The East Wind.
A force of unimaginable power. It is said to be a terrifying force, laying waste to all in its path. It cared not for walls of stone or clay, if you were the target then you were as good as gone.
It sought out the unworthy. Some believed it was those with freedom in their hearts or envy. Those who gifted harm towards their fellow men. Very few had been spared from its unrelenting force, even fewer kept safe on the cusps of it. Anyone deemed unworthy was plucked from the face of Earth.
You would think that people would feel it coming. The soft tingle in the air, just enough to make your hair stand on end. You would think they could feel a change in the air. That was in the nature of the wind, coming forth only when it saw fit.
They didn't mean people were standing idle. Far from it. In the shadows, there were dark forces moving about so as to hide from the wind. They thought themselves clever. They believed they were stronger than the coming wind.
They were to be proven wrong. For when it concerned him, the wind knew no mercy.
The rest of London could not be so guarded. They were to remain blissfully ignorant of the rise of Sherlock Holmes and Docter John Watson of 221 B Baker Street.
Well, except for one.
Danielle Nolan. The landlady of 223 Baker Street, the flats right next door.
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Knows My Heart Like You
RomanceShe's unassuming Danielle Nolan. He's the always extraordinary Sherlock Holmes. She's a 27-year-old landlady. He's a 27-year-old consulting detective. They're so different. Right? Wrong. Cause Danielle Nolan is a big barrel of contradictions...
