Chapter 1: A Mystery Cometh
by Myshawolf (myshawolf at yahoo.com)
A/N: Hi! Iím kind of new to this section. Here is my story. Itís set
during the SH22 cartoon. I donít own any of the characters. (There are a
few exceptions, but Iím not too sure if copyright laws apply to
them. *Shrugs* Oh, well.) Please enjoy and review. Itís the only way
that I know if Iím doing anything right.
Chapter 1: A Mystery Cometh
Inspector Beth Lestrade glared at the report on her desk. She had just
solved a very frustrating case with Sherlock Holmes. She felt
exhausted both mentally and physically. Now her supervisor gave her
this file for the New Paris police. Groaning she flipped through the
pages scanning the basic information. She froze at the sight of one
photograph. It was a little blurry, but she recognized the man in it
and saw red. Moriarty.
Lestrade began shifting through the file folder for the report that
went with the picture. She grinned when she found the report. She read
it thoroughly as to not missing anything information. Satisfied that
she didnít miss a thing, she set the report down. She had several
questions. Quickly she packed up the file when she realized her shift
was over with. She had questions and knew where to go for answers.
Moriarty sat in silence. He didnít expect to spend so much time
tracking down one man. Fenwick had assured him that the Paris
underground would provide them with the information they desired. He
closed his eyes as Bach played in the background. It fitted his mood
at the time. This man better be worth the pursuit or Fenwick was in
trouble. So all he heard was rumors and childish stories.
He wondered briefly why he was even looking for this man. It wasnít
like he needed the competition. Another mad genius trying to run the
show would most definitely complicate matters. Maybe Moriarty was
intrigued by this manís presence in this futuristic time. After all he
supposedly lived during the 19th century as well. The allure of
meeting another man from the Victorian age was strong. So he hid in
Paris trying to find some clue to the whereabouts of this mysterious
man. Well, Fenwick was, anyway.
Speaking of which, Moriarty wondered briefly where his lackey was. He
left this afternoon, intent on tracking down the next lead. Moriarty
had to admire his lackeyís tenacity on this pursuit. Normally, Fenwick
was reluctant to do what Moriarty wanted. However he was very eager to
track down this man that his master wanted. Moriarty stood up from his
chair and walked to the pile of books he had brought with him.
Tomorrow, he would go to the Opera. He would look for any sign of the
man there. After all, this man was a supposed music lover and
regularly attended the opera. He looked toward the door as he heard
footsteps echo down the hallway.
Fenwick meekly walked into the room. He couldnít meet his masterís
eyes as he slinked into the room. Moriarty noted his slaveís body
language and knew instantly that he had failed. Moriarty select a book
and moved back to his chair. Fenwick was alert to Moriartyís
movements. So when Moriarty sat down, Fenwick assumed he didnít notice
his entrance and gave a blessing for that.
"Another dead end?" Moriarty commented calmly as he opened the book.
Fenwick flinched instantly. Master wasnít going to like his news.
"Not exactly," Fenwick responded. Moriarty looked up from his book
intrigued by this response and waited for Fenwick to continue. Fenwick
gulped and did. "I found the man."
Moriarty smiled. "Excellent. Where is he?"
"In the cemetery," Fenwick whispered, "He was shot dead a few years
ago by a count who thought he was doing Paris a favor."
Moriarty was in shock. Fenwick gulped and hurried to his room.
Moriarty stared into blank space. He traveled all this way for
nothing. The man was dead, and been that way for years. He walked over
to Fenwickís hiding spot and pinned the poor man with a heated gaze.
"You learned where he is buried?" Moriarty asked. Fenwick nodded
quickly. Moriarty smiled. "Good. You will take me there."
"Ah, Inspector Lestrade. What a nice surprise," Watson greeted as he
opened the door and let her in.
"Is Holmes in? I have a case here he may be interested in," Lestrade
commented as she walked into the apartment.
Sherlock Holmes looked up from the instrument he was trying to play.
At times like this he missed his violin. The instrument Watson had
provided for him didnít have the same feeling as his violin did.
Grateful for a break, he smiled at his dear friend and stood to greet
"My dear Lestrade, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Holmes smiled as he
moved to his favorite chair. Lestrade followed his lead and sat down.
She pulled out the old file folder.
"This new case I was given. At first it seems to be an old legend that
someone was investigating until recently," Lestrade started.
"In Paris," Holmes stated.
"How did you know?"
"Eyes and brains. The tab on that folder is written in French and it
refers to the Paris Opera House."
"You must know what legend it refers to, then."
"I have a hunch. Continue, please."
"Very well. The opera house in question has had several mishaps over
the past few centuries. Especially when the management was, let say,
not what it appeared to be. The mishaps have been around since the
place was built. They were intense until in the year 1889 when the
whole thing supposedly came to an end," Lestrade recounted. Holmes had
his hands steepled together as he listened to her. His mind wandered
back to the past and began remembering the events as well.
"The death of the Opera Ghost in an explosion. I remember the articles
well enough," Holmes sighed.
"Everything was quiet for several years. Then things started back up
again. Apparently during the Nazi invasion of France, The accidents
began to take Nazi lives, or at least those who tried to abuse their
power in the Opera House. It turned out that several priceless pieces
of art were hidden there and the Ghost was protecting them. Afterwards
everyone was kind to its presence. The police didnít even bother to
track it down. There were a few encounters with the ghost and anyone
who tried to capture him met with a most unfortunate accident. No one
has ever given a reliable description of the Ghost."
Watson spoke up. "If the police are not interested in catching this
ghost, why bother?"
"What are the recent encounters with the Ghost?" Holmes asked. He was
intrigued. He never got to work on this particular case in his day.
"A few years ago, a young nobleman was brought in for questioning over
a morning duel with another man. He bragged to the officers that he
killed the famous Opera Ghost and presented a bloodstained cloak as
proof. He claimed he was trying to protect Paris from the demon. He
was charged with murder, convicted and..." Lestrade spat out, "freed
earlier this year. He only served two years for murder. Zed, thatís
v"Without a body, Iím surprised he was convicted." At Lestradeís look,
Holmes smiled. "You didnít mention it so I conclude there wasnít one."
Lestrade nodded. "That isnít the most recent encounter. A few people
at the Opera still claim to see the Ghost high in the rafters.
Apparently, people hear piano or violin music during performances."
"Sounds like they need an exorcist, not a detective," Watson added.
"I thought the same thing until I saw this picture." Lestrade pulled
out the picture and handed it to Holmes. Holmes studied the picture. A
frown touched his lips. Watson looked over his shoulder and gasped.
"Moriarty," Holmes growled. Lestrade nodded.
"That picture was taken two days ago. Word is he looking for the Opera
Ghost," Lestrade informed them.
"I wonder why?" Watson murmured.
"I remember the accounts from the survivors of the original ordeal
with the Phantom of The Opera. They claimed he was a great mechanical
genius, especially with torture devices and disguises," Sherlock
"Itís impossible that Moriarty is seeking the same man," Lestrade
"What is this Phantomís reputation with the Paris underworld?" Holmes
"Itís not mentioned in the file. Why?" Lestrade asked.
v"I think we need to make a trip to Paris. The answers are there,"
Holmes remarked as he stood up, "Lestrade, do you think you could make
"Of course. When should we leave?"
"As soon as possible."
Moriarty walked confidently through the graveyard. Fenwick led the
way, but he wasnít as confident. He had grown up listening to the old
stories about the dead rising up to protect their final resting place.
He felt like he was being watched for every angle. Once or twice, he
thought he saw a piece of cloak fly into view. He looked at Moriarty
who was alert, yet relaxed. Fenwick felt a bit more confident when
they reached the crypt. The name on the door read NOIR.
"This is it, Master," Fenwick smiled. "The Phantomís final resting
Moriarty stepped forward and easily pushed open the cryptís door.
Fenwick watched scared as his master entered the tomb. He jumped when
a voice stated loudly, "No."
He turned to see a figure in black race towards him and threw a punch
at his face. Fenwick dodged the punch, but didnít see the kick aimed
at his gut. He doubled over in pain. The figure spun around him and
landed a shot at the back of Fenwickís neck. Fenwickís vision blurred
as he hit the ground and everything went black.
The figure turned away for the fallen Fenwick and approached the
crypt. Whoever was in there was going to pay for this indignity.
Moriarty walked into the crypt surprised by the amount of plaques on
the wall declaring who was buried there. There must be at least thirty
generation of Phantoms buried there. He stepped up to the newest-looking
Erik Noir VI 2050-2100
He read the inscription twice. He was defeated, it would seem. The
Phantom was really dead, killed by some foolish boy with delusions of
grandeur. He would have loved to have met the man. Sounds of fighting
reached Moriartyís ears. He turned to see a masked figure cloaked in
black enter the tomb. The intruderís features were covered by a black mask
that was tied across the bottom of his face. The hood shielded the
rest from view. The figure glared daggers at him. Moriarty turned to
face this new challenge. The figure pulled something for its cloak -- a
pair of kamas.
"Why are you here?" The figure asked softly in its muffled voice.
"I seek the Phantom," Moriarty stated as he moved his hand closer to
"You are in the wrong place. This is a sacred place." The figure
glared. "I suggest that you leave."
"Weíll have to see, then."
"So we shall." Moriarty smiled as he drew his ionizer and fired a
shot. The figure deflected the shot with the blade of the kama. It
moved to the side as well leaving the door open. Moriarty stepped
towards it as he fired another shot. The figure dropped to the ground
and charged toward him. It swung the kama towards the ionizer knocking
both weapons to the ground. Moriarty caught the figure and spun it
close to him.
"Drop your weapon," Moriarty ordered as he twisted the figure's wrist.
It yelped, then complied. Moriarty heard the kama clatter on the
ground. Satisfied that the figure was harmless to a degree, he pulled
down the hood intent on unmasking his assailant. What he got was a
shock. Long locks of dark hair spilled from the hood. Moriarty
breathed in the scent of jasmine as the hair cascaded down. For a
second his guard was down.
That second was all the figure need to get free. The figure spun out
of Moriartyís hold. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds.
Moriarty stared into a set of determined sapphire blue eyes. He could
swear he could see flecks of gold. Then he felt it, a well placed kick
to his gut. He staggered back as the figure raced out of the crypt,
grabbing her kamas as she went. Moriarty was convinced that his
attacker was a woman. He walked towards the door to see her disappear
into the night. In the distance he could hear the sirens from the
local police. Fenwick was just coming to and picking himself off of
the ground. He noticed Moriartyís arm around his stomach.
"He attacked you, master?" Fenwick observed, "Iíll make sure they pay
"Not a he. That was a she," Moriarty corrected, "Letís go before the
police get here."
Fenwick nodded and they hurried back to their hide-out. Along the way,
Moriarty mused about who that girl was and what was her connection to
The Phantomís crypt. He was wondering if he should stay in Paris a
little longer in order to find out.
A devoted friend, father, and teacher.
You will be greatly missed.
On to Chapter 2!
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