Chapter Four
Author: Capt_Facepalm
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Doctor John H. Watson, Inspector Lestrade, assorted baddies
Summary: Inspector Lestrade is frustrated with a case and turns to Sherlock Holmes, and his friend, Dr. Watson, for assistance. And then things go wrong. In this chapter, the police try to arrest the detective.
Warnings: Rambling plot development; no slash
Word Count: 1360
Author's Notes:
.oOOo.
The surgical waiting room at St. Thomas's Hospital was occupied by a handful of people as Sherlock Holmes shifted his gaze from one inspector to the other.
“But first, Mister Holmes, can you tell me where I can find Dr. Watson?” the big inspector asked, not managing to hide the menace in his voice.
Someone was not only covering their tracks but tying up loose ends as well, Holmes realised, and for the first time, he was relieved that Watson was elsewhere.
“I expect Doctor Watson is still in the operating theatre, and will be occupied for some time yet. I have had no news from the surgeons since they began,” Holmes replied evenly, “Surely you are as concerned with your colleague’s condition as we are. These other matters can be cleared up once we hear something definitive.”
The two inspectors looked at each other and seemed to come to some unspoken consensus. The larger one, Baird, checked Holmes for concealed weapons and ordered him to take a seat. Meanwhile, Rushton left the room. The detective leaned forward with his face buried in his hands, looking very much the image of the tired and concerned friend. Meanwhile, he took the time to evaluate his opponents and calculate his best options for escape.
Although Holmes did not know everyone at Scotland Yard, the big inspector seemed somewhat familiar to him. It was the other man, Rushton, who struck him as wrong somehow. Some quality of this man did not fit the profile of an inspector. Perhaps it was the way he spoke, or the accent he was failing to fully conceal, but something more about the man rang false.
The detective mulled over these thoughts, exploring the possibilities, ruling out the impossibilities, and absently reached down and rubbed his ankle.
“Mr. Holmes?” enquired the surgeon, entering the room at last, “We have done all we can for now. You may see him if you wish, but he will not regain consciousness for hours at the earliest… Good Lord!”
Holmes raised his head and people gasped. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken, his cheekbones were prominent and his face took on a skeletal aspect, he gasped for words, revealing blackened gums.
“P.. P.. Poison… !” the detective exclaimed as he staggered forward and collapsed to the floor, twitching, and foaming at the mouth.
“Quickly! Get this man into an examination room!” cried the surgeon.
An orderly appeared, and between him and the surgeon, they hauled the convulsing detective into the nearby room. Inspector Baird stood dumbfounded in confusion as the door closed in his face.
The surgeon felt Holmes' neck for his carotid pulse, simultaneously checking his eyes for reaction, and dispatching the orderly to retrieve some necessary medicines.
“Relax Doctor, it is only boot blacking and cheap theatrics. I needed to speak to you alone,” said Holmes, grinning at the astonished surgeon.
“Someone within Scotland Yard set up the assassination attempt on Inspector Lestrade. I’m sure it is linked to one of the cases he is working on. Whoever they are, they will try again, likely before he regains consciousness,” he explained as the doctor tried to slow down his own racing heart.
“What? Not in my hospital!” exclaimed the surgeon.
“Indeed. It is imperative that Lestrade is protected at all times, and not by the police either, but by any of your trustworthy, long-term staff. I do not recognise these two inspectors and they are acting suspiciously.”
“The nurse told me they were looking for a Dr. Watson. We do not have anyone on staff by that name,” the surgeon affirmed.
“He is my colleague who looked after the inspector when he was shot. Watson insisted that I bring Lestrade here. He did not come with us, although someone clearly expected him to do so.”
The surgeon’s eyes narrowed. “Watson? A military man? Not John Watson, from Edinburgh, by chance?”
“The very same. Why, do you know him?”
“John Watson was one of the finest surgeons I have ever had the privilege to teach,” the surgeon said angrily, “And, one of the most stubborn! I tried to talk him out of continuing with the army, but the bloody fool wouldn’t listen. I heard he returned a few years ago; a crippled invalid with no prospects. I wonder why he hasn’t looked me up.”
Holmes had a few ideas, but he kept them to himself.
“Doctor, can you provide protection for Inspector Lestrade? Those dubious inspectors want to take Dr. Watson and me into custody. I may have led them to believe that Watson is here.”
“Certainly, Mr. Holmes. I don’t want anyone to undo the hours of surgery I just put into that policeman friend of yours,” he replied, “I will give you all the help I can, and I even have a place where you can hide until you feel it is safe to leave the hospital.”
“Once they notice that I'm missing, they will question you. What will you say?”
The doctor smirked “I’ll just say that Dr. Watson volunteered to take over your case, and that was the last I saw of either of you.”
“Excellent. That would certainly work,” approved the detective, wondering if all doctors were as quick to embrace subtrefuge. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Mr. Holmes, would you please ask Dr. Watson to contact me when all this… whatever this is, is over? Could you tell him that Dr. Benjamin Tewiell would appreciate a consultation. Please convince him that I am sincere.”
“I will do as you ask, but if he hasn’t contacted you in four years, he probably had his reasons why not to,” Holmes replied, to which, the doctor nodded in knowing agreement.
.oOOo.
The orderly returned, out of breath, with an assortment of medicines, and was surprised to see the surgeon speaking to the man who had only minutes ago seemed to be at death’s door. Dr. Tewiell made the introductions and assured Holmes that this man could be taken into their confidence. The surgeon then gave the orderly some brief instructions before leaving the room.
Holmes listened at the door as Tewiell bullied the protesting Baird into another room, claiming the inspector had to be tested for the ‘dangerous nerve toxin’ which affected Mr. Holmes. The orderly, intently eavesdropping as well, chuckled and then indicated when it was safe for Holmes to follow him.
After making sure there was nobody around to observe their exit, the orderly led the detective to a nearby stairwell, and down into the bowels of the hospital’s basement.
“Dr. Tewiell says that no one will disturb you here,” he said, indicating the double doors labelled “Morgue”.
“I dare say not!” said Holmes as he was ushered into the dark and quiet chamber.
.oOOo.
Holmes prowled around the empty morgue, examining the room for exits and other useful features. At the sink, he found soap, and in one of the cabinets, he found a bottle of denatured alcohol. The detective spent his time waiting for the return of Dr. Tewiell, engaged in the painful, labourious process of scrubbing the impromptu make-up from his face, and calculating his next move. He had never known Watson to panic or do anything without forethought or purpose. If Wiggins said the doctor was worried enough to be leaving London, then there was a real danger… for all of them. Yet, Watson had insisted that Holmes protect the wounded inspector. Just what had Lestrade asked of Watson? The detective did not appreciate being this uninformed.
After what seemed to be a very long time, the door to the morgue opened. Dr. Tewiell entered and turned up the gaslights, calling quietly for the detective.
“They are gone, Mr. Holmes. I waited an extra half hour to be sure,” said the doctor, gesturing for the detective to follow him. They passed through the labyrinthine basement corridors until they came to a stairs and a door which led to an outside alley. Dr. Tewiell stepped outside first, as if to smoke, but searched for signs of unusual activity instead. When he could find none, he signalled for Holmes.
“Thank you, Doctor,” said the detective, exchanging a handshake with Tewiell.
“My staff are keeping watch over Mr. Lestrade, but do you have a safe place to go?” asked Dr. Tewiell.
“I have several viable options,” the detective confirmed. If Watson was in danger, and if their antagonists were to successfully pick up his own trail, the last place he would lead them was to Paddington Station!
.oOOo.
Please sign the guestbook.
Link to Chapter Five
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Doctor John H. Watson, Inspector Lestrade, assorted baddies
Summary: Inspector Lestrade is frustrated with a case and turns to Sherlock Holmes, and his friend, Dr. Watson, for assistance. And then things go wrong. In this chapter, the police try to arrest the detective.
Warnings: Rambling plot development; no slash
Word Count: 1360
Author's Notes:
- First attempt at a multi-chaptered story ~ this is Chapter Four
- Thanks again to long-suffering, and gracious med_cat who braves my atrocious grammar and inconsistent spelling to provide beta support.
.oOOo.
The surgical waiting room at St. Thomas's Hospital was occupied by a handful of people as Sherlock Holmes shifted his gaze from one inspector to the other.
“But first, Mister Holmes, can you tell me where I can find Dr. Watson?” the big inspector asked, not managing to hide the menace in his voice.
Someone was not only covering their tracks but tying up loose ends as well, Holmes realised, and for the first time, he was relieved that Watson was elsewhere.
“I expect Doctor Watson is still in the operating theatre, and will be occupied for some time yet. I have had no news from the surgeons since they began,” Holmes replied evenly, “Surely you are as concerned with your colleague’s condition as we are. These other matters can be cleared up once we hear something definitive.”
The two inspectors looked at each other and seemed to come to some unspoken consensus. The larger one, Baird, checked Holmes for concealed weapons and ordered him to take a seat. Meanwhile, Rushton left the room. The detective leaned forward with his face buried in his hands, looking very much the image of the tired and concerned friend. Meanwhile, he took the time to evaluate his opponents and calculate his best options for escape.
Although Holmes did not know everyone at Scotland Yard, the big inspector seemed somewhat familiar to him. It was the other man, Rushton, who struck him as wrong somehow. Some quality of this man did not fit the profile of an inspector. Perhaps it was the way he spoke, or the accent he was failing to fully conceal, but something more about the man rang false.
The detective mulled over these thoughts, exploring the possibilities, ruling out the impossibilities, and absently reached down and rubbed his ankle.
“Mr. Holmes?” enquired the surgeon, entering the room at last, “We have done all we can for now. You may see him if you wish, but he will not regain consciousness for hours at the earliest… Good Lord!”
Holmes raised his head and people gasped. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken, his cheekbones were prominent and his face took on a skeletal aspect, he gasped for words, revealing blackened gums.
“P.. P.. Poison… !” the detective exclaimed as he staggered forward and collapsed to the floor, twitching, and foaming at the mouth.
“Quickly! Get this man into an examination room!” cried the surgeon.
An orderly appeared, and between him and the surgeon, they hauled the convulsing detective into the nearby room. Inspector Baird stood dumbfounded in confusion as the door closed in his face.
The surgeon felt Holmes' neck for his carotid pulse, simultaneously checking his eyes for reaction, and dispatching the orderly to retrieve some necessary medicines.
“Relax Doctor, it is only boot blacking and cheap theatrics. I needed to speak to you alone,” said Holmes, grinning at the astonished surgeon.
“Someone within Scotland Yard set up the assassination attempt on Inspector Lestrade. I’m sure it is linked to one of the cases he is working on. Whoever they are, they will try again, likely before he regains consciousness,” he explained as the doctor tried to slow down his own racing heart.
“What? Not in my hospital!” exclaimed the surgeon.
“Indeed. It is imperative that Lestrade is protected at all times, and not by the police either, but by any of your trustworthy, long-term staff. I do not recognise these two inspectors and they are acting suspiciously.”
“The nurse told me they were looking for a Dr. Watson. We do not have anyone on staff by that name,” the surgeon affirmed.
“He is my colleague who looked after the inspector when he was shot. Watson insisted that I bring Lestrade here. He did not come with us, although someone clearly expected him to do so.”
The surgeon’s eyes narrowed. “Watson? A military man? Not John Watson, from Edinburgh, by chance?”
“The very same. Why, do you know him?”
“John Watson was one of the finest surgeons I have ever had the privilege to teach,” the surgeon said angrily, “And, one of the most stubborn! I tried to talk him out of continuing with the army, but the bloody fool wouldn’t listen. I heard he returned a few years ago; a crippled invalid with no prospects. I wonder why he hasn’t looked me up.”
Holmes had a few ideas, but he kept them to himself.
“Doctor, can you provide protection for Inspector Lestrade? Those dubious inspectors want to take Dr. Watson and me into custody. I may have led them to believe that Watson is here.”
“Certainly, Mr. Holmes. I don’t want anyone to undo the hours of surgery I just put into that policeman friend of yours,” he replied, “I will give you all the help I can, and I even have a place where you can hide until you feel it is safe to leave the hospital.”
“Once they notice that I'm missing, they will question you. What will you say?”
The doctor smirked “I’ll just say that Dr. Watson volunteered to take over your case, and that was the last I saw of either of you.”
“Excellent. That would certainly work,” approved the detective, wondering if all doctors were as quick to embrace subtrefuge. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Mr. Holmes, would you please ask Dr. Watson to contact me when all this… whatever this is, is over? Could you tell him that Dr. Benjamin Tewiell would appreciate a consultation. Please convince him that I am sincere.”
“I will do as you ask, but if he hasn’t contacted you in four years, he probably had his reasons why not to,” Holmes replied, to which, the doctor nodded in knowing agreement.
.oOOo.
The orderly returned, out of breath, with an assortment of medicines, and was surprised to see the surgeon speaking to the man who had only minutes ago seemed to be at death’s door. Dr. Tewiell made the introductions and assured Holmes that this man could be taken into their confidence. The surgeon then gave the orderly some brief instructions before leaving the room.
Holmes listened at the door as Tewiell bullied the protesting Baird into another room, claiming the inspector had to be tested for the ‘dangerous nerve toxin’ which affected Mr. Holmes. The orderly, intently eavesdropping as well, chuckled and then indicated when it was safe for Holmes to follow him.
After making sure there was nobody around to observe their exit, the orderly led the detective to a nearby stairwell, and down into the bowels of the hospital’s basement.
“Dr. Tewiell says that no one will disturb you here,” he said, indicating the double doors labelled “Morgue”.
“I dare say not!” said Holmes as he was ushered into the dark and quiet chamber.
.oOOo.
Holmes prowled around the empty morgue, examining the room for exits and other useful features. At the sink, he found soap, and in one of the cabinets, he found a bottle of denatured alcohol. The detective spent his time waiting for the return of Dr. Tewiell, engaged in the painful, labourious process of scrubbing the impromptu make-up from his face, and calculating his next move. He had never known Watson to panic or do anything without forethought or purpose. If Wiggins said the doctor was worried enough to be leaving London, then there was a real danger… for all of them. Yet, Watson had insisted that Holmes protect the wounded inspector. Just what had Lestrade asked of Watson? The detective did not appreciate being this uninformed.
After what seemed to be a very long time, the door to the morgue opened. Dr. Tewiell entered and turned up the gaslights, calling quietly for the detective.
“They are gone, Mr. Holmes. I waited an extra half hour to be sure,” said the doctor, gesturing for the detective to follow him. They passed through the labyrinthine basement corridors until they came to a stairs and a door which led to an outside alley. Dr. Tewiell stepped outside first, as if to smoke, but searched for signs of unusual activity instead. When he could find none, he signalled for Holmes.
“Thank you, Doctor,” said the detective, exchanging a handshake with Tewiell.
“My staff are keeping watch over Mr. Lestrade, but do you have a safe place to go?” asked Dr. Tewiell.
“I have several viable options,” the detective confirmed. If Watson was in danger, and if their antagonists were to successfully pick up his own trail, the last place he would lead them was to Paddington Station!
.oOOo.
Please sign the guestbook.
Link to Chapter Five