Sherlock Holmes - The Adventure of the Runaway Bride, Chapter 4
Title: The Adventure of the Runaway Bride, Chapter 4 - Explanations, of a Sort.
Rating: PG-13 this chapter
Characters/Pairings: Pre-slash Holmes/Watson, implicit Irene/Mary
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise.
Spoilers: Assumes knowledge of 2009 movie. Chances are I'll spoil a book or two along the way.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1954
Author's Notes: Many thanks to beeinmybonnet for assuring me ahead of time that at least it's the good kind of "on crack".
Chapter 3
In which Holmes wakes up with a second hangover, Watson has figured most of it out by himself, Irene is keeping secrets, Mary wants to know them and everyone is packing.
Watson was startled by a groan from the settee. He shifted his newspaper and peered over it to see Holmes shift and lean up a little, blinking slowly.
“Ah, you're awake, then,” Watson kept his tone nonchalant, but breathed a little internal sigh of relief. Not that he had doubted his friend would be all right, in time, but he was very glad to see him moving again.
“Watson, please don't shout so,” Holmes spoke at barely a whisper, and curled into the back of the settee to shield his eyes from the last rays of afternoon light. Watson got up to close the curtains, and moved to check the detective over.
“Hungover, are we?” The doctor had expected that - he wasn't sure what Holmes had been dosed with, but knowing Irene it would be whatever would put him out of commission for the longest. As it was, he had been out for over four hours on what had to have been a very small dose.
“Hmm,” Holmes answered wryly, “for the second time in twelve hours, no less.” He groaned again and sat up carefully, cradling his head in one hand. He ran his other hand over the back of his skull, wincing when he felt the lump which had resulted from his fall.
“I've cleaned and stitched it - I'm afraid I wasn't fast enough to catch you.” Watson still felt a little guilty about letting his friend hit the ground, since he had more-or-less seen it coming.
Holmes chuckled softly, “If the number of blows to the head I've taken thus far haven't affected me, I doubt one more will do any harm.”
The doctor snorted in amusement, shook his head and got up again. He poured a second cup of tea and brought it over to Holmes, who accepted it gratefully.
“Thank you, Watson,” he sipped his tea carefully, “now, what I want to know is, what conclusions have you come to whilst I was enjoying my nap?”
Watson sat down heavily in the armchair he had vacated earlier and caught himself short of sighing - it was fast becoming a bad habit. “As far as I am concerned, these are the facts so far; Mary disappeared in the early hours of the morning, accompanied by Irene Adler, whose diamond you gave me to give to her. It is likely that they are working together, since the robbery at Mappin & Webb was not at all Miss Adler's style, but if Mary was a criminal-”
“Which she is,” Holmes interrupted, helpfully, he thought.
“Would you like to tell it?” Watson asked irritably, looking evenly at the detective.
“No, no, please continue,” he answered, perhaps a little sheepishly. Watson smiled.
“Good. If Mary was a criminal,” he held his hand up when Holmes opened his mouth, “which she most probably is, given the evidence,” the doctor ignored his so-called friend's smug smile, “it would most certainly be her style - low-key and efficient, not overly greedy or flashy, and therefore less likely to draw attention,”
“My my, you are rather infatuated with her, aren't you?” If there was a hint of jealousy in Holmes' voice, Watson ignored it for the moment.
“Are you sure you wouldn't like to tell it?”
“Positive, I do love to hear you make your own deductions,” Holmes smiled impishly, but there was honesty in the statement.
“Right, well, anyway, our two ladies deliberately planted clues to let us know they were together, which then led us to two imposters who gave us a letter telling us that there would be no more clues, and a false clue which poisoned you - she does know rather well, doesn't she, Miss Adler?” Watson smiled at getting his own back.
“Yes, well,” Holmes blushed a little, much to the doctor's delight, “actually, I don't think that last part is quite right, about the imposters. Just as I passed out, I caught the look on the fair-haired one's face, which was very familiar. I realise now that what happened, in fact, was that each of our women simply dressed up as each other to throw us off. A few touches of stage make-up was all it took to stop us from recognising them after that, because we were looking for the wrong thing. For all of the amazing depth of the mind, it is easily fooled when one knows how - and Irene was an actor, once upon a time.” The detective looked so pleased with himself for figuring this out that it would have been hard to tell that he had spent the past four hours dead to the world because he hadn't realised what was going on sooner. Not for the first time, Watson reflected on how very strange Holmes was.
He realised seconds later what that meant, “and I let them get away,” he pinched the bridge of his nose hard, “so, so stupid.”
“Hardly your fault - even I didn't see it until it was far too late, old boy. Besides,” there was that smile back again, “what else could you have done, left me on the platform?”
Watson smiled back, “you would have been fine. Might have done you some good, even.”
“No doubt - being captured whilst incapacitated is a marvellous experience for building character, especially given the calibre of criminals usually after me,” he said it lightly, but Watson was reminded by this statement just how lucky Holmes got on a daily basis. He revised that in his mind and decided that although some of it might be luck, a lot of it was probably design. Very likely, this was why there was rarely a good likeness of him in the newspaper. Watson wondered what other steps Holmes might have taken to protect himself, and realised with a jolt that he wasn't quite so careless as he often seemed. After all this time, there were still mysteries he hadn't unravelled of the man, and yet Holmes must know almost every detail of his life. But now was not the time or the place to contemplate such things, and Watson turned his attention back to the matter at hand.
“So what are we to do now?”
“Well,” Holmes brightened a little and looked directly at the doctor, “that largely depends on you, my dear - the robbery at the jeweller's was not a great crime, I haven't been asked to investigate it and we can be fairly sure of the culprits anyway. So really, it is a matter of whether or not you wish to chase Miss Morstan across the country.” The detective was trying to seem disinterested, but there was no question in Watson's mind that he wanted to chase Irene, and was only holding back because...well, the because hadn't really come to him yet, but he was certain that the other man was holding back for some reason.
“And you, of course, have no interest in chasing Miss Adler, who has outsmarted you once again?”
Watson smiled smugly at Holmes' attempt to continue to appear dispassionate. It failed terribly, as there was a gleam in his eye which the doctor would liken to the look of a dog at the beginning of a hunt. Hungry.
“Certainly not,” Holmes sniffed, “I will lose nothing by allowing her to escape.”
“Your pride is nothing to you? That is a new one, old boy; usually it is your greatest vice.”
“Greatest vice. Surely pride is far less distasteful to you than cocaine, since you have a good measure of it yourself.”
“Less distasteful in equal amounts, perhaps, but whilst you have little dignity, you are considerably more prideful than I.”
“I don't think it's wrong if it's deserved, Watson. And if I do say so myself, I am unequalled in my field. As indeed are you, dear doctor.” The detective made this statement completely without irony. Watson smiled wryly.
“And what field might that be?” He doubted Holmes was praising his medical expertise, which whilst considerable was certainly not unequalled, and Holmes was not one to compliment falsely.
“The occupation of faithful friend and companion, invaluable assistant, personal physician and flattering biographer of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. No other could possibly hope to replace you.” He said this all quite seriously, as though it was an irrefutable fact.
Watson's smile warmed, and he felt a blush creeping onto his cheeks and a tiny fluttering in his stomach. The honest appraisal meant much more to him than he would normally like to admit. “No-one would want to replace me, I should imagine,” he replied, to lighten the conversation again, “and we have gotten horribly side-tracked - would it be easier if I said I wanted to chase them?”
“You know I am always at your service, my dear.”
“Fine - I wish to chase them. It is all on my head and you would be doing me a great favour by helping me to retrieve my wife.”
“Good, pack a bag, we shall leave in the morning shortly after our quarry does,” the gleam in his eye was back, stronger than before, Watson noted.
“You're not going to tell me where we're going, are you?”
“And spoil the fun of watching you figure it out for yourself? Never.” With that he stood up and stretched, then made his way towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Out. Do try and get some rest, Watson.”
“But...,” Watson considered pushing for more information, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. He listened to Holmes descending the first few stairs and then shouted “put on a coat, for God's sake,” after him. He had no idea if his advice had been followed, but instead of checking to see that it hadn't, he set about packing both of their bags.
<><><>
“Won't you tell me where we're going?” Mary called from her place on the bed.
“And spoil the surprise? Why ever would I do that?” Irene smiled coyly over the top of a large open suitcase.
“Well, you're no fun,” The fair-haired woman pouted.
“If I were no fun, you wouldn't stick with me,” Irene was invisible behind the case now, but Mary could hear the smile in her voice, “you could easily have stayed happily married with your doctor.”
“He was fun, you know...” Irene peered around the case to raise an elegant eyebrow, “not lacking at all, if you catch my meaning,” Mary smiled conspiratorially, “but, of course, he couldn't hold a candle to you, darling.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” the dark-haired woman called from behind the case, and then shut it with a thud, “that should be everything we need, we'll leave first thing in the morning, but for now, shall we rest?”
“I think we should, it has been such a long day, and you did wake me so very early,” Mary held her arms out to her partner, who sauntered across the room and slipped into them easily, sighing happily as she lay down in the soft bed.
“They will give chase, won't they?” Mary queried as she played with Irene's hair.
“Without question.” Irene smiled cunningly.
Rating: PG-13 this chapter
Characters/Pairings: Pre-slash Holmes/Watson, implicit Irene/Mary
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise.
Spoilers: Assumes knowledge of 2009 movie. Chances are I'll spoil a book or two along the way.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1954
Author's Notes: Many thanks to beeinmybonnet for assuring me ahead of time that at least it's the good kind of "on crack".
Chapter 3
In which Holmes wakes up with a second hangover, Watson has figured most of it out by himself, Irene is keeping secrets, Mary wants to know them and everyone is packing.
Watson was startled by a groan from the settee. He shifted his newspaper and peered over it to see Holmes shift and lean up a little, blinking slowly.
“Ah, you're awake, then,” Watson kept his tone nonchalant, but breathed a little internal sigh of relief. Not that he had doubted his friend would be all right, in time, but he was very glad to see him moving again.
“Watson, please don't shout so,” Holmes spoke at barely a whisper, and curled into the back of the settee to shield his eyes from the last rays of afternoon light. Watson got up to close the curtains, and moved to check the detective over.
“Hungover, are we?” The doctor had expected that - he wasn't sure what Holmes had been dosed with, but knowing Irene it would be whatever would put him out of commission for the longest. As it was, he had been out for over four hours on what had to have been a very small dose.
“Hmm,” Holmes answered wryly, “for the second time in twelve hours, no less.” He groaned again and sat up carefully, cradling his head in one hand. He ran his other hand over the back of his skull, wincing when he felt the lump which had resulted from his fall.
“I've cleaned and stitched it - I'm afraid I wasn't fast enough to catch you.” Watson still felt a little guilty about letting his friend hit the ground, since he had more-or-less seen it coming.
Holmes chuckled softly, “If the number of blows to the head I've taken thus far haven't affected me, I doubt one more will do any harm.”
The doctor snorted in amusement, shook his head and got up again. He poured a second cup of tea and brought it over to Holmes, who accepted it gratefully.
“Thank you, Watson,” he sipped his tea carefully, “now, what I want to know is, what conclusions have you come to whilst I was enjoying my nap?”
Watson sat down heavily in the armchair he had vacated earlier and caught himself short of sighing - it was fast becoming a bad habit. “As far as I am concerned, these are the facts so far; Mary disappeared in the early hours of the morning, accompanied by Irene Adler, whose diamond you gave me to give to her. It is likely that they are working together, since the robbery at Mappin & Webb was not at all Miss Adler's style, but if Mary was a criminal-”
“Which she is,” Holmes interrupted, helpfully, he thought.
“Would you like to tell it?” Watson asked irritably, looking evenly at the detective.
“No, no, please continue,” he answered, perhaps a little sheepishly. Watson smiled.
“Good. If Mary was a criminal,” he held his hand up when Holmes opened his mouth, “which she most probably is, given the evidence,” the doctor ignored his so-called friend's smug smile, “it would most certainly be her style - low-key and efficient, not overly greedy or flashy, and therefore less likely to draw attention,”
“My my, you are rather infatuated with her, aren't you?” If there was a hint of jealousy in Holmes' voice, Watson ignored it for the moment.
“Are you sure you wouldn't like to tell it?”
“Positive, I do love to hear you make your own deductions,” Holmes smiled impishly, but there was honesty in the statement.
“Right, well, anyway, our two ladies deliberately planted clues to let us know they were together, which then led us to two imposters who gave us a letter telling us that there would be no more clues, and a false clue which poisoned you - she does know rather well, doesn't she, Miss Adler?” Watson smiled at getting his own back.
“Yes, well,” Holmes blushed a little, much to the doctor's delight, “actually, I don't think that last part is quite right, about the imposters. Just as I passed out, I caught the look on the fair-haired one's face, which was very familiar. I realise now that what happened, in fact, was that each of our women simply dressed up as each other to throw us off. A few touches of stage make-up was all it took to stop us from recognising them after that, because we were looking for the wrong thing. For all of the amazing depth of the mind, it is easily fooled when one knows how - and Irene was an actor, once upon a time.” The detective looked so pleased with himself for figuring this out that it would have been hard to tell that he had spent the past four hours dead to the world because he hadn't realised what was going on sooner. Not for the first time, Watson reflected on how very strange Holmes was.
He realised seconds later what that meant, “and I let them get away,” he pinched the bridge of his nose hard, “so, so stupid.”
“Hardly your fault - even I didn't see it until it was far too late, old boy. Besides,” there was that smile back again, “what else could you have done, left me on the platform?”
Watson smiled back, “you would have been fine. Might have done you some good, even.”
“No doubt - being captured whilst incapacitated is a marvellous experience for building character, especially given the calibre of criminals usually after me,” he said it lightly, but Watson was reminded by this statement just how lucky Holmes got on a daily basis. He revised that in his mind and decided that although some of it might be luck, a lot of it was probably design. Very likely, this was why there was rarely a good likeness of him in the newspaper. Watson wondered what other steps Holmes might have taken to protect himself, and realised with a jolt that he wasn't quite so careless as he often seemed. After all this time, there were still mysteries he hadn't unravelled of the man, and yet Holmes must know almost every detail of his life. But now was not the time or the place to contemplate such things, and Watson turned his attention back to the matter at hand.
“So what are we to do now?”
“Well,” Holmes brightened a little and looked directly at the doctor, “that largely depends on you, my dear - the robbery at the jeweller's was not a great crime, I haven't been asked to investigate it and we can be fairly sure of the culprits anyway. So really, it is a matter of whether or not you wish to chase Miss Morstan across the country.” The detective was trying to seem disinterested, but there was no question in Watson's mind that he wanted to chase Irene, and was only holding back because...well, the because hadn't really come to him yet, but he was certain that the other man was holding back for some reason.
“And you, of course, have no interest in chasing Miss Adler, who has outsmarted you once again?”
Watson smiled smugly at Holmes' attempt to continue to appear dispassionate. It failed terribly, as there was a gleam in his eye which the doctor would liken to the look of a dog at the beginning of a hunt. Hungry.
“Certainly not,” Holmes sniffed, “I will lose nothing by allowing her to escape.”
“Your pride is nothing to you? That is a new one, old boy; usually it is your greatest vice.”
“Greatest vice. Surely pride is far less distasteful to you than cocaine, since you have a good measure of it yourself.”
“Less distasteful in equal amounts, perhaps, but whilst you have little dignity, you are considerably more prideful than I.”
“I don't think it's wrong if it's deserved, Watson. And if I do say so myself, I am unequalled in my field. As indeed are you, dear doctor.” The detective made this statement completely without irony. Watson smiled wryly.
“And what field might that be?” He doubted Holmes was praising his medical expertise, which whilst considerable was certainly not unequalled, and Holmes was not one to compliment falsely.
“The occupation of faithful friend and companion, invaluable assistant, personal physician and flattering biographer of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. No other could possibly hope to replace you.” He said this all quite seriously, as though it was an irrefutable fact.
Watson's smile warmed, and he felt a blush creeping onto his cheeks and a tiny fluttering in his stomach. The honest appraisal meant much more to him than he would normally like to admit. “No-one would want to replace me, I should imagine,” he replied, to lighten the conversation again, “and we have gotten horribly side-tracked - would it be easier if I said I wanted to chase them?”
“You know I am always at your service, my dear.”
“Fine - I wish to chase them. It is all on my head and you would be doing me a great favour by helping me to retrieve my wife.”
“Good, pack a bag, we shall leave in the morning shortly after our quarry does,” the gleam in his eye was back, stronger than before, Watson noted.
“You're not going to tell me where we're going, are you?”
“And spoil the fun of watching you figure it out for yourself? Never.” With that he stood up and stretched, then made his way towards the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Out. Do try and get some rest, Watson.”
“But...,” Watson considered pushing for more information, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. He listened to Holmes descending the first few stairs and then shouted “put on a coat, for God's sake,” after him. He had no idea if his advice had been followed, but instead of checking to see that it hadn't, he set about packing both of their bags.
<><><>
“Won't you tell me where we're going?” Mary called from her place on the bed.
“And spoil the surprise? Why ever would I do that?” Irene smiled coyly over the top of a large open suitcase.
“Well, you're no fun,” The fair-haired woman pouted.
“If I were no fun, you wouldn't stick with me,” Irene was invisible behind the case now, but Mary could hear the smile in her voice, “you could easily have stayed happily married with your doctor.”
“He was fun, you know...” Irene peered around the case to raise an elegant eyebrow, “not lacking at all, if you catch my meaning,” Mary smiled conspiratorially, “but, of course, he couldn't hold a candle to you, darling.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” the dark-haired woman called from behind the case, and then shut it with a thud, “that should be everything we need, we'll leave first thing in the morning, but for now, shall we rest?”
“I think we should, it has been such a long day, and you did wake me so very early,” Mary held her arms out to her partner, who sauntered across the room and slipped into them easily, sighing happily as she lay down in the soft bed.
“They will give chase, won't they?” Mary queried as she played with Irene's hair.
“Without question.” Irene smiled cunningly.