On The Side of The Angels

The Nightmare

It was a rather hot and sunny Saturday morning in Cardiff). A young little boy of about five years age with jet-black hair, huge grey eyes and clad in his father's oversized black trench coat was bounding through the garden, squealing with happy delight. His brother sat on the deck chair, looking at his brother with a look of slight amusement on his face. The coat billowed behind the boy as he raced into a little green pond that was surrounded with little emerald bushes.

Their caretaker was running behind the boy, lest he do something stupid, as young lads often do.

The boy ran and gleefully jumped into the pond and so small was his height that the water came right up to his waist. He was desperately moving aside the various weeds and plants in the water, as if he were searching for something. "Master Holmes, I request you to please step out of the water! That is your father's coat and he should be very angry should he find it in this decrepit shape!"

"Oh Stanley, do you have any idea as to how many civilizations are waiting to be discovered in these waters? Do you know the number of pathogens or dangerous creatures that exist within...this is a stagnant pool and thus a fair amount if mosquito eggs might be predicted!" and saying so, he dipped his hand back into the pool and continued to explore its contents "Oh and dear me, there may be venomous water snakes waiting for me, oh yes its Christmas!" he shouted, nearly giving poor Stanley a heart attack. He looked at Mycroft his eyes pleading for help, who sauntered to the edge of the lake. "Oh Sherlock, you are not going to find any Anacondas in there! Now come out before I tell Mother."

Sherlock Holmes looked at Mycroft reproachfully., but Mycroft Holmes just stood there. His face seemed to have been carved out of stone. Sherlock sighed and was about to get up when he noticed something odd. He was standing in the shade of a little willow tree. But nevertheless, coming out from right behind him were two slight shadows. His little mind raced with possibilities and tried to think of a way to rationalize all of this. That was when he felt a stabbing sensation on his right forefinger. He yelped like a puppy and withdrew his finger. The most horrific sight met his eyes. His finger was still intact, but the skin was missing. All that was left was the muscle and bone. He glanced at the two stunned adults and with a blood curdling scream shot of into the bushes.

He was a small lithe boy and thus over ran Stanley and Mycroft by yard. He stumbled through dark and thick undergrowth saw his skin melt right in front of his eyes. He charged into a clearing where the sun was ample. His hand seemed to have healed for a bit. There was a little sparkling stream that flowed through the thicket. He raced to it and plunged his hand into it. The water was tinted with crimson. His lips parted and all he uttered was something between a moan and a howl.

All of a sudden, there was a sudden swooshing sound and a creaking of doors. He wanted to go and see what it was, but he dint dare. That was when he heard a mellow voice "Oh Donna, isn't it marvelous to get London out of your lungs for once! Ah, old England, charming place but a tad bit more greener than I expected it to be!"

Sherlock held his tongue. Whoever this person was seemed friendly enough. But what did he mean by "tad bit greener"?

There was a sudden rustling of leaves and the bushes parted to reveal a tall thin man. He was wearing a tan trench coat, and a blue suit. He had a head of brown hair fashioned into a faux hawk style. His eyes were a warm brown, but something in it was forlorn and lonely, and fierce. But on seeing him sprawled on the ground like that he smiled and said cheerfully "Hello, my dear lad! Are we interrupting you?"

Sherlock was just a young boy. He stammered out "My hand, it just, melted, only bones, I-"

The man's faced hardened considerably as he pulled out his glasses with a flourish and extended his hand out and said " Lets see it then."