So, I LOVE sherlock holmes, and I love hetalia...so me, being the lame idiot that I am, decided to cross them over. I'm actually terrified of this fic. Mystery is so difficult to write, and I'm so scared that I completely killed the Sherlock Holmes characters. But nobody else would do this, and I wanted to see it so badly...
Truth be told, I've only got a vauge idea where this is going. This will probably be my main fic, so I should be updating it pretty regularly...but i've been so busy lately! Ahh...oh well.
Please, Please, Please tell me what you think. As I said, I'm really scared that I'm going to butcher this. It doesn't help that the writing style of the original Sherlock Holmes is rather heavy and quite a bit more formal and I want this fic to be rather colliquial...ahhh...I'll do my best!
Ch. 1: The Beginning
The fog hung heavy over the ancient city, yellowed and thick from the heavy industrialization that had enabled its growth. A carriage rumbled down the old cobblestone streets, coming to a sudden halt as the driver of the vehicle gave an exclamation. After some pause, the door to the carriage swung open and a figure hopped out, looking around briefly before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out some bills, which he gave the driver. Nodding slightly to the man, the driver took the money before turning to the horses, giving another exclamation. The carriage lurched forward, leaving the figure in the yellowed, swirling fog.
The figure, a tall young man, wrapped his traveling cloak closer around himself and looked around once more before setting off in a brief trot down the street. His face was partially hidden by the top hat he wore, and his body obscured by the cloak he had draped around his frame. He paused a few times, looking down at a piece of paper he held in a gloved hand and examining the houses as he passed by. Finally, he seemed to find the house he had been looking for, and stuffed the paper back into his pocket before ascending the short, stone steps that led up to the door. Pausing only slightly, the figure raised a gloved hand and rapped briefly on the door. There was a silence, before the door swung open, revealing a kindly woman with blonde hair drawn back in a bun. "Hello there" she said, smiling, "May I be of assistance?"
The man nodded, "Yes. I'm here to see Mr. Holmes." He said, his voice worn and jerky.
The woman frowned, "I'm sorry, sir" she apologized, "But Mr. Holmes is currently out. I have no idea when he'll be ba-"
"I have to see him" the man cut the lady off, "It's urgent."
"It's always urgent with Mr. Holmes' customers." The woman sighed then shrugged, "Fine. Come in, sir. You can wait in the sitting room…I should warn you though. Mr. Holmes has a strange habit of disappearing on hours, or even days on end, so you might have quite a wait."
The man thanked her, bowing his head slightly before following the woman into the house. They passed through a short hallway into a rather comfortable looking sitting room. A loveseat sat across from two large armchairs. There was a small coffee-table in the between the loveseat and the armchairs, and a large fire roared in the hearth. The man collapsed into the armchair closest to the fire, allowing himself to sag into the cushion. He let out a sigh and removed his top hat, revealing a head of blonde hair with a strange strand sticking up. His eyes were blue, framed by a pair of glasses which he pulled off to pass his hand over his face as he sat by the fire. An audible sigh escaped his lips as he sat in silence for some time. The lady had offered him tea, and when he declined, smiled sadly before leaving him alone in the sitting room.
The young man sat alone in silence for some time, staring moodily at the roaring fire before him. His face was worn and tired, and his eyes kept sagging shut, snapping open as he started to lose his balance. Every now and then, a noise from upstairs would startle him, but for the most part, he sat before the fire, chewing his lower lip in thought.
After about half an hour had passed, the front door swung open and slammed shut, causing the young man before the fire to look over his shoulder just as another man entered the room. He appeared older than the man before the fire, with a rather thick moustache and square jaw. He paused, taking off the hat he wore before uttering a soft exclamation upon catching sight of the other.
"I'm sorry" the younger man apologized, rising before the other could speak, "I'm here to see Mr. Holmes. It's terribly urgent, and I swear, I won't leave until I can see him. I...I'm desperate, and Holmes is my last chance."
The other, quickly recovering from his shock, nodded as the younger man finished speaking, "I see. He's out now, isn't he? I think he's working on something, so he might be out for quite a while."
The younger man shook his head, the strange cowlick bouncing up and down, "I can't leave. It's…it's…it's just terribly, terribly urgent. I've got to see him. I've just got to." He wrung his hands together as he spoke, his young face drawn into a terrible grimace, "Please, Mr…" here the younger man paused, looking questioningly up at the other.
"Watson" the man responded, "Dr. John H. Watson. I'm Holmes' friend and chronicler, if you will. And you are…?"
"Alfred F. Jones." The blonde responded, quickly, nodding his head in response. "Dr. Watson. Please. If you're Holmes' friend, you must help me. Talk to Holmes, please. As I said before, I'm desperate. I don't care what it takes, money isn't a problem. I can pay you any sum, give you anything…"
"Holmes isn't interested in money" Watson replied shrugging, "If your case interests him, he'll take it. If not…"
"Have you heard of the murder of the Archduke Percy?" Jones asked, his tone guarded and expression tense.
Watson raised an eyebrow, "Of course I have" he responded, "It's been all over the news…you'd have to live under a rock to not have heard of it. Terrible, wasn't it? He was beaten to death with an old metal pipe. But what does that have to do with anything?"
"Surely, you remember the name of the man they named the murderer?"
"Why yes." Watson shrugged, "It was a very simple case, really. The doors and windows were all locked, and there was only one man with the key. Not to mention his prints were all over the murder weapon…Kirkland, Arthur Kirkland, wasn't it? Some upper-class gentleman as well. Not as well known or as high of ranking as Archduke Percy, of course, but still somewhat shocking."
"It wasn't Kirkland" Jones shook his head, his mouth a straight line, "Kirkland didn't kill the Archduke. He didn't."
"I'm sorry, my boy" Watson said, a slight frown tugging at the edges of his lips, "But all the evidence points to him."
"He didn't do it!" Jones shook his head, his eyes wild and face pale, "Damnit, It simply wasn't possible for him to have done it!"
"And why do you say that?" the other asked, "Haven't you seen the evidence?"
"Yes." Jones waved his hand impatiently, "Yes of course, I read the paper, I saw everything, but it just simply wasn't possible for Arthur to have killed that man!"
"Again, why do you say that?"
"Because" Jones shook his head and looked at Watson imploringly, "I know Artie! Please. You've got to believe me! He just wouldn't commit a lowly crime like that!"
"People have more than once face" Watson said, apologetically to Jones, "I'm sure that the face he showed you was perfectly innocent…"
Jones shook his head, "Please. Please, let me talk to Mr. Holmes. I was with Artie the night of the murder, I was with him…he...he didn't do anything, he's completely innocent!"
So? Ahh..I don't kno!!!! *headdesks* Please tell me what you think! Don't own the characters...oh well.