Title: The Curse of the Black Tiger
Author: Korithetramp (aka LadyWillow13)
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/ My Original Character
Movie/Show/Game: BBCs Sherlock
Disclaimer: A just for fun fanfic. I do not own any of the wonderful characters from Bbs Sherlock. The only thing that’s mine is my Original Character Kensai. Hope everyone enjoys. Also, I ship JohnLOCK as much as the next girl, but… I like my OCs
<I> They tell me you’re one of the best assassins in the world.”
Jim Moriarty looked toward the slender woman who stood in front of a beautifully stained window of an angel that was hundreds of years old, his dark brown eyes assessing her slender frame dressed in a warm trench coat against the chill in the air. Her dark hair, nearly the color of his own, seemed to gleam from the flickering light of the fire place. His eyes narrowed as he took in her stance. She was relaxed, idly sipping fresh tea from a delicate flower painted cup that was nearly as old as the colored glass in front of her.
From what he heard, when she was relaxed, she was the most dangerous. Her body was loose. But he noticed that her hand, nearly as slender as her frame, held a small twitch. She would curl her hand to rid herself of it every so often. But it rarely helped, it seemed.
He watched as she raised the delicate cup of tea to her full lips and sip from its contents. His dark eyes narrowed. Just how dangerous was she, he wondered as he took a sip from his tea. He rose a single eyebrow and smiled softly.
It was time to find out.
He leaned back into his well cushioned chair and tapped one of his long fingers against the polished mahogany table beside him in a silent signal to his men that had been hidden in the shadows.
“Are they?” he asked as he lifted his cup to his lips again. A small, subtle signal and watched as three men rushed from the shadows toward the woman known around the world only as the Black tiger. He wanted to see… Just how dangerous she could be.
He wasn’t disappointed when he saw that she killed men with a fluid grace that not even the most seasoned of dancer could master. She was fluid. Graceful. And deadly.
He nearly jolted in surprise when he heard the agonized scream of a man whose face had come in contact with the nearly boiling tea she held in her cup. He raised a single eyebrow as he watched her kick the man with a single blow to the side of the head and sent him flying through the stained glass window. He pursed his lips when he heard the scream suddenly cut short as he imagined the man being impelled by the iron stakes in the courtyard below. The second man met his demise with a quick, satisfying crack as she snapped his neck with what nearly seemed like a loving embrace.
The last mans attack was hesitant. Not because of the thought of attacking a woman, but at the speed of the demise of his fellow assassins. He looked into the golden eyes of the woman in front of him, who tilted her head to the side. And in those eyes, he saw his death. But the decision was his.
Was it to be slow and painful. Or fast and painless. The choice was his.
And after what seemed to be in eternity in his mind, he chose. Rushing toward her with a hidden blade, he watched her hand blur in the air and felt the sudden sharp pain in his chest. He slowed, and stopped nearly toe to toe with her. As he stared into her now pity filled eyes, he touched the knife that protruded from his chest, then stared at the bright red blood that coated his finger tips.
Moriarty watched as the man fell face first to the floor, and raised both eyebrows at the spreading red stain on the priceless carpet.
“I’m the best.”
Her voice was emotionless. It was, to her, a stated fact.
He looked at the woman who now stood facing the window again and wondered what she saw in the dense rain that never seemed to stop falling. “Indeed”
The Black Tiger looked toward the slender, short haired man with dark hair. Her golden eyes taking in the fact that he hadn’t moved from his seat since she arrived. “Why am I here?” she asked softly.
Moriarty took another sip of his tea as his long fingers caressed the handgun he had hidden just out of her line of sight. His dark eyes met hers. “I want to hire you for a job.”
She turned to fully face him. “Yes?”
“I want you to kill someone.”
“Oh? And who would the great James Moriarty want me to kill?” she said softly. A chill in her voice would of sent chills down a lesser mans spine. But even Moriarty felt the cold.
He struggled not to shiver from it.
“Doctor John Watson.”
The Black Tiger narrowed her eyes. “And why not the great Sherlock Holmes?”
Moriarty smiled. But it was cold, deadly and fierce. “I’ve killed him once… He didn’t stay dead. And I know one thing… If you kill the heart… the mind will rot away.”<I>
~ ~ ~
The streets of London were filled with those who have lived in England all their lives, and some who wanted to see the beauty of the English. To trace their roots. Many different languages filled the air. But no one seemed to noticed the young American woman who had just stepped out of a black taxi cab, wearing bright red pants covered with smears of paint and an off the shoulder purple t-shirt that held some of the characters from the Little Mermaid that revealed a white tank top underneath. Her dark brown hair shone brightly in the bright sunshine, bringing out the natural highlights of red and gold, and fell in waves around a heart shaped face.
She couldn’t be sidetracked by the beauty of the city before her, with its little shops and its peoples charming accent that seemed to float through the air like magic. Kensai McDonald was on a mission.
To find Doctor John Watson.
Eyes, nearly the color of gold, looked at the black painted door that held a solid bronze knocker and the polished lettering of the flats number.
“221 B Baker Street. This must be the place.” Kensai smiled softly, not noticing that her husky voice made a couple of young men stop in their tracks to look at her up and down. Her smile, even soft, made her eyes glow like haunted doubloons.
She picked up two different sized suitcases that were placed on the walkway next to her, and walked a little closer to the door before she placed them back to the cement. Taking a deep breath, she raised a hand that held a trio of multi-gemmed rings that winks in the sunlight and knocked.
She waited for a few moments, rocked back and forth in her white ballet shoes, her unpainted face looking toward the sky before she heard the door unlock from the inside and watched as the door slowly opened to reveal a middle aged woman with curling hair, a smiling face and a smart dress. She liked her instantly, and was impressed by the sharp red dress she was wearing.
“May I help you dear?” her English accent was music to her ears. Her smile polite, her brown eyes questioning in her beautifully aged face.
Kensai smiled. “Yes, I wondering if Doctor John Watson was home.”
The middle aged womans smile never faltered. “Why yes dear, he is. May I ask who’s asking after him?”
Kensai’s smile got brighter. “I’m his goddaughter…”
A shout came from on top of the stairs that made Kensai‘s heart swell. “Mrs. Hudson, who was at the door?”
Mrs. Hudson turned toward the voice. “Theres a young woman here claiming to be your goddaughter John.”
Kensai watched as her godfather, John Watson walked down the steps wearing a plain wool sweater, jeans and thick socks. His silver streaked blonde hair gleamed dully in the bright sunshine and illuminated his rugged features as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. She watched as his steel grey eyes widened in shock at the sight of her. And for just a moment, she thought it was a mistake to come as his smile widened.
“Hi Uncle John…” Kensai whispered as her smile turned soft at the sight of the only man, aside her father, she ever loved and laughed in joy when she was pulled into Johns arms, crushing her in him embrace.
“Little Kensai McDonald, look at you. All grown up.” He touched her face softly, looking into her eyes and smiled. “I havent seen you since…”
He cursed himself as he watched the bright light in her eyes dim at the memory of her fathers last hours. They had served together. And was the one who had held Kensai as her father died in her arms in an American hospital.
“Since my father died… Don’t worry Uncle John, Daddy wouldn’t want us both mourning after him. You knew him, he’d kick both our asses…”
Johns lips quirked in a small smile before he sighed. “Its been a long time… Look at you. You’re so American.” he said trying to get her to smile.
She laughed. “I am American Uncle John.” She hugged him again, this time taking in his scent. He always reminded her of her father.
“Well, what is the great American Storm doing here in humble London?” John asked as he picked up both of her bags off of the street and took them inside.
Kensai smiled at Mrs. Hudson’s pursed lips, and winked at her, which got a small laugh. “I am here for pleasure Uncle John. Its been a long time since I’ve had a vacation.”
“Do you have any place to stay?” John asked as he walked up the stairs into the living space of his flat.
“Well no, I was going to stay at a hotel nearby..”
“Nonsense, you’ll stay here… You can have my bed.”
“Oh no, Uncle John, I couldn’t possibly…”
“Its that… or the couch… Or possibly Sherlock’s bed.”
Before she could question who Sherlock was, Kensai stepped through the door and was struck by the sight of what seemed to be millions of books that seemed to line the room from top to bottom. Two, well cushioned chairs sat slightly facing each other and a well loved couched were the only furniture that required sitting. On top of couch ends desks were papers completely covered by papers, books. And on the beautiful mantel fireplace lay a single skull that seemed to be… well staring at her.
She tore her gaze away from the skull to look at John who stood near her with a pot of tea. He had placed her baggage somewhere out of the room and was smiling at her. She smiled back. “Uncle John… Are you sure you don’t mind…”
John smiled. “I don’t… I’m not too sure about what Shelock will say.”
Before she could ask, a tall, dark haired man with stunning gray eyes burst through the door, wearing a black wool trench coat, a dark violet scarf and an annoyed expression on his lean face. She watched as he grumbled something about fish scales as he seemingly tore his scarf off and shrugged off his coat.
“John, do you know how many scales fish have?” the man asked, his back still to them. His black shirt hugging his slender torso as his trousers seemed to nearly sag on him.
John rose an eyebrow. “I… don’t think so?”
“The rainbow trout, more typically found in North America, has roughly over thirteen thousand scales… And do you know why I know that, John?” he asked as he continued to look at the wall
“I really don’t care, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“Because John,” the man continued, completely ignoring John as he pinned him with his eyes and nearly snarled. “That was what someone asked me today in the tube. Why? Because I couldn’t find any cabs to take me…”
And with that, he threw himself into one of the chairs and grumbled.
“Well… at least you’re not covered in blood this time.” John said softly as he handed a cup of tea to Kensai who took it with a smile. “Sherlock… I want you to meet someone.”
“Who?” Sherlock Holmes said softly as he looked out the window at the now darkening sky.
“My goddaughter… Kensai. She‘ll be staying with us for a while.
“I got a fan letter from a young lady. It was a suicide note.
So I called her, and I said, “Hey, this is Jimmy Doohan. Scotty, from Star Trek.” I said, “I’m doing a convention in Indianapolis. I wanna see you there.”
I saw her — boy, I’m telling you, I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was definitely suicide. Somebody had to help her, somehow. And obviously she wasn’t going to the right people.
I said to her, “I’m doing a convention two weeks from now in St. Louis.” And two weeks from then, in somewhere else, you know? She also came to New York - she was able to afford to got to these places. That went on for two or three years, maybe eighteen times. And all I did was talk positive things to her.
And then all of the sudden — nothing. I didn’t hear anything. I had no idea what had happened to her because I never really saved her address.
Eight years later, I get a letter saying, “I do want to thank you so much for what you did for me, because I just got my Master’s degree in electronic engineering.”
That’s…to me, the best thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
*goes into the corner and sobs*
Hitler flirting with Eva Braun.
I don’t know how this makes me feel
It makes me feel very uncomfortable
You know what’s so uncomfortable about this? It shows that perhaps one of the most evil men in history, was a human being. That, on occasion, he could be nice, even flirty. That’s not all. You want to see evil people as evil, screaming horrible stuff over a desk with 20 microphones with 20, 000 people saluting them. The evil is clear and recognizable then. This shows a completely different image, it scares you because that means that evil isn’t a stereotype, that evil is not recognizable, that evil could be anyone. It scares you because this shows that could be lurking inside anyone and you’ll never ever know. Maybe in you?
i reblogged this literally like 2 minutes ago, but i want this version because of that comment ^
That comment is one of my favorite post commentaries, because it’s completely right. People aren’t inherently evil. Like good, it’s a role they grow and live into. We have just as much potential to destroy as this man exhibited. And it’s a very eye opening experience to realize that.
does anyone even remember that one time hitler attended that luncheon between world leaders, some guests of which even included china’s socialist leader as well as Stalin. And then when they were ordering, everyone was gladly ordering impressive dishes one after the other, but Hitler placed an order for barley tea and a pheasant (considered a peasant’s meal by standard). When he was questioned as to why he would order something like this in something as grand as a world leader’s congress, he replied,
“I don’t smoke when my people cannot smoke, and I cannot eat when my people are going hungry.”
He wasn’t evil for its own sake, let’s try to remember that despite the countless murders, but for a moment, he did actually believe he was doing something for the good of his countrymen.
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE
No, he’s right. Hitler, though extremely wrong in his views, did everything for what he thought would better the lives of his people. It was wrong. It was disgustingly, horribly wrong. But he did not do it because it was evil and he was evil. He did it because he believed it would help Germany and those who needed a better life. Those who don’t understand or even try to understand the human brain will always label men like him as ‘evil’ because it is easier to accept. But he wasn’t ‘evil.’ He felt love and loyalty and responsibilities. He simply took these aspects and morphed them into a twisted, violent thing.
Tumblr is probably the only place we could have this conversation and not be lynched.
All the awards for this post.
To put into context, Germany was one of the countries heavily affected by WW1. The country was riddled with the debt of war, the Treaty of Versailles was unfair for them and pretty much fucked them over, the crazy hyperinflation in their economy… The people were angry and suffering from a war they were (in a basic view) dragged into. For all the horrible things Hitler commanded, at the root of those actions was a belief that it was all for the benefit of Germany, for its people, to bring them out of their suffering toward a better future.
I’m not saying Hitler’s actions are forgivable or that people shouldn’t be mad for what he and those under his command (Himmler!) did, but people aren’t black and white. And since history is basically a record, or a story, of the developments and actions of humans over the ages, it would be a mistake to view the characters who play their parts in it so one-dimensionally.
Also he might have been on meth (as medicine) during the entire war so he made extreme decisions kind of really quickly
WHEN YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTER DIES AND YOU JUST HOPE THAT THEY’LL COME BACK BUT THEY NEVER DO AND YOU JUST KEEP LYING TO YOURSELF AND TELLING YOURSELF THEY’LL COME BACK
BUT COULSON LIVES!
I wish I had known of this interview last January. Such a beautiful man, I wish I had even a fraction of your optimism.
You… have to be very gone.
To humor me, I do believe.
This should be considered porn..or abuse of those vocal cords. Either way I’ll just be in this corner sobbing.