The Singular Affair of the Announced Crime
Hello everyone! Here is the first chapter of my full-length story The Singular Affair of the Announced Crime!
Enjoy, and leave a comment.
The story is posted up to chapter 8 over at my journal, links are below this chapter!
Title: The Singular Affair of the Announced Crime
Author: Jaelijn
Rating: PG-17
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dr Watson, Inspector Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft Holmes, OCs
Summary: Singular warnings arrive at Baker Street in the most inopportune moment. A horrendous crime is to be committed...
Warnings: mention of drug use, torture, violence (nothing too graphic)
Author's Note: All canon characters were created by ACD, all original characters belong to me and may not be used without my permission.
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The Singular Affair of the Announced Crime
Chapter 1
It was one of those unpleasant evenings in Baker Street when everybody seemed to have the good sense of staying at home, save the occasional cab. Fog was boiling between the houses and in the street, making it almost impossible to see further than the windowsill. The cold was seeping through the walls, plummeting the temperature inside despite of the fire, and leaving a decidedly wet feeling to everything.
I was huddled up in an armchair by the fire, my old wounds throbbing persistently. I had spent my day reading, but in my heart I wished I had been able to accompany my dear friend Mr Sherlock Holmes.
He had gone out in the morning with the energetic air of having an interesting case at hand, although he had not permitted me to share his thoughts. I did not recall any interesting letters even though I had been confined to our flat for several days standing, but to my surprise Holmes seemed to have altered his unhealthy habits - he had had a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast nevertheless, yet he had been taciturn and evasive, even more so than usual. He had studied the newspapers with great care when I had come down, greeting me with a look and nod. Soon after he had put down the papers, he jumped from his chair and collected his coat and hat. “I'm going out, Watson. It will be late.”
“Shall I accompany you?”
“No, doctor. The weather is quite unpleasant. I will do nothing spectacular without you at my side.” He smiled a little, and then he was off.
I had told Mrs Hudson to wait with lunch until he returned, eager to learn what mystery he was investigating, even though he had indicated he would be late, which was, after all, no unusual occurrence.
Darkness was falling quickly in those days, and I rose to turn up the gas and have a look out of the window before closing the blinds for the night. The fog had dissipated considerably, lingering only very close to the ground, and I saw a cab turning into Baker Street and rattling along towards our lodgings, slowed by the weather conditions. To my surprise, it stopped at our front door, and Holmes climbed out, tossing a coin up to the driver, who whipped his horses and was off. It wasn't even eight, and certainly far from late - to Sherlock Holmes, late was at least two in the morning.
But sure enough I heard his voice downstairs, and his familiar steps on the stairs, as secure and rapid as ever, until he opened the door without bothering to knock. “Ah. I thought I had seen you by the window.” He seemed to be in a good enough mood, although the gleam of interest in his eyes and the energy in every fibre of his body had disappeared. To me, who knew his very mood and habit, he did look tired. He undressed in his room and returned in his dressing gown, carrying his violin. With the flicker of a smile in my direction, he seated himself on the sofa, and, shrugging off his slippers, lay down upon it.
“I assume you had a pleasant day?” I sat down in my own chair, keeping an eye on him. To see him without his pipe was curious to say the least.
“Quite.” He watched me with his ever-keen eyes, even as he moved to place the violin under his chin.
“You're early.”
“Am I?” He glanced carelessly at his pocket-watch and shrugged. “Mrs Hudson will be bringing up dinner in half an hours. Is that agreeable, Watson?”
“Yes, certainly.”
He closed his eyes and placed his bow on the violin.
“Holmes?”
“Hm?”
"You have been away all day, and I assume from your haste this morning, that you are working on an interesting case - however, you breakfasted heartily this morning, so, yes, a case, but no intriguing one, which would also explain why you refrained from telling my about it. How close am I?”
He started playing without so much as a second glance in my direction, quite effectively if not very subtle putting an end to our conversation. I was surprised, to say the least. Usually, my attempts at deduction where a constant source of amusement for Holmes, and he took great delight in enlightening me on my mistakes. But now he was completely engaged in his music, a slow haunting melody, rather depressing, no doubt one of his own. I was well aware that his choice of music usually reflected his mood, but I was quite taken aback by the sorrow of the piece. I knew by experience that it was no use to press him on the matter if he didn't wish to tell me, thus I was content to listen and wait.
At dinner, our conversation was commonplace - surprisingly so, since Holmes loathed the commonplace with all his heart. After dinner, he finally lit a pipe, and sat staring into the crackling fire for a long time.
“Holmes?”
He looked at me with amusement. “Watson, you really do have the remarkable gift of silence.”
“How close was I?”
His gaze travelled back to the fire. “There is no case.”
“No case? But where then have you been?”
Holmes shrugged again and I knew he would not tell me. “It's of no importance.”
“But I'm interested.”
“So deduce it.”
“I've tried.”
“My dear Watson.” He stretched his feet out towards the fire. “You really can do better than that.”
“Surely not a woman, Holmes?!”
He chuckled. “No woman, Watson.” Rising, he put down his pipe. “I'm going to bed now.”
I'm afraid I quite gaped at him open-mouthed, but was ignored, and too soon I heard the key turn inside his bedroom. It wasn't common for him to lock himself in at night, as long as the door to the hallway was secured, but it was also unusual for him to be so mysterious. True, he did not share his thoughts on a case until he was absolutely sure, and he enjoyed dramatics, but never had he been so reluctant on every-day life. He hadn't even tried to hide his use of cocaine from me when we were barely known each other.
Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8
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Enjoy, and leave a comment.
The story is posted up to chapter 8 over at my journal, links are below this chapter!
Title: The Singular Affair of the Announced Crime
Author: Jaelijn
Rating: PG-17
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dr Watson, Inspector Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft Holmes, OCs
Summary: Singular warnings arrive at Baker Street in the most inopportune moment. A horrendous crime is to be committed...
Warnings: mention of drug use, torture, violence (nothing too graphic)
Author's Note: All canon characters were created by ACD, all original characters belong to me and may not be used without my permission.
----------
The Singular Affair of the Announced Crime
Chapter 1
It was one of those unpleasant evenings in Baker Street when everybody seemed to have the good sense of staying at home, save the occasional cab. Fog was boiling between the houses and in the street, making it almost impossible to see further than the windowsill. The cold was seeping through the walls, plummeting the temperature inside despite of the fire, and leaving a decidedly wet feeling to everything.
I was huddled up in an armchair by the fire, my old wounds throbbing persistently. I had spent my day reading, but in my heart I wished I had been able to accompany my dear friend Mr Sherlock Holmes.
He had gone out in the morning with the energetic air of having an interesting case at hand, although he had not permitted me to share his thoughts. I did not recall any interesting letters even though I had been confined to our flat for several days standing, but to my surprise Holmes seemed to have altered his unhealthy habits - he had had a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast nevertheless, yet he had been taciturn and evasive, even more so than usual. He had studied the newspapers with great care when I had come down, greeting me with a look and nod. Soon after he had put down the papers, he jumped from his chair and collected his coat and hat. “I'm going out, Watson. It will be late.”
“Shall I accompany you?”
“No, doctor. The weather is quite unpleasant. I will do nothing spectacular without you at my side.” He smiled a little, and then he was off.
I had told Mrs Hudson to wait with lunch until he returned, eager to learn what mystery he was investigating, even though he had indicated he would be late, which was, after all, no unusual occurrence.
Darkness was falling quickly in those days, and I rose to turn up the gas and have a look out of the window before closing the blinds for the night. The fog had dissipated considerably, lingering only very close to the ground, and I saw a cab turning into Baker Street and rattling along towards our lodgings, slowed by the weather conditions. To my surprise, it stopped at our front door, and Holmes climbed out, tossing a coin up to the driver, who whipped his horses and was off. It wasn't even eight, and certainly far from late - to Sherlock Holmes, late was at least two in the morning.
But sure enough I heard his voice downstairs, and his familiar steps on the stairs, as secure and rapid as ever, until he opened the door without bothering to knock. “Ah. I thought I had seen you by the window.” He seemed to be in a good enough mood, although the gleam of interest in his eyes and the energy in every fibre of his body had disappeared. To me, who knew his very mood and habit, he did look tired. He undressed in his room and returned in his dressing gown, carrying his violin. With the flicker of a smile in my direction, he seated himself on the sofa, and, shrugging off his slippers, lay down upon it.
“I assume you had a pleasant day?” I sat down in my own chair, keeping an eye on him. To see him without his pipe was curious to say the least.
“Quite.” He watched me with his ever-keen eyes, even as he moved to place the violin under his chin.
“You're early.”
“Am I?” He glanced carelessly at his pocket-watch and shrugged. “Mrs Hudson will be bringing up dinner in half an hours. Is that agreeable, Watson?”
“Yes, certainly.”
He closed his eyes and placed his bow on the violin.
“Holmes?”
“Hm?”
"You have been away all day, and I assume from your haste this morning, that you are working on an interesting case - however, you breakfasted heartily this morning, so, yes, a case, but no intriguing one, which would also explain why you refrained from telling my about it. How close am I?”
He started playing without so much as a second glance in my direction, quite effectively if not very subtle putting an end to our conversation. I was surprised, to say the least. Usually, my attempts at deduction where a constant source of amusement for Holmes, and he took great delight in enlightening me on my mistakes. But now he was completely engaged in his music, a slow haunting melody, rather depressing, no doubt one of his own. I was well aware that his choice of music usually reflected his mood, but I was quite taken aback by the sorrow of the piece. I knew by experience that it was no use to press him on the matter if he didn't wish to tell me, thus I was content to listen and wait.
At dinner, our conversation was commonplace - surprisingly so, since Holmes loathed the commonplace with all his heart. After dinner, he finally lit a pipe, and sat staring into the crackling fire for a long time.
“Holmes?”
He looked at me with amusement. “Watson, you really do have the remarkable gift of silence.”
“How close was I?”
His gaze travelled back to the fire. “There is no case.”
“No case? But where then have you been?”
Holmes shrugged again and I knew he would not tell me. “It's of no importance.”
“But I'm interested.”
“So deduce it.”
“I've tried.”
“My dear Watson.” He stretched his feet out towards the fire. “You really can do better than that.”
“Surely not a woman, Holmes?!”
He chuckled. “No woman, Watson.” Rising, he put down his pipe. “I'm going to bed now.”
I'm afraid I quite gaped at him open-mouthed, but was ignored, and too soon I heard the key turn inside his bedroom. It wasn't common for him to lock himself in at night, as long as the door to the hallway was secured, but it was also unusual for him to be so mysterious. True, he did not share his thoughts on a case until he was absolutely sure, and he enjoyed dramatics, but never had he been so reluctant on every-day life. He hadn't even tried to hide his use of cocaine from me when we were barely known each other.
Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8
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