Hanaru: Hey guys! So I actually decided to post another story (*cough*finally*cough*) and hope this won't disappoint! This is more of an "update when I feel like it" story, because I don't want to try and update on a schedule, because I just end up confusing myself xD. Anyways, here' said disclaimer.
Disclaimer: I don't own the RDJ Sherlock Holmes, or even the original Sherlock Holmes, and that includes all of its characters. That being said, I own all of the made up characters, and their background stories. All Sherlock stuff goes to its rightful owners, and please support the official release.
Story Summery: A lone investigative journalist is hot on the trail of the latest string of murders, but this time, an ominous note comes along with a gruesome gift. Did she bite off more than she can chew? Enter, everyone's favorite consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes! Can John and him help Juliet Rain catch this case? Find out in, "Need a Hand?"!
PROLOGUE
-•
The night was cold, and as such a mist hung lowly over the Thames. A lone investigative journalist walked down the cobble stone streets, her heels clicking on the cobblestone. Yes, Juliet Rain was an investigative journalist in London; but a private one. She only wrote small pieces in the London Daily- not the most popular paper, but enough to give her some publicity. Recently, she had been following a case of a mysterious death. Harper Collins, an older man of 52, had died within his home not but five days ago. She had just been to the man's house; his living conditions were quite unstable, for each room reeked of alcohol and cigaret smoke. She was lucky enough to have gotten there and done some investigating of her own before the Scotland Yard showed up and promptly shoved her out. Crossing her arms over her journal, she stiffly walked down towards her small apartment, huffing about the police the entire way. Only when she got to the steps, did she notice something off. A sense of foreboding prickled at her neck, and she couldn't help but shiver, the feeling of eyes never leaving her back. Picking up the skirt of her dress, she quickly rushed inside, unlocking and locking the door faster than she herself could ever remember doing. Once inside, her sole maid, Roseanne, rushed down the steps of the main entrance to bow and greet her.
"Milady!" Roseanne cried, shock and happiness evident in her heavily accented voice. "Me and the cook were so worried! I'm glad you have returned safely."
Juliet merely rolled her eyes in a un-lady-like way and smiled, forgetting her earlier foreboding and rolling it off with a shrug. "Miss. Roseanne, I do believe you can do your young heart a favor and stop your worrying about me! I'm quite old enough to take care of myself."
The red-haired maid smiled, but shook her head, "We care about you, and thus we can't help but worry." She swiftly took Juliet's coat before continuing. "Besides, who knows what sort of trouble you could get yourself into, knowing your practice."
"Oh, please!" she laughed, gliding up the steps before stopping midway to rest her arms on the handrail. "I suppose one could assume that I would get into trouble, but it certainly is nothing I can't handle myself." To keep the conversation moving, she stood tall and continued up the stairs, Roseanne following close behind. "And out of all the criminals I've put behind bars, non have escaped or held a grudge upon me; and of that, I am sure."
Roseanne merely shook her head and laughed, seeming to be pleased with the answer. Her mistress flashed a brilliant smile, before heading into her bedroom. The small room was decorated in soft lavender and black; interesting for an 1892 home, but you could say she was, "ahead of the times". Juliet was not one for any sort of fanciness - in fact, she was rather untidy. Still, she managed to keep the downstairs clean from any sort of clutter, and shoved it into her study adjacent to her private quarters. Sitting on the bed, she sighed, quickly overlooking the notes in her journal. Mr. Collins had a slight foaming around his mouth; now, this could mean foul-play, but these days it was hard to tell, especially considering how long the body had indeed been there. The most similar case of death that she could remember, was of a young man who died last year from a very accidental injection of Claudius, a fast working poison which caused jerking limbs before death, and intense foaming of the mouth.
Quickly taking her heels off and writing her suspicions down, she stood up and walked over to the little vanity mirror that she had set up. Reaching into a hidden pocked sewed into the back of her dress, Juliet pulled out a small pistol, fully loaded. Roseanne had insisted she carry one with her when she left the house, considering how many women got mugged or worse in this day and age. Grinning to herself, she set it down on the vanity and walked out and across the small corridor to the room across. Opening the door, she walked into the room. Clutter rose about her, and many maps, articles, and biographies covered the walls. As an investigative journalist, it was important that she recorded everything she had heard, seen, or smelled. Roseanne refused to come in this room, but Juliet didn't mind. It meant that she wouldn't have to worry about anything getting out of place.
There was a sort of system that she had going on in this room. An "organized clutter" as one might call it, but as long as she knew where and what everything was, she was fine with the state of the room. Looking swiftly to her left, she nodded to a picture she had of her father. The old man died seven years ago when she had been in her late teen years, and even though he was strict, she had always respected the man for bringing her up on his own. Now, her only known relative was her grandfather living in Cambridgeshire; an older fellow, whom most thought senile, but she loved him all the same. She had good childhood memories of his big house in the countryside, and hoped to return for a visit sometime soon. Sighing, she tore her thoughts away from that of her past, and sat down at a desk, clearing some papers with almost unrecognizable handwriting. It was time she did a little studying over the last string of murders.
-•
John Watson was contemplating wether or not he should sit on his "friend", or walk away confused. Ever since the police consultant was proclaimed alive, he had seeing him in random spots all around his and Mary's house, dressed up in that stupid body suit of his. Watson never quite understood Sherlock, but now he had an odd feeling that his friend was lonely. It was just a hunch... but probably a good one. Now, in his own house with his own wife, he was supposed to escape from Sherlock's crazy antics, but this was not so. Shaking his head, he left to go see off his wife at the front door. Mary was leaving for a trip to the Americas with her parents, and he kissed her goodbye. He wasn't totally for her going, but she wanted to see the world, and he would let her.
"I'll be back in a year, John." she said, turning away from him and taking a few steps outside towards the awaiting cabby, before turning her head around and saying, "Oh, and John? Try not to get into trouble." He simply smiled and nodded, waving slightly before disappearing into the house, only to watch her get into the cabby and disappear down the street through the window. Sighing slightly, think of his current task, he silently walked back up to his study. There, still seated in his favorite chair, was Sherlock Holmes. Turning around slightly, John noticed his pug, Gladston, was lying, unmoving on the rough carpet.
"Holmes." he said exasperatedly, throwing a hand over his eyes out of pure agitation at the abuse the poor dog had seen over its years. "What did you do to Gladston? Why must you always kill my dog?"
At that, the police consultant stood up, taking off his hood and running a hand through his semi-long black hair. "That, my good Watson, is a wonderful set of questions. All you need to know, is in about a minute, he'll be fine." As he said this, the dog whined and got up, stumbling over to the door and clumsily pushing through. At this, Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and said, "I did say a minute, more or less." He turned to watch the dog leave as Watson sighed for the second time, sitting down and hanging his head in his hands.
"You really need a case." Sherlock smirked, giving Watson that look that he knew only too well, and Watson groaned. "And you're not bringing me with!"
-•
By twelve o' clock the next day, Juliet still remained in her study, and currently, she was sitting with a quill at her desk, writing down everything she could and knew about the last string of murders that had arisen. Clearly, the perpetrator knew what he was doing. The kills were clean, which unfortunately, were hard to track. What she had figured out was simple - child's play really, and that aggravated her to no end. So far, she had figured out that one murder happened each day, but the murders had no known links, except that these men were all friends, and held minor positions as bankers. Old friends from somewhere before the bank, but that was what she didn't know. They were friends, and that's it. She had already ruled out the possibility of them being related, or that the murderer was more than one person.
A knock and a voice at her study door brought her out of her musings, and she raised her head and turned around to see Roseanne peek in through a crack in the door. "Excuse me, miss, but a package came for you. I didn't recognize the boy who delivered it, he must be new."
Juliet nodded, waving the maid in. "Set it on the desk please." Roseanne bowed and did as she asked, setting the packet down, before leaving quietly. Getting back to work, the investigative journalist delved deep into the case.
It took her five hours to find some sort of lead, and she groaned, feeling a migraine invade her brain. Rubbing her temples as she walked over to the door, she went to where Roseanne had previously set down dinner, only to smell the air. Something smelled foul-beyond the tantalizing smell of roasted chicken and green bean salad. Turning to the package that was sent to her, she frowned, not quite sure why it smelled so bad. Grabbing a letter opener, she cut the wrapping around the box. When she opened it, the smell only got worse, and she held her nose with one had, as she picked up a note with the other.
Her brow narrowed at the ominously scrawled words, the letter giving her a sense of foreboding, and reminding her of that feeling of being watched that she had previously experienced. Looking around quickly, she made sure that no one else was in the room with her before reading the note once more by the soft-lit candles of the room.
"Don't go sticking your pretty little nose where it doesn't belong." It read. "Although, if you are so curious, here's a helping hand towards your investigation! ~Someone to be Feared".
Setting the note down, Juliet peeled back the soft cotton concealing the contents of the box, and the now completely identifiable stench of rotting flesh hit her nose like a barrage of gunfire. She dropped the box, quickly covering her mouth. Out of the package fell a human hand, and she knew, she might be in over her head.
-•
Hanaru: Thanks for reading! I love reviews! XD they make me smile!