forum Probably a murder story prompt

Started June 27, 2018 by @howlsmovingbrain

tune

I was just about to get into bed, when suddenly an earsplitting scream rang through the cold night.

It was one lengthly day, when the sun's cold December rays flitted through the curtains of 221B Baker Street. Mr. Holmes rested upon his seat and bathed in it's shivery fingertips- as his own were near his face. And I, myself, remained at my writer's desk- sketching out a new story for the daily paper. It was at a particular time in which I had received one of the worst cases of writer's block I can recall. So I found myself sullen, and frustrated with my lack of passion. Scratching the paper as a last resort, I let off a pained moan.

"Sherlock," I sighed, "On this particular day, I find that the dreariness of winter depresses me. It chills my bones- does it not, to you?"

The man was much like an underfed cat; stretched out, and very much thin- with a certain arrogant-whim surrounding him. He opened one of his piercing eyes, and looked over to me.

"Dear Watson," he murmured, "The cold, too, depresses me. Shall we take a walk, to get the blood moving again?" I smiled, and stood.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes- I would be most delighted," he outstretched his arm for assistance, and we stumbled through the home and out the door.

Outside, we quickened our pace. The air was as cold as a knife, and stabbed at any vulnerabilities we conceived. My partner frowned beside, and huffed;

"Watson, I'm afraid I have been quite irritable lately," he apologized, "This weather does not help with the aches and pains I bear… so please-"

"It's quite alright, Sherlock. I understand– I'm afraid I'm not quite myself, either," I admitted. He nodded, and we staggerered down a second street. He parted his trembling lips, and huffed a vapory sigh.

"Oh Watson," he said softly, "Look at how the grass has lost all color… the world itself, seems to have lost color. Those trees, the sky… what are we to do?" I gave him an assuring nod, as he was obviously quite grief stricken.

"Weather the cold, Sher–" as we rounded another corner, we were met with a pale form on the ground. Blood was caked around it's neck, from a very deep wound- and it's eyes were wide open. Although the appearance of it's condition was ghastly, none could have driven me to such an uneasy stomach as the fact that I recognizef the face.

"Sherlock," I gasped, "It's–"
He nodded.

I was just about to get into bed, when suddenly an earsplitting scream rang through the cold night. I quickly went over to the window and opened the window. Down on the street, two men were fighting. One of them was holding a young girl by the wrist. As I looked closer, I recognized the faces. The girl's name was Hannah, and the man holding her was Tyler. The other man's name was Chad. I quickly ran downstairs and burst out the door, still in my pajamas. The men stopped fighting, and Tyler let Hannah go. She quickly ran up to me.
"Mommy, what's going on?"
"Hey, baby, it's alright…" I had raised Hannah alone for the past year, after breaking up with Tyler, who had been abusing the nine-year-old. Since then, he had been trying to get full custody of her. Chad, my boyfriend, had probably just been taking her on a walk to see the stars, like he did every night.
I told Hannah to go inside and looked at the two men.
"Chad, go inside."
He glance at Tyler.
"Don't worry. I'll shout if I need you."
He hesitated, but went inside.
"Tyler, why do you still try?" I crossed my arms.
"Come on, Abbey, she's my child, too!"
"Don't even act like you care about her. We all know what you did."
"Oh, come on! You don't believe that, do you!?"
"Sorry, Tyler, but I do." I turned around and went back inside. I had given that man enough chances.

There. Not a horror story, after all. :)