Fandom The Clockwork Conspiracy

[Darkbloom]

The room was unusually quiet as the morning light crept through the half-drawn curtains of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes sat in his familiar armchair, deep in thought, his sharp eyes darting across the various scattered papers on the table before him. The remains of his last case still lingered in his mind, yet he felt an unnerving calmness in the air, as if something ominous lurked just beyond his reach.

It was then that Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door, interrupting the stillness.

"A letter for you, Mr. Holmes," she said, her voice carrying an unusual note of concern.

Holmes barely acknowledged her as she set the envelope on the table and left the room. His eyes flicked towards the letter, and his hand moved to pick it up with his characteristic precision. The envelope was worn, the edges frayed, as though it had been handled too many times. The name written on the front, Sherlock Holmes, was in a hurried script.

Tearing it open, Holmes quickly scanned the contents:

"Mr. Holmes,

I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Evelyn Thorne, daughter of Thaddeus Thorne, the clockmaker. I need your help—desperately. I’ve found myself in something I can’t escape from. My father… he left behind debts, and those debts have drawn me into the hands of dangerous men. Men you are familiar with. They call themselves Moriarty’s agents. They’ve demanded I build something for them—something terrible. I’ve been trying to finish it, but I can’t continue. I fear for my life.

Please, come to my workshop at once. I’m in too deep, and you are my only hope.

Evelyn Thorne"

Holmes leaned back in his chair, folding the letter. Moriarty's name stirred memories of their many deadly encounters, but this letter hinted at something more personal. The daughter of a clockmaker, pulled into the web of London’s most dangerous criminal.

A spark of intrigue ignited behind his cold, calculating eyes.

"Watson," he called to his companion, who had just entered the room, "It seems the game is afoot once more. A visit to Miss Evelyn Thorne's workshop may be in order."

Holmes rose from his chair, already piecing together the layers of the mystery. "There is more to this than a simple debt. I suspect Moriarty’s fingerprints are all over it."

OmensandSunshines

 

[OmensandSunshines]

Evelyn's petite figure sat on a wooden chair in the small workshop at the back of her late fathers shop. For the last few days Evelyn's normal routine had been in disarray causing her no choice but to close the shop and spend the hours alone in the workshop; with the curtains drawn at the front and the light off with few candles lit.
Since Evelyn had realized she was being used as a puppet for Moriarty to build... something, for him she had been hiding away- not having the stomach to face anyone. But she knew she needed help so she had reached out to none other than London’s most famous detective. Sherlock Holmes.

Evelyn reached out a shaky hand to the tea cup that sat on a saucer on the table in front of her, raising it to her lips to take a small sip before returning it. Her light brown hair pinned back in a neat bun with a few strands falling loose, framing her pale and round face. She glanced once more at the ‘blueprints’ at the table in front of her, her eyes scanning over the design. It was nothing like she had seen before, and nothing like what her father had made before. She let out a soft exhale until a knocking sound from the front of the shop perked her attention. She slowly rose from the seat and made her way to the shop front.

She slowly lifted a pale hand to move away the curtain was covering the door to peak out at who had came to the shop. She wasn’t sure who to expect: A customer requesting a repair? One of Moriarty’s agents?

But to Evelyn's pleasant surprise it was Sherlock Holmes, alongside his infamous assistant, Dr Watson.

She passed them a sympathetic smile through the smeared window and pushed back the curtain and unlocked the door to great the gentleman. “Hello, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson. Please come in through.” She spoke in a soft voice, slightly filled with anxiety. Evelyn really hadn’t been feeling like herself lately, her usual eccentric personality had shrunk with all of her nerves.

 

[Darkbloom]

As the door creaked open, Sherlock Holmes stepped forward with sharp precision, his keen eyes immediately sweeping across the interior of the workshop. Every detail seemed to register in his mind—the faint scent of oil and brass, the scattered clock parts on the workbench, and the half-assembled device looming in the corner. His gaze lingered on the scratches by the doorframe—deep and fresh.

“You’ve had a visitor recently,” Holmes stated without introduction, his tone analytical. “A man, likely six feet tall, judging by the height of the scratches, and impatient, based on the scuff marks near the door. He’s been pacing. I presume he's one of Moriarty’s men?”

He glanced briefly at Watson, who stood by his side, ready to step in if necessary.

Watson cleared his throat softly and offered a kind smile. “What Holmes means to say is that you’ve clearly been under some distress. But you’re not alone anymore. We’re here to help, Miss Thorne.”

Holmes moved further into the room, his attention drawn to the half-finished mechanical device on the workbench. He crouched beside it, inspecting the intricate gears and components with an almost clinical interest. “This is Moriarty’s project, isn’t it?” he said, his voice cutting through the tension. “You’ve deliberately left it incomplete. Stalling, I assume? Buying yourself time?”

Holmes paused, looking up at Evelyn as if waiting for confirmation. His eyes, sharp and observant, signaled his expectation for her to fill in the gaps.

“Holmes,” Watson interjected gently, sensing the pressure mounting in the room, “Perhaps we should allow Miss Thorne to explain the situation in her own words. After all, we’re here to listen as well as investigate.”

Watson turned his full attention to Evelyn, offering her a reassuring nod. “Please, tell us exactly what’s been happening. We’ll handle the rest, but your insight is crucial.”

Holmes stood, folding his arms, but remained silent this time—allowing space for Evelyn to speak, his mind still whirring with the possibilities of what Moriarty might be plotting.

Watson continued, his tone gentle but serious. "We need to know everything you can tell us, Miss Thorne. Don’t leave anything out—no matter how small it might seem."

 

[OmensandSunshines]

Evelyn seemed slightly taken aback as the two gentleman entered the shop, completely disregarding her. She blinked in disbelief and quickly closed the door and locked it, pulling the curtain across once again. Evely opened her mouth, as if to speak as one of them mentioned that she had been visited, but the words got trapped in her throat and nothing came out.


She had heard stories of Sherlocks rather blunt approach to a situation but didn’t expect them all to be exactly true.


Her light green eyes darted between Watson and Holmes as they talked- she wondered how these two gentleman with different approaches and personalities managed to work together all day.


Evelyn let out a soft exhale, closed her eyes to prepare herself to think, try to put all the events in order in her mind before she spoke them. Once the fog had settled in her mind she reoped her eyes and began to speak.


“This shop belonged to my father, it was originally his fathers and so on… when my mother passed away, my father did all he could to keep this business afloat. He got intertwined with Moriarty and his men… soon the debts ran too high and father had no idea how he was going to repay them, he died of a heart attack. The doctor thinks it was stress…” she began, her voice wobbling as she talked about the passing of her father.

Evelyn loved her father dearly and all he did for her, she just hated that he had gone and left her… died and passed all of his debts onto herself.
She shook her head softly and continued. “… once he passed I took over the shop. Moriarty must of heard about the passing of my father and… and sent some of his men to collect debts. When they came I don’t think they expected me, many people are surprised to see a female operating this store now, I was an only child, so father never had a son he could pass it down too. Moriartys men agreed to give me time to get something together but only three days after that agreement one of them returned with written instructions—“ she pointed to the table where a handwritten letter sat. “From the instructions I began building and designing, but I know something’s wrong with it, very wrong. And I know if I done continue do build it they’ll… they’ll kill me. But I fear if I do build it; well, I’m not too sure.”

Once Evelyn had finished she darted her eyes back and forth between the two gentleman again, awaiting their reactions. Her eyes found their resting spot on Sherlock, trying to study his face.

 

[Darkbloom]

Sherlock Holmes listened intently, his sharp eyes fixed on the mechanical device as Evelyn spoke. He remained motionless, his hands clasped behind his back, as if every word she uttered was another cog in the intricate machine of his mind, turning rapidly as he pieced together the mystery.

Once Evelyn had finished her explanation, Holmes stepped forward with deliberate calm, picking up the letter she had indicated. He studied it silently, his eyes scanning the handwriting with razor-sharp precision. His face, as ever, was unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze betrayed his focus.

“Written instructions from Moriarty’s men,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Interesting. The handwriting is rushed—likely dictated. Whoever wrote this was under orders to keep you working, but they have little understanding of what you’re building, beyond their immediate goal.” He lowered the letter, folding it neatly before turning to face Evelyn. “And you’re right to be concerned. Moriarty never deals in simple matters. Whatever this device is, it’s not just a means of settling a debt—it’s far more dangerous.”

He set the letter down gently on the table, his mind already racing through possible conclusions. “This isn’t just about your father’s debts, Miss Thorne. Moriarty doesn’t care about that. He’s using you for your skills—skills your father likely didn’t possess. The precision of this work requires someone with your talent. This device is part of a larger plan.”

Holmes walked back toward the workbench, his gaze once again drawn to the incomplete machine. “You said you know something’s wrong with it,” he continued, his tone softer now, almost coaxing. “Tell me—what is it? What did you notice?”

Before Evelyn could respond, Watson stepped forward, his brow furrowed in concern. “Holmes,” he began cautiously, “We may be facing more than just mechanical dangers here. If Moriarty’s men have already threatened Miss Thorne, there’s no telling how far they’ll go. I think we should consider her safety first.”

Holmes turned to Watson, his expression momentarily softening. “Yes, Watson, you’re right. But understanding this device is our only chance to counter Moriarty’s scheme. The longer it remains a mystery, the more vulnerable she—and the rest of London—become.”

Watson nodded, then shifted his attention to Evelyn, offering her a kind but serious look. “Miss Thorne, I understand how difficult this must be for you. But Holmes is right—if we’re to protect you, we need to know everything about this machine. We’ll ensure you’re safe, but we also need to stop whatever Moriarty is planning.”

He glanced at Holmes again, urging him to continue in a way that wouldn’t overwhelm her.

Holmes, catching Watson’s look, spoke again, his tone now more measured. “We’re not asking you to face this alone, Miss Thorne. Whatever Moriarty’s scheme, it’s our job to dismantle it. You’ve done well to resist this long—but now, it’s time for us to take over. Help us understand the nature of the danger, and we’ll see to it that you’re protected.”

He waited, his penetrating gaze now fixed on Evelyn, waiting for her to fill in the final pieces of the puzzle.