Expecting Rescue: A Sherlock Holmes Story
Title: Expecting Rescue
Author: azuhra
Fandom: ACD-Bookverse Sherlock Holmes
Word Count: 1105 (221b x 5)
Rating: PG13
Characters: Watson, Holmes, Inspector Gregson
Pairing(s): None.
Warnings: : Mild Violence
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys. I just take them out to play.
Prompt: JWP Amnesty Prompt #5 (Inprisonment/Hostage/etc. and Rescue fic ) at watsons_woes
Summary:
Holmes and Watson prepare for a final showdown.
Chapter Seventeen of my JWP story: The Case of the Antique Massacre
Chapter One: Rain for the Cab Man
Chapter Two: Less Than Benign
Chapter Three: Word Games
Chapter Four: Relief and a Quote
Chapter Five: The Horror Unfolds
Chapter Six: Undercover Detective
Chapter Seven: Plan of Attack
Chapter Eight: Mud, Oil, and Cowards
Chapter Nine: Falling for You
Chapter Ten: The Bloodshed Begins
Chapter Eleven: Turn-Coat
Chapter Twelve: It Burns Like Summer
Chapter Thirteen: Meeting in the Fire
Chapter Fourteen: Leaping and Sprinting
Chapter Fifteen: Take What You Will
Chapter Sixteen: Sutures and Revolvers
A/N: Five 221b's. Oops! I couldn't manage to cut this one back. Had to plan it just so for the rescue. And yes, I do like Lestrade, but the man gets so much story time since BBC Sherlock has become so popular that I decided to take pity on a lesser character.
---
I felt rather as though I had wound up in one of those terrible novels our American cousins call a 'Western.” We had the wagons circled and were impatiently awaiting an ambush. This was not my ideal method of facing such a foe. I was quite exhausted, and though I would dearly have loved to have stood and paced the sitting room such as Homes was doing, my injury and weariness prevented it. I realized I would be facing our opponents sitting down whether that was my preference or not.
And so I occupied the settee, idly tapping my my gun against the cushion, while Holmes had lit a pipe and stalked like a caged tiger through the room. There was little I could do for him, this was especially true considering that while we were cornered, we had done it to our selves.
“Drat these scoundrels! Fast to blow up a building and slow to hunt down prey. Sloppy organization among the lot of them.”
“They've done well to this point, Holmes. Off-script seems to be proving more of a problem.”
“If they intended to plan for... Ahah!”
At that moment the door in the front hall was thrown open with a mighty crash and Sherlock Holmes's face broke into a grin that was far to boyish.
---
As with their entrance onto the mansion grounds, our foes were not silent in their approach. Despite my better judgment, I made an effort to stand as the excitement of the moment and the rage for the massacre I had witnessed over the night came to the fore. Holmes’s gesturing me back was entirely unnecessary, as my right leg refused to hold my weight anyway. I twisted to look as threatening as I could from a seated position, revolver aimed dead at the door.
Holmes himself fairly bristled with energy even as heavy footfalls pounded up our seventeen stairs. He stopped, leaning against his desk and from his jacket pocket he withdrew his own pistol. He then took up aiming as I toward the obvious point of entry these none-too-creative thieves were stomping toward. “Let us show them quickly, Watson, for whom this trap will be sprung!”
Our sitting room door popped off of its hinges with the force of the mighty shoulder thrown into it. We were met by the grim face of one of the criminals who had carried explosives into the mansion. He stood there obviously weaponless. We held our guns on the man, but were triumphant for only a moment before his five comrades appeared, Mr. Hunt and their leader included, with weapons drawn from behind.
---
“It seems you are out-gunned, Mr. Holmes. And, Doctor, you're looking fairly lively for a man who is supposed to be dead.”
“In this case,” I responded through gritted teeth, “I am happy to disappoint.”
“Disappointment, not a goal a man should aim for,” smirked the leader of the thieves. “If you two gentlemen would be so kind as to put your weapons down. No? I'm happy to shoot you where you are as well. I would much rather gloat about my win over Sherlock Homes first, however.”
It was not the first time, and most definitely would not be the last time in our association, that I found myself wishing that Holmes would share his plans with me. As it was, he acquiesced to setting his gun down and gestured for me to do the same with very little fight. It was a wonder to me that he apparently had put so much faith in both the cabbie and in our associates and Scotland Yard, for what else could he imagine the two of us doing against these six men?
The thief who had first shouldered in stepped into the room to collect our weapons. The ruffian then stepped back to join the rest of the group. We were resigned to listen to the braggart.
---
Eight of us in the sitting room made for exceedingly tight quarters. I remained on the settee near the middle of the room while Holmes stood with a relaxed air. Of the thieves, their apparent leader stood before the lot looking smug. The rest of the lot stood on shifting feet with weapons held ready.
The leader addressed himself to Holmes. “You do know how this came to pass?”
“Of course,” my friend answered in a bored tone, “You sought a rare and ancient Buddha statue and thought you could destroy me in the process of obtaining it.”
“Well, your destruction will come later than the theft, but the results shall be the same. With you and your companion gone, none will know the culprits of tonight's exploits and none will be clever enough to catch me at future robberies!”
“Hah!” Holmes barked, “You think rather highly of yourself. I should tell you now I knew from my first meeting with your colleague, of the truth of your plans. It is so very plain that even the Inspectors at Scotland Yard could see through it, Edgewise Edgar Cunningham.”
“You think that I care if you know who I am or of my plans? Considering we stand here now with me atop and you beneath.”
---
“I will grant you that, Mr. Cunningham.” Holmes agreed. “The question is, for how long?”
“For the rest of your very short lives, Mr. Holmes. Unless you think yourself and your wounded friend can remove the six of us on your own?”
“Not on our own,” Holmes announced with the authority only he could wield. “However with this assistance of Scotland Yard we should fair a good deal better. Gregson, now would be excellent!”
As though he had been waiting for the command, the large Inspector burst through the empty door frame and soundly bashed one criminal on the head with his baton before swinging his gun toward the next. I was nearly as surprised as the criminals, for though Holmes had told me we would be getting back-up, I had hardly believed he could predict events so well until that moment. Moreover, I had not heard Gregson on the stairs and obviously the thieves had not either.
I realized just as quickly that Holmes had been wrong on one count, while the Inspector had come, he had not brought anyone with him. My friend had obviously realized the same as he threw himself into the fray beside Inspector Gregson. I saw two guns being raised before the air was rent by a volley of bullets.
Author: azuhra
Fandom: ACD-Bookverse Sherlock Holmes
Word Count: 1105 (221b x 5)
Rating: PG13
Characters: Watson, Holmes, Inspector Gregson
Pairing(s): None.
Warnings: : Mild Violence
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys. I just take them out to play.
Prompt: JWP Amnesty Prompt #5 (Inprisonment/Hostage/etc. and Rescue fic ) at watsons_woes
Summary:
Holmes and Watson prepare for a final showdown.
Chapter Seventeen of my JWP story: The Case of the Antique Massacre
Chapter One: Rain for the Cab Man
Chapter Two: Less Than Benign
Chapter Three: Word Games
Chapter Four: Relief and a Quote
Chapter Five: The Horror Unfolds
Chapter Six: Undercover Detective
Chapter Seven: Plan of Attack
Chapter Eight: Mud, Oil, and Cowards
Chapter Nine: Falling for You
Chapter Ten: The Bloodshed Begins
Chapter Eleven: Turn-Coat
Chapter Twelve: It Burns Like Summer
Chapter Thirteen: Meeting in the Fire
Chapter Fourteen: Leaping and Sprinting
Chapter Fifteen: Take What You Will
Chapter Sixteen: Sutures and Revolvers
A/N: Five 221b's. Oops! I couldn't manage to cut this one back. Had to plan it just so for the rescue. And yes, I do like Lestrade, but the man gets so much story time since BBC Sherlock has become so popular that I decided to take pity on a lesser character.
---
I felt rather as though I had wound up in one of those terrible novels our American cousins call a 'Western.” We had the wagons circled and were impatiently awaiting an ambush. This was not my ideal method of facing such a foe. I was quite exhausted, and though I would dearly have loved to have stood and paced the sitting room such as Homes was doing, my injury and weariness prevented it. I realized I would be facing our opponents sitting down whether that was my preference or not.
And so I occupied the settee, idly tapping my my gun against the cushion, while Holmes had lit a pipe and stalked like a caged tiger through the room. There was little I could do for him, this was especially true considering that while we were cornered, we had done it to our selves.
“Drat these scoundrels! Fast to blow up a building and slow to hunt down prey. Sloppy organization among the lot of them.”
“They've done well to this point, Holmes. Off-script seems to be proving more of a problem.”
“If they intended to plan for... Ahah!”
At that moment the door in the front hall was thrown open with a mighty crash and Sherlock Holmes's face broke into a grin that was far to boyish.
---
As with their entrance onto the mansion grounds, our foes were not silent in their approach. Despite my better judgment, I made an effort to stand as the excitement of the moment and the rage for the massacre I had witnessed over the night came to the fore. Holmes’s gesturing me back was entirely unnecessary, as my right leg refused to hold my weight anyway. I twisted to look as threatening as I could from a seated position, revolver aimed dead at the door.
Holmes himself fairly bristled with energy even as heavy footfalls pounded up our seventeen stairs. He stopped, leaning against his desk and from his jacket pocket he withdrew his own pistol. He then took up aiming as I toward the obvious point of entry these none-too-creative thieves were stomping toward. “Let us show them quickly, Watson, for whom this trap will be sprung!”
Our sitting room door popped off of its hinges with the force of the mighty shoulder thrown into it. We were met by the grim face of one of the criminals who had carried explosives into the mansion. He stood there obviously weaponless. We held our guns on the man, but were triumphant for only a moment before his five comrades appeared, Mr. Hunt and their leader included, with weapons drawn from behind.
---
“It seems you are out-gunned, Mr. Holmes. And, Doctor, you're looking fairly lively for a man who is supposed to be dead.”
“In this case,” I responded through gritted teeth, “I am happy to disappoint.”
“Disappointment, not a goal a man should aim for,” smirked the leader of the thieves. “If you two gentlemen would be so kind as to put your weapons down. No? I'm happy to shoot you where you are as well. I would much rather gloat about my win over Sherlock Homes first, however.”
It was not the first time, and most definitely would not be the last time in our association, that I found myself wishing that Holmes would share his plans with me. As it was, he acquiesced to setting his gun down and gestured for me to do the same with very little fight. It was a wonder to me that he apparently had put so much faith in both the cabbie and in our associates and Scotland Yard, for what else could he imagine the two of us doing against these six men?
The thief who had first shouldered in stepped into the room to collect our weapons. The ruffian then stepped back to join the rest of the group. We were resigned to listen to the braggart.
---
Eight of us in the sitting room made for exceedingly tight quarters. I remained on the settee near the middle of the room while Holmes stood with a relaxed air. Of the thieves, their apparent leader stood before the lot looking smug. The rest of the lot stood on shifting feet with weapons held ready.
The leader addressed himself to Holmes. “You do know how this came to pass?”
“Of course,” my friend answered in a bored tone, “You sought a rare and ancient Buddha statue and thought you could destroy me in the process of obtaining it.”
“Well, your destruction will come later than the theft, but the results shall be the same. With you and your companion gone, none will know the culprits of tonight's exploits and none will be clever enough to catch me at future robberies!”
“Hah!” Holmes barked, “You think rather highly of yourself. I should tell you now I knew from my first meeting with your colleague, of the truth of your plans. It is so very plain that even the Inspectors at Scotland Yard could see through it, Edgewise Edgar Cunningham.”
“You think that I care if you know who I am or of my plans? Considering we stand here now with me atop and you beneath.”
---
“I will grant you that, Mr. Cunningham.” Holmes agreed. “The question is, for how long?”
“For the rest of your very short lives, Mr. Holmes. Unless you think yourself and your wounded friend can remove the six of us on your own?”
“Not on our own,” Holmes announced with the authority only he could wield. “However with this assistance of Scotland Yard we should fair a good deal better. Gregson, now would be excellent!”
As though he had been waiting for the command, the large Inspector burst through the empty door frame and soundly bashed one criminal on the head with his baton before swinging his gun toward the next. I was nearly as surprised as the criminals, for though Holmes had told me we would be getting back-up, I had hardly believed he could predict events so well until that moment. Moreover, I had not heard Gregson on the stairs and obviously the thieves had not either.
I realized just as quickly that Holmes had been wrong on one count, while the Inspector had come, he had not brought anyone with him. My friend had obviously realized the same as he threw himself into the fray beside Inspector Gregson. I saw two guns being raised before the air was rent by a volley of bullets.