Happy New Year 2010
That had been an hour ago; the unfriendly looks from our fellow-patrons indicated that we were only slightly more popular than Holmes, and growing rapidly less popular as folk became the worse for drink. Certainly the grumbling from the surrounding tables had grown much louder, and several people had given up all pretence and were openly glaring at us as we huddled in our corner table, both of us wishing we had taken seats closer to the door.
“Guilt by association is a wonderful thing,” Lestrade muttered into his drink. “I think we should pay for our meal and go find That Detective.”
I smiled despite myself. “A brilliant suggestion, Inspector. No, I’ll pay; I’ll make That Detective take it out of his client’s expenses later.” We had been using this appellation for Holmes with increasing annoyance over the past half-hour, the capital letters becoming more apparent each repetition.
“I’d think you could claim danger to life and limb as a considerable expense,” Lestrade hissed, as we slowly rose from our seats. What little conversation remained died down instantly, and we wove our way to the bar through a sea of silent, watchful faces.
The landlord regarded us with such open contempt that I decided to make this as easy as possible for all concerned. Drawing a ten-pound note from my pocket-book, I laid it upon the counter, vowing to myself that I would have every penny back from Holmes before the fortnight was out.
“You may keep the change, my good ma -sir,” I quickly corrected myself.
The man did not move to touch the bill, but instead fixed me with a look that went through me like a poisoned lance. “You can keep your filthy money,” he growled, “in exchange for carrying a message to that arrogant dandy who calls himself a detective.”
If the man’s look had been a poisoned lance, then the murmur of approval from the crowd was a bubbling cauldron, a simmering mixture of resentment, loathing, and rage.
I swallowed hard, only to find that my throat had gone dryer than sawdust. Present grudge or no, calling Sherlock Holmes an arrogant dandy in my hearing would have, in any other circumstances, earned the speaker a swift answer with a left hook, but I reminded myself that I wished to leave this place alive. “I’ll be happy to convey any message you care to send,” I said as calmly as I could.
The landlord’s eyes glinted menacingly. “You tell that swaggering toff that the next time I see him - or anyone that looks like him - in this establishment ever again, morning will find his head hanging on a stake by the outhouse.”
“A low stake,” someone from the crowd called out to a response of coarse laughter. “So’s as he can examine all the evidence we can give ‘im.”
“Now see here -” I began hotly, but Lestrade tugged at my sleeve.
“We don’t want any trouble,” he said flatly. “Thank you, landlord, we’ll be sure to deliver your message; rest assured, I might be tempted to add a few remarks of my own when I next stop in at Baker Street. In the meantime, we thank you for the delicious meal and your kind hospitality, but we must be on our way,” he finished, literally pushing me out the door in front of him.
“Lestrade,” I hissed, once the door was safely closed behind us, “what did you mean by calling that ‘kind hospitality?’”
“I also called the meal delicious,” he replied, pulling me by the arm. “Now, Doctor, I suggest we leave the scene as quickly as possible; I’d like to find That Detective and give him a fair piece of my mind, or perhaps I’ll let my fists do my speaking - I’m sorry, Doctor,” he added quickly, as we started down the darkened lane. “You know I don’t mean it; he’s a genius, I’ll grant you, the undisputed master of his art, and I count myself lucky to know him, even if it’s taken me two decades to realize it. But I know I can speak plainly with you, and I tell you that I would’ve come to that realization faster if he weren’t so damned cocksure and didn’t play his hand so close to the vest. In the old days, I was tempted to clout him one for his insolence, but …” he shook his head. “Well, I’m not telling you anything you don’t know when I tell you that while I don’t for a minute condone that landlord’s violent plans for That Detective, I can fully understand why the man might feel that way.”
“I wouldn’t want him to hear it,” I replied earnestly, “but I quite agree with you. Sherlock Holmes is the most annoyingly arrogant man I have ever met. In fact, tonight I’m sorely tempted to show him just how -” my idle threat was interrupted by a raucous cry from behind us, an angry babble of several raised voices just at the pub’s door. I could only distinguish perhaps one word out of ten, but I heard enough to make clear that several of that party intended to pursue us in order to deliver some freshly-conceived message for our friend, and that this message would most likely be conveyed in a rather violent fashion.
“I think we’d better make ourselves less visible,” Lestrade whispered, and we ducked through a hedge and into the forest, leaving the path well behind.
“Do you know where you’re going?” I asked.
“No. Do you?”
“No. I’m dammed if I can see anything,” I answered, grunting as I stumbled over a root. “When I get my hands on Holmes, I swear -”
“I think we’re far away enough from the lane,” Lestrade puffed, looking round. “If we stay quiet enough -”
“Oh, I doubt that those simple folk shall find you, Inspector,” a cold, ironical voice behind us declared. As one man, Lestrade and I spun around to see Sherlock Holmes step out of the shadows. “Even though you both were making enough noise for anyone not completely inebriated to find you. Of course,” he continued with his most annoying smirk, “they are currently inebriated enough that I doubt they could hear a bull elephant were it not practically on top of them.”
And here's the link to part 2:
spikejem.livejournal.com/19058.html#cutid1