It Started With Stealing | Sherlock Holmes

63 - Murder On The RMS Valour

Sherlock sighed, content with the fact that he and Elizabeth were on better terms now thanks to his honesty. Why couldn't he simply be truthful more often? Why did everything about him have to be a mystery? And to Elizabeth especially?

As he strolled down the corridors, thinking about seeing his Elizabeth again, his ideal thoughts were shattered by a blood-curdling scream. He threw a curious and concerned look behind him. Of course, whatever had happened he didn't want it to be murder. But he would feel like he had had a little more purpose if it was.

The detective zoomed back down the halls, heart pounding as he reached the section that looked out across the restaurants. When he spotted the small gathering of people he made his way down one side of the golden, grand staiecase, pausing on the middle landing to observe and try and spot the cause of distress. The little crowd consisted of mainly staff and some passengers in the largest restaurant opposite the stairs. Some were crying, some were in shock, some were trying to keep everyone calm but all were gazing up and behind him as he stood there.

He turned and sent his gaze upwards too, swallowing hard.

There, between the two intricate staircase lights, secured on the wall by rope, hung the now pale Lucetta Silva, her throat slashed, blood dripping down the silver dress Sherlock had last seen her stumble away in, shoeless, eyes still open wide but dull with death.

For once, Sherlock wished there hadn't been a murder.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Sunlight streamed through their room's porthole window like thick honey dripping from a bee hive, pooling just on her face.

Elizabeth stirred, awaking before Daniel and Rita, much to her relief. She just needed some time to herself. Slipping out from under the duvet, she stretched already resolving in her mind to get dressed and ready for the day.

Happy with her black, white-spotted dress and loose hair, she decided a walk would be nice, be it just through the ship or outside on deck. It felt needed after last night's events and Rita did say Daniel would be out for a while. She just didn't think it would be this long but she was glad.

And yes, he was still breathing.

She silently exited the cabin but as she turned, she saw Sherlock headed her way. Elizabeth smiled - were their minds really that in sync with each other for them both to be out of their rooms at similar times? But the light on her face faltered as she saw Sherlock held a more serious and worried look in his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

As he neared her, he gently took her by the shoulders and guided her off to the side, away from her room door, "There's been a murder."

"Oh God, you're like a bad charm. Thought you'd be a bit more...excited though?"

"No. Lucetta - Daniel's wife - was murdered and strung up in the restaurant quarter."

The blood visibly drained from Elizabeth's face, "What? When?"

"I guessed around one or two a.m. judging by the state of her body."

"Jesus...any idea who or why?"

"Yes and I think it's very much linked to the trade between Silva and the Sandborns."

"So you're saying - I - I caused that? Lucetta's dead because of me?"

"No. No, no, no." Sherlock's hands lightly ran down her shoulders and reassuringly squeezed her upper arms, "Did Silva seem like he had to get anywhere last night before you used knockout gas?"