(AN: Hello again. To be honest, I didn't plan to write more then the first chapter. Needless to say, my imagination had different thoughts, so thus this was written. If any would like to read more about this AU, tell me so in your review. Speaking of review...
Reply to guess:
misi-chan: Thank you for your review.
Warnings in the first chapter)
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)Take a breath, it's only an audience of one(
The detective gasped, resting shortly on the outdoor stair he was climbing. Really, of all things, why heights? Heights meant higher altitudes, which meant climbing, which mean stairs.
The gentleman gumshoe hated stairs with a fiery passion equivalent to hell's fire.
If hell did indeed exist. A place where damned Human souls go to suffer for their earthly crimes? The detective would give the probability of such a place existing 48.5%. And 40 of that was rather generous of him, no matter what his dear friend/assistant said.
"Get that thief!" the thinking sleuth blinked when he heard the cry, before rolling his eyes when he realized it was the bobbies of Scotland Yard.
London's Finest indeed. Probably needed their mother's help getting out of bed in the morning.
And these were the ones people put their hope in catching the Phantom Thief? Really?
Speaking of thieves, if the footprints where to be believed, the thief changed his shoes so as not to leave a trail, but had forgotten that with the recent rain this evening that everything would be slick. Meaning that he must had griped onto the handrail to keep his balance, otherwise even he would slip and fall.
And just as the detective thought, there was metal shavings on the handrail. They were probably from when the phantom had cut into the safe earlier and had stayed on his gloves, unnoticed likely. He then, when climbing the bloody stairs, probably slid, grasping onto the railing for balance so as to not make a sound and draw attention to himself. There was even a shoe mark on the floor, showing that the theory was probably around 72.5% correct.
Seeing that he was indeed on the right track (there was about a 35.9% he was wrong), the gumshoe stared resignedly at the staircase before him.
That bloody damned thief better be up there.
)Though this one makes all others equal none(
He was.
Just standing there, obviously amused by the Yard's attentions, as he just seemed to just calmly watch from his perch, like a cat that was watching silly dogs from the safely of a tall tree.
"I don't think I will ever bloody understand your love for heights; why can't you be sensible for once and keep your feet on solid, firm ground." And away from bloody stairs. He didn't say that last part out loud; knowing that damn phantom, he would purposely go higher and higher just so he would have to face those hated things.
The Thief turned to face him, his hidden face seemed to be rather pleased as he looked over at him.
"Ah! If it isn't one of my beloved chasers. You really are like a persistent lover, never wanting our time to be over. Sadly, all good things must come to some end."
Damn it, why did that blasted phantom have to go and say things like that?! Now he was bombarded by all the images he and the thief could be doing instead of chatting, 89.9% of them devoid of any sort of clothing.
Knowing he must be flushed now, the detective hurriedly cleared his mind, focusing on the puzzle that was the thief and how he wanted to solve it.
The lack of clothing could come later.
"Save your words for someone who will be affected by them. I will let no distractions come from prettied words, so you should just save your breath." The great sleuth said, completely immersed in the mindset of solving and conquer.
He oh so loved the thrill when it came to particular puzzles, especially involving a certain thief.
)For their approval is greater then the warmth of the sun(
"Very well, I shall save my words tonight, Mr. Holmes. I'm sure you're tired of waiting for the chase, hmm?" The thief said, his grin sending slight chills down the detective's back.
Oh, he was defiantly buggered.
Didn't have to let anyone else but him know that though.
"I will capture you tonight, Thief Lupin, make no mistake about that!" he exclaimed, confidant in himself.
After all, he had a 63.1% chance of catching him tonight. That was about a 5% increase from the last time he had attempted the capture of the phantom before him.
And thus, the chase began, hopping from rooftops, gliding over chimneys, sliding on gutters, and even one memorable moment where he had cornered that damned Lupin, able to cuff him for just a moment.
Who easily escaped from them a second later, then got away from him by doing a rather bastardized version of a waltz, with Sherlock as his slightly unwilling partner. The forceful dance doing it's job, incapacitating and distracting Holmes, the Phantom Gentleman Thief Lupin was able to have more room to maneuver when he finally let go of the man chasing him.
Both started to circle the other, looking for any weaknesses they could use for their own advantage, both completely in the mindset of the chase.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock frowned as he noticed something gleam from a building across from them.
)And whose words could make you feel the silk of roses or the cold of a gun(
While keeping one eye on his phantom, Sherlock analyzed carefully the other thing that had his attention.
The gleam he had seen was from some sort of metal, that while wouldn't have seemed suspicious alone, had movement all around it.
Due to the late hour and all the hype about the heist, Sherlock knew that it couldn't be chimney sweeps, as they would have long gone home by now. And roof builders would be gone as well, as they needed light to work by. As for the bobbies, if they even had the brains to even think of looking on the rooftops, they would have been so much noisier. These people were more silent them thieves in the night, more then a burglar in a home, more then assassins-
… Assassins… Of course…
Lupin had plenty of enemies, due to the fact the people he stole from were the ones who really belonged behind bars. Not to mention the competition he had who wished him gone…
They couldn't be for him as he had already locked up the rest of Moriarty's gang and the man himself dead. Besides, no one even knew he was going to be here at all, as he hadn't even told his contacts in the Yard he was going to be here. So they had to be after a different mark.
Taking in the situation, Lupin hadn't realized they were being watched and with the police farther away from them, they wouldn't be able to come fast enough to help them.
But even if one bullet was shot, with the amount of law enforcement around, the bobbies would swarm the area, giving the trained killers only one shot.
Then again, in some cases, one shot was all you needed.
It was pure luck he was able to see that the gunman was about to make a move. So just as the gun was shot, the sound startling everyone who could hear it, Sherlock was already moving.
Moving in front of the thief and pushing him to the hard ground rather roughly, startling the phantom as he hadn't expected that.
His body taking a shot that would have been an instant kill shot to the heart for the phantom.
The pain as the bullet went through him, yet wasn't powerful enough to go through.
The feeling of weakness in his body, causing him to fall to the ground.
Then seeing his phantom kneel over him, safe and alive.
)And with them gone, you have no fun(
To be truthful, Sherlock couldn't really remember his final moment well.
He remembered being held in the arms of his greatest obsession/love.
He remembered the Thief's panicked voice, telling him not to die.
How sorry he felt when he knew he couldn't give the Phantom what he wanted.
His words about regret and what his gentleman thief said.
"I believe one should never die with any regrets... do you have one?"
Did he have one? Of course he did.
It was one of the greatest regrets of his entire life.
As he stole a kiss and felt it returned, he smiled sadly and thought his last thought.
'My greatest and one regret? Never telling you that I loved you.'
)Even if the performance must be done another time, our show will never really be done(
Kaito blinked. Then he grinned.
He Just knew a certain someone would love it.
"To be truthful, you will most likely get a soccer ball to the face for this… 'present'… Don't you think it's a bit over kill with the banner?" The voice in his head told him. Kaito knew that if anyone knew about said voice they would either call him crazy or ( this from those who already knew him) would tell him to listen to it, as they would probably mistake it as his conscience.
"Come on Sherlock! You know he'll secretly love it!" Kaito thought back.
"Correction, Lupin will love it, as he would have probably have come up with something similar to it. Your lover on the other hand will most likely hurt you for it, the possibility of him not abysmally low." Sherlock thought dryly to him.
"Still a possibility of him not. Speaking of possibilities, how are my chances of getting laid tonight?" The thief thought, smirking at all of the things he wanted to do to his detective.
It was a rather long list; most of the length was thanks to Sherlock.
(Who knew the Greatest Detective the world has ever known had rather interesting fantasies involving a certain Gentleman Thief. Kaito had thought he was perverted, but it seemed that he really inherited it from his previous incarnation.)
"I am not going to predict the probability of you and your lover's chances of coupling tonight… Though, I quote from a certain someone, 'if you play your cards right and cheat like there is no tomorrow'…you might have a chance. Might." Sherlock thought to his host.
"That means there is still a chance." the phantom thief thought, a wide smirk overtaking his face.
He loved the thrill that came with challenges, especially if they came with his most favorite and beloved detective.
)As long as you will forever be my audience of one(