I do not own The Strange Case of and nor do I own Sherlock Holmes. (If I did I'd be the oldest person ever.) But that privilege goes to Robert Louis Stevenson and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, respectively.

Like the sudden stop-and-jolt that awakens the foggy-minded gazer in a hansom, the last lines on the letter had the same effect on the lawyer. The single flame dared not move or waver in the dark office. For a moment all was still; all was silent. Then a small, gentle March draft came in, twirling with the candle in a midnight dance, sweeping away the choking suspension. Time moved onward.

The lawyer heaved a deep, quivering sigh. In the quiet one could make out such a sorry breath mutter the name Harry. He released the papers from his hand and let them fall onto his desk. The weary man held the hand to his face and gave another trembling sigh.

That was Harry, his thoughts finally voiced. That twisted body was his!

Burning tears began to well up, uninvited to the surface. The room around him became distorted, so he blinked and a single tear trailed down his cheek. His dear friend, the self-destroyer, the juggernaut, the cackling dwarf he met at the hidden back door. How could it be? A man could never be two people! Yet- He looked to the papers. There was his evidence written in wavering hand. He saw the struggle of the two proud and terrified personas in each stroke of the pin. His friend had died like a cornered Roman; who would have rather died with a respected memory than to have the curtains thrown back, discovering the pathetic sight of a truly broken man. How could a person let that happen to his friend; to both of his friends.

Gabrile John Utterson, the lawyer and friend of the departed, felt broken himself. Was everything he knew of Jekyll a lie? Was he, Gabrile, merely a puppet on a string and Henry his master? All of these dizzying thoughts flooded his brain and made him sick. He pushed them back, leaving nothing but a memory his promise. Henry had pleaded for justice once his time had come: "I only ask you to help him for my sake."

A halfhearted sigh followed by the words, "Well, I promise."

The lawyer knew that Hyde's body was in the laboratory destined to be sloppily buried at a crossroad, leaving Henry's plot an empty hole for all eternity. Gabrile made a promise to help Hyde after Henry's passing. Be it good or evil he must fulfill this promise, even if it means undertaking a morbid task.

The Lawyer blew out his candle, and instantly the dark filled the room. He had a plan to go back to the laboratory to bury his departed comrade and the bane of London.

Thank you so much for reading! Sorry that it's super short, and that Sherlock isn't here yet. However there is a chapter two coming soon (hopefully). In the meantime hold on and please review.