Disclaimer: The characters are not mine and I lay no claimed to them.
A/N: This story is based on a lesser known film entitled They Might Be Giants in which George C. Scott gave a brilliant performance as Justin Playfair, a retired Manhattan judge who believes himself to be Sherlock Holmes. The only complaint I have is that the film (in the style of its times) had no ending – at all. And so this is my humble attempt to give it one, if only for simply my own piece of mind…it picks up exactly at the point in which the movie 'ends'. I dedicate this story to the two who watched it with me (you know who you are)…and to all those who long for some explanation as to what happened to our heroes after the screen when dark.
In the words of the immortal classic CLUE:
This is how it might have happened…
Mildred listened to Justin as he rambled, her eyes locked on the tunnel before them and her hands clutching his with all the strength she possessed. He might think it fitting, his romantic notions of love and loss and a noble death, but she wasn't ready to let him go. Not yet. Not when she had only just found him.
He was the Technicolor in her monochromatic existence: this crazy, incredible man, who had the power to bring order to a world in chaos with a calculated glance…and the confidence to do what he thought right even when those around him branded him insane for his actions. A man who's very force of will had inspired a band of misfits to take on an army, of sorts, because they believed in him. A man who carried a bag of Hershey kisses in his jacket pocket. A man who loved her and she had waited so very long to be loved. No. She was not going to lose him…even if it meant her job, her sanity…
…or her life.
The sound of hoof beats grew nearer, or perhaps it was only the blood rushing through her ears. Her logic deemed it insanity, waiting for something that was not real. The clues weren't real and Moriarty wasn't real. Not in this world at least. She swallowed against the stubborn lump that had lodged in her throat and tightened her clammy grip on Justin's hands as the shadow before them shifted. Her eyes widened as the shadows separated as she watched. If Moriarty wasn't real then how was it that he was riding toward them at that very moment? Just as Justin had said that he would…
The horse slowed to a stop just shy of the light from the lamp posts, its rider cloaked in heavy shadow. Mildred found herself unable to breathe. Beside her, she felt Justin stiffen as if an electric current had struck him. She tore her gaze away from the rider and looked up to find his face pale and pinched, as if he were in great pain.
"So," he began, his voice calm and steady despite the tremor she felt in his hands. "it was you all along."
Her eyes darted back to the man before them, this Moriarty to Justin's Holmes, but try as she might she could not make him out. A deep chuckle echoed from the shadows, a harsh cruel sound. The man shifted, and there was no mistaking the object in his gloved hand.
"I'm afraid so, my dear Holmes."
A cold chill ran through her veins as she recognized the voice and she wished that it was only an illusion, for Justin's sake, though she knew it wasn't. However, if the words were meant to intimidate, he failed as Justin seemed emboldened by them. The tremor ceased and his grip on her hands loosened and then fell away as he stepped forward slowly, effectively placing himself between the man and her.
"You've never called me by that name before." Justin stated quietly. "Why start now, Brother?"
The horse moved forward and the dim light revealed the face of Belvins Playfair, his mildly handsome face twisted into sneer.
"Bravo, Brother. You really are quite brilliant. A little too much so." The hand which held the gun rose deliberately, the muzzle aimed squarely at Justin's head. "You've brought this on yourself, you know. I never wanted you dead, but you've left me no choice."
"One always has a choice." Justin argued.
The sneer grew harder, the man's face nearly unrecognizable as he snarled. "Not true."
The horse danced nervously beneath him, but he didn't seem to notice as his eyes remained firmly fixed on his brother. It was the look of a man who had nothing to lose and everything to gain, and Mildred knew at that moment without a doubt that someone was going to die that night.
"I never had a choice. No one ever gave me a chance, always comparing me to you. Even when you lost your sanity and embraced this delusion they loved you more than me. You were insufferable enough as Justin Playfair, my perfect elder brother, but as Holmes…" His voice cracked with pain. "Even my wife preferred you to me."
"But you still tried, didn't you, Belvins." Mildred spoke soothingly, forcing her fear back. She stepped to Justin's side slowly, hands raised . "You did everything you could to have your brother committed. You wanted his money, but you didn't want to kill him, did you?"
The brothers turned toward her as she continued in a flurry of words.
"It was blackmail, wasn't it?" Mildred continued as the piece began to fall into place. "The men who tried to kill us at the school, the man who shot at Holmes through my window…twenty thousand was never an address. It was an amount. You needed money."
Justin turned to face his brother. "Is this true?"
Belvins hesitated a moment before nodding. "Yes, yes I needed the money, that is true, but I'd also had it with your infernal delusions." The gun wavered and then slowly lowered. "All you had to do was cooperated and we could have avoided this unpleasantness, but you never cooperate. You never have."
"What if he did?" Mildred asked quickly. "What if he agreed to sign the papers and gave you the money? Would you let him live?"
"Watson…" Justin began.
She ignored him, her eyes fixed on Belvins. "Well, Mr. Playfair?"
"I'm afraid that is no longer an option, Ms. Watson." A voice stated softly from the path behind them.
The three whirled to face the newcomer with varying expressions: shock, interest, resignation.
"Who are you?" Mildred blurted out, quieting as Justin once more placed himself between her and the threat.
"Isn't it obvious, my dear? This man is the one and only Colonel Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's right hand man." Justin remarked with a grim smile. "Let Watson go and you can do as you like with me."
Mr. Brown shook his head slowly and deliberately. "I'm afraid that I can't do that. The good doctor knows too much. I don't have much of a choice."
Mildred shivered and she knew instinctively that this was a man who could not be reasoned with. Death was his business and he not only did it well, he enjoyed it. She pressed her head against Justin's back, her hands rising to clench the fine material of his vest in her fists. If this was the end then she would rather it be this way. At his side…figuratively speaking at least.
"One always has a choice." She heard Justin repeat firmly.
She heard the sharp metallic snap of a gun hammer being drawn into place, and she closed her eyes and waited.
"Not this time." Came Mr. Brown's reply.
And then, in a moment, the world exploded in a flurry of sound and movement. She was unceremoniously flung backward into the hedge at the edge of the path. It swallowed her whole, tangling her in darkness, as chaos reigned around her. A gunshot, followed quickly by another, the panicked whinny of a frightened horse, the sound of a body striking the hard ground, the sound of hoof beats and a lot of shouting….and then as quickly as it had begun, everything fell deathly silent.
She struggled against the twisted, grasping branches of the bush, fighting violently to free herself as every dark scenario imaginable ran through her thoughts. A pair of hands grasped hers and she ceased fighting as she was unceremoniously hauled out of the hedge and back onto the path. A feathered plum floated obscured her vision for a brief moment causing her to stumble on the train of her ridiculous dress as she moved to avoid it.
"Wilbur!" she gasped as she recognized her rescuer. "Whatever are you doing here? Wait never mind that, where is Holmes?"
The librarian waved a hand toward the dark patch of lawn beside the path where she had last seen Justin. She could make out a faint outline, though it seemed larger than just one man. "He's over there with his brother. Stay with them. I'll go get help."
The icy chill returned. She glanced briefly down at the unconscious Mr. Brown, sprawled unceremoniously across the path, a heavy wooden sword beside him and a large growing knot on his head. She smiled faintly. The Scarlet Pimpernel had struck again. God bless him for it…but had he arrived in time? She stepped around the man and made her way toward the brothers.
"Holmes." she whispered faintly as she dropped to her knees beside him.
He seemed fine at first glance though she could not say the same for Belvins, who lay cradled in his brother's arms, his face waxen and pale. Blood stained the front on his coat and Justin's hand as he sought to stem its flow.
"He saved my life." Justin murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes met Mildred's and she was startled for a moment to see confusion in their depths. "Watson." She frowned at the way he spoke her name, as if it were something new and not familiar. "Mildred, please help him."
Mildred nodded and shifted to Belvin's side, opposite the men, as she pulled upon her rusty medical knowledge. "Mr. Peabody has gone for help. Just keep pressure on the wound. If he can hold on a bit longer, he might just make it."
"Justin."
Both looked down as the wounded man's eyes fluttered weakly and he let out a pained gasp.
"I'm here, brother." Justin replied soothingly. "Help is on the way. Just hold on."
Mildred's gaze shifted from Belvins to Justin's face as she registered a change in his voice. She had read of cases where a second trauma had reversed the effects caused by the first. Was there a chance that the shock of the drama had affected him?
"I'm sorry." Belvins breathed. "So sorry."
As she watched, Justin smiled faintly. "Just rest, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."
Sirens sounded in the background, heralding the arrival of the paramedics…and the police. What a mess this was going to be to explain. Wilbur returned, sans hat and sword, and tie as he had used it to secure the villainous Mr. Brown. The next hour was filled with lights and paramedics, questions and uniforms as the authorities attempted to make sense of the muddled scene they had found upon reaching the park.
It was only later much later that Mildred found herself wandering aimlessly along a dimly lit hallway which smelled of antiseptics, wearing a pair of baggy olive green scrubs, her ruined dress stuffed into an old paper shopping bag. A weary thought slipped through her mind that she should find a cab and go home. The whole crazy adventure had seemed much like a dream…though she was uncertain whether good or bad.
She'd heard by way of a sympathetic nurse that Belvins Playfair had survived and was currently occupying a room located somewhere along this hall. No one seemed to be able to tell her what had happened to Justin. She supposed that they had carted him off to a ward at the Psychiatric Hospital. She wondered if there were any way she could convince them to admit her as well.
A weary sigh slipped from her lips as she studied the linoleum beneath her hospital issued slippers. She was too tired to think…and too heart sick to want to. She'd heard that Daisy was with her husband. Perhaps the woman would be willing to pass a message onto Justin for her. She doubted that she would be allowed to reenter her former place of employment. Not after what she had done – not that she wanted too.
She paused as she found a pair of battered leather shoes in her path, a man's shoes, attached to a pair of legs encased in dirt streaked trousers. She blinked sluggishly as tried to determine what they were doing in her way…and why they were familiar to her. A pair of warm hands gently grasped her arms, steadying her as she swayed.
"Mildred."
She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, and received a gentle chuckle for her efforts. A hand released her, shifting to wrap around her waist as she suddenly sagged against him. His arms tightened around her securely and for the first time that she could remember, she felt safe and protected.
"Oh, my brave girl."
She snaked her arms around his torso, clutching him as tightly as she dared. If this was a dream, she prayed that she would never wake. The question that had plagued her since the aftermath of the park rose to the surface of her hazy mind…just one word.
"Justin?"
She felt him nod, his cheek pressed against her hair as he held her fast.
"How much do you remember?" she continued, fearful of the answer and yet desperate to know it.
"Everything."
She raised her head at his confession. Her eyes searching his cautiously.
"Everything?" she whispered.
He smiled down at her with an emotion in his eyes that made her knees weak. No man before him had ever looked upon her with such love.
"Well, I do have one rather small question."
She swallowed thickly as his eyes grew darker. "Just one?" she breathed.
He nodded as he gently brushed a wayward lock of hair from her face. "I know you loved me as Holmes, but do you think could you love me if I were just plain old Justin Playfair?"
Her heart leapt even as she struggled to keep the smile from her face as she pretended to deliberate for a moment.
"Well I guess that would depend on whether Justin Playfair could love just plain old Milly Watson."
His answering smile was blinding.
"Without a doubt." He murmured with a huff of a laugh as his lips paused a breath from hers.
A sparkle of mischief danced in his eyes.
"I'd be lost without my Boswell."