Okay, boys and girls. I need reviews. This is my last post until I get
reviews. I think you guys can manage ten. Yes? That sounds like a good
number.
I need imput! You get bonus points for imput!
Thank you to Nako-chan!! _______________________________________________________________________ I was more than happy to be asleep, I really was, but the hand on my shoulder simply had no regard for my wishes. I had tried swatting it away, but it had a firm but gentle grip. I grunted/moaned at the offender.
"Alright, we're half-way there." Holmes was waking me up. Why was Holmes waking me up? Oh yeah, I stayed the night, but that means I was never back in my room, so my roommate knows I'm gone, and I don't have my things---
"Bloody hell---" I opened my eyes to a fully dressed, ready and raring to go Holmes. "Bloody hell! Am I really that late?!"
"Shush, Watson's still asleep. I though you would want some time to get ready."
I cocked my head to the side. "I don't have my things."
Holmes pointed to a chair that held a tie and perfectly pressed shirt and skirt. He had somehow gotten my clarinet paraphernalia and makeup bag, and a bag that probably held something of a more personal nature. "Wow, thanks. You're amazing. How did you get all this?"
Holmes waved away the compliment. "Someone owed me a favor. I was able to make a few calls this morning to have a person gather your things and no one was the wiser. Oh, and don't worry, I had a lady gather your personals." Wow, Holmes is so resourceful.
I went to the girls' room and made up, keeping the thought of Moriarty seeing me look like a total babe, with my skirt rolled short and my shirt unbuttoned a bit. I sat down to a table set with earl gray tea, a slice of ham, and a stack of toast accompanied with jars of butter, jam, and honey. Yummy! We ate in silence, reading the paper. After fifteen minutes, Holmes sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers and gazed contemplatively at the wall. I looked over my paper at him, gave him five, and asked him, "What did you find?"
He jolted upright in his chair. I stifled a giggle. "Just a couple of happenings that piqued my interest. I wanted to see what I could deduce from the bit in the paper. Unfortunately, the local constabulary on a whole is somewhat less than brilliant, so the facts that reach the paper are either painfully obvious or erroneous." He sighed and put down his paper. "Sometimes I get so bored," and Holmes was off in his little world again. I spaced out too, to that land of happy thoughts.
Our bubbles were burst as Watson exclaimed loud enough to wake the dead, "It's------LATE!", and he began running around in his undershirt, socks, and boxers, like a partially dressed chicken with its head lobbed off. "Pants, pants, pants---Holmes, have you seen my pants?" Holmes pointed to the hanger on the door. "Thanks buddy."
Thirty minutes later we were running down the halls of the school, Watson clutching toast between his teeth and us latching onto our instruments for all our lives. We skidded around the corner and into class, and scampered to our seats with twenty seconds to spare. I put together in record time, pulled out my music and awaited the exalted arrival of Mr. Toast-man.
Herr Musik-Nazi was never prone to tardiness, but five minutes went by without him showing. No worries; this was a good time to practice. The circle of fifths with arpeggios done in both major and minor keys, the blues' scales, and a little blues improvisation still didn't allow enough time for Senor Dry. -Alright, this is getting ridiculous- I looked at Holmes, who was apparently wondering the same thing. The class was so wrapped up in their own things that it was obvious that they wouldn't get off their bubble butts, so I appointed myself as investigator.
The-man-that-surpassith-all-forms of bordom's office was in a cluster down a hallway that branched off this theater's foyer. It was down this that I walked and into his office at the end, at which point I was met with a rather surprising sight.
I ran as though the hellhounds were nipping at my heels to the performance hall and to Holmes. "Holmes, Holmes, uh, there's a bit of a problem, uh, you see, aw crap, c'mon and you'll see what I mean."
Holmes' eyes went big and I had to drag him out of his chair because he wasn't going fast enough for me. We ran to Toast's office and we were met with the most wretched smell. We looked in and Toast-man was surrounded and covered in vomit.
"OD," Holmes and I said in unison. We launched into an in-depth investigation. "Find and count the pills." I started thinking out loud and regarding him as a science object and nothing else. "Lemme see, he's still warm and rigormortis hasn't set in yet, so he probably died this morning." He was sitting in his chair, collapsed on the desk. I lifted him up in places. "The pooling of the blood is consistent with the positioning of the body, so he hasn't been moved. That's good." I opened his eyes. "He hasn't been suffocated, which was obvious enough, but I thought I'd say as much. No bruising around the neck, no broken blood vessels, looks pretty good, except for all that vomit. You have the pills, yet? Holmes?" I turned to him, and was looking pretty dazed. "Hello?"
"Now there's some handy detective work."
"Huh?"
"That analysis."
"Oh, that. Yeah, in your line of work, I suppose it would come in handy."
"Okay---"
"Are we finished here?" Affirmative. "Good, then let's wipe this place down, replace all the evidence and call someone in."
"We don't have to do all that."
"Why not? I mean, the Yardies are dim, but they'll dust for fingerprints and when they find ours, that could be really bad for us."
"No, trust me on this one. It's alright." I shrugged. Whatever floats his boat, I suppose--- "Besides," he continued. "This will be disregarded as suicide. They won't even think of doing a homicide investigation."
"Wait, I thought this WAS a suicide."
"It appears that way, but look at this." Holmes handed me a vial.
"Blood thinners, for his heart condition. It says here that he was to take one a day with food."
"Yes, and look at the date. He got this filled with fifty pills four days ago, but there are exactly 49 pills left, which means---"
"Pharmacy error?" I said hopefully, though I knew otherwise. I took a pill and examined it. "Woah, this is no heart-pill. Yup, the pills were most likely replaced. So, he was murdered. Now what?"
-Now what?-, the most fatal of all questions. I could clearly hear the sound of footfalls heading my way.
I need imput! You get bonus points for imput!
Thank you to Nako-chan!! _______________________________________________________________________ I was more than happy to be asleep, I really was, but the hand on my shoulder simply had no regard for my wishes. I had tried swatting it away, but it had a firm but gentle grip. I grunted/moaned at the offender.
"Alright, we're half-way there." Holmes was waking me up. Why was Holmes waking me up? Oh yeah, I stayed the night, but that means I was never back in my room, so my roommate knows I'm gone, and I don't have my things---
"Bloody hell---" I opened my eyes to a fully dressed, ready and raring to go Holmes. "Bloody hell! Am I really that late?!"
"Shush, Watson's still asleep. I though you would want some time to get ready."
I cocked my head to the side. "I don't have my things."
Holmes pointed to a chair that held a tie and perfectly pressed shirt and skirt. He had somehow gotten my clarinet paraphernalia and makeup bag, and a bag that probably held something of a more personal nature. "Wow, thanks. You're amazing. How did you get all this?"
Holmes waved away the compliment. "Someone owed me a favor. I was able to make a few calls this morning to have a person gather your things and no one was the wiser. Oh, and don't worry, I had a lady gather your personals." Wow, Holmes is so resourceful.
I went to the girls' room and made up, keeping the thought of Moriarty seeing me look like a total babe, with my skirt rolled short and my shirt unbuttoned a bit. I sat down to a table set with earl gray tea, a slice of ham, and a stack of toast accompanied with jars of butter, jam, and honey. Yummy! We ate in silence, reading the paper. After fifteen minutes, Holmes sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers and gazed contemplatively at the wall. I looked over my paper at him, gave him five, and asked him, "What did you find?"
He jolted upright in his chair. I stifled a giggle. "Just a couple of happenings that piqued my interest. I wanted to see what I could deduce from the bit in the paper. Unfortunately, the local constabulary on a whole is somewhat less than brilliant, so the facts that reach the paper are either painfully obvious or erroneous." He sighed and put down his paper. "Sometimes I get so bored," and Holmes was off in his little world again. I spaced out too, to that land of happy thoughts.
Our bubbles were burst as Watson exclaimed loud enough to wake the dead, "It's------LATE!", and he began running around in his undershirt, socks, and boxers, like a partially dressed chicken with its head lobbed off. "Pants, pants, pants---Holmes, have you seen my pants?" Holmes pointed to the hanger on the door. "Thanks buddy."
Thirty minutes later we were running down the halls of the school, Watson clutching toast between his teeth and us latching onto our instruments for all our lives. We skidded around the corner and into class, and scampered to our seats with twenty seconds to spare. I put together in record time, pulled out my music and awaited the exalted arrival of Mr. Toast-man.
Herr Musik-Nazi was never prone to tardiness, but five minutes went by without him showing. No worries; this was a good time to practice. The circle of fifths with arpeggios done in both major and minor keys, the blues' scales, and a little blues improvisation still didn't allow enough time for Senor Dry. -Alright, this is getting ridiculous- I looked at Holmes, who was apparently wondering the same thing. The class was so wrapped up in their own things that it was obvious that they wouldn't get off their bubble butts, so I appointed myself as investigator.
The-man-that-surpassith-all-forms of bordom's office was in a cluster down a hallway that branched off this theater's foyer. It was down this that I walked and into his office at the end, at which point I was met with a rather surprising sight.
I ran as though the hellhounds were nipping at my heels to the performance hall and to Holmes. "Holmes, Holmes, uh, there's a bit of a problem, uh, you see, aw crap, c'mon and you'll see what I mean."
Holmes' eyes went big and I had to drag him out of his chair because he wasn't going fast enough for me. We ran to Toast's office and we were met with the most wretched smell. We looked in and Toast-man was surrounded and covered in vomit.
"OD," Holmes and I said in unison. We launched into an in-depth investigation. "Find and count the pills." I started thinking out loud and regarding him as a science object and nothing else. "Lemme see, he's still warm and rigormortis hasn't set in yet, so he probably died this morning." He was sitting in his chair, collapsed on the desk. I lifted him up in places. "The pooling of the blood is consistent with the positioning of the body, so he hasn't been moved. That's good." I opened his eyes. "He hasn't been suffocated, which was obvious enough, but I thought I'd say as much. No bruising around the neck, no broken blood vessels, looks pretty good, except for all that vomit. You have the pills, yet? Holmes?" I turned to him, and was looking pretty dazed. "Hello?"
"Now there's some handy detective work."
"Huh?"
"That analysis."
"Oh, that. Yeah, in your line of work, I suppose it would come in handy."
"Okay---"
"Are we finished here?" Affirmative. "Good, then let's wipe this place down, replace all the evidence and call someone in."
"We don't have to do all that."
"Why not? I mean, the Yardies are dim, but they'll dust for fingerprints and when they find ours, that could be really bad for us."
"No, trust me on this one. It's alright." I shrugged. Whatever floats his boat, I suppose--- "Besides," he continued. "This will be disregarded as suicide. They won't even think of doing a homicide investigation."
"Wait, I thought this WAS a suicide."
"It appears that way, but look at this." Holmes handed me a vial.
"Blood thinners, for his heart condition. It says here that he was to take one a day with food."
"Yes, and look at the date. He got this filled with fifty pills four days ago, but there are exactly 49 pills left, which means---"
"Pharmacy error?" I said hopefully, though I knew otherwise. I took a pill and examined it. "Woah, this is no heart-pill. Yup, the pills were most likely replaced. So, he was murdered. Now what?"
-Now what?-, the most fatal of all questions. I could clearly hear the sound of footfalls heading my way.