I sat up in a chair, over looking London. The house I was in was tall, and I could see almost the entire city. I felt so at peace...
Suddenly, the creaking sound of an opening door filled the room. I couldn't help but smile.
"Who are you?" the voice asked.
I spun around, throwing a knife that lodged into the man's neck, immediately killing him.
I turned around and enjoyed the view once more. I looked down at the street below me, "Cooper Street..." the name just kept going around and around in my head.
Cooper Street was where all of my last murders had taken place. Coincidence? Nope. Just part of the plan.
"Cooper Street..." I couldn't stop thinking of the name. It was like an addiction.
My father was killed on that street. Stabbed. By Sherlock Holmes.
My father was a criminal. He had killed several people, and robbed lots of houses. But he was doing it for me. My mother was dead, she died in child birth. And I was left alone with my father, who really didn't know how to make money.
So Sherlock got on the case, and decided to capture my father.
And Sherlock, being as smart as he is, discovered that my father was the culprit. But when my father resisted arrest, he pulled a sword on Sherlock.
I was watching from a distance, but I didn't make any move to help my father. I was too scared.
Sherlock effortlessly knocked away my father's sword.
When my father tried to grab Sherlock, Sherlock stabbed him.
My father died slowly. He was in pain for hours... till finally he died.
It was all Sherlock's fault...
I was going to kill him, no matter what...