Author’s Note: This one is a bit different guys. Instead of having it be something J&H related, it’s gonna branch out into Sherlock territory. I hope you all still enjoy it~! This is based on a Shamchat I did with an anonymous person that I REALLY REALLY WANT TO RP WITH AGAIN.
Sherlock Holmes had been on the couch for over two days, not moving, not speaking. Only getting up to check his laptop silently, eventually just moving it to his lap so he wouldn't have to move at all. His frail looking frame was covered in only a white sheet, his normally sharp eyes glazed over in dreams, thought, or drugs. Most likely it was a combination of all three. But, for the famed London detective and anyone that knew him, this was normal. Holmes occupied the time this smoggy afternoon by a random chat service, tapping on keys listlessly while staring at the screen, proving to strangers how clever he was.He would find, while searching through the internet, lacking anything to do, a site. The link is labeled, “Find Out How You Will Die” in the Google search. It seems innocent enough, just another one of those shame sites where it’s all faked and randomized, and never plausible or accurate.
Sherlock, rolling his eyes at even the title, decided out of boredom to humor this website and clicked the link without any cares. He arrives at a completely black screen, with a few white words in the middle of it.
“Are you alone? Y/N.”
He finds himself at another white text question. “Are the lights off? Y/N.”
Holmes looks around the flat. It was the middle of the afternoon and sunlight was streaming through the windows. The sunlight lit the flat so well he hadn’t realized that all the electrical lights were off. He tries typing more than required: If sun--
But, before he could finish after he pressed N, another question appears. “Are you at home? At work? Or other? [ ]” A text box is at the side of the text this time, inside of the Y/N.
When he is cut off the the middle of his sentence, he pouts. He presses Y and types home.
“Are there voices in your head?” It’s a text box question this time.
Nothing more than my own, Sherlock is starting to get bored when he hears a sudden shout in the back of his mind that sounded inhuman.
“Are there more now? Y/N.”
Holmes jumps, his head whipping around to try and find the source of the sound. “..Mrs. Hudson?” He shouts into nothing and nothing is received in return.Sherlock turned back to the laptop screen and pressed Y.
“Are you lying to me? Y/N.”
“Are you sure you’re alone? Y/N.”
“Are you lying to me? Y/N.”
“Do you like the nighttime or the daytime? D/N.”
The detective raised an eyebrow, what kind of question was this? N.
“Where do you stay the most often? [ ]”
After a few moments, larger white text appeared on the screen. “Blood loss. Twelve thirty P.M.”
The fear that had been nagging at Sherlock disappeared as he frowned. That was really all, that was it. Wonderful. He closed his laptop, not liking that chilling feeling that was starting to crawl up his spine. He hears something coming from his living room. It sounds like footsteps, moving away from where he was.
...It was like someone was watching him, and had just left. Sherlock tensed, staying as still as he could. No other noises are heard. The afternoon begins to slowly turn to night. Sherlock deleted the event from his mind, turning on the telly and watching mindlessly.
Afternoon to evening, and evening to night. Time passes slowly, a result of a mix of the fear, and boredom. He looks out out the window, watching London nightlife go by under his feet. The cars moving around the road, people heading to the pub for the night...Eventually, the city quiets down. He then turns his gaze to the sky, a warm mug of tea in his hand.
The ticking of the grandfather clock is the only noise in his flat, aside from the television. Why does that trigger something? He breaths, trying to calm his frayed nerves. He only felt like this on a case, why now? Holmes spots someone outside. He’s wearing a brown trench coat, denim jeans, and black shoes. He has a wide cap that shades is face, and he catches a glimpse of a shiny, metallic object by his wrist. It looks in through the window, staring at him. The low, orange glow of a cigar is seen coming from his face.
Killer. It was so painfully obvious Sherlock didn’t even feel clever after deducing that man. Where was he going?
The man pulls the cigar out of his mouth, and blows a bit smoke towards the window. He pulls a piece of paper out from his pocket, and tosses it at the door. He keeps walking down the street.
Sherlock rushes downstairs to get it.
He finds that the door is already unlocked...someone had got in earlier.
How without him noticing? Sherlock keeps that in mind.
That must explain the footsteps he heard earlier. The slip of paper lies face-down in front of the door. He picks it up by one corner.
The writing on it reads, “12:30 PM - 77966-666-778549448533366″.
Holmes squints his eyes at numbers, staring at them, mind going into overdrive in excitement and frustration and..fear? Good bloody hell, what was wrong with him! He locked the door and went back upstairs, trying to clear his mind so he could think properly.
The hour begins to grow late. Around eight o’clock. The sounds of the grandfather clock striking annoys Sherlock into a frenzy. He starts to feel trapped, cornered, and he does not know why or by whom.
The numbers. They have to mean something, or else the writer wouldn’t have put them there. His glare moves to his laptop. He picks it up off the floor, opening it and logging on in record time, going to his history. That website had to be there.
He finds that website is still there.
It leads to the same page, with the same question. He spots something slightly brighter that he didn’t notice the first time he looked. Only a single shade brighter than the black around it. It looked like..text.
He squints and leans forward to read it, it’s hard to see, but Sherlock can manage.
A code. Great. Sherlock looks to the clock.
He had time. But he had to work fast. He had two-- wait, no how would the 111 come into play in that case? --one theory on how this worked, but none of these numbers really helped. Q = 1 was the only thing he had to go on. The Z could be a trick. He decided to try a substitution.
The keyboard. He would notice. Vertically are letters, so that must mean that Q, The top letter, is the first. One.
He felt daft. There it was. Sherlock grabbed a pen and paper.
He hears the footsteps again, moving away from him once more.
