Moriarty's Little Puppet

Sherlock looked around the room, walls battered with blood from who knows how many victims this maniac had strung up. "Sherlock, dear?" His rich voice echoed across the room, sending Sherlock shivers that bellowed across his body. "Have you figured it out yet?" He asked yet again. Sherlock stayed still. After all, what could he do? Any movement motioned him to be exactly where the criminal was able to kill him. "Oh god..." The man chuckled, "You haven't, have you? Sherlock Holmes, the smartest man alive, couldn't figure out a simple mystery?" A large clank of metal was heard as the door flew open. "It's raiiiiining..." The man began, advancing towards Sherlock in an agonizingly slow way, "It's poooouring..." The criminal mastermind continued to sing, "Sherrrrrrlock is boooooooring..."

"He went to bed, someone shot his head..."

"He couldn't get up"

"In the mooooorning..."

Bang.