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A writer, a detective, a doctor, a crime lord. What could possibly go wrong? When a investigations writer, who loves the classic literature of Sherlock Holmes, meets a detective and a doctor who are best of friends, while being at each other's neck, things seem all to familiar. Then when she is targeted for her involvement with said detective calls attention from his arch nemesis, things get even crazier. I guess that's what you get when you have a detective named Surlok.

Romance / Mystery
Diana Hart
Age Rating:

I am...

I am an author. Yes, it may seem cliché, but I actually write books about investigations in our time. That technically makes me a non-fiction author for the most part, but I do have a guilty pleasure in writing the fictional romance. The story I write now, is all true. Because these situations that have happened to me would not have been something even I could create in imagination.

My name is Iris Adelie. To tell you a bit about me, I can say that I always loved to read. But my favorite books were always considered dated in this day-in-age. I enjoyed reading classics that introduced the magic of Merlin and rule of King Arthur. I sat on the edge of my seat when I read about the mystery of Jekyll and Hyde. Finally, the reason I became an investigative writer was because of one book series, one character to be specific. Sherlock Holmes.

Though these characters are well known today, many of their true stories have been forgotten, or otherwise changed with the modern media portraying them to the modern audience. But I was always intrigued with how Holmes was able to solve crimes, which made me want to experience the thrill myself.

But I never really “went out into the field.” Many of my writings are used with current police investigations because it provides insight to why some individuals do what the law deems wrong. I provide a bit of a modern-day Holmes synopsis on certain law-breakers, so when someone similar shows up, they can see more into the mind of these individuals.

This does call for some psychology, to delve into the mind of those who do unlawful acts. But I thoroughly enjoy the process.

Because of this knowledge I have, the local authorities do have me come in sometimes to observe suspects being questioned. I can read people fairly well, so I can usually tell when someone is lying or telling the truth. This method is preferred over a lie detector test, because many people automatically become nervous when connected to the machine, making results a little more skewed.

Such is what happened when I first really took part in this story. I was at the station, watching one officer ask a suspected thief some questions about a valuable ring that went missing from a young heiress. I was watching from a hidden camera that only the police and other employees were aware of.

The officer finished asking his questions and left the room. Moments later, he entered the room where I was watching the suspect. He walked up next to me and watched the monitor for a short bit.

“What do you think?” his voice pierced my thoughts.

I raised my hand to my mouth, “He’s lying.”

“He convinced me. He kept eye contact, and seemed very confident in all of his answers.”

“Just watch, Larsen.” I retorted, as my eyes never left the screen.

Sure enough, the thief relaxed and laughed. His smile was more of a smirk, as if he was thinking to himself that he out smarted the police.

Larsen, one of the stations top officers, let out a short sigh. “You always seem to be correct. I’ll go move him to a cell until he confesses where the ring is.”

“He’ll tell you,” I looked at him, “once he sees that he didn’t fool anyone. He will know there’s no way out of the consequences of his actions.”

Larsen let out a short chuckle. “You are just like him. Thanks Iris.”

“And who would you be speaking about?” I questioned.

Larsen waved his hand, “No need to worry about it. You’re still a lot more fun. You heading home?”

We walked out of the monitor room and into the main area. The business of the area was common for many stations. Officers walked in and out of the precinct. New faces appeared in the doors as the people of the city came in for help in various needs. Many officers were at their desks, working on reports, while a coffee cup was in their hand.

“Yeah, I’m almost finished with my book talking about the Night Stalker.” I said as we walked side by side.

I noticed how Larsen visibly shuttered. “How do you enjoy reading about these crazy killers, just to write a book about how messed up they are?”

“Well, I find it quite intriguing how we have these outliers of people in our mostly civil population,” I laughed. “I want people to understand them better, rather than just go off of what’s on the media.”

By this time, we were at the entrance of the station. Outside was just as busy as the inside. Many people were going about their own business, accomplishing their goals and needs. This is one thing that I enjoyed about cities. I could tell so much about people just by how they were dressed, walking, talking, and the many other quirks of their simple pass by.

“You live close to Butler Street, right?” Larsen interrupted my thoughts again.

I nodded. “Yes, it’s about 6 blocks away from my apartment. I pass it every day.”

“Perfect,” he handed me a file. “Can you take this to 112 A? John has been nagging me about this for a week.”

“And who is John?”

“A repertory specialist, but he knows a lot in the medical field. He’s helping my niece with her asthma. He just asked about some information. I know he spends a lot of time at his friend’s place,” the explanation was simple enough.

“Alright, I’ll get this to him.” I tucked the folder under my arm.

Larsen patted my shoulder before I left, “Well done today, Iris. I’m glad you’re on our side.”

I nod before walking down the steps of the all too familiar precinct. Like any other day, the walk home was uneventful, though I did make some interesting observations of the people around me. But even then, this sort of thing was nothing new.

It didn’t take long until I was on Butler Street. 112 A was about midway down the street. I looked at the gold numbers on the door of the tall duplex, something felt off about this. I don’t know why, maybe it’s because I found a bullet hole in the door, and in the second story window.

Knocking on the door, I waited for a short bit before a bang caused me to jump six inches off the ground. The door opened soon after, and a dark blond man stood in the doorway. He looked sort of stressed, but at the same time trying to keep a happy composure.

“I’m sorry, the detective is busy at the moment.” He rushed out before trying to close the door.

“Well,” I called before he could fully block the entrance. “I’m not looking a detective, I’m looking for a doctor.”

His face visibly lightened, “Well that would be me Dr. John Wirtsen.”

He reached out his hand offered it to me. I gave it a firm shake.

“Iris Adelie.”

He tipped his head, “Nice to meet you Miss Adelie. I would invite you inside, but my friend is testing…” He coughed a bit, “Stuff.”

“Right,” I smiled. “Well, Lieutenant Larsen asked me to drop this off to you. He couldn’t make it today.”

“Well, I am certainly glad that he trusts you to bring this medical information.”

“No problem.” I watched him place the file under his arm.

Another bang caused me to jump again. I heard a door open and some pounding foot steps down the stairs to the door.

“John, I need some more bullet.” The new face entered the door way.

He gained an eye roll from John, “I don’t give bullets. I never give you bullets. You and your ‘experiments.’”

Their interaction made it so they both gained a bizarre look from me. Several questions came to my mind, but I didn’t think they would provide me with the answers I desired. They continued to argue for a bit, until the new face noticed me. His dark eyes seemed to be reading me, in a way that I don’t like doing to others.

“An investigational writer. That’s new.”

My eyes widened, “excuse me?”

John interrupted before any disagreements could go any further. “She’s not here for you Surlok. She came here to deliver a medical file to me.”

My heart jumped, “Sherlock!?”

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