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The Red Snow	By : orceena Category: S through Z > Sherlock Holmes (2009) > Sherlock Holmes (2009) Views: 2450 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the characters within. I am not making any kind of profit from this story.

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It was a cold winter’s night and John had just gotten home from his practice. He had triple wrapped himself in a warm scarf his beloved wife had made for him as a wedding present. He hated this street, though. At night, it was darker than the sky. He still kept his revolver at his side, however, just in case he would need it. He cursed himself sometimes when he would hear a sound that made him almost reach for it realizing that nothing was there. It was silly, of course, but after years of being hunted and doing the hunting with his long time companion Sherlock Holmes, it had become a habit to protect him self even if it was from a black alley cat that knocked over the garbage cans at night.
This particular night began as any other would. John locked the door to his practice behind him and stepped out onto the snow covered sidewalk. He started walking down to the corner to hail a cab like he always does. It started snowing heavily blocking his view beyond a couple feet ahead of him. He was by himself for the most part trudging along as much as his crippled leg could muster. However, his leg wasn’t bothering him much tonight, he noticed. The snow had his shoulders nearly white as he got closer to the corner. John raised his gloved hand to dust off the intrusive snowflakes. He was so wrapped up in batting at the things he didn’t notice the sound of running footsteps as they came around the corner. With a sudden thud, the two forces crashed into one another bringing John down on his side as his feet failed to support him. The other being caught itself before it toppled on top of the man.
“You big oaf!” John squawked as he attempted to sit up. “Watch where you’re going.”
“My apologies, sir,” the man mumbled. “I didn’t see you there.”
John couldn’t see the man’s face. He opened his mouth to retort, but he caught a snowflake instead. Swallowing it, John looked up again to catch the man’s face, but he was no where in sight. John managed a sitting position and out of habit decided to check himself for broken bones or skin. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, John dusted his coat sleeve and attempted to stand. He noticed something on the snow next him. Something dark.
“Are you alright, sir?” a voice barked next to him. John looked up. “I saw the ‘hole thing. ‘e was in quite a ‘urry ‘e was. Knocked you right on your arse, didn’t ‘e. You’d think someone was after ‘im.” He started laughing. John accepted the waiting arm of the gentleman vagabond and rose to his feet. Whatever was in the snow was now on this man’s shoe.
“I’m quite alright, thank you. Did you see his face?” John asked him. Getting a better look at his savior, John could see some teeth missing as well as catch the heavy stench of rust and sweat. His face was messy, his breath foul. John scolded himself inwardly for letting this man’s face bother him. He was a doctor after all. He’s seen worse. The vagabond hesitated pressing his lips together looking up and down as he thought about John’s question. As he did, John hailed a cab waiting for the man to answer him. Or not. Either way, he was going home.
“Can’t says I did, sir. But ‘e did ‘ave some fast feet I can tell you that much, hahahaha!” The vagabond slapped his knee at his own joke. John merely smirked barely responding as the cab pulled up. “Sorry I can’t ‘elp yous more, sir. But don’ you worry none. I’m sure this snow will be the death of ‘im if ‘e keeps up that runnin’.” He started laughing again as John climbed into the cab and gave the driver directions. “’e gonna fall on ‘is own arse! Won’ ‘e sir!” The cab was pulling away as John listened to the man’s relentless laughter. It soon began to fade and John was left to listen to the quiet wind and clopping of the horse hooves echoing off the buildings. He began to rub his leg remembering the events. It left a bad taste in his mouth.
The ride home seemed to take longer than usual. He didn’t live far from where he worked. If he wanted to, it would probably take him fifteen minutes to walk there. Surely a trot of the horse could’ve gotten him home quicker than that. Maybe it was the snow. Maybe it was just the long day he had at work. Or maybe something divine was interfering. John dismissed such an idea as he pulled up to his home. He tipped the driver and thanked him as he stepped out. The driver waved a simple dismissal and started away. John was glad to be home. He was dreadfully cold. When he finally entered his home, he shook himself of the snow and was immediately greeted by Gladstone. The pudgy thing slopped his lips and huffed as his backside waddled from side to side. John smiled at his friend and gladly scratched him behind the ears. He was a bit surprised that his wife hadn’t greeted him yet. She always did.
“Mary?” John called as he pulled off his garments till he was just in his scarf, vest, and trousers. He didn’t get an answer. “Mary. I’m in the foyer, darling. Where are you?” John was pulling his at his scarf and noticed something odd. A dark stain that hadn’t been there that morning had set in the fabric. Upon closer inspection, John immediately knew what it was.
Blood.
He was puzzled. He had inspected himself and found no injuries after his fall and he hadn’t worn it while working. So, the only explanation left was…the man. The man that bumped into him was injured. Maybe that was the dark stain in the snow as well? John wasn’t sure, but it was probable.
“Mary! Are you home darling?” There was still no answer. His stomach sank and he started to shake with worry. Where was his wife? “Mary?” John tried not to think of the worst. They had been married for nearly two years, so he was used to Mary’s habits by now. But this was different. There was a chill in the air, so to speak. He felt dread. This was not normal. Mary always left a note before her departures. John had no reason to worry except for tonight. He searched the house for a note of any kind. He found none. He tried to remember from earlier in the week if Mary had mentioned any obligations she needed to attend tonight or if there was a last minute notice on his part and he had just forgotten. No such memory came to mind.
After searching the first level of their home, John hurried up the stairway towards their room all the while calling for Mary. There was still no answer. Something was very wrong. Without delay, John burst into their bedroom and was met with nothing. She was not there. He wiped his face and exhaled fiercely now expecting the worst. With nothing amiss, he went into his study next and found a site. He stopped in his tracks as he came upon a trashed room. Papers from his desk were strewn on the floor. His chair was knocked over and his lamp was destroyed. His balcony doors were open letting in the chilled air from outside. John covered his mouth in disbelief. After seeing such a site, he been wondering what else he missed. This had to be a break in. It just had to be. Someone broke into his house, trashed his study, stole something, hurt Mary, and then spirited away. He suddenly felt a heavy anger begin to build as he walked around his space trying to find anything missing. The only thing he couldn’t place was his desk letter opener. That was peculiar. John shifted his eyes around the room trying to find any evidence of its use. Small blood stains appeared on the floor. Was it related? John felt sick. Whoever did this must’ve hurt Mary. John knew now that Mary would not answer so he remained silent but he couldn’t help the tears that seeped from his eyes.
“Oh god, please no,” he murmured to himself distraught. If Sherlock were here, he would’ve been able to tell John who the murderer was already. Poor John was at a loss. All he could think about was Mary. A rush of wind from the open doors crept up on him as he wept. Mary? Without another thought, John rushed outside onto the balcony and nearly crashed over the railing.
He froze as he looked down. Even if this was set up by the Devil himself, there was nothing that could’ve prepared him for the sight. There was his wife, his Mary, impaled on the spikes of the fence that surrounded their home. Her blood had stopped flowing, but the snow felt obligated to show it off. John sank to his knees and wept uncontrollably as he gripped the rail till his knuckles turned white.
“MARY!!!”
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The Red Snow