Sherlock Holmes and the Sharks of Kerrigor

"The water is rising. Soon we will take the land. Soon, we will take you!" Sherlock Holmes, private investigator extraordinaire, has gone on holiday. It's an interesting choice, Cornwall, but what if it has meaning? Something about him has changed. It's almost as if he knows something. Something extremely bad, something that could rip apart their world. As the ties between evil and good draw ever close, Sherlock and Watson must fight something more evil than ever imagined: The Sharks of Kerrigor have returned.

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2. Havenmoor

It flung itself into the air, rejoicing in the warm thermals and singing in the midday sun. Swooping low down the mountains it reached a town, a bustling expanse of roofs. They sang in the light, reminiscing of holidays far abroad, melting into the cobbled paths of the same autumn hue. The town was large, a market street rippling through the centre, extending to the houses around it. The creature did not stop to admire though. Passing ice-cream parlours, libraries and houses it swerved through alleys and down a long winding path to the coast.
 
Reaching the sands it soared up into the clouds, before drifting, swirling down on the breeze to alight on a branch, looking curiously around and hopping up to a bundle of leaves: a nest. It was a bird, plump and soft, warm and happy.  As it disappeared into the alcove of greenery, a man looked away. He leant against a wall that followed the path down to the beach, smiling into his ice-cream. Sighing, and ruffling his messy brown hair in the warmth, he looked to the coast, squinting through his glasses at the beach below. It was busy, and people throbbed through the market that stood near the pier, flopped onto the sands of the beach and cooled in the waters. He grinned, and went to join them.
 
Upon reaching the markets, he involved himself by peering into the haze of scarves at a stall. He glanced behind him constantly; warily. This is the perfect time to hone my skills, he thought, thinking of his superior and grinning, imagining the man he looked up to finally impressed. Folding his hands into his long jacket, he turned and surveyed the area. A gaggle of people stood at the steps to the pier, laughing and chatting. He focused on one, frowning in concentration. He was a tourist: that was obvious, with an “I love Cornwall” shirt on and UK flags printed on his sandals. Didn’t they make those exclusively in Kent? thought the man, smiling as he gathered confidence. His sandals are worn too, so he’s a frequent traveller to warmer places. Yes, the man thought, I’ve got it. Taking a bite of his ice-cream he smiled happily. I wonder what he would think! He blinked, thinking once more of…. Wait. He looked again, searching for what he thought he’d saw. And there it was. A man, stood on the steps to the pier, engrossed in a map. He started forwards. No, that couldn’t be… He reached the man, and as he recognized his profile he said incredulously,
“Holmes?”
The man turned quickly.
“Ah yes, my dear friend Watson! Welcome to Havenmoor!”
 

 

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