Solved: A Jack the Ripper and Sherlock Holmes Story By: Emmalyne Errickson
What is this book about?
In the year 1888, London, England Jack the Ripper finds himself in the house of the most infamous high-functioning sociopath Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Where Dr. John H. Watson is mourning the death of his wife Mary Watson and where many terrifying events will unravel for our favorite Consultant Detective and the killer on the run.
Two sides of the story, which one is full of deception and which one is full of honesty?
This book is the writers' property and contains many things that are both fictional and non-fictional places. In the year 1888, London, England.
Chapter One: Sherlock Holmes
A hello to my fellow reader, my name is Sherlock Holmes and I'm a Consultant Detective who is investigating a notorious case of the wretched Jack the Ripper.
You all are probably yelling, "SHERLOCK HOLMES IS FINALLY GOING TOTALLY WONKERS NOW!!"
Sorry my friends, but I'm not going to depart just yet.
Do you all remember my 'colleague' Dr. John H. Watson? Of course you would, he wrote almost all our victorious investigations and our... Not so victorious investigations. Well, Watson's wife Mary Watson died yesterday, in the early morning of April 1888.
Mary Watson was found on Whitechapel Street by an elderly couple who by chance strolled by while a young man was mutilating Mary rather swiftly.
Lestrade came to us right away, while we were talking to our greatest enemy from long ago... Well, no sorry my greatest enemy. My brother Mycroft Holmes.
He just happened to be in my area, so he decided to "pay me an unanticipated visit."
As Lestrade came bounding up the stairs, two at a time.
I knew somebody was going to expect bad news, I looked out the window and saw the Londian sky tinted a color of dull gray; meaning rain was moving in and rather quickly too.
The door to our apartment building slammed wide open; which made Watson and my brother jump up in fright.
I gave Lestrade a lazy stare and I said, "My god Lestrade, can you be in any other rush!?"
Lestrade looked at me, winded from shortness of breath. His gaze soon slid to Watson and tried to say, "Mr. - Mr. Watson your w- ... wife is d- dead."
Watson's face turned rather pale, his soft gray eyes were filled with devastation and worry. "What happed to her?" He asked; his fingernails dug into his armchair.
Mycroft gave out a noisy sigh and said, "Well I must be off dear brother. I have other essential matters to attend." He gets up off my sofa and puts on his trench coat and leather gloves.
I give him a brisk nod and said, "Very well Mycroft. MRS.HUDSON!"
Mrs. Hudson pokes her head into the room and said, "Yes?"
"Can you be kind enough to show Mycroft out?" I asked, my gaze slowly casted over to Lestrade and Watson who were whispering rather softly to one another about the cause of Mary's death.
"Yes, yes! Right this way Mr. Holmes." Mrs. Hudson said, hobbling down the stairs.
"And Sherlock, please send mother and father a message of some kind." Mycroft replied, grabbing his cane.
"Why?" I asked, raising a cynical eyebrow at my dear brother.
"They're worried that you're spiraling into a psychopath and miss you greatly." Mycroft said, and began to walk down the stairs.
