Mannerisms
“ Oh no you don't” Yelled the masked marauder as he swung a blunt shining silver sword towards the head of Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock ducked and grabbed the hand of the man and kicked him in the chest. After, Sherlock quickly twisted the sword and span in around and pulled it out of the masked man's hand before throwing it to one side. He let the man go who span round and looked directly at him. The small slit in his mask showing his eyes were blazing.
“ So you've disarmed me. Its not like i'm going to stop!”
“ Obviously. Might as well paint the walls red with the way you're going.” Replied Sherlock, boringly. The masked man lunged towards Sherlock and grabbed him by the neck. Sherlock used one hand and smacked the underside of the man's elbow before using the other to come down hard on the top side. The man's elbow collapsed and his hand released Sherlock's neck. “ Simple trauma to the elbow, makes it useless when trying to lock it. In your case, keeping hold of my neck.” Said Sherlock. The masked man picked up a plant pot sitting on a table opposite him and held it above his head. “ Oh. Using an instrument, blunt instrument at that. How predictable.”
“ Shut up!” Shrieked the man and he threw the plant pot. Sherlock ducked again and it hit the mirror behind him causing it to smash into tiny peace’s.
“ That's seven years bad luck on top of your life sentence and braking and entering.”
The man tilted his head and if his face were visible, would probably have a confused look upon him. “ What-”
“ You're right i'm not one for superstitions. Drop the seven years but judging by your stance, id say you wont even get passed your life sentence anyway. Pity.” Said Sherlock while putting on a mock sympathetic face. The masked man yelled and dove to Sherlock, raising both hands to connect with his head. Sherlock blocked one but the other broke through his defence. Luckily Sherlock had planned for this to happen and closed his crossed arms on the hand and elbow coming through. The same elbow which he had previously hit. Sherlock applied pressure and the man yelled before Sherlock dropped his arm.
“ Elbow having previously inflicted trauma having a second round of pressure on key points, rendering the socket in which your bones join very close do dislocating. Completely useless now.” Said Sherlock. He walked round the man and kicked his leg, making him trip and fall. Sherlock was quickly on top of him, pinning him down. “ Now lets see who is behind the mask.” He pulled it off to reveal a relativity young man with a scarred face. The man let out a psychotic cackle and smiled at him.
“ James Moriarty. Pleasure.”
“ Oh hilarious. Jim Moriarty is long dead and I know for certain that he was the end of his line with no siblings what so ever. Besides I can see that you couldn't be more distant from being related to him. Small ring tattoo on your right shoulder, dark clothing and wearing a mask to conceal your identity. Very clever but not well executed.”
“ What are you saying?” The man asked.
“ Oh do keep up. No! You're not the brother of Moriarty for over one hundred reasons.”
“ I don't think-”
“ Ah yes you wouldn't be able to keep up how stupid of me to forget you have a simple mind. How about I shorten the list to three reasons then hmm. One, That tattoo on your right shoulder signifies the rebel movement. You must be high up in their ranks to have that sort of tattoo as well. Their gang operates mostly in the west side of London. Hence where you picked up this jacket, mask and antique sword which I happened to notice sitting in Oliver Rundle's charity shop for the homeless children. Then you have your ring on your left hand which I know is only given out to members of the Jonathan family. And who was the member of that family to recently go missing. Wayne Jonathan. Such a pleasure.” Said Sherlock. Wayne looked up at him and smiled slightly.
“ Oh no Mr. Holmes. The pleasure was all mine.”
“ Hmm, indeed.” Said Sherlock before knocking Wayne out with a single clean punch. Sherlock sat for a moment pondering on something before quickly dragging to body to the sofa and putting his head on a pillow. He then sat down and picked up his violin just as the front door opened. Sherlock immediately started playing his own melody as John Watson climbed the stairs and entered through the door.
“ Sherlock I really think you should give the violin a rest but … Sherlock there's a man on our sofa.”
“ It would seem so.”
John walked up to the sofa and turned Wayne's face slightly. “ And how did you find Wayne-”
“ He just came in for some tea and a chat before he decided to have a nap there after I bored him to death with my antics. Honestly I don't know how one can be bored of how many variations of human nails there is in the world.”
“ … Sherlock … Did, did you notice the tattoo on his shoulder.”
“ Yes could you please phone Lestrade and tell him to come here.”
“ Why and ... couldn't you do that?.”
“ That tattoo is the same one on all three of the murder victims. That man there is Wayne Jonathan. The missing member of the Jonathan family. That and I'm busy."
“ And what this has to do with the red lock murders?”
“ Its are next lead.” Said Sherlock before turning to the window. “ Now about getting Lestrade.” He said before he continued playing his violin.
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Sherlock and John walked through the gates of Wayne Jonathan's home. Sherlock had a bored look about him while John was slightly worried.
“ There isn't anyone here is -”
“ John we just handed over the owner of this house to the police.”
“ So no one's here then?”
“ Obviously.” Both John and Sherlock entered the old Victorian mansion slowly and looked around. John started towards the left while Sherlock proceeded straight for the stairs. He looked at the ground constantly. “ Dust sitting on all corners of the floor except for this small trail which is clean leading up the stairs. Suggestions, walking over would clean and keep dust from settling. Conclusion, wherever Wayne was operating in the house is up here somewhere”Thought Sherlock as he turned and headed down one of the halls of the house. Sherlock let his eyes flash to every part of the hall before finding that the dust settled in the threshold of every door except for one. Sherlock tentatively pushed the door open and found the room to be completely empty except for a small case sitting in the middle. He walked up to it and after thinking it over slightly. Opened it.
“ Pink.” He said to himself. One small plasticine bag filled with a pink powdery substance sat in it. Sherlock picked it up and opened it before putting a the contents into his hand. His mind power housed through all contenders of drugs and substances this could be but could not find any. “ A powdery substance which suggests its either meant to be dissolved in liquid or inhaled. The later looking more realistic.”
“ You talking to yourself again Sherlock!?” Shouted John from down the hall. Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued.
“ Colour is of a bright pink. Artificial colouring. Plausible. No scent coming from it. What are you?” Said Sherlock before having a small idea. He brought the small amount of powder to is noes and inhaled deeply. Taking it all in. For a moment, nothing occurred.
“ Oh well that was eventful-” Sherlock stopped as a shooting pain coursed through his whole body. “ John!” He managed to yell.
“ Sherlock! What's wrong!” He could hear John yell. Sherlock tried to keep himself awake but found his arms, legs and his waist all but silent to his commands of movement. Sherlock then felt a feeling he thought he never would feel. There was only one word for it. Death. Slowly creeping up his body. Sherlock managed only to witness John burst into the room before he closed his eyes.
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Sherlock thought that death would be cruel. In fact he was rather tempted to find out what would happen just to prove if science or religion was correct. He felt as if he were in limbo. Not floating nor laying on something. But Sherlock suddenly got the urge to do only one thing.
He opened his eyes.