Sherlock Gnomes Movie Novelization Page 3

“Juliet!” shouted Gnomeo.

  Juliet held her hand out to Gnomeo. “Hurry!” she cried.

  Gnomeo took a running leap and grabbed on to Juliet’s outstretched hand. She yanked him through the vent just as the police burst inside.

  Chapter 8

  On the rooftop of a London row house a few miles away, Sherlock and Watson surveyed yet another empty garden.

  “Another garden of gnomes disappears without a trace.” Sherlock stroked his chin.

  Watson unscrewed the bottom of his cane. He pulled out a rolled-up map and smoothed it out. It showed the city streets of London, with Xs marked where each of the gnomes had disappeared from their gardens.

  Watson dug into his waistcoat pocket and found a pen. On the map, he located the garden where he and Sherlock were standing, and drew another X. “This makes eight gardens in one week,” he said.

  “Eight gardens of gnomes vanish into thin air. No clues, not so much as a single footprint.” Sherlock gazed darkly over the abandoned garden. He had a hunch as to who was responsible for the gnome disappearances. “There’s only one ornament who could pull off such a diabolical scheme.”

  In the distance, thunder rumbled.

  “Moriarty,” Sherlock pronounced. He spoke the name as though it was a horrible curse.

  Watson shuddered. “But Moriarty’s dead,” he said.

  Sherlock did not respond.

  “And Moriarty never did anything this big before.” Watson studied the map with the ominous Xs, searching for clues.

  “Yes, yes. And Moriarty would have left something for me. Something to indicate that this is his handiwork. What am I missing?” Sherlock paced along the garden wall as storm clouds gathered overhead. Suddenly, his eyes gleamed. “Watson, give me your map—quickly now. Those gnomes that just moved in. Where do they live?”

  “Right here.” Watson showed Sherlock a spot on the map. Sherlock nodded his head. “Do you see, Watson? Moriarty has left his calling card! If they’re the next target . . .” He snatched the pen out of Watson’s hand and marked a final X on the map.

  To complete a giant letter M spanning all of London, the next gnome garden to disappear would have to be the one that had been moved into a few days ago. One that was nowhere near ready for winter.

  Gnomeo and Juliet’s garden.

  “Hurry, Watson!” Sherlock commanded. He sprang toward the edge of the garden. “Those gnomes are in terrible danger!”

  • • •

  As Sherlock and Watson raced across the rooftops of London, Gnomeo and Juliet were running too. After Juliet had saved Gnomeo, they had crawled through the vent and exited the flower shop, and were now heading full speed down the alleyway, getting as far away from the crime scene as possible.

  But even when were safely several blocks away, Juliet kept running.

  “Juliet, wait. Stop. I can explain—” panted Gnomeo.

  Juliet whirled around, her hands on her hips. “What on earth were you thinking?” she cried.

  Gnomeo knew he had to save his grand romantic gesture—and fast. He held up the Cupid’s Arrow orchid. “I was getting this.” He looked deeply into Juliet’s eyes. He willed her to recognize the beautiful thing that had brought them together not so long ago. “Remember this?”

  “You risked getting smashed for some flower?” Juliet yelled.

  Gnomeo staggered back, hurt. “Not some flower!” he shouted. “Our flower! I did this for you!”

  “You did this for me?” Juliet asked incredulously. She brought her fingers up to her temples and rubbed them. “For me? I’ve got responsibilities! I don’t have time for this!”

  Gnomeo shook his head. “No. You just don’t have time for us. All you seem to care about is the garden!”

  Juliet folded her arms. “We’re the leaders, Gnomeo. We are supposed to take care of it! Don’t you care about that?”

  “I do care,” Gnomeo protested, “but we’re allowed to have fun, too.”

  “No one’s stopping you from having fun!” Juliet shouted.

  Gnomeo took Juliet’s hands in his own. “Juliet, I want to have fun with you. I want us to have adventures together.”

  Juliet pulled away. “There will be plenty of time for fun and adventure after I get the garden ready.” She remembered the words her father had told her when they had first arrived in their new home. “A good leader always puts the garden first.”

  “Unbelievable!” Gnomeo snorted. “What do you care more about: the garden or me?”

  Juliet raised her eyebrows. “Oh, you’re being ridiculous.”

  “That’s not an answer,” said Gnomeo.

  Juliet had had it with Gnomeo, with his romantic gesture, with his dangerous selfish acts—all of it. “The garden can’t wait,” she told Gnomeo coldly. “And you can.”

  Gnomeo stared at Juliet, shocked. He could feel his heart cracking.

  The cell phone crackled to life. “Gnomeo! Help!” screamed Benny. “There’s something here! It’s a—AAHHHH!!!”

  Gnomeo wrenched the cell phone from his back and held it to his mouth. “Benny! What’s going on?”

  There was static.

  “Benny? Benny!” Gnomeo shouted.

  Nothing. The line had gone dead.

  Chapter 9

  Wordlessly Gnomeo and Juliet raced across the back alleyways of London. They dodged garbage cans and stray cats, rushing homeward as fast as they could. They rounded a final corner and burst into the garden, both of them gasping for air.

  It was empty. The only movement was a swirl of dead leaves over a patch of bare ground.

  Gnomeo ran to the shed. The door was open, hanging crookedly from the hinges. Something gigantic had ripped it half off. Benny was nowhere to be seen.

  “Dad! Nanette!” Juliet shouted.

  “Benny! Mom!” Gnomeo called. He turned to Juliet. “Nobody is here. They’re all gone!”

  Juliet covered her face with her hands. The garden was her responsibility. But now, because she had to go and save Gnomeo, she had let everyone else down.

  As she tried to think what to do next, two shadows swooped through the air. Sherlock and Watson leaped from a rooftop and landed on the garden wall. Finding the ladder, they hastily climbed down.

  Sherlock surveyed the scene and frowned. “We’re too late.”

  Watson shooed Gnomeo and Juliet toward the garden gate. “Please step back. This is an active crime scene.” He dropped to the ground and started to look for footprints. Sherlock studied the angle of the shed door, and then knocked on the bottom hinge.

  The door peeled completely off the hinge and crashed into the dirt.

  “Hey!” Juliet protested. She did not like the fact that two strangers—one tall and thin with a tiny goatee, the other short and plump with a muttonchop mustache—had dropped into the garden without an invitation. “Who are you, and what are you doing in our garden? Identify yourselves, please.”

  Watson looked up from inspecting the ground. “Your garden? Where were the two of you when this happened?” he asked.

  Juliet glared at Gnomeo. Where had they been, indeed!

  “They were having a lovers’ quarrel,” explained Sherlock. “See how she’s facing away from him? She’s angry with him. The flower in his hand was intended as a romantic gesture—a desperate act that predictably backfired.”

  “Ugh,” said Gnomeo. Even though the tall gnome with the hunting cap was right, it still didn’t feel good to be reminded of his failed plan.

  “Watson, search the west quadrant,” Sherlock ordered. “If that fiend is behind this, he will have left a clue.”

  Juliet saw something lying on the ground. She bent down and picked it up. It was a card with an M written on it, and a photograph of a 9. “What’s this?” she asked.

  Sherlock strode over. “Give that to me!”

  Juliet shook her head and held the card behind her back. “Tell me what it is.”

  “It’s a clue,” said Sherlock, annoyed. “It will lead us to
our next destination. And if you ever want to see your friends and family again, you’ll hand it over!”

  Juliet reluctantly gave the card to Sherlock. He inspected the card and the photograph. “The 9—there’s a slight crack in its leg. Where have I seen this particular 9 before?”

  The detective closed his eyes and dove into his mind palace. It was a complicated mental library of filing cabinets that systematically categorized every piece of information he had ever gathered. “Nine,” he muttered. “Nine, nine, nine, nine, nine, nine, nine, nine, nine.” An image of a store popped into his head, with a red 9 painted on its door. He snapped his head up. “Nine! I’ve got it! To Chinatown, Watson,” he called. “The game is afoot.”

  Gnomeo folded his arms. “Mate, you’re going nowhere until you tell us what you know.” He grabbed Sherlock’s elbow—only to be neatly flipped onto his backside by the detective.

  As Sherlock strode out of the garden, Watson touched the brim of his bowler cap apologetically at Gnomeo. “Stay here! We’re on the case.” He took off running after Sherlock.

  Gnomeo couldn’t believe it. “What a complete and total—”

  Juliet hurried by him. “Get up. We’re going after them.” She darted after Sherlock and Watson. “Wait! Hold on! Wait!” she called.

  Gnomeo got to his feet. “And now we’re running after him,” he said with a sigh. Shaking his head, he took after Juliet.

  Chapter 10

  Gnomeo and Juliet followed Sherlock and Watson through the streets of London. Every so often, they had to freeze in place when a human came into view. Just when they had nearly caught up to the two detectives, Watson flipped open the top of his cane. He pressed a remote-control switch, and a manhole cover appeared out of nowhere. It slid silently open, revealing the sewage system underneath.

  Without breaking stride, Watson and Sherlock plunged into the darkness below.

  Juliet ran toward the manhole and leaped down into the sewer.

  “Whoa!” Gnomeo held back. Then, as Juliet disappeared from view, he sighed, took a deep breath, plugged his nose, and jumped in after her.

  It was cold and wet. Gooey blobs of slime drifted by, and Gnomeo nearly gagged. He heard the sound of splashing, and saw Sherlock and Watson climbing into a boat. On the back was a fan crusted over with dirt. Sherlock turned it on, and the blades began to whirl. The boat skated across the water.

  A shadow crossed in front of him, and Gnomeo saw Juliet run toward the boat. He had no choice but to follow.

  They chased the boat through the twisty tunnels, always a few steps behind the two detectives. The water grew shallower and shallower, though the stench remained the same.

  “Wait, wait please!” Juliet cried.

  “All ahead full, Watson!” Sherlock’s voice echoed off the tunnel walls. There was a click. The whirring of the fan grew more frantic.

  Gnomeo grabbed Juliet’s elbow as she skidded around a corner. “Forget them!” he panted. “We can handle this ourselves.”

  Juliet shook herself free and continued to chase Sherlock and Watson.

  Gnomeo gritted his teeth. “Or do the exact opposite. Your call.” After a few more turns, they came to a long stretch of tunnel. The boat was at the end of it.

  Sherlock ramped up the speed of the fan even more. Using a spoon as a rudder, Watson banked hard to the left to avoid a pile of sludge, and nearly rammed into a pile of fallen bricks.

  Up ahead Sherlock saw a length of tunnel that was bone dry. He grabbed the spoon from Watson. Jamming it down, he braked hard. The boat came to a stop right before ramming into the tunnel floor. “Cut the engines!” he cried.

  Watson ran to the fan and switched it off.

  Sherlock hopped out. “Help me carry the boat, quickly!” he commanded Watson. The two of them lifted the boat. They staggered down the tunnel until they came to an intersection where the water flowed again.

  Sherlock and Watson jumped into the boat. Sherlock reached for the fan switch. He was just about to turn it on when Juliet and Gnomeo swooped in from a different tunnel. They blocked the path.

  “Tell us what happened to our family!” Juliet demanded.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Sherlock shouted. He picked up the spoon rudder and waved it at the two gnomes. “Now will you please step aside?”

  Gnomeo gripped the edge of the boat and yanked down. “Not until you tell us what’s going on around here.”

  Suddenly, a giant sewer rat emerged from the darkness. As it ran by, it nearly toppled the boat.

  Sherlock shook his head in disgust. “Too late.”

  “What’s too late?” Gnomeo asked.

  Watson pointed down the tunnel. “Here they come.”

  Another rat rushed by. And then another. And another.

  Sherlock glared at Gnomeo and Juliet. “And now we have a rat problem, thanks to these meddlesome amateurs.”

  Watson dropped to his hands and knees. He rummaged around the bottom of the boat until he pulled out a roll of dental floss. He unspooled a long line of floss, and wrapped it around the handrail. Then he arched his back and flung the roll around a beam hanging from the top of the tunnel.

  Tying off knots, Watson finished with his homemade pulley just as a giant stampede of rats started running directly toward them.

  Sherlock held one end of the floss out to Gnomeo and Juliet. “If you don’t want to get rat-trampled, I suggest you help Watson pull.”

  For a moment, Juliet and Gnomeo stood frozen with fear.

  “Come on—give me a hand!” Watson yelled.

  Juliet and Gnomeo sprang into action. Working together, they hauled away on the floss, lifting the boat up, inch by inch.

  “Hurry!” Sherlock ordered. He sat at the back of the boat, looking displeased. Juliet, Gnomeo, and Watson barely managed to raise the boat out of the way before the rat stampede reached them.

  It seemed to take forever for the chittering rodents to pass. Gnomeo looked over the side of the boat and immediately wished he hadn’t. It would take just a single bite from one angry rat to lose a limb—or worse.

  Once the stampede died down and the last rat was gone, Watson cut the floss and the boat plopped back down into the water.

  Juliet slumped against the side of the boat. “Whew!” she gasped. “That was close.” She felt her heartbeat slowly return back to normal.

  “Whew?” snapped Sherlock. “What exactly do you think those rats were running from?”

  A deep rumble echoed through the sewer. Gnomeo and Juliet stared at one another. Their eyes widened with fear. It seemed as though their nightmare was not yet over.

  For a second, all was still.

  And then a tidal wave of rushing water came flooding down the sewer tunnel.

  Everyone hung on as the wave of stinky water slammed into them, hurling the boat through the sewer tunnels.

  They hit a whirlpool and began to spin around faster and faster. Juliet saw Gnomeo lose his grip on the side of the boat. He slid helplessly back and forth, unable to grab on to anything.

  The boat straightened and hurtled out of the whirlpool. Gnomeo managed to stand up just as a huge wave hit them. Juliet sprang into action.

  “Gnomeo! No!” Juliet lunged forward and caught Gnomeo just as he was about to go flying out of the boat. With a mighty tug, she yanked him back to safety.

  The stormy water finally started to subside and the waves flattened out. Gnomeo and Juliet sat and rested on the bottom of the boat. Watson clutched the spoon, looking green. Sherlock stood above him, calculating the probability that his partner would throw up. He was so busy staring at Watson that he didn’t notice that the boat was headed straight toward a brick wall.

  Upon impact, the bow disintegrated. Watson was thrown from the back of the boat and landed safely in the water. Gnomeo leaped off and grabbed on to the tunnel wall.

  Juliet jumped onto the other side of the wall and turned her head. As she did, she saw Sherlock sailing by her, heading straight for the bri
ck wall. She reached out and grabbed the detective by the edge of his coat just as the rest of the boat smashed to bits into the wall.

  The water receded, leaving a sticky film of mud behind it. Sherlock, Gnomeo, and Juliet carefully climbed down. As they cleaned themselves off, Gnomeo hugged Juliet. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Juliet didn’t respond. She pulled away from Gnomeo and faced Sherlock, her hands on her hips. She had just saved Sherlock’s life. “You were saying something about ‘meddlesome amateurs’?” she asked sweetly.

  Sherlock folded his arms. “I stand by that assessment. But if you insist on meddling, perhaps you could supplement Watson’s efforts.”

  Watson sat up and spit out some sewer water. “How thoughtful,” he muttered.

  “What did you say your names were?” Sherlock asked.

  “We didn’t. I’m Gnomeo,” said Gnomeo huffily.

  “Juliet,” said Juliet.

  “I am Sherlock Gnomes, the world’s first consulting detective and sworn protector of London’s garden gnomes.”

  “And I am—” Watson began.

  “To the surface!” Sherlock interrupted his partner. “We’ve not a moment to lose!”

  As Sherlock headed down the tunnel, Juliet saw the M card that had been left at her garden floating in the water. She picked it up and waved it in front of Watson. “Look, now that we’re on the team, how about you tell us what’s going on.” She held the card up to Watson’s nose. “Starting with this.”

  Watson nodded wearily. “Very well. The M stands for Moriarty—Sherlock’s archenemy.”

  Chapter 11

  As the gnomes headed to Chinatown through the sewer system, Watson filled Gnomeo and Juliet in on the details of Sherlock’s most dangerous case. “Some ornaments are just manufactured evil,” he began. “And Moriarty was the most evil of them all. No one comes close.”

  Sherlock turned a corner abruptly. The other gnomes bumped into one another and hastily changed direction to follow him.

  “For years, Moriarty terrorized the ornamental world. Until he met his match in Sherlock Gnomes,” Watson continued. He described how Moriarty loved to smash ornaments just for fun. He had a pack of troll henchmen to help him. They often left a lot of evidence—broken pieces of porcelain and clay scattered throughout a garden. But never any witnesses.