Sherlock Holmes Novels & Stories

“Were you the one growling a few seconds ago?” “No, that's not me,” he snapped too quickly. “My wolf was just… reacting to...” “To what exactly? That's my detestable attitude, right?” He didn’t laugh as I expected him to. Not even a blink was spared. He just stood there, staring straight at me. “What, you can't speak now?” I asked. “Something’s different this time, please.” “Wow, good to hear. Congratulations, darling Sherlock.” His voice remained serious.“Your scent did it for me.”

“Snow, you are absolutely incredible. Do you know this?” Damien said. I looked up at him bewildered. I just told this man that the largest assassin company in the world was out to get him personally, and he thinks I'm incredible? I shook my head at him. “What?” I said.

Sunlight cast the shadows of the massive columns into a grid pattern; in the flickering light and shadow, only the light tap of her boot heels could be heard. The man was dazed for a split second, then regained his cold composure. He quickened his pace, turning a corner swiftly and silently, but stopped abruptly, his sharp pupils constricting violently. The slender figure had vanished without a trace, leaving only the empty long corridor, so quiet one could hear a heartbeat. His finger was on the trigger of his gun, yet he felt no threat of falling into a trap. His gaze was suddenly drawn to something. At the end of the corridor was a life-sized statue of the Goddess of Fate.

A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he reached for the bottle of whisky on his desk. Suddenly, the lights went out. At first it was a flicker—an almost polite interruption. Then the whole building inhaled the night: corridors flattened into shadow; monitors died and cameras turned off. For a beat the silence was almost elegant. The darkness spread through the high-ceilinged floors and down the marble stairways, swallowing the soft clink of glass and the rustle of paper. “Power outage sir,” someone muttered close to the door. “Emergency generator—” “Find it! Damn it!” Holmes snapped. His secretary suddenly stood up and waited in the corner of his desk. He hated puzzles. He hated interruption

He bowed slightly and left. The inspector general heaved a sigh. He hated to see his officers so clueless. But something was strange; Bob had seemed unbothered. All his years in the bureau, Inspector Akhere has seen many smart and creative detectives but he has seen none like Bob Andrews. Smart, creative, fast, and alert, Bob had built a name for himself as the Detective of Detectives. He used the brains of other detectives and he gets positive results. At first, the inspector felt he was just another control freak, but after a close study of the man he finally understood him.

However, halfway through, the phone he left at the living room's table rang. Paul picked up and saw a call coming from his assistant. "Done?" "Reporting to Young Master, I already have the result of the investigation. It seems like the perpetrator is a Holmes, the heir from the same school as Miss Agatha." "A Holmes, huh. Got it." "What is your command, Sir?"

“Do not call me that.” “You can't hide from what you are forever.” The corner of his lips lifted and he diverted his gaze to behind me. “Deny it all you want.” I ignored him, focusing on what he’d just said. Soren. I’d heard of that before, the name oddly familiar. Tightening my hand around the hilt, I willed the flaring embers down, and focused on the buried information. “Soryn,” My eyes widened. The smirk that had been on Derrick vanished, and his face turned white.

Deep lines, wrinkles, creases that hadn't been there minutes ago. "No... this can't be happening!" She staggered back, ready to bolt—then stopped cold. Every camera was locked on her. Teeth clenched, she forced a smile. "That doesn't matter. What matters is solving the case!" She tried to rally. "The most distinct trait of the killer is his hands—" But before she could land the point, a reporter pushed through the crowd. "Breaking news! The Carmoria State Bureau of Investigation just caught the real killer!"

I’m not a short woman but in front of him, I could never get an opportunity to say this. He was not from around here. He didn't looked like someone from here, he must be from the Asian mainland. He was tall with an athlete's body, and everything about him was just sharp. His monolid eyes were the darkest set of brown that some would believe that they were black, however, I was not a mere human being, the blood in my veins was of werewolves, so I could see his eyes were dark brown and were sharp. His nose was high and straight and sharp. It was adding another charm to his inevitable personality, that was screaming, I’m the boss here.

I didn't ask him for help, but just as in Del Mar, he rescued me. Maybe he was Batman. While walking from the secret elevator to the main elevators within the catacombs of Infinity my purse vibrated. I stopped and moved to the side of the hallway as it vibrated again. I removed my phone from my purse and held my breath as I swiped the screen. Am I ready to hear his voice again? Will he be upset that I'm making Isaac wait? Am I making him wait? A lump formed in my throat until I saw the name: PATRICK.