Sherlock Holmes: When the Clock Strikes 6
Wrote this at 2:00 AM after watching Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows.
So what ever you do, don't take this seriously, this is legit just something I am thinking of doing, and probably shouldn't even post. But it you like it so far just tell me. But this is probably the worst story set up I've ever written. If this really just sucks a lot just tell me, please spare negative thumbs, unless you explain it, honestly I don't know whether I'm going to actually write this or not. So yea, enjoy!
You've been warned...
“Why yes, I would like a spot of tea with that.” Sherlock Holmes says to his captor in humor. Shaded by blackness, an unpredicted punch connects from the figure onto Sherlocks face.
“I take it that’s a no then?”
The figure raises his hand in dismissal.
“NO!? YOU DENY A MAN HIS TEA!? Fine then, your tea’s no good anyway.”
The figure moves around Sherlcock, who looks at him with comical disgust.
“You are under my control, I have you strapped down,” the figure gestures to the table in which Sherlock is strapped to, his deep voice echo’s throughout the dark room, “All we want to know is everything you have to offer us. Being your information and knowledge on these 6 individuals, in return, we can begin to discuss your freedom, and payment.”
“Payment? I thought I was a captor, oh well, I suppose I could accept payment.” Sherlock says sarcastically. The figure raises 2 photos, sepia, naturally. In one contains the clear image of a purple coated individual, wearing a black dress, and a black headdress covering her hair, but not her horn.
“Ah, well that is I believe Twilight Sparkle, the professor at Cambridge, serving dually as a librarian on her own time. Her studies abroad in the Americas have proven little in the grand scheme of things, and her work here in London supplies little more. She’s acclaimed for her work on telekinesis, and mental influence.” He looks at the other photo, a pink coated character, with a straight dark pink mane, and a sadistic smile on her face as she licks her fingers of what is assumed to be blood. “As for her, I believe I’m staring at an image of notorious serial killer, and cannibal Pinkemena Diane Pie. Her jail time for the murder and consumption of countless individuals left her to the death penalty, which I believe, should my math be correct, was this morning by hanging.”
“Good, that is all information we know, as it is expected that you wouldn’t have more knowledge than ourselves, which is proven limited. So we now get to the next part of this, we are asking you, to investigate these two, keep an eye out for them.” The figure says.
“But what correlation do they share? Common motive, ritualistic belief, political pursuit?” Sherlock says.
“This is what they share in common.” The figure pulls forward a small contraption, no larger than a wrist watch. Its shape is basic, just a box, however, a multitude of tiny cogs and gear click and spin around it. “This is something that we’ve noticed popping up rather frequently at crime scenes regarding horrific deaths, and what seem to be key motions in some greater scheme, they were also found at some of Diane’s murders, and in the studies of Professor Sparkle. The box inside merely contains a clock, but only with eleven digits, not twelve.”
“Eleven. Which one’s missing?”
“The six, we believe it’s because of the relation between the 6 Elements of Harmony and their collapse. We’ve been trying to figure out which one of the six is the missing digit, so far however, we’ve only found these boxes on the windowsill of Ms. Sparkles office, and Diane’s slaughterhouse, as well as her hanging, which she escaped from.”
“What!? She escaped!”
“Yes, a curtain was thrown over the gallows at the exact moment of her hanging, no one knows how it got there, the ones who placed it were extraordinarily well camouflaged. When the curtains were removed, the executioner was hanging by the noose, with one of the cubes in his mouth. We’re assuming that the placer of these cubes has some greater plan, and this is their calling card. Pinkemena wouldn’t try to escape in such a non-gory way, we believe she’s working alongside with someone. Perhaps it’s Ms. Sparkle, or maybe she’s just bait.”
The box opens, and a little bell is heard from its interior. The clock has struck 6:30, or at least where 6:30 would be.
“What’s this?”
“Sir! All the printing presses of London are in flames!” A voice yells down from above.
“What! Impossible!” The figure yells.
“Now, why the printing presses, oh yes, because then no one can distribute news to the masses, leaving many in the dark. This is interesting, most interesting actually. Now then, what could be such a big crime, that it needed to stall public knowledge to be pulled off?” Sherlock says to himself.
“What?! You mean to say that wasn’t the crime!?” The figure yells.
“Well of course not, unless every single printing press has one common enemy. This is a silence on public knowledge, a gag on publicity, meant to add a veil of unknown as other events unfold, one could assume.” Sherlock says.
“Here, follow me Mr. Holmes.” The figure says, untying Sherlock from the table, who gets up with surprising jubilance. The figure walks over to the edge of the room, and pushes a brick inwards. The wall slides down slowly into the floor by two ropes. A balcony is revealed, surveying London form a high viewpoint. Smoke and ash rise up from many spots on the English skyline.
“Anarchy and death are upon us then, should what you say be true. Every press in London, silenced, only a massive force could pull off such a feat. Mr. Holmes, this truly is terrifying, our organization is not one that is smiled upon, we are deceptors, liars, and secrets, but we serve the greater good and have never faced such a challenge. You are reveled as one of the best in crime investigation, having solved many cases single handedly, but this is something neither of us could be prepared for I fear.”
“So you’re asking me to help you? Well I must say, I must sleep on-”
“It is not a request, you are still our prisoner, and you will obey our command, should you wish to be free. We are not clean handed, but we serve to cleanse, and that is why you must take this case, willing or not. You will find Pinkemena and get as much knowledge as you can from her, and do the same for Ms. Sparkle. We are stumbling in the dark, and those are the most direct instructions we can give you. You have no choice but to trust us, and obey our commands, the instructions are vague, but we will help to guide you, you are not the only detective to be on this case.”
“You mean you’ve kidnapped others?” Sherlock questions with a chuckle.
“Yes, you may find them along the way, they will be of assistance, but remember, you each are working to solve this case, seeing how you each are in competition for your freedom.”
“Competition, well this just gets to be more and more fun! Now, before I get started, just what are you people, your organization.”
“We are Anonymous.”
“Well then, that isn’t much use at all! Fair enough, Anonymous, I would like to ask you however, when was that box found? And what was the time on it?”
“It was found yesterday, at 6:25, it started ticking at 6:30.”
“Well then, that indicates that each attack, be it murder, or fire, or bombing, will happen at 6:30 each day for what I could guess is five more days.”
“Why five more days.”
“Easy, the clocks are missing the six, six elements of Harmony, each collapsed and left to rot under their own weight, and now, we can expect to see some correlation. The only thing that bothers me is just how distant these Elements are, Pinkemena being a murderer, Twilight a Professor, Dash a sadistic child mutilator, who I believe is in a mental installment, Applejack still at the orchards, Rarity a fashion designer, and Fluttershy an Animal caretaker. They legitimately have no connection except for Dash and Pinkie.”
“True, and there are no reports against any of the non-criminal ones with the exception of Ms. Sparkle.”
“So when do I start.”
“Right now.” Says the figure. Two other men covered in shadow grab Sherlock, tie a rope to his belt, and push him off the edge of the balcony.
“EASY DOES IT!” Sherlock falls for twenty feet, until the rope stops him, the wind is completely knocked out of him, the rope is lowered to the ground.
“Well- that certainly wasn’t fun. Okay, time to get to work. Now, where’s Watson at these days.”
