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Chapter ThreeA Little Thing Called Life
September 17, 2104
Beth Lestrade stormed up the seventeen steps to the sitting room of 221b Baker Street fuming, her lips pressed into a thin line. Sherlock Holmes followed close behind talking at her in a manner that was more curt than tactful. She narrowed her eyes malevolently, silently wishing he would stumble down the stairs instead of treading on her back like he was. Lestrade allowed herself a small, sadistic grin at the idea of the World's Greatest Detective losing his balance on his own step.
He really would get his way if that happened, venom filling her mind, I'd pay attention to him long enough to laugh at him.
Her smile arched into a cold curl as Holmes invaded her line of sight by blocking the door with his lean frame. His eyes glowed, genial sarcasm barely masking the unmistakable look of worn patience. Lestrade folded her arms and looked past him, her desire to hit him fuelled by the arrogance in his stance.
Ch. 2: Almost ParadiseNestled away in a not so little corner, just south east from the center of St. Canard sat a vision of paradise no one would have thought possible -not even the residents of the city herself. It wasnt that citizens didnt believe such things were possible -in other cities- it just that this happened to be St. Canard, the largest cesspool for debauchery, corruption, and maliciousness on the east coast. At the same time though, crimes like petty theft, car jacking, jewelry store robberies hardly ever happened. Reason being, St. Canard had the second highest number of lunatics and madmen in the country, which kept all the normal crooks either far away, or in their homes. Maybe thats why the people of this fair and twisted city proudly revered St. Canard City Park with awe and tenderness, because for some reason the odd balls who existed in the shadows of day and night had left it alone, or maybe it was because people feared the plants themselves.
Wrought iron a
Ch. 1: Where The Mind SleepsIt was positively the most pristine day the city of St. Canard had seen all year. The sky was clear, almost an electric true blue, with a few fluffy, flawless white clouds hanging about. A small steady breeze was slipping in and out of the trees with a soft, but tremendous rustle accompanied by children giggling in the branches. All in all, the perfect day for outdoor barbeques and games; the sweet smell of meat on a grill was everywhere. Absolutely no one was in their home on this shining Saturday afternoon. Well, almost no one.
Drake Mallard had to be one of the only people on his block not venturing outside to enjoy the day. Instead, he sat in his kitchen with the blinds drawn stabbing repetitiously at his lunch, a slight frown that had nothing to do with the food wrinkling his brow. After a few more jabs he let the fork drop into the macaroni. His baby blue eyes narrowed to his bill, lending him an air of confusion and contemplation. How many times now had he caught himself staring
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
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