1886

I sit here now, warm and comfortable and well rested. Time feels relative. There are moments that seem to last forever, and others that pass us by in a heartbeat. The best of moments seem the shortest we will ever experience.

The worst of times feel like they last forever.

And so I come to my current account of an ordeal endured.

It is an experience I would rather forget. The events are neither interesting nor exciting, but from it came a personal realization of extraordinary significance and is therefore I find it worthy of future consideration.

Holmes has always moved two steps ahead of anyone else, both literally and intellectually. It is not uncommon for me to fall behind while he runs off to pursue one idea or another. I never hold this against him.

Nor do I hold it against him for the trouble in early April regarding the Greenley case. It was by all appearances a very complicated case of a brotherhood of thieves run by a mastermind criminal with an uncanny ability to stay just one step ahead of us no matter how close we seemed to be to catching him. That day we'd caught up to Greenley just as he exited a pawn broker we'd been keeping an eye on. The chase was on through alleys and back ways he seemed intimately acquainted with and us not at all.

I fell. It was an absolutely embarrassing move on my part and I will blame it completely on the weather aggravating my leg wound and the subsequent cramp in my thigh. Of all the devilish luck. The chase could not be halted simply because I was too lame to keep up. I shouted at Holmes to keep going, if he heard me or was even aware I'd fallen behind I have no idea, while I picked myself up and stopped to rest on an old crate.

I planned on backtracking my steps to stop in at the pawn broker to ask him questions. The broker could no longer deny any association with Greenley now that we'd seen him exiting the shop, perhaps I could learn yet more about our criminal.

As I stood up the side door of the building directly in front of me opened and out walked the man we'd been hunting.

Devilish luck, indeed.

We were both shocked to see each other. I recovered first and in only two steps I was able to reach him and with surprising ease wrestle him to the ground. For all the trouble this man had given us, the capture was embarassingly straight forward. If only it could have ended there.

I pulled off his belt and tightly secured his wrists behind his back before pulling him back up to his feet. I was about to march him directly towards the main road and seek the help of a constable when three men rounded the corner. I hoped at first they were simply locals, but I had no such luck.

They called out to Greenley in alarm and rushed to his aid. I put up a much better fight than Greenley had only moments before. One man at least ended with a bloody nose, and another would not be walking evenly on his right knee for weeks to come. Eventually two of them got a hold of my arms, while the third landed a wallop to my midsection.

The belt I'd used to wrap around Greenley's wrists was then used to secure mine.

Once I recovered my breath and managed to regain something of my equilibrium I became extremely uneasy at how they were staring down at me. "What now?" I asked.

They looked at each other, seemingly surprised by the question.

"He'll identify all us. It'll be our necks if we let him go." The short one reasoned. He plucked my hat off the ground and attempted to push it onto his own pudgy bald head.

"How about we bash his head, knock him out?" The man who offered that suggestion was over six feet tall, thick as an ox, and holding my cane like a cricket bat. I'd be lucky to survive.

"Why not just leave me here." I suggested.

Again they were surprised. "What?"

There is no pleasure in proving someone wrong to your own detriment, but there it was. Holmes had been far off the mark in his assumptions in this case. I could clearly see the only reason these men had escaped justice so far was not because they possessed intellect beyond that of the common criminal, but because they were too stupid to follow any kind of reasonable plan. Holmes kept overestimating them and they kept escaping out of pure dumb luck.

"I can tell you're a smart bunch just by how difficult it's been for us to catch you." I took a deep breath and sighed, hoping they would accept my praise. I couldn't believe I was doing this. "But you're thieves, you've never intentionally hurt someone, right?" So far as we knew they hadn't but I didn't risk giving them a chance to answer. "Yes, you'll do time if you get caught, but you won't hang. You don't want to murder anyone. You don't want to risk being hanged for murder, do you?"

"If they find your body." The big guy added.

"They will find the body." I continued quickly. "This is London, where do you think you can hide something like that and not have it discovered?"

"How about the river?"

"Do you have any idea how many bodies are pulled from the water? Sure it may sink at first, but once it starts to rot, up it comes. There is always evidence. And even if you do manage to find a good hiding place, my disappearance will be treated as a homicide. They will know it was you."

"He's right, we aren't murderers." One of the men spoke up, but he didn't sound very confident about it. I decided my best bet was to help him along.

"No. Trust me, you don't want to kill me. Leave me here and you'll have plenty of time to get away. You could even leave London."

"Leave London to go where?"

"Anywhere you want." I answered. How did these men elude us for so long?

They looked at each other again. "I've got a cousin in Paris." The big one suggested.

I made a vow right then that that if I lived through this I fully intended to rib Holmes about his overestimation of these men for the rest of our lives.

Greenley nudged me in the side with his foot. "What's the best way out of London?"

"You want me to plan your escape for you?" I asked incredulously.

Apparently the sarcasm in my voice was too subtle. Greenley nodded and grabbed my jacket to pull me into a sitting position.

Fine then. Every minute they sat around talking with me out in the open only improved my chances of getting rescued. "Try the docks." I suggested. "Get on one of the steamers."

"How do we know if we're getting on a steamer headed to France?"

"The crew will be speaking French." I suggested as sincerely as possible.

"What if there's no French?"

"Then steal a fishing boat." The alley remained stubbornly empty.

"But we've never been on a boat."

"I have." The big guy offered. "My da was a fisherman."

"Should we take him with us?" One of the others asked.

"No." I interrupted. The last thing I wanted was to be used as a hostage. Second last. The last thing I wanted was to be murdered. Used as a hostage came close second. "Someone might recognise me with you and alert Scotland Yard. Leave me here, I'm already tied up, I'm not going anywhere."

"But now he knows our plan." The short one who stole my hat said.

Only because I made the plans for you! I wanted to shout. Wisely I held my tongue.

"We should lock him up so we have enough time to get away."

That sounded reasonable. "How about where you were hiding? You'd have gotten away just fine if I hadn't stopped to rest." And it would be close to where Holmes left me behind and I knew when he started looking for me this was where he would start. I stretched my fingers to pull the two buttons off my coat cuffs and dropped one where I was sitting.

Greenley chewed his lip. "Yeah. Alright."

They hauled me to my feet and marched me back down the alley. Greenley opened the door to the building he'd been in and I dropped the second button as we entered. It was an abandoned bakery. The layers of dust built up on the counters and shelves was impressive. Greenley pushed me further into the store and then pulled up a wooden hatch. They stood me at the edge, and I stared at the ladder descending into the darkness below.

"Will you untie my hands so I can climb down?" I asked.

Greenley laughed. "Step down or I'll push you down."

I took a step and felt a hand grasp the collar of my jacket, I feared they were going to push me after all, but they saw me safe enough down the ladder to the floor below. My shoes sank into a puddle as deep as my ankles, and the only light came from the hatch above.

The ladder was pulled up and Greenley grinned down at me. "I'll send your partner a telegram letting him know where to find you once we're safely out of London." And with that the hatch closed and I was left in complete darkness.

Unfortunately it wasn't also silence. There were sounds to the left of me, slight scratching.

My feet were already cold and soaked. I stepped carefully outwards until I found a wall, and then followed the confines of my dark prison. Most of the floor was immersed in a foot deep of foul water. The east wall, where I'd heard the scratching coming from, had a small area that was dry. It was dry but it wasn't uninhabited. I could feel creatures moving around my boots as I stepped forward.

For the time being at least I decided to stand in the water.

...

On my first pass around the cellar I didn't run into any furniture, and so I explored the rest of the room in a grid like pattern. The only thing I found was a hole. My foot fell heavily, and without my arms to keep my balance I stumbled awkwardly to one knee. With one leg entirely wet and my knee throbbing I managed to push myself back up and I lean against the wall.

The hole was about three feet across and a foot deep. Possibly the remains of a salvaged furnace.

I worked constantly on my wrists, but the belt was secured tightly and I could not reach to loosen the notch. I did search the wall for possible sharp edges, and found one that might prove useful but my effort only won me cuts on the wrists while the leather of the belt remained stubbornly intact.

I crossed the room yet again. And then I crossed it again. There wasn't much else to do and I hoped that maybe I'd missed something on my first go around. All I found was the hole I'd already fallen into. This time I stayed on my feet.

At least I did until I stepped on something soft and moving, I overbalanced and fell on my side. It took some manoeuvring to right myself, but I was able to get back on my feet again. This was not going well. Within the course of an hour I'd managed to get myself completely soaked. It was not a good start and I imagined Holmes would have a good laugh at my expense for ruining my newly tailored suit.

...

Time dragged on.

Thus far, I still considered being confined in a dark cellar with ankle deep stagnant water and rats preferable to death.

I was quite proud of myself, actually. Holmes would double back when he realised he'd lost Greenley's trail. The buttons were an obvious clue, were they not? Certainly Holmes would recognise my coat buttons and come to the conclusion that I'd been overpowered and trapped in a cold dark wet cellar. I would be found and we would spend the evening drinking port in our sitting room. Any minute now.

The minutes passed and I remained in the cold dark wet cellar.

Certainly Holmes would have doubled back by now?

If he noticed I was missing.

...

I had no way of telling how long it had been.

I grew tired. To rest, I sat on my heels, neither wanting to sit in water nor stand in the dry area with the rats. It was alright until a cramp flared up in my hamstring. Sitting in the water ended up not being much worse than being soaked and standing out of it, and so there I stayed.

It didn't take long for the rats to grow bold. I felt the sharp sting on my ankle and flinched. I heard splashing from what seemed to be all directions around me and quickly pushed myself back up to my feet.

I was a soldier. I could sleep on my feet if necessary. I was sure I could still do it, bad leg or not. At least I had the wall to lean up against.

Thirst was becoming an issue. The foul water I was standing in was a cruel joke, even if I were desperate I could not ingest that. I would certainly die a quicker and much more painful and humiliating death than thirst if I did so.

The time dragged in the darkness and the ache in my shoulder from the forced extension of my arms sent pains down my shoulders and back. I could not break the binding on my wrists. The rats came closer yet, emboldened by my continued presence and it took more and more effort to drive them away.

...

More time passed.

How long would it take for Holmes to notice I was missing?

Would anyone else notice? I am aware I am not the most striking person in a crowd, especially in comparison to my often companion Sherlock Holmes, but to think I could disappear and not be missed at all was disturbing.

And to think I thought Holmes would come looking for me and notice my coat buttons. How utterly ridiculous. What had made me think he would know what my coat buttons looked like? It had seemed like such a brilliant idea at the moment. Buttons!

I have analysed the shape of his hands and the dexterity of his fingers, the angle his nose, his posture, clothing, and the disguises he wears. I can describe every minute detail of his person. But just because I am fascinated by him does not signify that he feels the same about me. It was ludicrous to imagine that common coat buttons would remind anyone of John Watson.

I would be lucky if anything reminded anyone of me at all.

Greenley did promise to send a telegram once they were out of London. Right. I wasn't about to count on that.

...

And more time passed.

I could not keep standing. My army days were long past and this only proved it. Eventually I sank back down to my knees.

My thoughts were going in circles and becoming more bleak each time around.

I could not stay awake. Despite the circumstances my head kept nodding and I would wake up suddenly with the sensation of nearly falling.

I attempted to occupy my mind with stories. I used to enjoy writing back in my school days. What would I write about? Not war. Never that. I could write about my strange room-mate. I'd already been writing about Holmes in my journal for five years and he still remained the more interesting person I'd ever made acquaintance with. Would other people find him just as compelling?

I considered our first meeting and the list of vices he'd confessed to me.

It is just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together.

I awoke in such a panic that I pitched forward. There was a frenzy of movement around my hips, and I stumbled back to my feet. In an effort to stay awake I toured the room yet again in search of anything that could help me escape.

There was nothing.

...

How much time had passed?

I could feel the stubble on my face. A day?

If Holmes was looking for me I would have been found by now.

If Greenley escaped would he keep his word and send a telegram to Holmes? An even worse thought occurred to me; if Greenley escaped would Holmes follow him to France?

If Greenley were caught, would he confess? Would he use the knowledge of my location as leverage for a lesser sentence? Would he keep silent out of spite?

I needed to think of other things. I needed to lose myself in my thoughts. I focused on my long ago first adventure with Holmes back when I was still a recovering invalid. I was all but obsessed with him back then. I remembered writing out a short list of what I knew of him while I'd been contemplating the mystery of his occupation.

Tells at a glance different soils from each other. After walks has shown me splashes upon his trousers,and told me by their colour and consistence in what part of London he had received them.

If I were to make a new list now, would it be the same?

When did I stop thinking of Holmes as an interesting case study in eccentricity and start thinking of him as a friend?

It was….

Something crawled over my foot and I jumped and kicked it off. It took several minutes of careful deep breaths for me to regain my equilibrium.

How much time had passed?

Think of Holmes, that was easy enough. How did we become friends? Sometimes I still wonder at that. There are many who don't understand my choice to remain at Baker Street. Lestrade has even asked me outright how I put up with it all.

The question confused me, but then I never take Holmes abruptness as an offence. That is a lie, there have been plenty of times I've taken offence, but I am always quick to forgive. Holmes is a brilliant man but still only a man, and he copes with life as he knows how. Why should I be angered by his eccentricities when it is that same strangeness that attracts me to him? He is only offensive when he is fully caught up in a mystery, which is when Lestrade and the others always see him.

When we are alone in our sitting room, whether on a case or not, things are different. The Holmes I have come to know is not the cool rationalist others see. Rather, he is witty and interesting. A cold rationalist would not excitedly describe his days adventures after arriving home at the end of it. A cold rationalist would not notice the nights I find no rest in sleep and the keep me company by the fire for all hours. I do not dare to imagine how dull my life would be if Stamford had not introduced us. I consider myself fortunate to have a friend such as him.

If he noticed I was missing would he drop the case to come look for me?

Would he recognise the buttons if he saw them?

Holmes cases consume him to an extent that he has no desire for either food or sleep. There is no room in his thoughts for distractions. What chance did I have compared to that?

I stumbled and fell as my bad leg cramped yet again. I drew up my legs up under me and leaned against the wall and prayed.

Please let someone notice I'm missing.

...

A cyclical routine began.

I sat and dozed.

I woke to the sting of bites to the skin of my ankles or hands.

I struggled back to my feet, stomped several times to chase the vermin away, and explored the room once more in the hopes of either finding a way out or to at least to free my wrists. I couldn't wait for a rescue that wasn't going to happen. I had to help myself.

I did this over and over again.

But every time I found nothing.

I sat back down and dozed.

...

Eventually, I failed to stand. The thirst and exhaustion, the pain in my leg from and the strain on my shoulders overwhelmed me. Where there was not pain I felt numb. I no longer had the strength to push myself up.

How long had I been trapped now? I had no idea.

Not long enough to grow a beard. At least I still retained my sense of humour.

I continued shifting to push the rats away but they were never far.

At least being murdered would have been quick.

Please don't let me be eaten alive by rats.

...

I was roused by a noise. A thump. Boots? Someone upstairs? I attempted to yell but my parched throat had no power behind it. I stomped my feet in the water. Anything just to draw attention.

The thumping of boots on the floor above. More than one person. Someone walking in circles. The thumping stopped close to the hatch in the floor. A board being moved, the creak of hinges. It was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. I tried to yell but no sound issued from my throat. The hatch above was pulled open and a head appeared over the hole, the first light my eyes had seen since being locked down in the damn hole.

I couldn't make out a face because of the damned light behind it.

"Watson!"

It was Holmes. I just about sobbed with relief. He stared for a moment longer and then disappeared, voices were raised above and then the ladder was lowered and Holmes quickly descended with a lantern in his hand. The light felt like knives in my eyes after being so long in the dark and I was forced to squeeze my eyes shut and turn my head away as he drew close.

The lantern was placed aside and his hands pressed against my shoulders.

I can't say I remember the next few minutes. My wrists were freed. My shoulders were rubbed as I attempted to move them after being under strain for so long. I remember feeling hands on my arms and on my wrists.

"Watson." He said again, it almost sounded like a question, but so much can be conveyed by saying someone's name. It was the way he said it, as almost a whisper that communicated to me everything I needed to hear. I was rescued, I was safe. This ordeal was finally over and I would soon be back home. Thank God. Thank you Holmes.

His eyes flicked towards a slight movement across the room. The rats. He stood at my side, keeping an arm around my waist to keep me steady.

"Can you climb?" He asked quietly.

If my task was to fly it would have been no less daunting.

We stood at the base of the ladder. I could not even bring my arms up in front of me enough to reach the rungs let alone find the strength to grip and pull myself up. The failure was crushing and I felt the world around me sink away.

And then I felt Holmes arms wrap around my chest, hauling me up, keeping me upright and out of the water.

"We will find another way and get you out." He said. "We can use ropes…."

That was all the prodding I needed. I shrugged him off and moved forward again. I would not stay down there for another second. I would not be pulled out of that cellar at the end of a rope as if I were already a corpse. I would do whatever I needed to do. Biting back the pain, I reminded myself I'd survived much worse.

As I have found when I am faced with a situation that seems impossible, I force myself to think about Maiwand. I closed my eyes and I remembered the heat. I remembered the smell, and the screams, and the blood, and how desperate I was as we made our retreat against insurmountable odds. The horrors of those days still regularly haunted my sleep. I felt like I could recall every terrible second of it in vivid detail.

I pushed through and climbed. Holmes stayed close behind me.

I made it to the top, hands grasped my arms and pulled me the rest of the way up and onto the floor, wrenching my already tortured shoulder joints suddenly into an all new position. The shock of it proved too much, dark spots filled my vision and then...

There was an argument going on around me when I awoke. Holmes voice was raised in anger against another man whose voice I did not recognise. I tried to look but the light again pierced my eyes and I couldn't see Holmes let alone whomever he was arguing with. The room quieted. I felt a hand touch my shoulder, and a cup of water was placed against my lips.

It was all I could do not to grab the cup and gulp it down all at once, but I knew what the consequences for that would be and I forced myself to drink slowly.

"E looks worse n a dead man. " A young voice whispered. Forcing my eyes open in barely a squint I saw the boy standing at my side holding a package.

"All is well Watson." Holmes said. "I promise we will be home soon, but first I am going to help you clean up."

I have to admit I didn't understand his meaning at first, and then the horror of it sank in. I was disgustingly filthy, and I felt overcome with the shame of being seen in such a state not only by Holmes but others as well.

A constable pulled the boy away, and the others exited the room and left myself and Holmes alone. That left us with the change of clothing and a bucket of water and some rags for washing.

"I can do it." I insisted, though the attempt I made at removing my shirt was beyond pathetic.

Holmes brushed away my hands and ministered to my needs without comment.

I still recall the handling I received while suffering with enteric fever at the military hospital in Peshawar with a sense of horror and dread. Administering the daily necessary care to an invalid is an often under-appreciated position given to those who are unqualified and resentful for the indignities pressed upon them. The result is that sanitation is often meted out as punishment and dignity is forsaken all together.

"What was that?" Holmes asked.

I hadn't realised I'd said anything out loud. His ministrations were gentle where I was most sore, and efficient and comforting everywhere else.

"Thank you for being kind." I said.

He paused for a moment and his lips thinned as he continued at his task. "We have had occasion to help each other, this is no different." He said.

The worst of the filth was cleaned, and I was dressed in fresh clothing. The soiled items were disposed of into in a sack and tossed in the corner.

I was getting some of my vision back thankfully, and I recognised Lestrade as he entered the room.

"It is good to see you Dr Watson." He said softly.

"Thank you."

He and Holmes talked quietly as I drank more water. I knew they were waiting to ask me questions, but I had one of my own that I wanted to have answered first.

"What day is it?"

They both looked uncomfortable, but it was Holmes who answered. "You were missing for three days. It is the seventh. It was Greenley's gang. They locked you down there." Holmes stated tonelessly.

"He was hiding." I cleared my throat and took another drink of water in hopes of chasing away some of the rasp in my voice. "He ducked in here to hide. I was." I cleared my throat again. "I stopped and he came out. I had him. Then the others showed up, and that didn't go well."

Holmes suddenly turned to Lestrade and dismissed him curtly. "That's everything then. I will be taking Dr Watson home and will consult a physician there to tend to his injuries." He helped me up and I was led out into alley. I had thought the light inside the building had been overly bright, the light of midday had me once again closing my eyes completely. Holmes led me to a cab waiting at the end of the alley.

I must have fallen asleep as soon as I sat down for the next thing I knew we were pulled up outside of Baker street and Holmes was tapping my leg to wake me up.

The stairs leading up to our sitting room were the last hurdle to pass, and that too was accomplished through Holmes help and a great deal of determination. Mrs Hudson wrapped me in a hug and barely suppressed tears and promised a plate of food. Holmes seated me on the couch and brought more water.

"Did you catch Greenley?" I asked.

He seemed startled by the question and busied himself across the room, moments later returning with my medical bag.

"No." He stated after sitting down at my side and taking my hand to roll up the sleeve of my shirt. "He and his cohorts attempted to make a go of it in a fishers boat to escape down river. They got caught up alongside a barge and their boat came apart. Apparently none of them were swimmers."

"Oh."

"Not an unfitting fate." Holmes insisted.

I made no comment as he set about cleaning the wounds on my hands, and carefully bandaged my wrists where they'd been rubbed raw by the belt.

"How did you find me?"

He remained silent as he finished with my wrists and then sat down by my feet, removing my shoes and rolling up my pant legs to assess the bite marks around my ankles. Gently he dabbed at the wounds with a piece of cotton dipped in alcohol solution.

"My dear Watson, I will forever consider not finding you sooner to be one of the greatest failures of my career, and for that I must beg your forgiveness." He did not look up at my face, but I watched him closely.

"You couldn't have known, Holmes. Honestly, I didn't expect anyone to notice I was missing."

Then he did look up with an expression of genuine surprise on his face. "Of course I knew you were missing. I make it a point to always be aware of where I expect you to be." He turned his attention back to my ankles and I winced as yet another wound was dabbed with the alcohol swab. He worked diligently at his task until it was complete and put the supplies back into my bag. "The problem." Holmes paused and started again. "The problem was that no one was looking."

It hurt to hear him say that, but I'd known all along that I could not compete with his work. "I understand." I assured him. "You were working on the case."

"When Greenley disappeared and I could not find you, I suspected you might head back to the pawn broker's shop and I anticipated catching up with you there. I was wrong, and so I went to the dock instead thinking the gang may attempt to leave London. I hoped you would have come to the same conclusion. By the time I arrived it was already too late; the boat had already broken apart with no survivors. Lestrade sent out men to sift through the wreckage. Two bodies were found. Greenley was one of them, and another member of his gang the other."

I sat and waited while Holmes paced the sitting room. He turned abruptly and faced me.

"It was apparent he'd been in a fight not long before drowning. His upper jaw was discoloured and there was a distinctive cut along his jaw line. I knew just from looking at him that it was you he'd fought with. You twist your wrist slightly downwards when you hit from the left and it leaves a scratch on the skin from your ring. There was also the fact that he was missing his belt. Where was his belt? It was obvious that his pants were an ill fit without something to hold them up. Perhaps he'd used it as we have done in the past as a way of securing a suspect.

"I sent one of our boys home to see if you'd gone back to Baker Street. I sent others elsewhere, looking. I feared that they'd had you with them in the boat as a hostage. Your hat was among the evidence salvaged. Your hat was what led me to conclude that my fears were justified. I wasted two days thinking you'd perished in the Thames. Watson, I have based my entire career on my ability to put aside emotion and reason with facts. I failed utterly."

"How then did you come to find me today?"

"Again it was your hat; Lestrade brought it to me out of sentiment. I do appreciate what came of it. The first time I examined your hat it was only to identify it as belonging to you. As I examined the hat yet again I noticed that the sweatband and lining had been cut with a knife in an attempt fit a bigger sized head into it. You would not have done that yourself and so it was obvious the hat hadn't been on your head. The hat had not been on your head and my initial assumption you'd been in the boat was baseless. As soon as I recognised my mistake I started my investigations anew." He reached into his pocket. In the palm of his hand were two buttons. "Had I not been so blind you would not have suffered so."

I couldn't help the smile from spreading over my face. He passed them to me and I closed my hand around them.

"Absolutely extraordinary. How did you know they were mine?"

For once he did not take the opportunity to boast and focused his intense gaze on the fire. "You see, but you do not observe." He said quietly.

"Then I am happy to have been the subject of your observation." I said, and he glanced back at me briefly before looking away again. "Thank you, my friend."

He acknowledged my thanks with a quick nod of the head. Moments later Mrs Hudson entered, her arms laden with a tray of fresh biscuits, cheese, and a selection of cut meat. Whatever more needed to be said could wait for later.

End

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