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Pocketlock RP: Part oneHow Inconvenient.
Sherlock put his current predicament down to bad luck, rather than admitting he’d allowed himself to fall into a false sense of security.
He’d been living a rather private life inside the walls of 221B Baker street for almost three years now, and though it had been much less interesting than his previous lodgings (The hospital had afforded him so many wonderful distractions) it was at least safe, and allowed him time to work on whatever took his fancy. These days, now he’d been forced to leave St. Barts and all the lab equipment he couldn’t carry (which was most of it) he whiled away the dull hours by stealing Mrs. Hudson’s newspapers and solving the crimes therein. Granted, usually after borrowing the landlady’s computer to do more research while she was out.
It did occasionally infuriate him when the police couldn’t deduce what he’d already figured out during his morning thimble of tea (again, courtesy of his unwitting
Freaky and his little Johnny - Chapter 1 (ITA)
Dire che il piccolo uomo era spaventato sarebbe un eufemismo. Il piccoletto era letteralmente terrorizzato, pietrificato dalla paura.
Aveva appena realizzato di essersi andato a infilare nella tana della creatura e forse in un pericolo ancora più grande di un ratto.
Per darsi sicurezza, assunse una posa da pugile - C- chi sei? – chiese, cercando di conferire un tono sicuro e baldanzoso alla sua voce spezzata, fallendo miseramente – Non provarci nemmeno a farmi del male, altrimenti io-
- E’ la domanda che dovrei farti io, dopotutto… – lo interruppe il sussurro dalle ombre – …tu sai benissimo chi sono io – sospirò la voce.
C’era qualcosa in quel tono di voce, qualcosa che fece perdere un po’ della paura al biondo. Quello che aveva avvertito… era forse tristezza?
- Comunque stai tranquillo, non voglio farti del male –
Se inizialmente era un sussurro, l’ultima frase termin
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
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