Home Invasion ~ 221 Baker Street
Author: capt_facepalm
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (gaslight)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Doctor John H. Watson, Mrs Hudson, Inspector Lestrade
Summary: Death threats should be taken seriously
Warning: Violence
Word Count: 1230 total
Author's Notes: Beta by goldvermilion87. All hail!
.oOOo.
‘Congratulate me, Watson. My labours have finally borne fruit!’
Watson looked up from his writing ‘How so?’
‘I’ve received my first death threat.’
The doctor’s eyes widened with concern ‘What does it say?’
Holmes brought the envelope’s contents over to the writing desk, unfolded the letter, and spread it out flat. Words had obviously been cut from newsprint and affixed to the plain stationery with some sort of paste. Watson had never seen anything like it. The words read:
‘The message obviously relates to your current smuggling investigation, but why resort to the extra bother?’
‘Ha! They are trying to be clever. More fools, they! By obscuring their handwriting, they have provided me with a great number of extra clues. The stationery, their fingermarks, the newspaper clippings, their use of symbolics, even their choice of adhesive all factor in. Never mind that they sought to obscure their penmanship in the first place; that too is very telling!’
‘Are you going to contact the police?’
‘For a matter as trivial as this? No! I will see that pitiful gang behind bars before the Yard can organise a search party. It would be a waste of their time, and more importantly, a waste of mine.’
‘You don’t seem to be taking this very seriously,’ said Watson. ‘Perhaps you should at least mention it to Lestrade. It need not be an official report.’
Holmes gave him the particular glare he favoured when the doctor was being obtuse.
‘Sorry. What was I thinking?’ the doctor muttered.
‘Nevertheless, it could do no harm to take extra precautions,’ said Holmes, ‘I doubt they would come after you, Watson, but please do take your revolver if you are out alone at night.’
.oOOo.
It was mid afternoon when Mrs Hudson answered the insistent ringing of the doorbell. When the two unsavoury looking characters inquired after Mr Sherlock Holmes, she tried to tell them he was not home at the present time. Suddenly, they pushed past the door, overpowered her with ease, and dragged her back into the kitchen. A moment or two later, they were joined by someone who could have only been their leader. He asked about Holmes’ comings and goings, and when he might be expected back. When they had learned all they wanted, they bound her and gagged her so she could not cry out.
‘Relax Missus. We’ll just wait for Mr Holmes to return.’
.oOOo.
If Watson had any apprehensions about his personal safety, he abandoned them when he arrived home and locked the front door behind him. If he had been more observant, he might have thought it amiss that there were no lights showing except from around the kitchen door, but his thoughts were involved with relaxing near a cheerful fire, and perhaps enjoying some tea.
‘Mrs Hudson!’ he called out. She was usually home by this time. ‘Mrs Hudson!’
Receiving no response, he opened the kitchen door and hesitated. Something felt wrong. She should have answered him by now.
‘Mrs Hudson?’
Suddenly, a man grabbed Watson from behind, pinning his arms and swinging him around to face a second attacker. With a shout, Watson kicked hard and drove his first attacker forcefully into the door jamb. The thug’s grip lessened, but not enough, and not before the other assailant wrenched Watson’s cane from his hands and drove it deep into the doctor’s midriff, winding him and causing him to double over.
The cane swung again, this time taking him hard to the side of his head. Watson never saw it coming, and restrained as he was, could not have defended himself against it even if he had. The sound was a sickening crack. His struggling ceased. A second or two passed before his captor released him with a shove.
Watson staggered for a couple of disjointed steps and raised his hand absently to the side of his head. When it came away covered in blood, Watson seemed confused and collapsed to the floor without a sound. There he lay, alarmingly still.
‘You were supposed to frighten him; not kill him!’
‘That’s not Holmes, you fool!’ their leader growled.
‘Who is it then?’
‘I dunno. Ask her.’
The scruffy one untied the gag. Mrs Hudson could not speak at first but eventually rasped ‘It is Dr Watson. He has a flat upstairs. Please let me see to him.’
‘Arright, but no funny business or I’ll wring both your necks and toss your carcasses into the cellar’
.oOOo.
Mr Sherlock Holmes arrived back at Baker Street in due course. Upon finding the foyer in darkness, he lit and turned up the lights, observing the signs of Dr Watson’s return, and becoming immediately suspicious.
There was a slight dampness on the doctor’s coat shoulders. Reaching inside, he felt the dwindling warmth of its wearer. The doctor’s hat, too, possessed a shine that spoke of the light rain which began within the last half hour. Conclusion: Watson had only recently returned.
The afternoon mail, still lay on the tray indicated that Watson had not paused to look at it. The medical bag, sitting at the base of the stairs, told him that the doctor had not ascended to their apartments. All the other rooms were in darkness, except for the light beneath the kitchen door. He waited, listening for any sound, before he noiselessly approached it.
When Holmes eased the door open, he started at the scene that greeted him. Three menacing figures advanced. Two were within striking distance. Beyond them, Watson lay sprawled upon the kitchen floor. Mrs Hudson's eyes were wet with tears as she did her best to help him, one hand cradling his head in her lap, the other holding a bloody rag against the wound. Her efforts were in vain; the bleeding refused to be staunched. The doctor clung to her arm, taking comfort and reassurance, or perhaps giving it. It reminded Holmes of a gruesome pieta.
Mrs Hudson’s warning was cut short as a backhanded blow knocked her into the corner. Holmes sprang forward. His opponents were prepared to attack, not defend. Holmes pressed his advantage and in a brief flurry, one man, then the other dropped to the floor. Their leader, seeing the situation turning against him, crouched, grabbed the stricken doctor by the collar, pulled him close, and held a knife to his throat. Before he could utter his threat, a deep clang sounded out. He toppled, revealing Mrs Hudson, heavy pan in hand.
.oOOo.
Inspector Lestrade stood to leave. The trespassers had been removed to the City lockup. His scrawled report on the incident, complete with statements from the Baker Street residents, was stuffed in his pocket. Watson, pale and bandaged, remained seated in his armchair as Holmes and Mrs Hudson stood to accompany the policeman to the door.
‘This could have had a very unhappy ending. Why the devil didn’t you report the threat in the first place? It defies reason.’ Lestrade shouted, only tempering his outburst when he saw the doctor wince, ‘I expect this sort of foolishness from you, Mr Holmes, but surely, Doctor, you have more common sense!’
‘I apologise, Inspector,’ replied Watson. ‘I suppose it was the novelty of the situation. Neither of us took it as seriously as one should have.’
It was not from the inspector’s admonishment that Holmes’ ears reddened, but he made no comment as he ushered Lestrade out.
.oOOo.
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