Tale of the Green Beast | A Shreklock Story
It was a quiet day. I would've loved to chat more with Holmes, but the movie we had just watched left me⌠off. As if Holmes and I had just cuddled by the fire, him regaling me with his crime novels as he'd come to do often recently, knowing that if I was ever murdered, he would dismember his sole to kill the man responsible⌠but he was the one that killed me in the first place?
Holmes and I strolled down the hallway, him with his arm around my shoulder, and stopped at our flat.
I dug into my pockets for the key.
Holmes tapped his foot as he waited. His usual impatience. A few moments passed, and he stopped. His eyebrows furrowed as his gaze fell into his thoughts. His nose scrunched.
"Is that coffee?" He looked up at the door.
"Coffee?" I sniffed the air. The scent had come from through the door. "Wait- yes. It's coming from inside!"
Holmes grabbed the doorknob and turned it, but it wouldn't budge.
"This doesn't make sense. We don't drink coffee, we drink tea! Watson, unlock the door."
I jammed the key into the hole and pushed open the door. The smell of coffee packed the room and flooded into the hallway. Its potency burned my throat. Along with tears from⌠onions?
Holmes studied the room, as he could find the most miniscule of things that were displaced. And as always, he saw it. ButâŚhis jaw dropped.
I followed his thousand-yard-stare to the couch. My lordâŚ
Lightning shocked my heart as I saw the green, panic-inducing hand pick up his coffee mug and an onion in the other.
"Shrek?!" We said at the same time.
"Gitoud o' me flat, will ya?"
Holmes raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse me, sir but with all due respect, leave. This isn't your house."
"Yuud messan' wit the wroĂśng ogre."
My knees shook as my whole body paralyzed in fear. I heaved out every breath, and let not one in. My eyes flickered. A cold shock crawled up my skin. Soon, all I could see was the green in front of me, and as always, black.
My brain was working overtime, making sure I only got the most horrific dreams, like Shrek breaking my fingers one by one and stabbing my head while Holmes wasnât looking. I didnât even want to think about what couldâve happened while I was out. In the dark void that was my closed eyes, warm colors began to peak through.
The warm sheets were blurry as they caressed my palm, becoming clear and solid as the static cleared from my sleeping body. I opened my eyes.
Holmes. He leaned over me, looking directly into my eyes.
âHolmesâŚ? WhaâŚâ I said as my lips fruitlessly delivered my words.
âWatson, are you okay?â
I groaned as the side of my neck burned. I mustâve slept in a strange position.
âIâm⌠Iâm fine, Holmes. I just- I dunnoâŚâ
âEasy, my friend,â he touched my forehead, as if to check I wasn't running a cold. âDinner will be done in a few minutes. Lay back until then.â
He touched my arm as I eased again into the warm bed.
I wanted to clear my head of him. That green monstrosityâŚ
The bed weakly rumbled as the sound of heavy footsteps approached the door. The noise that shook my core.
"Eh SherlĹk, dinne's readi!"
A devil's cry pierced up my skin. It was still here. Not only that. I had to share a table with him.
Dammit. No no no no no no no noâŚ
We already set the plates and forks. Holmes waited calmly as his bowl was being prepared. I⌠well I couldn't. My mind was lightning. I cringed at the thought of his giant fingers touching anything near my food.
A thud came from the kitchen. I flinched.
Holmes looked over at the kitchen entrance. "What was that?"
"Nuthan!" The monster said back. I hoped he didn't think that was reassuring somehow. I knew what he was doing.
I stood up from my chair.
Holmes impatiently tapped his fork on the cream white plate. He met my gaze.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
The truth grobbled in my throat, but I kept it in.
"The food smells so delicious, Holmes," I said shamelessly. "I just have to see it now."
His face brightened up. "Oh, eggers!"
Eggers? Eggers? That Shrek got to him. Holmes's mind was on its way to a slow, green rot and I had to stop it.
I turned into the kitchen, the savory smell of tomatoes and chicken drowned me in its deliciousness, unfortunately. In front of the stove was the demon himself.
He reached into his pocket. Something clacked inside as he pulled out a small red⌠salt shaker? Strange red flakes floated into the soup, his big hands still choking the entire bottle.
I stood straight. I couldn't make it obvious that my knees trembled.
"I jost gĂľtte put i in de bowls. Be paeshent."
"No worries. Why don't I handle it? I said, holding my hand out as I walked closer to the monster.
"I gott it. If ya wonderin about the shaker, it's only pepper. Not de spicy kind."
"Sure. I bet Holmes will love it."
Shrek nodded, and dumped the soup from the ladle into the bowl. Gross. Disgusting. I'd rather die than eat that. My head ached just standing there. Slowly, I stepped back and left the kitchen.
Silence. I didn't dare let a word escape my mouth. I took a sip of my wine as Holmes and the demon talked their hearts out.
"Ur a verrie smaot man, Mr. Holmes." It said.
Holmes playfully extended out his hand, blushing like a teenage girl.
"Awww- I- ha ha" he chuckled over his sentence. "Stop, you're embarrassing me."
Holmes glanced at me, then back at Shrek. He didn't talk to me like that. He never talked to me like that. What the hell is this?
I idly stirred my soup, paying close attention to the broccolis. To the red specks that lay on their heads.
Holmes ate his seconds with the speed of a starving prisoner. I knew all the red specks were in his soup too. A love potion perhaps. Or maybe just poison.
Holmes coughed. His eyes shot wide open.
I looked at him. "Is everything alright?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he held his neck, and coughed his lungs out. I panicked.
"Holmes! Are you okay? Answer me!" I rushed out of my seat and over to him. I held his shoulders.
"Gggghhhhaaaa!" He responded.
I tugged at his arm and pulled him out of his seat. Wrapping my arms around his torso, I put my hands under his ribcage and did the proper Heimlich maneuver.
A piece of pepper flake shot from his mouth. Holmes heaved as he loosened his grip from his neck. I cupped his hand in mine.
"Oh my god, are you okay?"
He stared at the bowl, emptiness was behind his eyes.
He roared. "I'm fine, John. It was just a flake of pepper. More soup will wash it down."
I flared hot inside. Not from anger, but from how awkward I felt at the moment. Standing there, my face probably iron red. Yes, I saved his life, but it was still awkward.
I sat back down in my seat, still as a statue, watching Shrek and my partner gossip and chatter for the rest of dinner.
"Yoø drawin li'il pictures?"
I snapped cold. The satanic heat radiated in front of me as I slowly looked up. It wasn't a hallucination. That ogre was still here.
I set my pencil and journal down next to me. Quiet time on the couch was over.
He grinned, and from behind his back, pulled out five big books.
"Were we're goin', we don't gĂŚtt nou pictures."
After a few minutes, we successfully moved the table to the front door, leaving a clear spot on the floor for us to sit. I couldn't see the use, but that would hopefully be explained to me in due time.
Holmes's bedroom door opened, with the man himself emerging. He wore his dark red dressing robe and slippers.
He came to the sitting spot.
"This is the activity you've been raving to me about?" He looked at the demon.
"Ye, I gotte de buuks. Sit down."
Shrek patted the spot next to him. Holmes clapped his hands together and sat down next to him.
Five books sat in the center of us: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, The Great Gatsby, The Bible, Moby Dick, and the 1999 original book Can of Worms by Kathy Mackel.
I furrowed my eyebrows. "What exactly are we doing?"
Shrek leaned forward and grabbed the Harry Potter book. He opened it.
"Yu pik a bĂśok, and ask eech of us one queschon about it, then we rotate. We only gott three peopl and fyve books, but we'll still rotate the other two."
I blanked. I couldn't for the life of me understand the rules, but Holmes probably knew them well, so I could just copy him.
Holmes grabbed the 1999 original book Can of Worms by Kathy Mackel. I took The Bible.
Holmes had asked me to write the scores down in my journal, and I told him I'd do anything for him, so I obliged. Here's how it was looking:
I was dead last, but I took solace in that Holmes was doing so well. Though, my hands burned at the thought that it was only because of that demon's doing. Holmes didn't need him to win, but I couldn't do anything as it was his game.
My stomach roared inside me as I sat there with the Bible in hand. I hadn't eaten dinner. Shrek and Holmes watched me intently as I turned a couple pages.
"This is your question, Holmes. What verse does David find Bath-seed-ba bathing?"
"2 Samuel 11:2!" Holmes declared loudly.
Shrek looked at him. "Again, smaot mann, Sherlock."
Holmes blushed again, the fangirl in him never truly leaving since dinner. Shrek picked up the Harry Potter book. A smile spread across his face, but his eyes⌠they flickered⌠with rage. His eyebrows pinched.
Shrek pulled his arm back like a baseball pitcher. Holmes's attention was on the pages of his book. The walls chanted at me, their voices rang in my ear. They knew. I knew. My heart beated in my chest as the smell of blood conjured in my head.
His arm swung forward, launching the book past Holmes's head and crashing it into the wall.
Another book sliced past Holmes's shoulder and banged on the floor behind him, making him fall over. My chest was twenty pounds heavy. Holmes trembled with terror in his eyes.
"I gess gaem tyme's over." he stood up. "Time for bed, doncha think?"
He held a hand out for Holmes. He was reduced to a scared kitten, but he slowly reached out his paw to the demon's.
Shrek helped Holmes up from the floor. He snatched his hand away from the ogre.
"I-I'm going to take a shower now. I'llâŚ" he trailed off, and walked away.
In a few seconds, he locked himself in the bathroom, probably sobbing at the thought of this ogre. Poor Holmes.
My blood boiled. I shot up from my seat.
âWhat the hell was that?â I shouted.
Shrek looked at me with a knowing stare.
He knows what heâs doing. Heâs trying to piss me off.
I raised my fist at him. âYou lay a hand on my friend, youâre dead. Dead!â
âI think yu fale too consider, who will really be dead.â
A smirk spread across his face. That evil grin⌠chilled my bones. I stood my ground and kept a fearless expression. Muffled shower noises leaked from the bathroom. Shrek turned his head towards it.
I whispered angrily. âHow did you know I was a doctor?â
He pointed at the door. Why would Holmes tell this beast my occupation? He was probably forced to do so.
Surrounded by near silence, Shrek stepped closer to the bathroom, his thunderous footsteps shaking my core. He knelt down at the door. One could only be so scared for someone elseâs life before they should start fearing for theirs. What Iâm saying is, I should've prayed that my heart could take whatever might happen next.
The demon pulled something out of his pockets. Something black and squirmy. I squinted at them, and it was awful. They were spiders.
One by one, the spiders crawled down Shrekâs green skin and onto the floor, sneaking under the space of the door and into the bathroom. Holmes had the worst surprise coming. I gasped as I knelt down to view the spiders.
âYez.â The devil replied.
âNo!â I said as I leaped forward to the doorknob.
He raised a finger to his mouth and shushed me. The rings of the shower curtains clanged against the bar as they whooshed to the side.
âWatson?â A quite voice said through the showering water. âWatson!â
My heart ached. Holmes was saying my name. He needed me, but I couldnât respond, less I wanted the ogre to hurt him more.
âNoble False Widows,â he said. âMoste poizunous in Englande. I donât thank heez gonna mak it.â
âWATSON!!â Holmes screamed. His blood curdling pleads stung my ears.
As I gazed shocked at the door in disbelief, a shadow formed from mine. It was ogre-shaped. And from the side of my head, a baseball bat shape emerged. I froze. I was ice. My vision blotched black as I waited⌠and waitedâŚ
A dark room, furnished only by silhouettes. That's where I lay. My head burned with pulses against my pillow from the blunt force blow I was dealt sometime earlier.
I groaned. The covers caressed me as I pushed myself up.
A creak sounded. I froze and became sober again.
"I was knocked out," I mumbled to myself. My heart blasted, racing on, breaking me into a cold sweat as the thought hit me. "Where's Holmes?"
My eyes widened in panic. My breaths were too quick to be considered breathing. I shakily hopped out of bed and scrambled to the nightstand for the lamp.
With one click, it flicked on. My room was a hurricane's path of debris. Though this time, it wasn't the green beast's fault.
I approached the door, my legs trembling at what could be behind it. I held the cold doorknob and turned it, and as I tugged, it didn't budge.
I glanced around the room, at the bed, at the dresser, at the floor. Nothing of note. I held my chest as I cooled down. I had to think:
Who put me here? And why?
The answer to the first one was obvious. It was Shrek. My answer to the second question would be confirmed for sure after I figured out my third question:
How do I get out of here?
Think, John. What did you do with the demon today?
I tapped my foot as I pondered. Shrek had made us dinner with dubiously edible pepper flakes, played a book game with us, and possibly mortally wounded Holmes with a spider. Aha, it was all connected!
I grabbed the 1999 original book Can of Worms by Kathy Mackel off the dresser. Next to where the book was, was a conveniently placed pepper shaker.
A spider crawled on the floor. Perfect. I knew how to get out.
In a few minutes, I sprinkled the pepper onto a blank page in the book, then recited the previous page's text backwards. I shut it immediately. Using the same book, I slammed it on the spider, threw it at the window and finally, unlocked the door.
That's what living with Sherlock Holmes does to your brain. You become smarter from his mere presence.
The door creaked open. I peeked through. No lights were on, leaving the flat in total darkness.
I blindly tiptoed out my bedroom. Despite my probable head injury, I was doing well navigating the few feet I traveled. HoweverâŚ
I touched the couch, and it felt⌠off. Tiny buzzes filled my ear, colors I shouldn't see in the dark blotted my vision, and dark red plagued my senses. The smell of blood.
I took a finger to a different part of the couch. My fingers dipped into a wet, squishy, warm patch of fabric, the substance leaking onto my hands. I pressed more, and panicked.
My hands shook as my breathing grew louder.
"Blood⌠bloodâŚ" I whispered. I quietly called for my friend. "Holmes⌠Holmes? Sherlock?"
A thunderous step sounded behind me. A familiar sound. I trembled again.
"Yuu finaly laerned wot I meant. You tĹk your sweet thyme, Doctor."
Beads of tears loomed around my eyes. My throat scratched on every word.
"Where's⌠where's Sherlock? Where's my friend?" I cried. I looked hopelessly in the darkness, unable to see the evil green beast.
A ray of light rose from behind and hit the floor beside me. It was from a torch. The light slithered past my feet, illuminating a slipper in front of me.
It kept going, then slowed. A drop of blood glimmered in the light. And more. And lingering, was a pool of dark blood gathering under a man wearing a robe.
The beast came closer, letting his torchlight leak over the rest of the body and his face. The pale face of Sherlock Holmes.
I covered my mouth as I knelt down, his blood soaking my clothes.
"Sherlock? I-..." My voice wobbled. Tears flowed down my face.
Like a bomb, I exploded. The chaos, my tears and shrieks of fear bursted out of me. Sobbing and pure screams fought each other for my heart. My body went numb as my legs gave out. I coughed on the tears that flooded my face.
"Sherlock! SHERLOCK!" I yelled. The green beast grabbed me from behind. "No! No! You MONSTER! Bring him back! SHERLO-"
I coughed from my torn throat. My breath heightened as I finally ran out of tears to cry.
I stood there, unable to move from his arms. I didn't have it in me. Not anymore.
"Please⌠bring him back." I said quietly.
The monster squeezed me harder.
"No cann do, Doctor. I'm not-"
"Please⌠pleaseâŚ" I begged as I lost my voice.
The monster's grip loosened. Silence retook its place as I struggled to make a noise. He let go entirely and I could kneel to my friend one more time. The monster stepped back.
"Comm on, Sherlock. Partyz ovar."
Bells tolled far in the distance as I Iooked on at my friend.
Sherlockâs hand twitched. He shook as he pushed himself up off the floor, his eyes opening like a miracle itself had taken him. Was he undead?
The lights flicked on, and my partner stood tall once again. His gaze pierced through me, heating me like a fireplace. My mouth quivered.
"Good evening to you too, Watson." He said with a smile.
"You're⌠You're a zombie!" I cried.
He chuckled. "Of course not, Watson. It's just me. I'm very much alive."
All senses flowed from me. I fell into a euphoric haze as I leaped forward to embrace him. Blood smeared across my clothes.
I looked at his wound, though there wasn't anything obvious.
"Oh no, this is fake." He took his finger to the blood and held it up at me.
My eyes widened. I slowly let go of Sherlock, and stepped back. It didn't make sense.
"S-so, this was all a prank? A joke?" I asked. The euphoria faded away.
Sherlock crosses his arms, then pointed at the blood-stained carpet.
"Well it's obvious, Watson. There is no trail of blood outside this puddle, suggesting no murder weapon was carried beyond this point, and it's too clean for a supposed surpised attack. Plus, there's no wound." He explained.
Sherlock glanced up at Shrek, smirking. Why?
"It was sloppy. Not a convincing crime scene."
"Yuu wont sum eggs wit that ham?" The demon said.
My relief morphed into confusion. Here I was, standing over a pool of fake blood and, what should've been, a white chalk outline. Sherlock and Shrek stood on either side of me. It was probably past midnight, and I was here instead.
"Why? Why would you do that?" Tears emerged from my eyes again.
"It was for a very good reason. When we got back from the cinema, I could tell you were frightened, even more so when we saw our unexpected guest in our home. I was concerned when you passed out, but believed your fear to be unfounded, so me and Shrek decided to humor you. If you thought he was going to kill me, then he would 'kill' me."
"I wasn't gonna really kill him. I woz tryin' to proove to you that' I woudn't." The ogre said.
I stared blankly at Shrek. My hands heated up and I turned my attention back to Sherlock. Worry spread across his face as I slowly stepped closer.
Standing in front of him now, I slapped him hard. My need to yell was less than dormant. I grabbed his robe.
"This was the dumbest plan you've ever conceived." I said gravely.
I let go of him and went to Shrek. I slapped him too. It wouldn't sting as bad though. I blame Sherlock for planning this in the first place. Shrek did absolutely nothing wrong.
I walked past the couch, intending to go back to bed. Intentionally this time.
"Watson, comm watch a movie wit us." Shrek said.
I smiled smugly, and turned around to face the green beast.
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