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Messages : 60
Date d'inscription : 27/02/2013
Age : 24
 |  Sujet: Huhu Sherlock ♥  Dim 16 Juin - 10:05 | |
| En anglais la prof voulait qu'on écrive un truc policier - uiui truc c'est elle même qui l'a dit. Bref, pour ceux qui avaient pas d'inspi elle leur a donné des idées~ Mais haha j'ai pas besoin d'idées pour m'amuser et j'ai décidey d'écrire Study in Pink en version moi et raccourcie mais bon c'est pourri et voila. Il se trouve que la prof voulait qu'on fasse de la taille d'une 4e page de couverture. Héhéhé, c'est 6 pages word XD Donc jsuis contente et je voulais vous faire part de mon -hum hum- immeeeense talent - re hum hum- 8D Enjoy ♥ - Spoiler:
A business woman was lying on the ground, in an old mansion. Her suit was pink-colored. There was no blood, and no weapon. The only thing which could have killed her was a little phial of poison. This wasn't a simple murder or suicide, because it was the fourth person who died in the same case. Same poison, same strange place, where the victims weren't supposed to be. A kind of serial-suicide? That was what the police thought. But the famous inspector, Sherlock Holmes, wanted to discover what was really hiding behind these suicides. Each victim was very happy, and obviously didn't have any reason to kill themselves.
The inspector came with a smile on his charismatic face. It was the type of investigation where the murderer really wants to be unmasked. That's what typically what Sherlock loved. None of previous victims have ever left any message, but this time... The lady has written a name on the parquet floor. "Rachel". After a little search, Sherlock discovered it was her daughter, who died at birth. Why would she think about her in this very moment? Why, at the gates of death, she engraved it on the floor? It must have been very painful. This was certainly a kind of message which could help them.
Leaving this interrogation for after, the inspector began to examine the suit of the dead body. The brain of Sherlock started to deduce everything he found at the speed of the light. The back was wet; however the collar of the suit was dry. The inner collar was wet too. The woman had an umbrella, but it was strangely dry. There were also little stains on the left calf of the lady. Sherlock Holmes stood up and said with assurance.
- Maidstone. She's from Maidstone. She also came here for two days for a business trip.
The other scientists were voiceless. Dr Anderson, who always doubt of the famous inspector, replies:
- And why the hell did you say that?
- Look, started Sherlock with rolling eyes, his back is wet, so it was raining before she died. But it shined in London all the week. She's obviously here for a trip. Business one, as you can see her classy suit. The collar is dry, only the inner is wet. So she put it up because the weather was windy. She didn't use her umbrella; the wind was so strong it could have broken it. Now look at her left calf. Do you see these little splatters? That's typically a case. So she went with a little case for two days, as we see the size of the stains. Now tell me. Where did it rain and wind strongly yesterday at ~30km of London? Maidstone. Anything else?
By saying this, Sherlock showed a meteo-map on his phone to Anderson, who didn't find anything to reply.
- But where is the case? Continued the young man.
- There wasn't any case, defended the supervisor.
- There MUST be a case, said Sherlock, walking down the stairs.
The inspector was now in his flat, 221B Baker Street. His hands on his head, he was concentrating. Where could the case be? Certainly not at the mansion, Anderson would have told him. There! Sherlock finally understood. The case was still with the murderer. The brain of the man was bursting of activity. It was like:
- Well okay. The killer killed, or forced the lady to kill herself, in the mansion. He ran away from this place, but when he discovered that he had the case, he tried to leave it as soon as possible, somewhere not very visible.
He drew a map in his head, and he found a piece of waste ground, not really far from the old mansion. Sherlock ran to this place and found without any surprise a pink little case in the middle of the litter. It was like "ha-ha, I knew it" in his head. He brought it at his home, in order to examine it, and maybe find some clues to discover who the murderer is. In the street, the inspector continued to think about all the things that happened in that investigation. Every victim has disappeared, just like this. Nobody has seen them leave, or been kidnapped. The murderer must be someone that you trust, without knowing him. Who hunts, in the middle of the crowd? Sherlock was disconcerted. Back at home, he started to rummage in the case. But he didn't find anything interessant. In a flash of genius, he finally discovered the little something which was going to help them.
At the same moment, Anderson and his colleagues entered in the flat noisily.
- ANDERSON! yelled Sherlock.
This wasn't the time to disturb him at all. He was about to find everything, it just missed one element then the whole investigation would be complete. But Sherlock was even more upset when Mrs. Hudson, the ruling modif, entered to say that a taxi was there for Mr. Holmes.
- I DIDN'T ORDER ANY TAXI NOW LET ME THINK ABOUT ALL OF THAT.
- Look, I told you it wasn't a good idea to get Sherlock Holmes mixed up in all that. There, he's just about finding clues and don't tell us anything about that! He's up to something, I'm sure of it, argue Anderson.
Sherlock was about to lose his brain. All of this was too noisy; he needed some quiet and peace to think. Even the supervisor, Lestrade, who used to defend him, was with Anderson. He started to doubt when the doctor told him he had the case with him.
- When did you find it? asked the policeman.
- Two minutes ago. Now let me work.
- What did you find in the case?
- Nothing. I must concentrate, there's something that slips out of my hands. So please get out of here, replies sarcastically Sherlock.
- Well tell us then.
The young inspector tried to think, but there were too many people in the room.
- Anderson, your face is horribly annoying, it disturbs me, turn you to the wall, I don't want to see your face.
- Huuuh? protested Anderson.
- Do what he wants and don't be indignant, answered inspector Lestrade.
Sherlock has his little satisfaction. Anderson turned him, muttering. Then Sherlock found. There wasn't anything special in the case. Indeed, the clue wasn't there. That's exactly the clue. Something was missing.
- Look in the case and give me her phone, ordered Sherlock.
- But there - started Anderson
- Shut up Anderson, I didn't talk to you.
- There isn't any phone Sherlock, affirmed Lestrade, looking daggers at the doctor.
- EXACTLY! Where-is-her-phone? Don't you see?! Ah you're so stupid. A business woman, working every day, with a busy schedule, must have a phone. Then if it isn't on the victim and neither in the case...
- Continue? asked the supervisor.
- Oooh you still don't understand? The murderer! He kept it!
Sherlock was exasperated. People were so stupid.
- Sherlock your taxi! He's waiting for you, repeated Mrs. Hudson.
- I don't care of him, I didn't order it.
It was so awesome. The murderer wants to be demasked? He'll be. The charismatic inspector continued to think about what they could get with the phone number. He sat on his armchair, in front of his laptop. Clic! Another idea. He used a system of phone-localization on internet. He typed the phone number of the victim but stayed stuck on the label Password:. What the hell could it be? He thought about all the things she could have chosen. / Clic! He typed slowly, as all the other scientists could see it: r a c h e l . He pressed Enter with excitation. It has worked. He was full of satisfaction. He finally clic on the "localization" button and the laptop started to search. Sherlock, focused on the laptop, could all the same hear Mrs. Hudson ask for the taxi.
Finally, the laptop has finished. Every person in the room wanted to see what the result was. All the people were disconcerted. What? The localization service was saying that the phone was in 221B Baker Street, which is the flat where all the team was standing. Sherlock stood up noisily and walked to the door.
- I must leave you, said the young man about, slamming the door.
As the famous detective thought, an old man appeared in front of the building. He was standing, leaning against a taxi. He had a pink phone in his hands, and was smiling strangely. This was the murderer. He didn't have any gun, or any weapon which could hurt Sherlock. The taxi driver quietly explain that the inspector can call the police, and send him to jail, but in this case, he would never reveal him how he leaded the victims to kill themselves. Sherlock began to doubt seriously. He decided to follow him.
A few minutes later, Sherlock entered in a deserted factory and sat on a chair, in front of a table and another chair, where the other man was sitting. The murderer started to talk to him, very kindly. Sherlock didn't enter into his game, and went with the facts. He asked how he did several times. The old men finally accept. He explained his "game" to the detective: he brought two phials of poison, and place them in front of him, on the table. They looked exactly the same, a liquid slightly blue.
- There are two phials of poison, absolutely indistinguishable from each other. The only thing you must know is that one phial contains poison, and the other one contains an inoffensive liquid. And, no matters the one you choose to take, I’ll take the other one.
After a little break, he continued in the same voice:
- I know how people think. I know how people think I think.
- No, you’re just crazy, there’s a fifty fifty chance to die.
- Oh yeah ? Then it’s just chance who saved me, each time I did it ? No. I already played this game 4 times, and here I am. It isn’t just chance, answered the old man.
By saying this, he moved a phial to Sherlock and whispered mysteriously :
- And what about this ? Did I bring to you the right or the wrong phial ? Aah, your brain is disconcerted huh ? You don’t know which one is in front of you.
- Why do you do that ? Why do you kill people ?
- Stay concentrated. Ah, you want to prove your intelligence, you want to show that you can pass this test…
- Why if I don’t want to drink any phial ?
- In that case, I’ll kill you, explained the murderer, pulling a gun. You choose. Or you have a fifty fifty chance to die with the poison, or its certain death by the gun. So ?
- The gun.
- You’re sure ?
- Absolutely.
The old man pulled the trigger, and nothing happened.
- I know the difference between a fake gun and a real one.
- Okay, then what ? Even if the gun doesn’t motivate you enough, I’m practically sure that you want to prove your intelligence.
- …
- What if this wasn’t the good one ? And what if I knew that you’d think it is the right one, and I have moved the wrong one ? Ah, people are so predictable.
- Why did you do that ? asked Sherlock like if the old man hadn’t said anything.
- …
- Neuralgia.
- Yes. I’m gonna die, soon.
- But it isn’t the only thing… In your taxi, there was a picture of your children… Their mother was scratched. She doesn’t allow you to see them, does she ?
- You know, with my taxi-driver salary, I can’t send them a lot of money… I have a sponsor, who pays me money for each person I’ve killed.
- Who could do that ?
- Who could like Sherlock Holmes ? … Now, are you as clever as the rumors say ? Will you choose the right or the bad one ?
Sherlock was disconcerted. He was trying to think, but the murderer’s presence was frustrating. He finally took the one in front of him. He was about to drink it, as the taxi driver. At the same moment, a bullet pierced the window, and sink in the old man’s chest. He wasn’t dead, but he would soon be. Before he died, Sherlock wanted to know if he would have taken the right phial, and who was the one who sponsored him.
- Anyway I’ll die, you cannot threaten me anymore.
- You’ll die, but I still can hurt you, assured Sherlock, leaning on his wound.
- Moriarty ! screamed the murderer.
But Sherlock would never know if it was the right phial. The old man was dead.
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