Title: The Unnamed and Unnamable

Author: Felicia Angel

Rating: M/R

Character: Holmes, Watson

Summary: Part 3 of my dark AU for "The Awakened". As Holmes and Watson get closer to finding the leader of the group, the information of the cult comes to more light. But how much danger are they in from such a cult and their beliefs?

Author's Notes: Oh, things get really gory at this point on, in a new horror franchise type of way. You know, like "Saw" or "Hostel"? That's all.

-Holmes-

As far as first impressions went, I did not like Louisiana or the wilds of the Americas. In fact, I was downright disgusted by it.

Our first order of business had been to exchange our money, but it appeared from the huge man with the shotgun that the bank was closed, and it took money to find out that a Cajun man named Champange would be the only one who could tell us of what was going on in New Orleans.

Watson had not spoken much, carrying the carpet bag with most of our things, and he smiled at me as, on our way to the Cajun quarters, I muttered, "America, the New World that will welcome you with open arms! Hrmph."

"I didn't want to say anything."

"Have you ever been here before?"

He shook his head. "Only met Americans through your cases or others, but never been to the actual continent. It's quite wild, isn't it?"

I nodded, the two of us heading through the houses on stilts that overlooked the bayou and swamp that someone had long ago thought would be best for a city.

We reached the end of the planks and got to a house where a man with skin that was tanned and lined from work in the sun and humidity sat, tossing a knife onto a block in front of him. As we got closer, two dogs came up, both growling, and one looking ready to attack Watson, or at least the bag he carried.

"Napoleon! Layfette!" the man's voice was a curious mixture of that twang that some Americans from the west had and a deep French one, but the dogs left us alone as he apologized for them, saying they tended to growl at foreigners. I asked about the gem sale, paying for the information and frowning at what I got.

This was getting to be more and more like a wild goose chase, going from one place to another, but each point seemed to hold some truth to this horrid cult and I intended to follow it to the last.

Mr. Arneson could easily be the man that Gygax spoke of, and he used his servant to sell the gems he got from Europe, but without looking through anything I had no data, something I loathed to be without on a case.

"Hey!" I saw Watson attempt to grab a young, burly man as he ran off with…

I knew Watson had held onto most of our things, but our papers were in that bag and we needed them, especially if anyone locally with power was taken into this group for one reason or another. Without another thought, I gave chase.


-Watson-

I followed Holmes as well as I could, the heat bearable but the humidity not so much, and in truth I doubted that I could have followed the scoundrel anyway, as it was hard enough to keep up with Holmes at times when he was slowing his pace for me.

The result of our chase was rather hectic, as the boy took every shortcut he could as well as every obstacle it could seeming to do nothing more then slow me down, from a tractor suddenly crossing my path to a door that was opened with hardly the time for me to skitter to a stop to figuring out in a moments notice how to get somewhere without hurting myself too badly.

The chase went through most of the Chinese area of New Orleans then through an almost-abandoned factory, I catching up to Holmes as he glared down a somewhat shorter man with a star that said he was the law of the area, two larger men with guns backing him up, and Holmes arguing that he'd allowed our query to get away.

I drew in a breath, still out-of-shape from my months of confinement, feeling Holmes' hand on my shoulder as I said, "Our bag…"

"I'm afraid it's gone," Holmes muttered, glaring at the man before him, "and with it, our papers for being here."

"Indeed," the man drawled, causing me to now glare at him as something like a blue light started to invade my vision and I had to close my eyes against it.

Of all the things to keep from Holmes, the minor knowledge of when we were on the right track, or what might be the right track, was one I was not proud of, and certainly one that I didn't want to keep. The two-day coma had, it seemed, helped me get over most of the nightmares and what was going on, but now being close to what might be another source of the darkness seemed to waken it again, like a sleeping--.

"Yew're Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson?" Oh dear Lord, this wasn't going to go over well. Holmes had warned me that our names could be bad to use, and I hadn't realized he used mine to see what was wrong when I kept myself breathing steady and with my eyes closed…

I straightened, frowning as the small sheriff looked up and nodded towards a pretty blond woman up on a nearby riverboat, one that I had to guess doubled mainly as a whorehouse. It wasn't until she turned to leave that he continued, saying that without papers we were here illegally and he'd give us a chance to simply get on our boat and wait for tomorrow. With that and a laugh, both from him and one of the bulkier companions, the trio left and we headed back towards our boat.

I knew we weren't leaving. Holmes had not allowed the law, both legal and the type that demanded bribes or something equally disgusting, to get in his way and I highly doubted he'd allow it this time.

"Watson," he muttered to me as we started to head towards the French Quarter after getting the idea of what Arneson's house looked like, at least the grate, "what happened?"

"I was out of breath."

"Watson!"

I sighed, looking forward as we headed down the dirt road. "It was just all that's happened, Holmes, nothing more. Don't worry about it, it won't affect me anymore."

Holmes says I'm a terrible liar, and couldn't be convincing unless I believed something was true, hence his deceits before. I have, on occasions, been able to withhold information, or even downright lie, so long as it was what he believed.

He did now, for which I was quite glad. After a moment, I smirked. "Open arms, eh Holmes?"

"Oh do shut up, Watson."


I frowned as we walked forward, finding Arneson's house easily and I frowning upon seeing a young black maid waiting near the gate. We stopped, pushing the gate (which was locked) and rang the bell, but after a few minutes no one, not even a servant, appeared, and we realized there might be no one there.

Holmes and I looked over and noticed the same girl looking over on us, and with Holmes' small motion she slowly came up, speaking to us.

Her name was Eulah, and her brother, Davy, worked for Arneson but hasn't been seen in nearly a week, when she often would show up to speak to him and ensure he was fine, as her brother couldn't speak but was still smart about things.

Holmes and I convinced her to show us the area where she usually met her brother, and it didn't take but a quick use of his knife to open the stable door, the two of us going in and I closing and locking the door behind us.

I stopped, shaken as I saw an emaciated horse that, upon some of my examination, showed to be suffering dehydration.

The boy had disappeared five days ago. The horse was suffering from no water for what must be five days.

Holmes and I continued outside, a long trail of a dragged body by someone and some blood causing us to attempt to follow it but stopped by a swarm of mosquitoes that were not about to let us pass. We instead started into the house, Holmes starting to follow the trail as I went into the room we determined to be a kitchen and got a pan for the poor horse, filling it with water and removing a small hammer that had fallen under the poor animal.

I was returning to the house as I saw the bluish flash again, shaking my head to clear it as I got a little too close to a local raccoon and it skittered away, chattering at me in an agitated tone.

I went back inside, attempting to ignore the headache and flash off the corner of my eyes, finding Holmes kneeling and examining something on the ground.

"Don't go in the other room," he told me simply as he stood, "I found the gardener…I believe that someone else was killed or badly wounded and their body drug from here, and there is a person hiding in that room over there," he pointed to the room down the hall, and for a second I could see beyond the walls…

"Watson?"

"I'm fine, just the smell...it's giving me a headache. How long do you think the man's been dead?"

He hesitated and finally showed me towards the room, I looking at the body before saying, "He can't have been dead longer then five days, if what we know is true, but the heat has caused his body to decompose quicker then usual. It's something that happens in swamps and areas of high heat and humidity."

Another check around the room only gave us a bottle of champagne for the old Cajun, hopefully for something like a boat into the swamp (as Holmes felt all things lead there) before we went upstairs and explored the man's room.

As far as I could tell, there was nothing in the way of incriminating, and Holmes seemed to agree with me. We did find the key to a room and were about to go there when blue light exploded around me and we heard a woman scream.