Trust and Consequence, a sherlock holmes fanfic

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Trust and Consequence

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A/N: So...I know I say everything is written on the fly, but I think this one tops them all. This was written in instant messaging, as a bedtime story to Kai, who is sick with the stomach flu :'( So...yeah, this was *really* written on the fly. Scarcely edited at all... Anyway, just a little action-packed one-shot that was dancing in my thoughts and made it into story form. Hope you all enjoy. Feel better Kai...

Trust and Consequence

Have you ever had events occur around you so quickly, that you did not have time to think? I recall an occasion in 1884 that was like that, in which I was put in a most vexing situation and had no chance to make a decision for myself. And it is a good thing too, for had I thought it through, my rational side would have changed the choice I made, which would have brought the matter to a most...disagreeable conclusion. But thankfully, in this case I had no time to think, and am thus able to bring to you the Tale of the Quick Assassin.

I had been napping on the sofa that day, which at that time had been moved next to the bow window while a bearskin rug was being moved into the flat. The sun tickled my eyelids, keeping me half-awake on what would be an eventful afternoon.

I was brought to full wakefulness, when Sherlock Holmes rushed into the room, his grey eyes darting about rapidly.

"Watson, thank heaven!" he cried, "No no, lie down, lie down! Pretend you are asleep! That's it...there.... Now, take this newspaper, and lay it across your torso just so, as if you had been reading it when you fell asleep."

"Holmes, what on earth...?!"

"Shh!" he hissed, and dashed over to my desk, taking my loaded revolver out of the drawer.

"Now you will take this Watson, and put it on your chest so that it will be concealed by the newspaper when you are reading it," he said hurriedly, placing the weapon upon my chest in a way that suggested he would want me to grab it quickly if necessary.

"Holmes, you must tell me what's going on!" I protested. This was most extraordinary behavior.

"He is coming Watson, and he will kill us both if we are not ready. Now, keep that gun concealed. No no! Lay your hands down casually. He can't suspect a thing!"

Just then, there was a knock at the door downstairs, and Mrs. Hudson's voice as well as a man's reached my suddenly nervous ears. Holmes sprang to his desk and took his own revolver and tucked it into his pocket.

"Now Watson, here is how the scene shall play--"

"Holmes--?!"

"Tut! Now listen, this man is coming up here to kill me. I need to get a confession out of him though, before I can bring in the official forces. So you shall be asleep, like so, and I shall force him to admit his crime. I will let him think he has me. Ah, indeed he will have us my dear fellow. He will not confess otherwise. So...mm, how to play it... Ah! You are asleep, and after he confesses to his foul deeds, you shall awaken because of our discussion. You will not speak. I will introduce you, but you will only nod and attend to your paper. I have already called Gregson, and he should be here within minutes, awaiting my signal. But if he is not, and I am not quick enough with my tongue, this man will do us. So, you must shoot him."

"Holmes, just what--?!" I cried, but he stopped me again.

"Hush! Now, here he comes. If I suspect he is going to play his hand, I shall signal you to shoot him."

"What signal?" I whispered disdainfully as a man's heavy tread approached the sitting-room door.

"Mm...I shall call your name, simple as that. Now, sleep!" And with that, the door to the sitting room opened and I closed my eyes and dropped my head to the pillow. I felt my heart racing as an unfamiliar step moved slowly across the room and toward the table where my friend had seated himself right before the door opened.

I was blind and helpless, confused as to what was happening around me. But I daren't move a muscle save to breathe. For if Holmes's word was true, and I've never known it not to be, we were both in grave danger and our lives could very well depend upon me.

"Well well Mr. Holmes. No gun? No police? You surprise me!" I heard a dark and gruff voice say. This was obviously our opponent.

"Why Adams, surely you know there is nothing against you? What good would the presence of police do either of us?" my friend replied, his voice calm and silky. I was glad he had instructed me not to speak, for I could not have uttered a word.

"Oh come now Mr. Detective, we both know you've been tailing me for weeks. Your name is not unknown to me, and surely you have not kept what you must know to yourself," the gruff voice said harshly.

"I know nothing, save that you are a murderer."

My breath caught in my throat.

I heard a slight breaking of glass and what sounded like something being pulled across the table. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed to hold my position.

"Now see here Holmes!--"

"Please, Sir, address me with my prefix." I heard something like the clattering of silverware, more glass, and what I guess was Holmes being pushed back into his chair, assuming that this man Adams had pulled him across the table moments before.

"You have some nerve for a dead man," Adams said in a voice that turned my blood to ice. Lights were dancing before my eyelids as I strained to hear every detail of what was occurring and so picture the scene.

"Well, then," said my friend calmly, and I heard the sound of a match being struck, "If I am dead--"

"You are!" Adams growled.

"--then you may as well tell me what I want to know."

There was a silence, and I heard the man's heavy steps pacing back and forth near the front of the table, contemplating his options no doubt. Then suddenly, the sound stopped near the far end of the room, and I heard the man take in a sharp breath.

"What's this?!" he roared, "A copper to hear my confession right under my nose?! Oh you'll pay for this..." he said, and his footsteps advanced toward me violently. I didn't move. I heard Holmes rise hastily from the table and move between the enraged man and my 'sleeping' form. I could smell the smoke on his breath--he was that close--as he tried to calm the man.

"Would I think so little of your intelligence so as to place a spy in the same room? No my dear sir, this is my colleague Dr. Watson, who assists me in my cases."

He stepped aside slightly, shaking my shoulder gently as if to wake me. I did my utmost to look to part of a completely drowsy man. I glanced up at him questioningly, trying to appear disinterested. He met my eyes briefly and then turned away, walking toward his armchair. And then I couldn't help but look at the man who had shattered my peace of mind.

He was huge, with wild red hair and flaming blue eyes to match. He was dressed like a dock-worker and was glaring at me suspiciously from less than three feet away. I am quite certain I looked utterly terrified, but I must have convinced him of my innocence, for he turned after another moment of staring me down and followed Holmes to the fireplace.

"So he knows everything of it, does he?" the man asked.

"Yes," was Holmes's reply. I couldn't help my face twisting into a wry grimace as he effectively put my life into the man's hands with his words. And the plan had already been changed, if I remembered it correctly. I hoped it would continue to a non-violent conclusion, but at this rate it seemed unlikely.

"Well, then I suppose it doesn't matter much..." the man muttered, sitting in my chair and putting his boots upon the hearth.

"Ask your questions, Mr. Holmes," he grinned, and I turned away, knowing I would fail at my part if I were to keep watching the vile man.

"Very well. How did you escape the house that last night?" my friend said calmly, seating himself opposite the criminal.

"That window at the back," he said smugly, and I could almost see him grinning.

"That window was sealed. I examined it myself," my friend said with a slightly anxious tinge to his voice.

"Aha ha, Mr. Detective, you have missed the obvious," he drawled. Holmes was silent as the man chuckled to himself. I reached for the newspaper to pretend to read it, so the man would think I was not paying attention, when it suddenly occurred to me that if I lifted the paper from my chest, he would be able to see the revolver from where he sat. I could not communicate the predicament to Holmes either, without the man observing, and I certainly couldn't continue to sit there doing nothing, or he would surely be suspicious.

My mind raced for a solution, but then the man started talking again. "Describe the window, great observer," the man laughed coldly.

"...It was a simple, plate-glass window, single paned, and--"

Holmes stopped suddenly, as whatever the answer was must have occurred to him. Adams began to laugh uncontrollably, hitting his boots against the wood floor.

I heard Holmes rise from his chair and he moved swiftly across the room to the other window. I caught a glimpse of his face, and he was certainly not calm any longer.

"Tell me that isn't the perfect crime, eh? Kill the girl, take the jewels and leave through a sealed window! Didn't even leave any evidence!" the villain continued to laugh, and Holmes's cigarette burned down to his fingertips as he stood there, stewing in his defeat.

"Oh, but you left a multitude of evidence at the other houses," he said icily. I looked up at him urgently as Adams rose to his feet, still laughing like a jaybird. But Holmes was oblivious to my fervid glances.

"Yes indeed," Adams answered just as morosely as Holmes looked down at something in the street, "Well Mr. Holmes, what is it now? The police finally arrived eh?" he said as Holmes raised his hand in a slight, beckoning gesture. "Now, don't even think about it. Get that revolver out of your pocket and toss it over here. That's right, good," he grinned wickedly as my friend obeyed.

Holmes slowly started walking around the table, toward the man. "How will you escape this time Adams? They're coming."

"Oh don't think I didn't spot that little door over there. Some secret passageway no doubt. The perfect escape," he said, picking up Holmes's gun. His eyes were locked on my friend, who had maneuvered around almost to the other side of our enemy, giving me a chance to act. I took the newspaper in my hands, concealing the revolver clumsily behind it. I was certain I would drop it, but I had to at least try to give us some defense.

"That's right you, no quick movements now," Adams said, his eyes darting back to me the moment I flinched. "Now stand up slowly and move away from the window. That's right," he said as he backed toward the door that led to Holmes's room, keeping his large pistol trained on us.

I tried to make the newspaper as inconspicuous as possibly, but I'm sure I was quite the ridiculous sight. Adams was grinning maliciously, and he raised the gun and cocked it deliberately as the sound of footsteps on the stairs below reached our ears.

I was beginning to despair of our lives. I would have already shot the man, but it would take me a moment to get the gun into my hand properly, as now it was just dangling from my left thumb behind the paper. And as long as his eyes were on me, I was helpless.

"Goodbye Mr. Sherlock Holmes," the man said with a biting fury and raised the gun quickly toward my friend.

"Watson!" Holmes shouted, and he dropped to his knees.

The man looked between us, confused for a moment as I fumbled with the gun. Anger overtook his features as he realized he'd been tricked.

I was slow moving, and he turned the gun on me. I froze as I looked down the barrel, sure that thought all was lost. But then, Holmes tackled him about the knees and they began grappling for the pistol.

I got my own into my hand and rushed forward just as Adams gave Holmes a vicious backhand to the temple, knocking him into me. I fell backwards, and quickly looked up to see the business end of Adams's gun pointed between my friend's eyes.

I did not think twice, and aimed my revolver and pulled the trigger.

Adams fell with my bullet in his forehead, blood staining Mrs. Hudson's hardwood floors. I gasped a breath, realizing I had barely been breathing through the whole ordeal and looked at Holmes, whose face had gone very white. He looked back at me, an unreadable look in his eyes as Inspector Gregson and two constables rushed into the room.

We must have been a sight, the two of us in a heap before the fireplace and the dead man before us, his blood slowly pooling at Holmes's feet.

"Ah...Inspector," Holmes finally said shakily.

"What the devil...?!" Gregson said, taking in the scene.

"...It seems the suspect proved to be a bit more than we could handle."

In the next twenty minutes, Gregson took Holmes's report and the evidence he had gathered, and the dead man was carried out on a police stretcher, never to plague the citizens of London again with his madness. As neither of us had been injured (amazingly), the police left us alone with a shaken Mrs. Hudson and a steaming pot of Earl Grey.

"Holmes..." I finally asked as I drank the hot liquid, "Just what was that all about?"

"I do apologize Watson, that was a most illogically thought out plan."

"No...no I believe it could have worked..." I said, observing his nervous state. I decided details of the case would have to come later. "We're alive at least," I spoke again, when he said nothing. He looked at me questioningly for a moment, and then sighed into his teacup.

"All's well that ends well, hm?"

"Yes...yes I suppose so. And, Holmes, what about that window?" I couldn't resist, as apparently that was the one aspect of the case that had baffled him. He looked at me then, a touch of fire coming to his eyes.

"It was so obvious an answer, I don't know how I could have been so foolish as to miss it," he muttered.

"Then, how did he escape?"

"The windows in the laundry room were plate-glass, large enough for a man to fit through, and they were double-paned. He simply removed the glass, and replaced one pane once outside and took the other with him. I don't know how I could have missed that..."

He trailed off, studying his tea with that unreadable look again. I thought for a moment.

"Well...all's well that ends well?" I said tentatively. He looked up at me, almost startled.

"Yes, yes Watson. Indeed," and he smiled.

Author's notes: The little door--remember...I think it was MAZA, where Holmes had a secret door that led from his bedroom out to the sitting room. Well...if I have my facts wrong, forgive me, and blame it on the haste in which the story was written ;)