Sherlock X Moriarty Novels & Stories

he said soberly “You are welcome” “Goddd! Can't believe I would have been dead now” he chuckled “Thank you, I really appreciate” “Come on detective…” “Decker, call me Decker” he interrupted “You know you are like that girl in the series, Eleven. The moment I was up in the air by that, uhm, what's he name Caterer” “Carter, mum called him Carter” “Yep, whatever. you were like, Get away from him you douchebag”

I was slightly unconscious but still conscious enough to know that his men were dragging me somewhere. Their grips were hard and firm on my arms as they pulled me into the dark room. It was only after I woke up that I got the full details of where I was. I realized that I had been played. Sherlock had pulled a fast one on me. He had made a bait for catching Damien. I glared at him, my eyes flashing with anger. “What do you want from me?” I spat, my voice weak but full of defiance. He only chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You know exactly what I want. You see, I have been trying to take down Damien for quite some time now, and I believe you hold the key to his downfall.”

"He makes your coffee. He knows exactly how much cream you like. He’s been making it correctly for three weeks. Xavier Blackwell doesn't 'notice' things unless they matter." ​"He noticed," Scarlett admitted. ​"And the Lisbon thing? You told me about the files. You didn't tell me about the hotel." ​Scarlett froze. "How do you know about the hotel?" ​"I didn't," Margot grinned, a flash of her old self appearing. "But now I do. You just gave yourself away." ​Scarlett stared at her. "You're terrible." ​"I'm a forensic investigator. It's my job. Now, tell me."

After much debate I left her reluctantly. After dropping Bethany at her home I directly went to my penthouse.I shaved, showered and put on fresh clothes. While my chef has prepared pasta for me,I wasn't in the mood of eating.I don't know why but I was having a bad feeling. Just then there was a knock and in came my detective.No one knows his real name but he is called Sherlock.Cliched much right? "Hello there Mr.Sherlock.How have you been?" "I'm doing fine Mr.Martin.Your father gave me this case about your girlfriend's accident."

Then she started narrating, “He used to be the assistant of Mr. Thompson. I liked his confidence and skills. In my opinion, he was more efficient than Aidan Thompson. But sadly, he was associated with gambling which took his life. Initially, I couldn’t believe the news. However, when those thugs confessed their crimes to the police, all my doubts cleared. He was a good man. If only he didn’t have the bad habit, he would have survived until now.” Xander’s grips on the armrest became tighter and tighter. His eyes were burning with rage. Aidan not only killed Charles, but he also slaughtered his character in public. He needed to clear his name. He concealed his anger with his indifferent look,

Matteo leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, the deadpanned look still on his face, “And how do you propose we go about finding a man who by all other knowledge was declared dead?” Xander’s lip curled up distastefully, “Do I look like some low life gangbanger to you?” He scoffed, “I’m the Don of the fucking Mafia.” He leaned back in his chair with an arrogant smirk on his lips. Xander’s confidence sparked something in Lorenzo, “I’m listening.” “Alright then…” Xander leaned forward and began explaining the plan to them. *** “Hey you.” Xander’s arms encircled Serenity’s waist as he came up behind her and dropped his chin on her shoulder to peek into the pot over her sho

It reminded her of the first time she had met Liam Martin (The Ghost)—a mask of politeness over something much darker. Who wants him dead? she wondered. A man who had just spent years in prison should have nothing left to take. What kind of hatred followed a man through the gates of hell and back? Was it the family of the "lover" his father had supposedly killed? Beside her, Xavier was on the phone, his voice a low, lethal hum as he ordered a full investigation. He wanted the mastermind found, no matter how deep he had to dig.

At least there was an end. "What do you want to know?" Detective Harris pulled out a recording device and pressed record. "Everything. Start from the beginning." I took a deep breath. "I met Alex Morrison two years ago at a charity gala. I was a pharmaceutical sales rep, recently divorced. He was charming, successful, and attentive. Everything my ex-husband wasn't." The words came easier than I expected. "He told me about his wife Lily. Said she was mentally unstable, that he was trapped in the marriage because she'd threatened to kill herself if he left."

There it was… “That’s the whole point of hiring you my guy, if you haven't given it much of a thought. That's why you get paid to rumble around the pack's gossip till we find out the exact issue—” “Hannah Christine Martins didn't get a burial. And there is no record of being cremated at any of the mortuaries in the RedMoonn pack.” He announced, cutting me off. That was enough leg boost to get on my feet and join him on the table where he had a laptop screen blaring in his face. “Fuck, why is it so bright??” I shielded the light from my eyes. “Because you are drunk, Sherlock. That's why.” He rolled his eyes, moving the system in my face. “See what I'm saying?”

Sherlock Holmes** is a fictional character created by Scottish Author and Physician, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a graduate of the University of Edinburgh Medical School. He is a London-based “consulting detective” whose abilities border on the fantastic. Holmes is known for his astute logical reasoning, his ability to adapt almost any disguise, and his use of forensic science to solve difficult cases.