Post by Ghost on Jan 26, 2006 22:06:04 GMT -5
I wrote this for a contest, otherwise it would be a bit better. I had to take out a lot of the good stuff and the detailed descriptions. I hate word limits...
It was a damp, dreary night in London and the fog seemed impenetrable. Someone materialized out of the mist, running at breakneck pace. The sound of footsteps echoed through the streets. Suddenly, a shot rang out.
Inside the apartment of 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson were sitting in companionable silence. At the sound of the shot, Holmes snapped to attention.
“Did you hear that, Holmes?” Watson exclaimed.
“Indeed, but what could it entail?” Holmes’s interest had been piqued.
As he rose, the door burst open and someone stumbled in. The two occupants studied the intruder. It was a young girl, about sixteen years old with closely cropped brown hair and baggy men’s clothes. Her steely gray eyes were haunting and strangely intense. She had a dark complexion but was deathly pale. Gasping for breath and clutching her side, she started when she saw them.
“I… I’m sorry… I didn’t know anyone was here…” she backed towards the door.
“Wait!” Holmes stepped forward.
“Stay back!” She held up her hand to stop him. It was covered in blood, as was her lower left side.
“You’re injured! Let us help,” Watson also began moving towards the strange girl.
“No… I’m fine. I have to go,” she swayed slightly.
“Watson! Steady her!” They both jumped forward as she collapsed, unconscious.
When she woke up, Holmes and Watson were leaning over her. They laid her gently on the couch and Watson bandaged her side. Luckily, it was just a flesh wound.
“I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend Dr. Watson,” he paused suggestively.
“Coyote,” she said hesitantly.
“Alright, Coyote, tell us why you were shot.”
Shifting nervously, she explained;
“I saw a murder and the murderer saw me. I took off. He followed, shot me, and I came in here.”
“Where was this murder committed?”
“I don’t know the address, but I can show you.”
“You’re up to it? Then so be it. Watson, get your coat. The game is afoot.”
She led them through the winding alleyways of London to an abandoned house. Watson stopped Holmes at the edge of the path and whispered softly, “Are you sure we should trust her?”
Coyote glanced back at Watson sharply, almost as though she’d heard him.
Holmes nodded firmly and started towards the house. It was completely empty. No body, no blood, not even signs of a struggle. He took out his magnifying glass and began examining everything minutely. Coyote looked around, confused. “It was here. I’m sure. You have to believe me.”
Watson looked skeptical, but Holmes turned to her with his sharp eyes alight. “I do believe you. This house has indeed been the scene of a crime. Come, we must contact the police immediately.” Turning to leave, Holmes stopped. Watson was lying senseless on the floor.
Coyote heard a slight noise.
“Look out!” She shoved Holmes backwards. A bullet split the door frame where he had been standing.
“You’ll do no such thing,” hissed a malicious voice. A man came from the shadows, wielding an evil-looking revolver. “I’m surprised you came back, little one. Very brave, but you shouldn’t have brought your friends,” He aimed the gun at Holmes with a maniacal grin, “Say goodbye.”
“No!” Coyote howled and dove for the man, biting his arm. Dropping the revolver, he backhanded her. She crumpled to the floor, pain shooting through her side. He snatched her up, slammed her against the wall, and began choking her. Holmes grabbed the fallen gun and swung it forcefully, catching the man’s head and knocking him out.
“I’m an imbecile. There were fresh footprints in the dust on the floor and a candle had recently been extinguished, yet I assumed he was gone.” He looked at her questioningly, “You heard him. How?”
“My hearing is somewhat sensitive.”
“A howling loner with extremely acute hearing… also a cunning thief. The police aptly named you, Coyote. Oh, and I know that Watson wasn’t all that trusting, but you really should give his watch back.” He smiled enigmatically, “Now, I’m sure our mutual friend Lestrade will be pleased to find that his ‘Four-pence Murderer’ has been apprehended.”
Coyote paled, “You won’t…?”
He shook his head, “They will never know how this came about.”
Watson woke up, somewhat dazed. Looking down, he exclaimed, “My watch! I thought I’d lost it.” Coyote and Holmes looked at each other and smiled. After binding the prisoner, they left and anonymously wired Scotland Yard the information.
It was a damp, dreary night in London and the fog seemed impenetrable. Someone materialized out of the mist, running at breakneck pace. The sound of footsteps echoed through the streets. Suddenly, a shot rang out.
Inside the apartment of 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson were sitting in companionable silence. At the sound of the shot, Holmes snapped to attention.
“Did you hear that, Holmes?” Watson exclaimed.
“Indeed, but what could it entail?” Holmes’s interest had been piqued.
As he rose, the door burst open and someone stumbled in. The two occupants studied the intruder. It was a young girl, about sixteen years old with closely cropped brown hair and baggy men’s clothes. Her steely gray eyes were haunting and strangely intense. She had a dark complexion but was deathly pale. Gasping for breath and clutching her side, she started when she saw them.
“I… I’m sorry… I didn’t know anyone was here…” she backed towards the door.
“Wait!” Holmes stepped forward.
“Stay back!” She held up her hand to stop him. It was covered in blood, as was her lower left side.
“You’re injured! Let us help,” Watson also began moving towards the strange girl.
“No… I’m fine. I have to go,” she swayed slightly.
“Watson! Steady her!” They both jumped forward as she collapsed, unconscious.
When she woke up, Holmes and Watson were leaning over her. They laid her gently on the couch and Watson bandaged her side. Luckily, it was just a flesh wound.
“I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend Dr. Watson,” he paused suggestively.
“Coyote,” she said hesitantly.
“Alright, Coyote, tell us why you were shot.”
Shifting nervously, she explained;
“I saw a murder and the murderer saw me. I took off. He followed, shot me, and I came in here.”
“Where was this murder committed?”
“I don’t know the address, but I can show you.”
“You’re up to it? Then so be it. Watson, get your coat. The game is afoot.”
She led them through the winding alleyways of London to an abandoned house. Watson stopped Holmes at the edge of the path and whispered softly, “Are you sure we should trust her?”
Coyote glanced back at Watson sharply, almost as though she’d heard him.
Holmes nodded firmly and started towards the house. It was completely empty. No body, no blood, not even signs of a struggle. He took out his magnifying glass and began examining everything minutely. Coyote looked around, confused. “It was here. I’m sure. You have to believe me.”
Watson looked skeptical, but Holmes turned to her with his sharp eyes alight. “I do believe you. This house has indeed been the scene of a crime. Come, we must contact the police immediately.” Turning to leave, Holmes stopped. Watson was lying senseless on the floor.
Coyote heard a slight noise.
“Look out!” She shoved Holmes backwards. A bullet split the door frame where he had been standing.
“You’ll do no such thing,” hissed a malicious voice. A man came from the shadows, wielding an evil-looking revolver. “I’m surprised you came back, little one. Very brave, but you shouldn’t have brought your friends,” He aimed the gun at Holmes with a maniacal grin, “Say goodbye.”
“No!” Coyote howled and dove for the man, biting his arm. Dropping the revolver, he backhanded her. She crumpled to the floor, pain shooting through her side. He snatched her up, slammed her against the wall, and began choking her. Holmes grabbed the fallen gun and swung it forcefully, catching the man’s head and knocking him out.
“I’m an imbecile. There were fresh footprints in the dust on the floor and a candle had recently been extinguished, yet I assumed he was gone.” He looked at her questioningly, “You heard him. How?”
“My hearing is somewhat sensitive.”
“A howling loner with extremely acute hearing… also a cunning thief. The police aptly named you, Coyote. Oh, and I know that Watson wasn’t all that trusting, but you really should give his watch back.” He smiled enigmatically, “Now, I’m sure our mutual friend Lestrade will be pleased to find that his ‘Four-pence Murderer’ has been apprehended.”
Coyote paled, “You won’t…?”
He shook his head, “They will never know how this came about.”
Watson woke up, somewhat dazed. Looking down, he exclaimed, “My watch! I thought I’d lost it.” Coyote and Holmes looked at each other and smiled. After binding the prisoner, they left and anonymously wired Scotland Yard the information.