The faint noise of dripping water could be heard in the background.
Urgh… She leaned back on the ancient stone walls, dropping down in an exhausted state. The only furniture in sight was an old model of a toilet and moldy, wooden panels. She looked through the bars of the cell as guards patrolled back and forth, at least, that’s what she thought. The only person keeping an eye on the cells was a bald man in his mid-30s. He lit up a cigar, eyes set on the ‘cages’ like a hawk.
From what she could infer, this wasn't her memory. She started going about to find clues. The only real thing in her with her was a neatly folded coat and a hat, which subtly reminded her of Sherlock. She stood up, finding herself to be taller than normal. "This is so weird," she mumbled to herself. "Henry Smith." A voice spoke. It drove her head into a daze.
She jolted, only to find herself in the back of a vehicle. She could only curl up and wish that this may not be the last time she seek consciousness.
