Random Rumble

Prologue
It was a cloudy day. Not the kind of gloomy, humid and manically depressed cloudy day, but a cheerful cloudy day, or at least as cheerful a cloudy day could be. The clouds hung heavy and low in the sky, dark and beautiful, anticiping their reincarnation as a midsummer thunderstorm. If they had emotions and imagination, they'd imagine the colourful habitants to be cheering for their descent, to ease them of angry summer heat.

But they would be wrong.

The only one hoping for the thuderstorm was a certain professor, who was that day also part-time mad scientist. He was standing on the balcony of a certain hidden laboratory, one leg crossed in front of another, his lab coat unbuttoned and safety monocle gleaming under the soft afternoon sunlight. Yes, safety monocle, not glasses. Glasses were not chic enough. The other eye could be protected under a half-face mask for extra mysteriousness.

Professor Moriarty checked his pocketwatch. It was almost time. A evil chuckle escaped his throat at the thought, followed by a dignified, smug and upper-classy half-grin.

He stepped back into the room, took a deep breath...
...and prepared to welcome the finest night of his life.



Chapter One, or Holmes Received a Not-So-Mysterious Letter from an Old Enemy and Walked Straight into Danger Once More Especially after Watson and his Masculine Intuition Warned Him of the Risk

"Holmes, please," begged Watson, "I do not believe this lettre to be good omen. Just for once, can you leave this to the police? Or simply ignore it?"
Holmes lifted an eyebrow.
"I've got a bad feeling about it," added Watson.
Holmes chuckled. It was warm and, to Watson's ears, like the cries of illicit offspring between a siren and a hyena.
"Don't worry about it," said Holmes, "I'll be back around seven for supper. Do me a favour and don't steal my dessert."
"But I've never s-"
As the door closed, Watson understood that Holmes probably was hinting that he wanted double dessert tonight.

[second update]

Around five, Holmes was standing in the local cemetery. There was an enormous trunk by its side. His archnemesis was waiting.

"Good evening, Holmes." said Moriarty.

Holmes raised his head to stare at the strong sunlight piercing through the clouds. Evening indeed.

"Are you ready to become the finest part of my life?"
"Um..."

The professor drew a revolver.

"Goodness, you are not going to murder me in broad daylight are you?"
"Murder? Oh, no, I'm going to do science."

The gunshot was masked by the sudden roar of thunder. The rain poured down like a heavy curtain on the body of the most famous detective on earth.

But, that night, Holmes still came home at exactly seven for his double dessert.