Note: Well.. this is something I haven't dug up in a while. When I was in school (which wasn't long ago), I worked on a story about Sherlock Holmes verses one of the world's greatest vampires. Sadly, it's been done before, BUT this was something I really got into! (You'll probably notice by the quality because I usually got it checked by a teacher who was an author). I haven't completed it- before I could I lost half of the transcript because of technical errors... *shakes my fist* I'll be picking it up again, so I hope everyone enjoys!
I have seen many things within my profession, working beside the greatest detective in London (and my dearest friend) Sherlock Holmes. I have seen murders, blackmail, and fraud; everything no self-respecting man should be party to. There have been many cases which have brought me to a reluctant belief in the black arts and the supernatural. Many of these cases I have kept from the public eye in order to keep whatever order exists on the 'already hectic' streets of London. Too many have strong beliefs and the mere words 'supernatural' or 'evil' will cause more trouble within the pedestrian isles of England's capital and bring more work into the hands of an overburdened-Scotland Yard. However I did not true outcome of such a case, where I saw the
It began on a rather odd morning, I awoke slightly later than usual due to Holmes' infernal violin playing until three in the morning, due to a large influx of cases from the further reaches of England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, a few from America and one from France. I approached the living room to find Holmes looking over his small chemistry set where he was rather focused on a small experiment yet by the way the chemicals bubbled and fizzed, I kept my distance. I began the interesting job of going through the post in which I almost dropped due to Holmes finding his voice.
"Good morning Watson, do me a small favour and read me out any cases you come across."
"Really Holmes, you are already working more than four cases at once. You should really take five minutes to catch your breath."
Holmes merely laughed, not turning from his work and craned over the table to mix some of the liquids together, I did recall hearing a small curse beneath his breath as he burnt himself over a small burning flame. I read merely three letters, all which Holmes did not find interesting and merely grunted in reply for the next. As I read the fourth he suddenly swiveled on his stool and crossed one leg over the other and waved his hand.
"Please, read that one again Watson."
The letter read as follows;
I have been plagued with a terrible curse upon me and my family which threatens all of our best wishes and health's within the community. Hope was given to me when a close friend of mine recommended your services and I wish to speak with you at once on the matter and shall be visiting Baker Street at noon - in order to hopefully receive some of your most precious advice.
Holmes got to his feet, took the paper from my hands, grabbed his pipe and then began toexamine the letter closely, at first with his naked eye, then to the light and then with his spying glass while he held his pipe between his teeth. He then placed the piece of paper down, grabbed his slipper from the floor and finally found some of his tobacco and placed it in his pipe. Finally he sat down in his favourite armchair and pondered over something for a short moment. I even took a look at the letter again to find any possibility to which could be of any significance to it other than a plea of an audience with Holmes. However to I, even being in the company with such a talented detective over the years, have barely had any of his observational skills rubbed off upon me.
"Anything capture your interest Watson?" He asked, looking at me with his usual keen and bright eyes. For a moment I was about to argue over the matter of taking a small rest from another case yet by the way he was showing me his sly and cunning smile that it would certainly be a hopeless crusade.
"Sadly nothing catches my eye but I am sure something has caught yours."
Holmes laughed heartily, which worried me to the point that perhaps Holmes had been near that dreaded needle once more during my sleep, the amount of cases were sure to push him to the blasted drug. I shook my head finally. Holmes passed me his spying glass, pointed to the window and finally commanded;
"Hold the paper to the light and look at the paper with the magnifying glass. I want you to look both at the writing, the use of vocabulary and the paper on which is has been written on."
And so I did exactly what he said and took on a few mental notes onto the ways the words were written. "Well the penmanship of the letter is rather fine, perhaps whoever wrote this is a gentleman or woman who works around the vocation of writing for most of their life? And the paper, it appears to be of...Irish origins?"
"Very good my friend!" He chimed. "Anything else?"
I looked upon the paper more, hoping that something would finally catch me by surprise and give an answer good enough to suit my friend's expectations. However my efforts failed me again and I shook my head once more. Holmes held out his hand to me and I gave him both the letter and glass. He waved me in to take a closer look.
"Here, look at the way they have written, you can tell that they were rather in a hurry to write and send this letter, the initials are incredibly soft yet not enough to be inconceivable to the reader which certainly shows their experience with pen. Now take another look at the ink and the way it has blotted on the paper. It is of the finest ink in England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland so it certainly proves that our mysterious caller does use one of the finest inks in England, rather expensive and rather ."
I chuckled and merely shook my head. "Well, you certainly know what you are doing my friend, yet I do wonder why you bother asking me to observe things I cannot find."
"I am merely challenging your mind my friend, just in case I am indisposed and maybe you are called to be the protagonist of a rather important case. Besides I have heard of your little cases which you took on during my absence a few years, yes they were rather simple for any detective but you must have picked up a few skills during those periods of time."[c3]
"Well obviously my mind cannot sustain as much as yours can." I talked, taking a cup of tea Mrs Hudson had brought into the room while we spoke. Holmes chuckled and then looked at the letter, he then took the envelope in which it came from, from the bin, and began taking a look at it yet then he came to the seal. He placed his pipe down and shuffled through a pile of new books upon his desk and picked up a bright yellow novel. I couldn't help but take a glance of the novel and blinked.
"Why do you have a horror novel Holmes?" I asked, rather worried. He had never really taken on the popular genres of the common novels which was popular within the pedestrians of London's streets.
"Well, am I not allowed to sample the public's literature?" He flicked through the pages for a moment and then closed the book, turning and peering through the window for a short moment. "I have heard much controversy over its plot and decided to look into it. Perhaps it may be a waste of money but for all that I completely know it would be rather entertaining to read, perhaps take hold a few laughs. Anyway, look at the author."
I looked beneath the red title and noticed the author yet suddenly felt as though Holmes had another victory within his little game of observation however I still did not understand the similarity of the B and A. "Bram Stoker?" I read which then my companion repeated with a smiled and flopped into his seat, smiling happily to himself.
"You see my dear fellow that many of today's good authors take upon a pen name, Bram Stoker being one of them, I will not be surprised to his reaction to his actual name when he finally knocks upon the door, and if I am not mistaken there was the expected knock. Come in!"
And with those simple words the door to our room was opened by Mrs Hudson followed by a taller and somewhat well-built man who walked into the room and looked upon me and Holmes. Mrs Hudson left after taking a few things with her which then our caller spoke.
"Are you Mr Holmes?" He asked, removing his hat and holding it beneath his russet beard. His features upon his face showed a strong man however his clothes spoke of another tale, showing he was a man with considerable wealth which Holmes had pointed out earlier.
"Yes and this is my companion Dr Watson. You must be Mr Abraham Stoker aka Bram Stoker." He announced getting to his feet.
The man looked at him with a tinge of surprise yet was not overly shocked. "I was certainly expected that from you Mr Holmes, the tales of your brilliant mind have traveled so far around the country, it was difficult for me not to know about your considerable detective skills. Please I am in need of your help." He spoke, having a rather strong Irish accent to his speech.
"Then please, sit down and tell your tale, which I certainly hope is nonfictional."
Stoker sat on the sofa, facing Holmes as he fiddled with his hat within his rather large hands, his eyes moving from one spot to another as they looked and glanced around the room. I stood beside Holmes with notebook in hand while waiting for the author's story. He soon cleared his throat, sat up straight and began.
"It was merely a month after my book was published, I had returned to my home here in London. We were celebrating what success it had yet the celebrating came to a terrible halt when I received a mysterious note saying that if I do not stop the publishing of my book then I will be in terrible danger. I merely took the note as some joke and threwit in the fire. Until three days later I received another letter it contained threats of being sued, physical threats and even death. I honestly did not know who sent me this letter, once again I merely placed it in the fire and tried to forget it but no matter what it began to frighten me, so I took it upon myself to tell my family to be careful without telling them the full truth. I didn't want to frighten them." He rubbed his temples for a moment, took a breath and continued. "Then strange things began to occur. I began to feel as though I am being followed; my wife has been approached by strangers, asking her different questions and more letters began to be sent through."
"Have you actually kept any of these letters?" Holmes asked, looking at Mr Stoker in a strange way.
"Yes, I have brought one along with me." He pulled up a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to Holmes. He read it two or three times by the way his eyes moved across the page. He finally placed the note down, which I took a look at that after Holmes had finished. It appeared to be from someone who certainly wasn't a fan of his work. There was truly not a sign to who have written the letter. However I did not have much time to fully inspect as Stoker continued;
"It is becoming frightening. If they are beginning to approach my wife, then they could approach my child and god knows what could happen if things become worse Mr Holmes, please help me to stop this fiend from doing anything terrible to my family."
Sherlock had leaned his head back against the chair, his eyes closed, his hands placed one on top of the other as he took in the new information. He then looked at Stoker and raised one of his eye brows and asked.
"Do you have an idea who could be sending you such... cumbersome letters?"
Stoker's eyes snapped open at the mere words; he licked his lips, fiddled with his fingers and sat shaking at the mere thoughts which I could see running through his mind.
"There... There is one man to which I believe who is sending me these letters."
"Which is?" Holmes added quickly, I could see had become rather keen over the matter, his eyes now focused upon our guest.
"Well... There is a man by the name Vlad Dracula."
I hadn't seen my dear friend hold back such laughter as I did then, he sat there, eyes still fixed but from the shaking of his shoulders it appeared it was merely moments before his strong restraints would break.
"Are you implying the subject of your novel is currently stalking you and threatening you with hate mail?" He asked. Stoker seemed as though he would either attack Holmes or merely fall to the ground like a frightened child.
"Please Mr Holmes do not look at me and my problem with amusing tones, I have never been so serious within my life! I have proof, I have seen him with my own eyes, I cannot let this creature destroy my life nor hurt my family, and you must help me Mr Holmes I beg of you."
Holmes sat there for a moment, all the hilarity removed from his features while he sat there. My friend removed himself from his seat and retrieved the small yellow novel, holding it within his hands and flicking through the pages. "Mr Stoker, are you truly saying that a creature that sucks on the blood of the living, controls animals with a single gaze and climbs up walls with no equipment what so ever is real?"
"No, not all of it is true yet I know it, from the depths of my soul he is evil."
"Then where is your proof Mr Stoker? I'm sorry but I cannot help you with such depravity of evidence towards a man, if he may be real or not, who may or may not contain supernatural powers. However if harm or danger is found within your family or yourself I shall certainly help you find the man and bring him to justice."
The author sat upon our sofa, eyes contently looking at Holmes while bit his lip and finally got to his feet. Stoker cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck with a reluctant sigh and held out his hand. "I would be honored and gracious for your help Mr Holmes." He spoke softly, almost sorry. "Yet even if you do decide to take on my problem there will always be the troublesome fact that what you are up against truly is a wicked and evil being."
"Believe me Mr Stoker, I have seen death and came back strutting as usual, I'm sure I can handle a fictional monster. Now, if anything does occur, return to Baker Street or send a telegram at once, my associate Dr Watson and I will respond as soon as possible."