London—1890

London—1890

Lydia Michaels was a petite girl with long flowing locks of dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. She lived with her father and her three brothers in a mansion in the middle of London. Since her father, Daniel Michaels was working for the Queen, her and her family had money. She wore tight corsets and stunning dresses every day of her life.

After a day out with her friends in the city, she comes home to an invitation with a big red stamp on the back.

Miss Lydia Michaels, I am pleased to invite you to Lord and Lady Nelson’s summer party.

She jumped with joy, as parties were her favorite things. And she knew that some of her friends have gotten invitations as well.

She went up to her room to pick out her dress. She had a few in mind. A gold dress that flowed perfectly with the curves around her hips. Or a deep mahogany gown that her mother once owned. Or even a Christmas green dress that hugged her waist perfectly. She stood in front of the dresses laying perfectly on her bed. After minutes and minutes of pondering she finally picked her dress.

She stood in the mirror and looked at the gold dress that fit perfectly with her bright eyes and dark locks. She picked up her small clutch, kissed her father on the cheek, and went out of the door and onto the party.

As she made her way into the ballroom she caught eyes with her best friend.

“Ah Lydia I’m so happy you could make it! I have someone for you to meet.” Charles said, whisking Lydia away to one of the corners of the room.

There he stood. Tall. Dark hair. The most beautiful eyes anyone has ever seen. Lydia was shocked. She has never seen a man with such prominent features as this stranger. He wears a black suit with a black undershirt. Everything black...

“ Mr. Holmes this is Miss Lydia Michaels, the girl I was telling you about,” Charles said, pointing at Lydia. Lydia stood there just staring at him. He is so beautiful she thought to herself.

“Miss Michaels,” he said taking her hand and kissing the top of it “please call me Sherlock.”

“Why, that is an unusual name,” Lydia said, taking the drink he poured for her out of his hand. He smirked before answering.

“Well, you could say I’m an unusual person.”

As the night progressed Sherlock and Lydia got very close.

“I have to say, Miss Michaels, you are a beautiful lady,” Sherlock said as they sat on a bench outside.

“Why thank you” Lydia replied, blushing like mad.

The night went on and they talked and talked for hours. Lydia was in love. And she knew he felt the same way. She was smitten. She couldn’t believe that such a handsome man would fall in love with her.

Lydia yawned, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. She heard him chuckle lightly and started blushing again.

“Shall I get our coats and I’ll walk you home?” he asked standing up, sticking out his hand to help her. Lydia nodded her head and smiled.

“Stay right here I’ll be right back.”

Sherlock walked to the closet where the coats were kept. He couldn’t stop smiling. He really loved this girl. He grabbed his coat, put it on, then tucked her under his right arm as he closed the door.

As he made his way back outside he realized that Lydia wasn’t there. He was looking everywhere for her until he saw it. There were marks on the ground, her shoes. Someone must have taken her. It looks like she was dragged.

He quickly dropped her coat and ran the way of the scrapes across the ground. The marks ended at a balcony where he saw Lydia’s body hanging, dark red blood flowing out of her abdomen.

He gagged before throwing up everything he had eaten that day.

He couldn’t believe it. Who would do such a thing? Why her? What did she do to hurt anyone?

He walked over to her and ran his hand down her now cold face. A tear slipped out of his eye as we slowly picked her up. He draped her coat over her body and took her out of the party.

It felt like hours. He carried and carried her until he finally found her house. He told her father what had happened and then left. He couldn’t bear it.

Her blood covered his hands and his shirt. Every time he looked at his hands his stomach would churn.

He couldn’t sleep. The next few nights he stayed up wondering who would hurt such a beautiful girl.

Her funeral was beautifully sad. Everyone was dressed in silky black dresses, with permanent frowns on their faces. Sherlock stood in the back watching.

I should’ve stayed with her, he thought, angry with himself.

When he got home that day and the days to come he devoted his life to figure out who killed the love of his life. Every day until the day he died himself he would solve crimes, and help people who needed saving.

That’s how the famous detective Sherlock Holmes came to be.