dem zombeez | irene

[Sherlock Holmes]

It was very rare to see Sherlock Holmes outside of his flat at 221b Baker Street when not on a case. It was fully possible that he'd never been out of his flat for anything other than something pertaining to a case. If that were so, there was a first time for everything. Both John and Mrs. Hudson were away on some sort of business {Sherlock had found it unnecessary to think of and had forgotten} and Sherlock had to go out and find his own food. Due to his hatred of eating, Sherlock would likely not buy very much...

This was all that had crossed Sherlock's mind before he saw what appeared to be a small group of people wearing tattered clothing trudging towards him. Upon further examination, Sherlock concluded that due to their decaying skin, the way they walked and the fact that many were missing eyes or teeth, they were dead. Sherlock groaned. First it was that living Scarecrow, now zombies? Sherlock pulled a pistol out of his pocket and aimed it at the one closest to him. Having no knowledge of how to deal with zombies, he assumed shooting it anywhere would work.

Obviously it didn't. The zombie kept advancing as if nothing had happened to him. Sherlock next aimed for the head, which brought the zombie down quickly. Sherlock took a step back, only to hear the same moaning behind him. As soon as he turned around he saw a group of decaying, moaning zombies trudging towards him. Sherlock scowled and ran into a nearby building. He locked the door and began to barricade it and the windows, unaware of the person right behind him.

[irene]

In many ways, this...new place was quite like the old world that Irene Adler had known. It looked different, yes, and was just full of people who looked and dressed and spoke differently - but the people themselves? Oddly enough, they were very much the same. Still just as uppity and easy to bewilder and...fun to play with as they'd always been. The man she'd held at knifepoint, for example, who had been so kind as to allow her to 'borrow' his wallet, had been so flustered that by the time he'd finally collected himself and contacted the authorities, she was practically half-way across town. Honestly, some people just made things a little too easy.

...Unfortunately, slipping under people's radar was a bit more difficult here than it had been in the London she knew. Most likely because the way everyone else here was dressed seemed distinctly different from Irene's own Victorian wear - a long, deep blue dress, corset, gloves and a hat. The way these people dressed was...odd to her. Foreign. And apparently the feeling was mutual; she had been getting far too many curious looks as she'd quickly swept down the busy streets. She wasn't quite sure yet where she intended to go, in the long run. She'd need to collect her bearings first - but before she could do that, it was becoming evident that she needed to get out of the open. The next turn she'd chosen to take had brought her to an expanse of street that was, strangely enough, far from as busy as the rest of the area. A part of her suspiciously questioned how deserted it was, but...given that this was exactly what she needed right now, Irene decided to dismiss it for the moment.

There was a building near by that seemed distinctly vacant. No lights in the windows, none of those unusual mechanical vehicles parked outside of it...and its condition seemed fairly run-down. Though this was hardly up to her standards, right now she wasn't looking for a five-star hotel to spend a few nights in - she was looking for an uninhabited place to lay low for a little while. So it had been this building that Irene had chosen to venture into, though she'd only been exploring its interior for a few moments when the door burst open again. Narrowing her eyes, Irene immediately stepped toward the shadows of the wall, one gloved hand resting lightly at the knife that was stowed carefully at her side. It was a man. Had he followed her here? Upon further observation, Irene thought it was safe to assume that the answer was no. It would appear that he had yet to take note of her presence. In fact, it almost seemed that he'd been running from something himself.

Mildly curious now, she left her knife in its sheath and watched with faint amusement as be began attempting to barricade the door. This was actually rather entertaining - she allowed him to carry on for several moments before announcing her presence. "Well isn't this a pleasant surprise," Irene chuckled lightly, taking a small step out toward him. Her accent probably wasn't difficult to place - American, though...not quite...modern. A small smile lingered on her features as she regarded him. "I wasn't expecting company." She was still somewhat on her guard (you could never be too careful), but if he hadn't followed her here...she didn't see any reason to worry about him too much. Besides, he clearly seemed to have enough on his plate to distract him from asking her too many questions. Just who or what was he trying to hide from?

[Sherlock Holmes]

A quick glance out the window revealed the walking corpses advancing towards the building. Loud, drawn-out moans escaped from the zombie's decaying lips as they limped forward. Aiming his pistol, Sherlock waited for the right opportunity to fire. Suddenly he pulled back, placing his pistol back inside of his pocket. That would do very little more than alert them of his presence. Even if he could eliminate a zombie with a shot from a pistol {and one of lower caliber than necessary to destroy the brain from such a long range} the rest would then know just where he was. Instead, Sherlock took hold of a bookcase and dragged it over to the window. It would serve as a necessary barricade for now. Hopefully he'd be able to keep them out long enough to think of a plan of escape. Offhandedly, Sherlock decided to not tell this story to John. He'd likely publish it on his blog as he always did.

Once the consulting detective had finished properly barricading the doors and windows, a voice came from behind him. Her accent was clearly American, but there was a certain quality to it that made Sherlock think of the Victorian Era. Turning his head, Sherlock saw that her clothes weren't modern either - once again from the Victorian Era. Now he was not only dealing with the dead rising from the grave but also time travel. What other nonsense wanted to come Sherlock's way? Her words implied that she could either take zombies incredibly lightly or she hadn't yet noticed that the dead were rising around the building. With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock started speaking. "Neither did I..." Sherlock said, a bored and more than slightly indignant tone to his voice. "But what can you honestly expect when taking part in this idiocy?"

With that, the detective began looking around for any kind of weapon he could use that would be more effective than his pistol. As his doubts had expected, Sherlock found nothing suitable for his needs. Nothing at all, actually. A plan began to form in Sherlock's head. The zombies were slow and unarmed. Even with their great numbers, Sherlock would likely be able to find some way to get around them. Sherlock looked out a small window in the door to see that the zombies had completely surrounded it. He'd need a new plan...

[irene]

Despite the hurried manner in which he'd been barricading the doors and windows, when the man spoke his tone was surprisingly calm and...rather dry. She gave an amused smirk in response to his words and inquiringly tilted her head. The 'idiocy' he was referring to, she presumed, was whatever had ushered him into this building so quickly. But just what might that be? He was carrying a firearm, she noted (though it seemed to be considerably more advanced than the ones she was accustomed to), though for whatever reason he seemed to have decided that it wouldn't do much good to use it. Now this was interesting. Almost as interesting as the almost inhuman groaning noises coming from outside, now muffled by the bookcase that the man had barricaded the window with. Irene stiffened slightly, turning briefly toward the window and then looking back over to the man again.

"Ahem..." She cleared her throat delicately to draw his attention. Her demeanor was a bit more wary now, though still far from alarmed - Irene wasn't one to worry prematurely. She...wasn't even one to worry when she should have been worrying, for that matter. But the point was, she had yet to figure out exactly what was going on - though she fully intended to remedy that soon enough. "I hate to interrupt...you seem very busy." Indeed, between barricading the doors and searching for...her best guess was a weapon of some sort, it was a wonder that the man had even paused to consider his next course of action. Surprisingly though, he had. And now Irene really did have to wonder just what was going through his head at the moment. He seemed to be someone with the ability to think on his feet - an admirable quality, admittedly.

But she continued, "...and very - hmm - uneasy? So I have to wonder whether I should be concerned. Just what is it that's got you all worked up?" Clasping her hands lightly behind her back, Irene shot the stranger a rather pleasant smile. Playing nice struck her as her best option at the moment. At least until she could properly gather just who this man was, who the people (or things) he was running from were, and whether or not any part of this particularly compelled her to get involved. If there was one thing Irene had learned recently, it was that meddling in the affairs of others without good reason was a quick way to get yourself killed. Not that...something like that stopped her from doing so. Besides, if there were people out there who were trying to get in here, this situation was very quickly becoming her business as well.

[Sherlock Holmes]

As soon as the building was properly barricaded, Sherlock turned back to the woman. There was only a brief moment before the detective turned away and began to consider his next course of action. This was unlike any situation he'd been in before. He needed to figure out just what he was up against. So, Sherlock Holmes began considering in his mind just what a zombie was and what it could do. It was obviously dead or it wouldn't have decaying skin. A dead body would have none of the restrictions the mind places on a body - making them incredibly strong. Their decaying bodies would have slowed them down considerably. Simply running was a possibility.

Their brains were also slowly rotting as well. Basic motor functions were obviously going to remain, but intelligent thought and complex movements were likely lost on them. It would be strange to see one using a gun or doing anything but following their senses. It was possible they couldn't open a door without blindly crashing through it. The fact that shooting one in the heart did nothing suggested that they needed only the brain to function. While it was a scientific impossibility, it appeared to be true and Sherlock would consider it for his escape plan.

"If you have a reason for interrupting me, I don't care if you do..." Sherlock said, still considering various escape plans in his mind. It was possible the zombies {no reason to call them anything else} wouldn't be able to reach the higher floors of the building if he found a way to destroy the stairs. From that point he'd have to find a way to get out of the building and avoid the zombie's attention long enough from a higher floor. It was probably not a good idea. With an incredulous glare, Sherlock decided to inform the woman of the situation. "The dead are rising... I would say zombies, but that term didn't exist when you were alive, did it?" Sherlock asked, before realized that he hadn't introduced himself. "Sherlock Holmes, by the way."

[irene]

The dead were...what? There was a moment in which Irene could only stare at the man rather blankly, wondering whether she'd misheard him. But no, she was fairly certain she hadn't - and that...well, that certainly hadn't been what she was expecting to hear. Were things like this a common occurrence in this strange world? Exactly what sort of insanity had she fallen into? For an instant, a look of fleeting surprise had crossed her features upon hearing this information, but a moment later she'd quickly recovered and regained her composed, vaguely amused (though now slightly skeptical) expression. "I see." Irene commented lightly with another glance toward the barricaded door. Dead people. She was beginning to understand why this man had been so eager to get away from them. Exactly how pleasant could a rotten corpse be? "How...charming."

She wrinkled her nose faintly, but then paused upon hearing the second part of his comment. What did he mean, the term wouldn't have been around when she was...? Certainly the word 'zombie' wasn't one Irene was particularly familiar with, but that...that meant...Initially she'd just sort of assumed she'd fallen into some sort of odd new world, but his words implied that it was less that and more...that a great deal of time had passed instead. Well. She wasn't too sure how she felt about that. It certainly explained a great deal about why this London seemed so different, but...Irene really had no idea how it could have happened. Or even if this man was telling the truth - for all she knew, after all, he could have been completely insane. Her head tilted thoughtfully to one side, she watched him for a moment. Considering what to ask him next - what year it was, perhaps, or maybe it'd be best to save that for later and instead inquire exactly what he intended to do about the 'zombies' lurking outside. How did one kill...someone who was already dead?

And then he turned back to her to introduce himself - and all at once, all of her other thoughts flew out the metaphorical un-barricaded window. Immediately Irene's gaze snapped back to his, searching his features for hints of anything that might betray the fact that he was lying - or just screwing with her. "...Excuse me?" For once, Irene was a little too taken aback to come up with any sort of witty comeback. What could this man possibly gain from introducing himself as Sherlock Holmes? The possibility that it might be some bizarre sort of coincidence didn't cross her mind - the introduction had to have been meant to tell her something. Perhaps this whole thing really had been devised by Moriarty - if this man was working for him, than introducing himself using Sherlock's name would be a snidely ironic way of clueing her into what was going on now that she was trapped here with him.

Slowly, Irene's hand slipped to her side again. This time, she didn't hesitate to draw her knife, her eyes locked on the man in front of her. "..I suppose, at this point, I'm to assume you're one of Moriarty's friends?" And from the disdainful way it she uttered the word 'friends', it was clear that she meant something more along the lines of 'brainless, pathetic thugs'. Especially since the last thing she could remember was being dragged away by Moriarty's men, this theory seemed particularly prominent. Maybe this whole thing was just some sort of mind game Moriarty had devised. Why else would this man use the detective's name so blatantly in front of her?