Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Abominable Bride- Three

Chapter Three

Third POV

Standing on the balcony outside an upper storey window of a building in London, a woman is holding a long barrelled pistol in each hand. She is wears a wedding dress and matching head dress with the veil flipped back on her head, her face is painted a deathly white, except for her lips which are vividly red against the paleness of her face. The lipstick runs slightly over the edges of her lips. She fires into the street down below and one of the bullets smashes through the window of a nearby baker's shop. She fires again and people in the street below cry out in panic and duck or run. As a man runs along the street, the woman turns and aims her pistols at him. "You!"

The man turns and stares up at her, holding up his hands pleadingly. "No! Please!" She turns away from him and stares wide eyed at the pandemonium below her. Another man is running for cover. She glares at him but then fires further down the street to her right. He stops at the baker's shop and struggles to open the door but it appears to be locked. Breathing heavily, the woman cries towards him: "You?!" The man turns and starts to run down the street as the woman fires in his direction.

In 221B's sitting room, Holmes raises his hand. "A moment."

In the street, as another gunshot rings out, the scene freezes and, a little way down the road, it's as if the sitting room has appeared in the street but with only the wall with the fireplace there. The other three walls have vanished and Holmes and the others are sitting in their chairs and looking out at the scene. Watson has now sat down in his armchair, and Mary is sitting on the arm of his chair. Michelle points at the frozen scene. "When was this?"

"Yesterday morning." Lestrade answers begrudgingly. "The bride's face. How was it described?" Holmes asked. Lestrade opens his notebook and looks at his notes. "White as death... Mouth like a crimson wound." Michelle and Holmes walk across the room to look at their imagined versions of the street scene. "Poetry or truth?" Michelle asked. "Many would say they're the same thing."

"Yes, idiots. Poetry or truth?" Holmes asked. "I saw her face myself. Afterwards." Holmes and Michelle turn to look at him. "After what?"

On the balcony, the bride aims her pistols at another man. "You! Or me?" Lowering the left hand pistol, she raises the barrel of the other pistol in her right hand and opens her mouth wide. Aiming the gun up into her mouth, she fires and blood spatters over the white net curtains behind her. As the watching people cry out in alarm, she falls backwards and disappears from view.

In the sitting room, Holmes sighs with exasperation. "Really, Lestrade. A woman blows her own brains out in public and you need help identifying the guilty party. I fear Scotland Yard has reached a new low."

"That's not why I'm here."

"I surmise." Michelle muttered. "What was her name, the bride?" Watson asked. "Emelia Ricoletti. Yesterday was her wedding anniversary. The police, of course, were called, and her body taken to the morgue." Lestrade answers, drinking from his glass. "Standard procedure. Why are you telling us what may be presumed?"

"Because of what happened next." Michelle concluded.

In Limehouse, a pretty Chinese woman smiles at an English man who is sitting in a carriage. A Chinese man stands beside her. Nearby, another Chinese man stands outside what can be presumed to be an opium den.

"Limehouse, just a few hours later."

An English man in a smart dress suit comes out of the den and starts to walk down the street. The scene freezes with the man facing towards where the sitting room of 221B seems to have appeared in the street. Lestrade looks towards the man. "Thomas Ricoletti, Emelia Ricoletti's husband."

"Presumably on his way to the morgue to identify her remains." Lestrade takes another drink, then nods. "As it turned out, he was saved the trip."

In the street, a hansom cab approaches and a horse whinnies. Ricoletti turns around to look. The door of the cab opens and a woman starts to get out. At this moment all we can see is her boot and her white wedding dress covering her leg. "Do not forget me..." Ricoletti stares in horror as the Bride is revealed, her face covered and obscured by the head dress' veil. She is holding a shotgun which she now aims at him as she continues to sing: "Do not forget me..." Ricoletti raises his hands in terrified submission. The Bride slowly walks towards him. "Remember the maid..."

"Who are you?"

"The maid of the mill."

"Why are you doing this? Just tell me who you are!"

"You recognise our song, my dear? I sang it at our wedding." Ricoletti stares in horror as the Bride lifts her veil with one hand. Her lipstick is even more smeared than before, and there are powder burns around the middle of her lips. "Emelia?! You're dead. You can't be here. You died." He stuttered. "Am I not beautiful, Thomas? As beautiful as the day you married me?"

Behind her, a young police constable runs toward the scene but stops a few paces away. "What the hell's all this about?" The Bride turns her head towards him. The back of her head is covered with blood. "What does it look like, my handsome friend?" She turns her head towards her husband again. "It's a shotgun wedding." Cocking the shotgun twice in rapid succession, she fires at him twice. She smiles as he stares sightlessly at her for a moment, his own blood spattered over his face, then drops to the ground.

His head seems to lands on the carpet of the sitting room in 221B. Holmes looks impassively at the man's body. "'Til death us do part. Twice, in this case." Michelle mentions. Holmes smiles.

In the street, the Bride has pulled her veil back over her face and now turns in the direction of the hansom cab. The back of her head can be seen more clearly and it looks as if the rear of her skull has been blown off. PC Rance gasps as she walks past the cab and continues on into the fog and disappears from view. Rance blows his police whistle and then runs off after her.

"Extraordinary." Watson states. "Impossible!" Mary shares. "Superb!" Michelle feigned. "Suicide as street theatre; Murder by corpse. Lestrade, you're spoiling us. Watson, your hat and coat." Holmes walks to the door. "Where are we going?"

"To the morgue. There's not a moment to lose..." He takes off his dressing gown and puts on his jacket. "Which one can so rarely say of a morgue."

"And are we just to sit here?" Mary asked, pointing to Michelle. "Not at all, my dear. We'll be hungry later!" Michelle eye rolls to Watson's statement. Holmes watches her with amused eyes, whilst his heartbeat increases. "Holmes, just one thing? Tweeds, in a morgue?"

"Needs must when the devil drives, Watson." They both hurry down the stairs. Lestrade looks at Mary and Michelle as he starts to follow them. "Ma'am. Lady."

"We're part of a campaign, you know."

"Oh yeah? Campaign?" Lestrade turns back to them. "Votes for Women."

"And are you, are you for or against?" Michelle too, stands up. The women point to the door. "Get out." Looking bewildered, Lestrade turns and leaves. Mary sits down in Watson's chair, props her head on her hand and stares into the fire, sighing in exasperation. Michelle rubs her back soothingly. Mrs Hudson comes to the open door and knocks on it. "Oh. Have they gone off again, have they? I dunno, what a life those gentlemen lead. You too Michelle." She points to her niece. "Yes. Those gentlemen." Mary stated.

"Oh, never you mind. Ooh, almost forgot." She walks to the girls, holding out two envelopes. "These came for you."

"Oh!" Accepting the letters, they open it. Mrs Hudson stands nearby, trying to read the card which Mary and Michelle take from the envelope. On one side is simply:

M

On the other side it says:

Immediately

The girls smile with delight. "Mrs Hudson, tell my husband and Holmes we'll be home late. We have some urgent business to attend."

"Is everything all right?" Michelle walks to her room changing into a dress. "Oh, you know, just a friend in need." A few moments later, Michelle appears in a elegant brown dress. "Oh dear. What friend?" Michelle and Mary turn around and smile excitedly. "England." They both respond.

Leaving the room, Mrs Hudson looks round, bewildered. "Well, that's not very specific!"