back.
"Perhaps, but I think that it is more complicated that," Kathryn replied, tucking the papers that caused this string of murders to happen safely into a hidden pocket. Without a word, she lifted up Raquesh's right arm, and slowly rolled up his coat and shirtsleeve to the elbow, revealing livid and bloodstained skin. As I gazed closer at the appendage, I could see a curiously shaped cut upon the man's wrist.
"It's the Omega Symbol!" I breathed with incredulity. "What does this all mean?"
"It means that our threads are finally coming together," Kathryn replied cryptically. She made her way back to the chest of drawers and surreptitiously placed something in her pocket without further explanation just as Livingston returned with Inspector Stanley Hopkins of Scotland Yard. When Livingston saw his employer's body on the floor, he turned a ghastly pallid shade, and promptly made his excuses before quietly slipping out of the room as fast as his legs could take him, leaving Kathryn and me with the young inspector.
"Dr. Watson, what brings you here?" Hopkins asked, slightly surprised after he took in the surroundings.
"Dr. Watson and I were just coming round to see the deceased gentleman, and when we entered his bedroom, we found him like this," Kathryn replied before I could open my mouth.
"Really?" Hopkins asked, with a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Is he a friend of yours or something?"
"We thought that he may bring some insight into the murder of Miss Julia Stamford," I answered succinctly.
At the sound of the name Julia Stamford, Hopkins nodded and hunched his shoulders slightly, as if bending under the weight of a large burden. "I see. Well, I've heard all the other inspectors at the Yard talk about that case ever since yesterday. It's been the only topic of conversation for almost two days. Most people think that Mr. Holmes did it; after all, he did have a history with the woman, he doesn't have a good alibi, and he is physically capable of committing such a deed. Even Holmes himself confesses that the murder weapon was his jack-knife."
Kathryn and I shared a quick glance, before she asked the young inspector quietly, "Do you agree with your colleagues?"
Hopkins glimpsed at us quickly as if to survey our expressions before he began to pace the length of the small room, shaking his head all the while. "I don't know what to think! All the facts point one way, yet my instinct points in another. I've known Mr. Holmes for many years now through the countless times he's helped me on my cases, and I just can't see him killing anyone in cold blood. I mean, he wouldn't have a reasonable motive: revenge wouldn't be a good one in this case, as Julia Stamford had been in London for several weeks. Then there's the fact that the murder weapon was found at all. If Mr. Holmes was indeed the culprit, I believe that he would have had enough foresight to remove the knife from the crime scene, where he knew that the police would search. Inspector Lestrade's been trying to convince me that there isn't any doubt to Mr. Holmes's guilt, but I lack his confidence." At this, he paused a moment, and eyed us searchingly. "You two have been investigating Miss Stamford's murder. What do you two make of this whole mess?"
"We share your concerns," Kathryn replied. "From what we can tell, this case isn't as simple as your fellow colleagues would like to believe. We came to the deceased man, Mr. Abdullah Raquesh also known as Kumar Rao, in an attempt to shed some light into this dark matter. However, as I have already told you, we discovered his body upon entering the premises, and a quick search of the room yielded little."
"What did you find?" Hopkins asked curiously, his eyebrows disappearing above a fringe of dark brown hair.
"Oh, just a scar and a pair of glasses," Kathryn answered offhandedly, making her way to the tunnel entrance. "If you'll excuse us, Inspector, we mustn't interfere with your murder investigation any further. Good day." With that, she stepped past Livingston and out of the room with a swift gait, leaving behind an incredulous Hopkins, whose gaping resembled that of a goldfish.
"You've got with you quite a lady there, Doctor," he muttered when he had regained his composure, and I too hurried from the crime scene in order to catch up with my companion.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Not much happens, I know, but at least you know what's inside the room. It seems that Hopkins is the most liberal of the Scotland Yard people; he *might* come in useful later on. Well, please review and tell me what you think.
A/N: Really sorry about the delay. I've been really busy with school lately, but I'll update as soon as I can. Well at least I got over the cliffie, ^_~.
Thanks to those of you who reviewed:
Anneliese: I'm not dead! Yay!! :ahem: Well, thanks for all your support, your comments make me feel all warm inside ^_^
Moonrose: ::smirks:: sorry about the cliffie, but being evil is fun. Besides, it was my first one, and it wouldn't have been as fun without it. Thanks for your encouragement though, I'll try to finish this soon. Oh, and if you want to know about Kathryn and Holmes's past, please read "University Life," as that story describes their college years.
Well, I've bored you enough with my blabbing, now on with the story!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter 15- Questions
"What's the matter?" Livingston's curious voice called from behind us, bringing me back to reality. I turned around to face the young man, who was desperately craning his neck this way and that in an attempt to take a glance at what had stopped the two of us dead in our tracks. Wearing a grave expression on my face, I led Livingston down the stone steps, and as the sound of our footsteps began to reverberate through the darkened tunnel, I beckoned him to stop. I hurriedly drew out my pocket notebook from within the depths of my coat and scribbled a few quick lines before pushing the piece of paper into Livingston's hands.
"Take this note to Scotland Yard as fast as you can, and hurry!" I called out to him. "It seems that we have a murder on our hands." Livingston's eyes widened in astonishment, but he turned on his heel without another word and sped down the dark and dank corridor.
Turning my attention back to the now vacated flight of stairs, I made my way back up the steps and into the room where the smell of death was still tangible in the air. The room itself comfortably furnished, with lavish though somewhat grotesque paintings hanging on its four walls, telling of a man with rich, though eccentric tastes. There was a large, ornately decorated four-poster bed in the centre of the room, with elaborate azure silk curtains tied elegantly with velvet fastenings. On the left of this was a chest of drawers of carefully hewn lacquered wood as tall as I was, beside which stood a walk-in wardrobe made of the same fine material. On the right was a desk full of books and papers, which were strewn all over its dusted surface in untidy stacks.
All of this I noticed later on, as my eyes were currently drawn to the man who was currently sprawled on the hardwood floor in front of the extravagant bed, while his blood stained the mahogany a deep crimson. He was propped up haphazardly with his back to the bedstead, with his limbs lying limp beside him, dangling as if they were about to sever from his torso. His wide face, marred by a single bullet wound in the centre of the forehead, was contorted into a gruesome, mirthless smile, as his twin dark beady eyes glaring daggers at me, causing me to shudder involuntarily.
"It seems that someone has paid an unexpected visit to Mr. Raquesh in the night," muttered Kathryn quietly as she peered at the grotesque scene with furrowed brows.
"Do you think Moran did this?" I asked, aghast.
"It is possible," conceded Kathryn thoughtfully. "But then again, so are many other alternatives."
She stepped around the small room making a minute examination of the surroundings and the dead man. The ornate furniture, the dust covered floor, the wallpapered walls, the bloodstained carpet, and the lifeless body were all under Kathryn's careful scrutiny.
"This is very interesting," Kathryn mused thoughtfully as she removed a thick sheaf of papers that had been hastily stuffed in Raquesh's coat pocket, causing the seams to rip in the tension. "I believe that the missing sonar detection plans that Holmes was searching for have been found." She handed me the pile of papers, which turned out to be page after page of schematics of some complex machinery, the mechanisms of which were beyond my comprehension.
"So Rao, who goes by the alias Raquesh, is behind all of this?" I asked bemusedly as I handed the blueprints back.
"Perhaps, but I think that it is more complicated that," Kathryn replied, tucking the papers that caused this string of murders to happen safely into a hidden pocket. Without a word, she lifted up Raquesh's right arm, and slowly rolled up his coat and shirtsleeve to the elbow, revealing livid and bloodstained skin. As I gazed closer at the appendage, I could see a curiously shaped cut upon the man's wrist.
"It's the Omega Symbol!" I breathed with incredulity. "What does this all mean?"
"It means that our threads are finally coming together," Kathryn replied cryptically. She made her way back to the chest of drawers and surreptitiously placed something in her pocket without further explanation just as Livingston returned with Inspector Stanley Hopkins of Scotland Yard. When Livingston saw his employer's body on the floor, he turned a ghastly pallid shade, and promptly made his excuses before quietly slipping out of the room as fast as his legs could take him, leaving Kathryn and me with the young inspector.
"Dr. Watson, what brings you here?" Hopkins asked, slightly surprised after he took in the surroundings.
"Dr. Watson and I were just coming round to see the deceased gentleman, and when we entered his bedroom, we found him like this," Kathryn replied before I could open my mouth.
"Really?" Hopkins asked, with a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Is he a friend of yours or something?"
"We thought that he may bring some insight into the murder of Miss Julia Stamford," I answered succinctly.
At the sound of the name Julia Stamford, Hopkins nodded and hunched his shoulders slightly, as if bending under the weight of a large burden. "I see. Well, I've heard all the other inspectors at the Yard talk about that case ever since yesterday. It's been the only topic of conversation for almost two days. Most people think that Mr. Holmes did it; after all, he did have a history with the woman, he doesn't have a good alibi, and he is physically capable of committing such a deed. Even Holmes himself confesses that the murder weapon was his jack-knife."
Kathryn and I shared a quick glance, before she asked the young inspector quietly, "Do you agree with your colleagues?"
Hopkins glimpsed at us quickly as if to survey our expressions before he began to pace the length of the small room, shaking his head all the while. "I don't know what to think! All the facts point one way, yet my instinct points in another. I've known Mr. Holmes for many years now through the countless times he's helped me on my cases, and I just can't see him killing anyone in cold blood. I mean, he wouldn't have a reasonable motive: revenge wouldn't be a good one in this case, as Julia Stamford had been in London for several weeks. Then there's the fact that the murder weapon was found at all. If Mr. Holmes was indeed the culprit, I believe that he would have had enough foresight to remove the knife from the crime scene, where he knew that the police would search. Inspector Lestrade's been trying to convince me that there isn't any doubt to Mr. Holmes's guilt, but I lack his confidence." At this, he paused a moment, and eyed us searchingly. "You two have been investigating Miss Stamford's murder. What do you two make of this whole mess?"
"We share your concerns," Kathryn replied. "From what we can tell, this case isn't as simple as your fellow colleagues would like to believe. We came to the deceased man, Mr. Abdullah Raquesh also known as Kumar Rao, in an attempt to shed some light into this dark matter. However, as I have already told you, we discovered his body upon entering the premises, and a quick search of the room yielded little."
"What did you find?" Hopkins asked curiously, his eyebrows disappearing above a fringe of dark brown hair.
"Oh, just a scar and a pair of glasses," Kathryn answered offhandedly, making her way to the tunnel entrance. "If you'll excuse us, Inspector, we mustn't interfere with your murder investigation any further. Good day." With that, she stepped past Livingston and out of the room with a swift gait, leaving behind an incredulous Hopkins, whose gaping resembled that of a goldfish.
"You've got with you quite a lady there, Doctor," he muttered when he had regained his composure, and I too hurried from the crime scene in order to catch up with my companion.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Not much happens, I know, but at least you know what's inside the room. It seems that Hopkins is the most liberal of the Scotland Yard people; he *might* come in useful later on. Well, please review and tell me what you think.