Day #17: Dullahan

Headless

(Rated T)

The town of Sleepy Hollow was infamous for its ghost stories, but none was so prominent than its Headless Horseman. The idea of the headless spirit made Sherlock scoff, and no matter how many times he reminded the idiot townsfolk that the spirit they were talking about was called a Dullahan, and hardly original, they refused to listen. The Horseman was rumoured to be a long dead soldier who had lost his head through cannon fire. According to legend, the Horseman still wandered the battlefield, looking for his head.

The whole thing was complete rubbish in Sherlock Holmes' opinion. The town and its inhabitants were so superstitious that their brains were addled from it. If it weren't for the delicious murders that their sheriff seemed unable to solve, he would have left long ago, living without the stupidity of the common person always dragging down his thought processes.

It didn't help that one of the girls had fixated on him, either. Miss Molly Hooper, daughter of the richest man in town, Alexander Hooper, was to be wed. Mr Hooper wanted his daughter to marry Gregory Lestrade, sheriff of Sleepy Hollow, but Miss Hooper seemed to be torn between Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock had, of course, encouraged her to look in the direction of Lestrade, but she wouldn't listen. It wasn't as if he hated the woman, after all, she was the most tolerable person in the town, but Sherlock didn't want to be married. That didn't stop her from inviting him to the coming of age party Mr Hooper was throwing for Miss Hooper.

Lestrade had plans to propose to Miss Hooper that very night, something that pleased Sherlock greatly. Once she was wed, perhaps the townsfolk would quit trying to marry him off. He would attend the party to encourage the marriage between the two, then leave early to spend quality time in front of his fireplace with a cup of tea and a good book.

The party itself was awful. Too many people crowded in a room, large as it may be, was an overall unpleasant experience. Sherlock had arrived early, and was immediately presented with a glass of wine, which he took gratefully, sipping on it slowly. He tried to stay away from the chatting people, staying pressed against a wall and glaring at anyone who thought it would be a good idea to come over and talk to him. Miss Hooper was the only one brave enough to approach him, and after talking with her for five minutes, he was pleased that Lestrade would be the one proposing to her. She was the least idiotic person in the town, and Lestrade was the least annoying. They would make a good pair.

It was only an hour into the party that Lestrade made his move, loudly declaring that he was vying for Miss Hooper's hand. A few of the younger men in the town also declared their intentions, but were immediately shot down. With no one else to compete against him, Miss Hooper agreed happily, and Sherlock raised a glass to Lestrade when he looked over at him triumphantly, a smug grin on his own lips. With Miss Hooper engaged, and nothing else to worry about, he took his leave, vanishing into the night.

The fog had come early that evening and clouds covered the moon, which only served to annoy Sherlock. The party had been horridly hot, and Sherlock was pleased to get out into the cool evening air. The fog, however, made it difficult to see what was in front of him, and he tripped on several branches and holes as he made his way back to his small house. He was so preoccupied with watching the road that he didn't notice the figure following him. The whinny was what finally caught his attention, and Sherlock looked up to discover a figure on a black horse following him, any features impossible to make out in the darkness. Sherlock stood still, glaring at the man on the horse.

"Can I help you?" Sherlock snapped. The figure chuckled softly by way of answer, and Sherlock was about to bite out an insult when the clouds parted, a thin beam of moonlight illuminating the scene.

The figure on the horse appeared to be of short build, though muscular. His clothes outdated, an old military uniform donned his body, bright red coat standing out amongst the black fur of his steed. The most memorable thing about the figure was his missing head.

Sherlock stumbled back in horror, falling to the leaf-strewn ground with a dull thud.

"You're...you're the Headless Horseman!" Sherlock choked out, scrambling weakly to his feet.

"Oh no." The Horseman disagreed. "I have a head, I just forgot to put it on." The Horseman grabbed what at first glance appeared to be hay tucked under his arm, but soon revealed to be an admittedly handsome head, blond hair flopping into dark blue eyes when he placed the head atop his shoulders.

Sherlock sucked in a small breath, straightening himself to full height. "What do you want? I have nothing to offer you."

"Oh, but you do." The Horseman replied softly. "For many years now, I have wanted companionship. You want to be rid of this town. I do believe we make an excellent pair."

"No." Sherlock said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I refuse."

"Pity." The Horseman said. "You don't have a choice."

Sherlock's eyes widened as the Horseman kicked his horse, aiming the beast towards him. Sherlock spun on his heels, running towards his small house, knowing that he would never make it. He could never outrun an average horse, and this horse was far from average…

It felt like he had only started running when a hand grabbed the back of his tunic, pulling him upwards. Sherlock automatically put his arms around the body in front of him, blond hair shining brilliantly in the moonlight.

"Don't worry, you'll like it where we're going." The Horseman said. "Lots of mysteries for you to solve. I'm John, by the way."

"You're British." Sherlock commented lamely, the red coat rough on his hands.

"I am." John confirmed. "But the Revolutionary War is long over, and I've taken a liking to an American since then."

Sherlock sucked in a shaky breath as they rode through the mist, wondering if he would ever see the little town of Sleepy Hollow again.

A/N: Dullahan is a headless horseman. (Irish Mythology) And the most famous being, of course, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Sherlock Holmes...meet Ichabod Crane.