April fools!
Sorry everyone but I've been in the hospital 2 times in the past four months so I haven't been able to write! as a way to apologize (and prank you all) here's some of my LOTM attempts (drafts) of scenes I may or may not add in the future!
P.S. I will be writing now and the real chapter will be published in two days time! happy reading!
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The alley was silent, save for the ragged sound of Klara's breath. The damp stones pressed cold against her back as she leaned against the wall, every path of escape already closed. Gas lamps flickered faintly from the street beyond, their light too distant to touch this place. Here, in the narrow dark, the only glow came from the tall mirror Adrian had conjured. Its silver surface shimmered unnaturally, like water stretched tight, waiting — hungry for the soul it would reveal.
Klara's eyes darted quickly, calculating. Jonas stood a little behind Fors, half-hidden in the shadows, jaw set and unreadable. Fors gripped her coat tightly, gaze flicking between Klara and Adrian with visible unease. Audrey's hands trembled inside her white gloves, her lips pressed together as though sheer composure might be enough to resist the weight pressing on them.
And just a few paces away, leaning lazily against a broken crate, Ronan watched. His grin was sharp, wolfish, as though he were a spectator at some brutal play.
But none of them mattered. Not here. Not now.
Klara swallowed, pressing her fear beneath a mask of charm. Straightening, she lifted a hand in a faint, graceful gesture of surrender. Her voice came smooth, quick, laced with practiced persuasion.
"Adrian!, surely this isn't necessary," she said, each word measured, each syllable softened to soothe. "You uphold justice, I… uncover truth. Surely there's no need for hostility between us? "
Adrian did not break stride. His gaze never left hers — sharp, unclouded, eyes like polished steel that reflected every word back at her until they withered. He said nothing, only walked closer, the silence between each bootstep louder than her excuses.
Klara's fingers twitched behind her back, ready to slip a card, a coin, anything into play. "There are worse criminals than me," she pressed, lowering her voice into something conspiratorial, coaxing. "Monsters poisoning this city. Do I truly seem worth your time?"
Still, Adrian's eyes did not waver. That stare — heavy, merciless — stripped her words bare, left them hollow before they even reached him.
Her practiced cadence faltered. The smile that so often bent others to her will trembled.
Adrian stopped only when he was before her. His hand rose — steady, commanding — and clamped down on her shoulder. His grip wasn't harsh, yet it was immovable, as if the weight of judgment itself pinned her in place. Her knees gave slightly, buckling under that quiet, irresistible pressure.
Then, to her surprise, his other hand lifted, fingers brushing against her cheek before settling with unshakable firmness. He tilted her face upward, forcing her eyes to meet his.
"Are you ready," he said, voice low and even, the words both gentle and merciless, "to gaze into the mirror and show me your reflection… Sherlock?"
The name slipped from him without hesitation, her mask stripped away as if it had never been real.
Her heart leapt violently in her chest. For the first time, she felt cornered not by circumstance, but by him.
So she smirked. A mask again, playful and daring, masking the tight coil of fear in her belly. Slowly, deliberately, she tilted her head just enough to press her lips against his thumb — and drew it into her mouth, the wet warmth of her tongue curling over the calloused skin.
Adrian froze.
His eyes widened ever so slightly, and for the first time, that polished clarity cracked. His breath caught, his composure shifting into something he had not expected — not here, not from her. Heat rushed into both their cheeks, the alley's silence stretching unbearably.
Klara's smirk deepened around his thumb, victory flashing in her eyes. A heartbeat longer, she thought. A single second more to buy herself the gap she needed—
Adrian's jaw tightened. He exhaled sharply, withdrawing his hand. Not violently, but firmly enough to deny her any further ground. For a moment, he simply stared at her, something unreadable flickering across his features — confusion, restraint, and perhaps the barest sliver of human weakness.
Then, to everyone's shock, he sighed. Exasperated. Almost tired.
"Sherlock…," he said at last, his voice quieter, the steel tempered into something else. "Please. Look into the mirror."
The politeness, the weary softness of it, struck her harder than force would have. Her smirk faltered, her mask slipping for the briefest moment.
But the mirror was waiting.
Its surface rippled as her eyes met it — and like before, it did not show Klara.
It showed Adrian.
Rain fell hard against cobblestones, black clothes clinging to his frame as he stood over a bound man. Adrian remembered this face — the defiance in those eyes, the lack of regret. He had passed judgment without hesitation. The blade had fallen. Justice served.
But now the mirror showed what came after.
A wife wasting away in a cramped room. Children with hollow eyes, their cries fading into silence. Adrian had not killed just one man — he had killed a family.
The scene dissolved. Rain still fell. A coffin lowered into mud, the wood swollen from damp. No mourners. No flowers. Only Adrian, standing alone. His mother's coffin.
She had died without him. Abandoned, while her son clung to ideals and justice that had no warmth to give.
Adrian's reflection stared back from within the mirror, drenched, stoic, but haunted.
And yet he did not look away.
Klara's chest tightened, not out of pity but from the sheer weight of watching him laid bare, the mighty unshaken detective forced into the same vulnerability he demanded of her.
The mirror trembled. Then it shattered.
Shards burst outward, silver fragments cutting through the alley. One sharp piece grazed Adrian's cheek, slicing a crimson line across his pale skin. Blood welled, vivid in the dim light. He did not flinch. He did not wipe it away.
Straightening, Adrian released her shoulder and stepped back. His clear eyes fixed on her, but this time something softer lingered behind them — restraint, or perhaps the faintest recognition of shared humanity.
"It seems," he murmured, voice low, "that I cannot judge you just yet."
He turned, his coat brushing the shards with a soft chime as he walked past her.
"You are free to go, Kl- Sherlock. But remember — the mirror does not lie. Your truth is simply unfinished."
Ronan chuckled faintly, peeling himself from the crate to follow Adrian into the mist. His grin remained wolfish, but his eyes glimmered with intrigue.
The alley fell silent again. Audrey pressed a trembling hand to her lips. Fors exhaled shakily, while Jonas clenched his fists, his shoulders tense.
Klara remained kneeling, her pulse thrumming in her ears, the phantom taste of Adrian's skin still lingering on her tongue. Her smirk had vanished, replaced by something she refused to name.
And in the hush, she whispered, no louder than a prayer:
"…He saw me."