A/N: This is my first Sherlock fanfic so my writing might not be as refined
as some...yet anyways. I'll try to write a decent story for you, please
don't be too harsh in your reviews...thank you. Have a nice day and enjoy
your flight.
***In the streets of downtown London, 1885***
A young boy sauntered down a small alleyway off of the main road, hands dug deep in his pockets to protect them from the freezing cold air that was blowing through the uncovered walkway and turning his nose pink. It was an early February afternoon but for Jonathan, it didn't really matter. He stalked up to a run-down building at the end of the alley and rapped loudly on the heavy wooden door. From inside he heard a small crashing noise and hurried footsteps and the door creaked open. An old women with a wrinkled and worn face peeked out from inside, "What do you want?"
"It's Jon, Mrs. Wyser, let me in, I'm freezing my ass off..."
The women grumbled something and opened the door just wide enough so Jon could squeeze through, "Why didn't you use your key you stupid boy? You nearly gave me a heart attack, you did, knocking on the door like that..."
"Well excuse me for forgetting my key in my room!"
"I certainly won't! Now where's your rent? You haven't paid it for nearly three weeks now, and I'm getting tired of letting you stay here for nothing."
The boy rolled his eyes and walked past the old lady towards a rickety flight of stairs, "I'll give it to you soon! Next week, I promise..."
"That's what you said last week boy!" Jon continued turned and started to walk upstairs, "Don't ignore me boy, I'm not finished with you yet!"
"Well I'm finished with you...You can yell at me tonight, I'm too tired right now...I'm going to bed..." The women turned around in a huff and walked over to an under-stuffed armchair by the dying fire and continued to read from an old, torn book. Jon turned to make sure that she was sitting before opening the door to his own room and locked it behind him after he stepped inside.
He yanked off his jacket and threw it in a dust-covered corner along with the rest of his clothes and flopped down on his mattress to see if he would be able to sleep for once. He was fifteen years old and already tired of living. Of course, most boys his age wouldn't be doing half the things that he was faced with, like going to a eight hour, low paying job at the London docks or paying for their own food and board, but he was used to it. Jon rolled over, trying to ignore the strong smell of pipe smoke and mildew that hovered around his room, his thoughts drifting back, as they often did to his old life.
He hadn't always lived this, although he had trouble remembering what his other life had felt like. His father had been someone important, he remembered that much. He had a lot of money, though he never told Jon where he got it from, and a lot of possessions. What Jon remembered the most was all the books that his father had owned, a whole room full of them, and Jon would spend hours upon hours reading them.
Jon sighed and sat up. It was no use in thinking about such things. They were in the past now and there was nothing he could do to bring it back, at the moment anyway. Sometimes, he thought about ways to become rich again, and he drew up plans to help him reach that goal. They would've worked too, he was just too afraid to try them out.
He rubbed his eyes and walked over to his window...actually it was a hole in the wall with a piece of thin fabric covering it, and looked out onto the desolate city that he preferred to call his home. There was smoke rising from the chimeny next door and he watched it float through the winter air like a cat watching a bird, wishing for the hundredth time that he could be like the smoke and just float away with the wind. He stood back up and shook his head, reminding himself for the second time that day that to think of such things was folly.
Upset with himself for being so naive, he stormed out of his room, remembering to grab his coat on the way out. As he plotted down the stairs, Mrs. Wyser turned her head to glare at him with her small beady eyes, "Where are you going?"
"Out..."
"Well don't forget to take your key with you this time!"
"I didn't." He stopped outside and slammed the door behind him, hoping that he actually did forget his key so he could have another chance at giving Mrs. Wyser another heart attack when he got back home. He ran his fingers through his windblown brown hair and began to wander back down the alley, his boots leaving prints on the frost-covered cobblestone in his wake.
He walked out onto the main road and gazed around as he passed more apartments and run-down houses, beggars, and bars. He spotted a police man on the corner and headed over to the other side of the street so he wouldn't have to pass by him, not that he was a wanted man or anything, but his criminal record wasn't exactly clean. Sometimes he felt like he couldn't help doing bad or illegal things though, it was just who he was really, something that he had grown up with.
As he walked through the poor neighborhood into the richer one, he noticed immediately the change in the atmosphere. The air was no longer laden with smoke and the streets weren't piled with trash and grime. Ironically though, there were more police officers, and there were actually streetlights to light your way instead of fires made by the homeless. Jon heaved a sigh but stopped in his path as he chanced a glance down one of the first alleyways. As he stood rooted to the spot, he watched as two men fought in the shadows of the buildings around them. Finally, the larger man punched the other in the face, there was a sickening cracking noise and the smaller man slumped to the ground, fresh blood spilling from his nose and mouth onto the ground.
In a panic, Jon jumped inside of a trash bin that was along the side of a store on the main road, and watched with curiosity more than anything else as the bigger man gaped at the man on the ground, squatted down next to him to grab something that was in the other man's hand, then tore out of the alley and back down the street towards the poor neighborhood. After making sure the coast was completely clear, Jon hopped out of the barrel and walked slowly over to the other man on the ground.
He looked to be in his forties and by the scarf around his neck and the nice coat and hat he was wearing, part of the higher class. Jon put a finger to the man's neck to check for a pulse, but there was none. He frowned and stood back up. He had seen men fight and men die before, but something about this murder seemed odd to him, though he didn't quite know why. The dead man looked familiar somehow and Jon racked his mind, feeling that he should be able to recognize the man.
Jon kneeled down and stuck his hand into the man's coat pockets, hoping to find either some kind of identification or something that would help to pay his rent, but instead pulled out an opened letter. It was addressed to a Sir Henry Cullington, but was missing an address or a date. Jon stared at it for a moment before sticking it into his own pocket and standing back up.
He was about to turn around and leave when he heard a shout from the street and pounding footsteps headed his way towards the alley. Jon swore under his breath and spun around, looking desperately for a place to hide or an escape route but found none. This was not good...
A policeman rounded the corner of the building and stopped dead, observing the scene in front of him with silent severity before walking up to Jon with his baton drawn, "Boy! What is going on here!"
Jon dug deep into his brain to come up with an excuse, any excuse for being found standing next to a dead man, "Well, you see...sir...I heard a noise and decided to see what the matter was, so I came in here and found this man dead."
The policeman looked surprised, "Good god! The man is dead? Who is he?"
"Um...Sir Henry Cullington?"
"What? What was Cullington doin' down here at this time of the night?"
"I am not sure, sir, but I'm sure that you will be able to figure it out. Now, if you don't mind, I have business to attend to elsewhere..."
"Not so fast boy. I am going to have to take you in."
Jon's mind panicked, "What?! I didn't do anything!"
"Unless you can prove it, I'm going to have to consider you to be a suspect and witness of the crime and take you in to be questioned."
Jon relaxed. He was only being taken in for questioning? That wasn't a problem, "Oh...All right."
The policeman nodded briskly and after taking one more look at Cullington stood up and led Jon out of the alley towards Scotland Yard.
A/N: Please Review and tell me what you think so far. I know that I haven't brought Holmes or Watson into play yet, but they're a comin'!
***In the streets of downtown London, 1885***
A young boy sauntered down a small alleyway off of the main road, hands dug deep in his pockets to protect them from the freezing cold air that was blowing through the uncovered walkway and turning his nose pink. It was an early February afternoon but for Jonathan, it didn't really matter. He stalked up to a run-down building at the end of the alley and rapped loudly on the heavy wooden door. From inside he heard a small crashing noise and hurried footsteps and the door creaked open. An old women with a wrinkled and worn face peeked out from inside, "What do you want?"
"It's Jon, Mrs. Wyser, let me in, I'm freezing my ass off..."
The women grumbled something and opened the door just wide enough so Jon could squeeze through, "Why didn't you use your key you stupid boy? You nearly gave me a heart attack, you did, knocking on the door like that..."
"Well excuse me for forgetting my key in my room!"
"I certainly won't! Now where's your rent? You haven't paid it for nearly three weeks now, and I'm getting tired of letting you stay here for nothing."
The boy rolled his eyes and walked past the old lady towards a rickety flight of stairs, "I'll give it to you soon! Next week, I promise..."
"That's what you said last week boy!" Jon continued turned and started to walk upstairs, "Don't ignore me boy, I'm not finished with you yet!"
"Well I'm finished with you...You can yell at me tonight, I'm too tired right now...I'm going to bed..." The women turned around in a huff and walked over to an under-stuffed armchair by the dying fire and continued to read from an old, torn book. Jon turned to make sure that she was sitting before opening the door to his own room and locked it behind him after he stepped inside.
He yanked off his jacket and threw it in a dust-covered corner along with the rest of his clothes and flopped down on his mattress to see if he would be able to sleep for once. He was fifteen years old and already tired of living. Of course, most boys his age wouldn't be doing half the things that he was faced with, like going to a eight hour, low paying job at the London docks or paying for their own food and board, but he was used to it. Jon rolled over, trying to ignore the strong smell of pipe smoke and mildew that hovered around his room, his thoughts drifting back, as they often did to his old life.
He hadn't always lived this, although he had trouble remembering what his other life had felt like. His father had been someone important, he remembered that much. He had a lot of money, though he never told Jon where he got it from, and a lot of possessions. What Jon remembered the most was all the books that his father had owned, a whole room full of them, and Jon would spend hours upon hours reading them.
Jon sighed and sat up. It was no use in thinking about such things. They were in the past now and there was nothing he could do to bring it back, at the moment anyway. Sometimes, he thought about ways to become rich again, and he drew up plans to help him reach that goal. They would've worked too, he was just too afraid to try them out.
He rubbed his eyes and walked over to his window...actually it was a hole in the wall with a piece of thin fabric covering it, and looked out onto the desolate city that he preferred to call his home. There was smoke rising from the chimeny next door and he watched it float through the winter air like a cat watching a bird, wishing for the hundredth time that he could be like the smoke and just float away with the wind. He stood back up and shook his head, reminding himself for the second time that day that to think of such things was folly.
Upset with himself for being so naive, he stormed out of his room, remembering to grab his coat on the way out. As he plotted down the stairs, Mrs. Wyser turned her head to glare at him with her small beady eyes, "Where are you going?"
"Out..."
"Well don't forget to take your key with you this time!"
"I didn't." He stopped outside and slammed the door behind him, hoping that he actually did forget his key so he could have another chance at giving Mrs. Wyser another heart attack when he got back home. He ran his fingers through his windblown brown hair and began to wander back down the alley, his boots leaving prints on the frost-covered cobblestone in his wake.
He walked out onto the main road and gazed around as he passed more apartments and run-down houses, beggars, and bars. He spotted a police man on the corner and headed over to the other side of the street so he wouldn't have to pass by him, not that he was a wanted man or anything, but his criminal record wasn't exactly clean. Sometimes he felt like he couldn't help doing bad or illegal things though, it was just who he was really, something that he had grown up with.
As he walked through the poor neighborhood into the richer one, he noticed immediately the change in the atmosphere. The air was no longer laden with smoke and the streets weren't piled with trash and grime. Ironically though, there were more police officers, and there were actually streetlights to light your way instead of fires made by the homeless. Jon heaved a sigh but stopped in his path as he chanced a glance down one of the first alleyways. As he stood rooted to the spot, he watched as two men fought in the shadows of the buildings around them. Finally, the larger man punched the other in the face, there was a sickening cracking noise and the smaller man slumped to the ground, fresh blood spilling from his nose and mouth onto the ground.
In a panic, Jon jumped inside of a trash bin that was along the side of a store on the main road, and watched with curiosity more than anything else as the bigger man gaped at the man on the ground, squatted down next to him to grab something that was in the other man's hand, then tore out of the alley and back down the street towards the poor neighborhood. After making sure the coast was completely clear, Jon hopped out of the barrel and walked slowly over to the other man on the ground.
He looked to be in his forties and by the scarf around his neck and the nice coat and hat he was wearing, part of the higher class. Jon put a finger to the man's neck to check for a pulse, but there was none. He frowned and stood back up. He had seen men fight and men die before, but something about this murder seemed odd to him, though he didn't quite know why. The dead man looked familiar somehow and Jon racked his mind, feeling that he should be able to recognize the man.
Jon kneeled down and stuck his hand into the man's coat pockets, hoping to find either some kind of identification or something that would help to pay his rent, but instead pulled out an opened letter. It was addressed to a Sir Henry Cullington, but was missing an address or a date. Jon stared at it for a moment before sticking it into his own pocket and standing back up.
He was about to turn around and leave when he heard a shout from the street and pounding footsteps headed his way towards the alley. Jon swore under his breath and spun around, looking desperately for a place to hide or an escape route but found none. This was not good...
A policeman rounded the corner of the building and stopped dead, observing the scene in front of him with silent severity before walking up to Jon with his baton drawn, "Boy! What is going on here!"
Jon dug deep into his brain to come up with an excuse, any excuse for being found standing next to a dead man, "Well, you see...sir...I heard a noise and decided to see what the matter was, so I came in here and found this man dead."
The policeman looked surprised, "Good god! The man is dead? Who is he?"
"Um...Sir Henry Cullington?"
"What? What was Cullington doin' down here at this time of the night?"
"I am not sure, sir, but I'm sure that you will be able to figure it out. Now, if you don't mind, I have business to attend to elsewhere..."
"Not so fast boy. I am going to have to take you in."
Jon's mind panicked, "What?! I didn't do anything!"
"Unless you can prove it, I'm going to have to consider you to be a suspect and witness of the crime and take you in to be questioned."
Jon relaxed. He was only being taken in for questioning? That wasn't a problem, "Oh...All right."
The policeman nodded briskly and after taking one more look at Cullington stood up and led Jon out of the alley towards Scotland Yard.
A/N: Please Review and tell me what you think so far. I know that I haven't brought Holmes or Watson into play yet, but they're a comin'!