Day #5: Centaurs
Deep Into the Woods
(Rated K)
Sherlock had been chasing a criminal through the forest. The murders had been interesting enough, but not enough to make a fleeing suspect enjoyable. The murderer knew the forest well, and he had managed to trip Sherlock up several times on roots, rocks and uneven ground. The whole thing was becoming rather tedious when a particularly large root caught hold of him, sending him sprawling in the dirt.
Cursing, Sherlock quickly got to his feet, looking around for the murderer, but he had already made his escape. The police weren't competent enough to catch the criminal on their own, especially in this environment.
"You should not be here." A voice said, causing the Consulting Detective to startle. He whipped around, his mind stuttering to a halt when he saw just what had been standing behind him.
It was impossible really, but there the creature was in all of his glory. The torso of a man with golden hair, sleek lines and hard muscle sweeping into the flank of a horse. A centaur.
"Why not?" Sherlock managed to choke out, his blue-grey eyes wide in surprise. "I am not hurting anything, merely attempting to catch a murderer."
"Yes, I saw him." The centaur mused. "However, the forest is not safe for you. Most centaur's a brutish, and would not hesitate to keep you for their own."
"What about you?" Sherlock asked, looking at the centaur with suspicion. "What makes you different?"
The centaur smiled at him, shaking his blond head. "I have rejected their ways, and they have rejected me from their society. I can assist you on your way back to your people."
Sherlock stared at the creature for a few moments before crossing his arms. "That sounds acceptable. What is your name?"
"I am called John." The centaur replied. "What do they call you, human?"
"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes as if this should be obvious information. "I am a Consulting Detective, and there is a murderer in your woods."
"All will be taken care of, Sherlock Holmes." John said solemnly. He lowered himself to the ground, allowing the human to climb up on his back. Once properly seated, John stood up again and began trotting off in the direction that Sherlock came from.
They made their way to the edge of the forest, John stopping as soon as he could see flashing lights from the police cars. He sank to the ground once more, letting Sherlock off his back.
"Here is where I leave you, Sherlock Holmes." John replied, and Sherlock watched the creature turn around and start heading back into the forest.
"Wait!" Sherlock called, and John turned around again to look at him. "Will I see you again?"
"I believe we shall." John said, and with a final smile, he vanished into the woods.
Sherlock was still upset that he never managed to catch the murderer. For an entire week he sulked, snapping at people that so much as spoke to him. When he went into the Met to demand a case, he was met with a surprise: the police had captured the murderer.
"How did you managed to catch him?" Sherlock demanded of Lestrade.
"We didn't actually. He was found tied up by the forest. Actually, there was a note for you pinned to his shirt."
Sherlock whipped around to see Lestrade holding out a note. He snatched up the paper, reading over the words quickly.
To Sherlock Holmes,
I believe I caught your murderer.
-John
Sherlock smiled, feeling happier than he had all week, and when given a questioning look by Lestrade, he merely shrugged his shoulders. "It's best to make allies with all sorts."