Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd century

The fall and rise of Sherlock Holmes (Part 1)

London, England. May 25th 1891. My name is John Watson. What I'm about to tell you is beyond belief, but rest assured. Every word is true. The legendary detective Sherlock Holmes and I were on vacation. We were hiking in the Swiss Alps on a trail overlooking Reichenbach falls when a messenger from the lodge caught up to us.

"Please sirs!" Shouted an old, grey bearded man, running towards us with outstretched arms clad in worn clothes and at an impressive pace. "Hold a while! I have urgent need of Doctor Watson!" He yelled, and as the two of us turned around I looked to my friend and colleague for advice, though he simply amusedly looked back.

"What do you make of this Watson?" He asked, and once again I felt Sherlock testing my own limited deductive abilities.

"A spry old goat, for his age." Was my whispered response, and quickly after I turned, so as to respond to the elderly messengers hail, not wanting to seem rude.

"What is it my man, are you sick?"

"Not I kind sir! A fair lady! Back at the lodge! You are the only doctor for miles!" Panting for breath, and quite possibly from panic the man pointed his tanned finger towards the lodges general direction, spreading his arms out afterwards to properly display the immensity and loneliness of our situation.

"You must come!" He exclaimed, and I fought a battle within my heart for a moment. Though it was true that the old man seemed genuine in his despair, I had seen Holmes pull of greater displays of acting and disguise. If not for his response, I might have said no. There was something about those deep blue eyes, staring right at me... so dreadfully familiar.

"Go on ahead, Watson." Sherlock began, laying a hand on the messengers stooped and heaving shoulders. "The poor man is winded. I shall accompany him along the trail." Holmes smiled in reassurance, and I left exactly that, taking steady footsteps across the treacherous terrain.

I should have known something was amiss, but Holmes was unconcerned. It was only moments later I learned the truth, and was thankful I had not walked in such a hurry to meet this 'fair lady'

"Well well... professor James Moriarty! So we meet again!" Professed a changed Holmes, hand fixed tight on his cane, and an almost smug smile affixed to his face. The man too, changed. His hunched back straightening into an arrogant and proud form, his face becoming crueler and his voice deeper and he glared at his seemingly eternal foe.

"How did you know?" Was all he asked, and as he did so his hands seemingly pulled apart his own face, revealing an equally hideous counterpart with black hair, sharp eyes and a single white streak that seemed to create a mad scientist out of the man. A typical villain, and Sherlock Holmes as ever had a typical answer.

"Elementary, sir." He quipped, his smile and politeness never fading. "I simply used my eyes, and my brain."

Here came the part that never failed to amaze me.

"For example, eyes. You hunched over to appear short and stout, but yet you walked most rapidly for an old man, with unseemingly long strides. Then, in your effort to appear old and -at this point Sherlock had taken with very derogatory and amused tone- shabby, you found well used clothes which were far too small for your great height. Brain: no one at the lodge knew Watson was a doctor. Finally! Eyes again! You should never let your enemies see you sweat!" He instructed, his voice sharp and eyes sharper. "Especially when your wearing makeup. Eyes and brains Moriarty. Eyes and brains."

You could see it on his face now. Moriarty was angered, and there would be a retribution to pay. The hulk of a mans voice turned into a deadly softness, and he removed a short baton, similar to a policeman's from his inside pocket.

"Aaah. You're a cool one Holmes. It shall be your undoing. Eyes and brains aren't everything!" At this point Moriarty brandished his blunt weapon, and Holmes his cain. It was the sharp sound of them colliding that drew me back.

"Sherlock!" I had yelled, at the time. Flustered and in disrepair there are few times I can remember such panic as when I saw the two, so far away and so close to such dangerous waters. My panic only grew when sherlocks foot almost fell off the edge as they pushed against each other, and once the two fell off, pieces of rocks crumbling below them I let out a long and bellowing "no!" , unable to comprehend the meaning of the fall.

No man could survive that lethal abyss, the world had lost it's greatest detective, and I, my best friend.

Or did I?

New London. May 25th 2103 Subject Identified: Martin Fenwick. Parole Violation. Failure to report for crypnotic programming renewal. Other vehicle reported stolen. 0200 from Piccadilly circuits.

"Collision alert!" Shouted a robotic voice, and behind the wheel of a probably soon to be destroyed hover craft sat a Woman with medium length brown hair. Her blue eyes widened in alarm and she let out a gasp of surprise as she almost crashed her vehicle into a very important statue, though she managed to pull up in time before she reduced another landmark to rubble. Flashing her red and blue lights the woman safely bounced off the stone monument and almost rolled her eyes at the voice in the back seat.

"Impact registered" It reported dutifully, and the woman looked at the dust cloud out of her window in frustration.

"Well duh!" She muttered, levelling out her ship as the robotic voice gave her another piece of bad news.

"Damage report has been up linked to new Scotland Yard."

"Thanks, Watson." She groaned, turning herself around. "Snitch."

The woman flick on her loudspeaker.

"This is inspector Lestrade of new Scotland Yard! Head down at once!" She yelled, deploying a laser to take down the craft in one hit once it was evident it's pilot wouldn't respond. The pink hovercraft skidded heavily across the ground, sparks flying as lampposts were overturned and the door fell open, revealing a hideous creation. It's hair was not ginger, but a bright, almost synthetic orange. It's skin was almost blue in its blotchy paleness and it's features were like a goblins, warped and disturbing and most definitely inhuman. The creation crawled out of the vehicle and yelled in it's high pitched voice "Go master! I'll draw her fire." Before setting off in its stumbling pace, having to turn to avoid the impending police vehicle, and only just managing to past into the foliage before a green beam of light held him in place, and Lestrade approached. Despite it's struggles she dragged the horrendous man to his feet, but was shocked when she heard a manic laughter, and turned to see another man, piloting the ship away. The man had sharp, deep blue eyes, tanned skin, an extremely large build and dark black hair. With a single, white, streak.

"Moriarty?" Lestrade questioned, shocked and barely believing her own eyes, she wanted to take a second look at the mans face, but he was already gone.

"My master!" Exclaimed Fenwick, a macabre smile on his gruesome face. "And you're worst nightmare" he giggled, cruelly. Even as he was led away.