A/N: Well, after several days of writer's block I have finally managed to get something down for this challenge. The bad news is, what seems like a really good idea when lying in bed staring at the ceiling at three in the morning is actually not all that great an idea when sitting at the computer at four o'clock in the afternoon. So, I'm afraid this is not my best work, but I've already gone to all the trouble of typing up chapter one, so I might as well post it.
Please don't hate me.
I borrowed a name or two from BBC here... Other than that it's all canon or just off the top of my head.
Disclaimer: I'm still not ACD, these guys are still his, etc.
It was during the period after our misadventures with Charles Augustus Milverton which provided us with the most anxiety. As we were doing the deed of breaking and entering, of course, there was plenty of cause for tension, yet I remember it as an almost thrilling experience—we were, after all, on the side of justice, if not the side of the law. However, upon the discovery by the officials of the crime, and during the subsequent investigation, I was raked with uncertainty and a certain amount of guilt. After all, we had broken the law, and if our misdeed should be discovered the Yard would be well within their rights to arrest us both, regardless of the nobility of our actions.
It all began that day in our rooms in Baker Street, the morning after our brief foray into the criminal world. Lestrade had come to see Holmes about the case, in which, given other circumstances, Holmes would certainly have taken an interest. The interview was, of course, entirely informal on both our parts, as the inspector had no reason to suspect either of us. Yet during the time he was present I was distinctly uneasy, and at Holmes' offhand comment of "that might be a description of Watson!" I confess I started for a moment, though Lestrade did not perceive, nor did he notice the glare I shot towards my friend for drawing attention to the fact that I fit the description given.
"My sympathies are with the criminals, rather than with the victim, and I will not handle this case," Holmes concluded, smiling up at Lestrade in all innocence, his face betraying nothing.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, if you're sure… I suppose I shall have to bid you good morning," Lestrade said somewhat disapprovingly. "It's a pity, really… it looks to be a real puzzler."
"Oh, Inspector, I have no doubt that you can handle this one without my assistance," my friend said languidly. "Do tell me if you catch the culprits."
"I certainly will, Mr. Holmes," the inspector promised, and we said our good-mornings.
"Holmes," I admonished upon his departure, "Did you really have to—"
He smiled, shaking his head. "Come, Watson, it was merely a means to throw him off the correct trail. You noticed how he regarded the observation with some amusement? Certainly you are the farthest person from his mind to suspect."
"Even so, the man did have my description, Holmes. Suppose he were to recognize me?"
"Watson, I have no doubt that the mask was quite sufficient to prevent identification. In any case, I cannot conceive of any circumstances in which you would be brought face to face with your pursuer. No, have no fear, my dear fellow. I believe we have seen the last of this business, save the odd article in the paper." His brow furrowed in thought for a moment. "I cannot help but wonder…"
"What, Holmes?" I asked, after waiting for him to resume his thought.
He did not answer, nor did he speak much at all until luncheon, when he recalled the face of the lady we had seen, by which time I had reconciled myself to the fact that Lestrade would surely suspect nothing of myself or my friend.
By the next day I had almost forgotten my anxiety at the inspector's presence. I knew, and had of course known all along, that we had left no trace clear enough to incriminate us, and I was certain that we should hear no more of the matter. It came as a frightful shock, therefore, when Inspector Lestrade once again entered our apartments. I was seated at my desk, making notes on the very same case, and upon his entrance my first instinct was to throw my notebook someplace out of sight. Reason took over, however, and as we made our greetings I discreetly placed the offending article in my desk drawer.
"And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Inspector?" asked Holmes, as calm as always.
"Well, to tell the truth, Mr. Holmes, I'm here to ask you exactly what you knew about this man, Mr. Charles Augustus Milverton," Lestrade answered, and there was a singular quality to his tone which I could not quite identify.
Holmes shrugged. "I know that he was a blackmailer, and responsible for the ruin of several notable people and families," he replied. "Though I doubt that that is any more than you knew already."
Lestrade nodded. "It's a bad business, Mr. Holmes," he said. "It's a clear case of murder, premeditated, and whoever is responsible is in a good deal of trouble." He began to pace, slowly, spinning his hat brim through his hands. "Our only real suspect is this man Escott."
"Escott?" Holmes asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, William "Billy" Escott. A plumber, by trade, and quite friendly with one of the maids--a miss Agatha Smith. Apparently they were engaged to be married, but there's been no sign of him since the deed was done. I haven't really questioned any of the household about him yet, as the girl's a bit distraught, but I've no doubt our elusive plumber is behind all this. The only question is... who was this man?"
"And do you have any clues?"
"None yet, but once I've questioned the household staff more thoroughly on the fellow I'm sure I'll come up with something to find him with," came the answer. Something in his manner made me decidedly uneasy--he seemed to be rather more nervous than was usual, and his statements were all rather pointed.
"I still wish you would take up this case, Mr. Holmes," he continued. "It would make things a good deal easier. As it stands, we only know that there were two men, who were extremely well versed in the art of lock-picking, and the vague description of one of them. And that the other fellow was tall and swift on his feet. And that could be a description of any number of men."
"As much as I would like to help you, Lestrade, I'm afraid you have already had my answer," said Holmes, with a small smile. "However, I do wish you the best of luck on your endeavours."
Lestrade heaved a sigh. "Very well, Mr. Holmes, very well..." He made to leave. "If you change your mind, however..."
"I assure you I will not. Good day, Lestrade."
My uneasiness dissipated as I watched the inspector get into a cab from my seat at the window. When I turned back to Holmes he was sitting as he had been, smoking, as though he had not a care in the world.
"I shall never understand how you manage to remain calm in such situations!" I exclaimed.
"There really is nothing to worry about, Watson," came his reply. "Lestrade is not the dimmest of men, I'll admit, but he is hot on the trail of Escott, and will probably see no further cause to visit us about this case."
"Nevertheless, Holmes, supposing we missed something!"
"Oh, do calm yourself, Watson," he said, waving away my comment with an easy hand. "Escott has vanished for good, and the two men in Milverton's rooms that night will remain vague, shadowy figures for all time."
I gave no response, but shook my head in wonder at the way the man could make light of the inspector's second visit. Another thought occured to me, then; I considered remaining silent, but decided it needed to be addressed. "What of the girl, Holmes?" I asked.
I saw a flicker of something resembling guilt flit through his eyes, but his expression revealed nothing. "It was a necessary step, Watson. I needed to know everything about the house, things I could not discover with my plumber's guise."
"She is distraught, Lestrade said."
He put down his pipe with a sigh. "I do regret that, Watson. She did nothing to deserve such treatment. I confess... I should, perhaps, have been gentler with her."
"You used her, Holmes," I pointed out, rather more harshly than I had intended. "And now she is left with what? A fiance who has vanished into thin air and is, to the minds of everyone around her, a cold-blooded killer, and in all probability she still has a lingering hope for his return. The reason for your actions was noble, in the long run, but what you did to the girl was a truly hurtful thing."
"Watson, believe me when I say that I wish I had done otherwise," said Holmes softly, in a voice much unlike his customary tone. I met his eyes in surprise, and saw the guilt that lay there.
And despite his faults, and his general insensitivity to the nuances of the fairer sex, I knew that my friend would never intentionally cause such distress to anyone, least of all a helpless girl. "I know, Holmes," I said finally.
He relaxed slightly at my words, but remained subdued through the rest of the day, his mind far from Baker Street. I have seen him in all possible moods, but I have never seen him dwell on something so thoughtfully, or with that peculiar lingering expression of guilt on his features.
I had decided to get some writing done that evening, while the facts of the case were fresh in my mind. Upon sitting down at my desk, however, I realized that I had left my notebook in my bedroom upstairs, and was obliged to retrieve it. I was returning to the sitting room when something gave me pause on the staircase, and I heard muffled voices through the closed door. With a start I recognized one of them as Lestrade, who was apparently speaking to Holmes. Unsettled, I half considered retreating quietly back up the stairs, but I grew curious about thier conversation and instead drew nearer to the door.
"...seems to have vanished into thin air," Lestrade was saying.
"Extraordinary," said Holmes in a bored tone.
"Now, I'm sure some men would have given up by this point, Mr. Holmes, but I decided to try a different tack." Lestrade paused, and I heard him shifting where he stood. "Do you know what we found in Milverton's pocket, Mr. Holmes?"
"Pray enlighten me."
"It was a note, apparently written by Milverton to himself. It was bloodied in places, but on it was the name Lady Eva Blackwell, and the figure £7000. A considerable sum, indeed. No doubt, I thought to myself, one of his victims." He paused again, and I could hear a distinct tremour of nervousness in his voice when he next spoke. "I had a talk with Lady Eva Blackwell earlier today, Mr. Holmes. After assuring her that I would reveal nothing of this matter to the public, she told me, somewhat reluctantly, of her dealings with this man. She mentioned your name, Mr. Holmes."
I could feel my heart racing at his words--surely, surely he couldn't think...
"Would you care to tell me why I was not informed of your dealings with this man?" Lestrade asked.
"I had every wish to preserve the confidence between myself and my client," Holmes answered, and I will never understand how his voice betrayed not a hint of emotion. "However, since she has seen fit to inform you of the precarious position in which Milverton had placed her, I suppose there is no harm in telling you. I was engaged to negotiate with Milverton, to find the best terms suitable to himself and the lady. Unfortunately, he remained steadfast in his requested sum, and I was unable to be of further assistance to Lady Blackwell."
There was another considerable pause before Lestrade continued. "Here's what I see, Mr. Holmes. This man Escott--who has never been heard of outside the Milverton household--tricks a poor, helpless girl into revealing certain details about the house through flattery and an engagement. He and his associate--this moustached man--used the information to break into the house, murder Milverton, and destroy his documents. Now, there are several points which stand out to me. Escott clearly does not exist, and the name is an alias. His true identity would have to be someone with remarkable thespian abilities, who has had practice creating false identities. Now, from what I gather from the pursuers of the culprits, the pair of them moved through the grounds in a way that left no doubt that at least one of them had certainly been there before, or at least knew a great deal about them. What is troubling me, Mr. Holmes, is that I have just learned that you most recently had dealings with this man, and while you were, as you put it, 'unable to be of further assistance to Lady Blackwell,' I have never known you to give up on a case so easily." I heard the inspector start to pace, and I would be prepared to swear that I had stopped breathing. "The first of the two miscreants was described as 'tall, long-legged, thin, and fleet of foot.' The other, as you were so kind to point out earlier, does bear a remarkable resemblance to the good doctor. The lock on the safe was picked most ingeneously, and I have more than once, if you'll recall, declared that I was mighty glad you were on the right side of the law. I have seen you change your identity with a bit of makeup on a whim, and though I have not inquired after a firm description of Escott yet, from what I gather so far he bears remarkable similarities to the tall, long-legged man, who in turn bears a similarity to someone else."
There was a long pause, during which I heard neither man move or speak.
"Am I given to understand, Lestrade, that you are accusing myself and Watson of murder?" Holmes asked finally.
"No, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade slowly. "I am not accusing you of murder at this time. I am, however, asking you if there is anything you would like to tell me."
"I have told you all I know on the matter, Inspector," Holmes replied.
Lestrade sighed. "Very well, Mr. Holmes. Then I shall take my leave." I heard him move towards the door, and I hastily retreated silently up the stairs. The inspector hesitated before leaving. "Charles Augustus Milverton was an evil man, Mr. Holmes. I have no doubt that he had many enemies, all of whom would love to see him dead. I am inclined to think that the criminals were not on the wrong side of justice in this matter. However, they were on the wrong side of the law."
Once he was gone I slowly returned downstairs. Holmes was sitting in his chair, and it only served to unnerve me further that his expression was openly worried, and he had not noticed that his pipe was unlit. "You heard, Watson?" he asked upon my entrance.
"Yes, I heard."
He sat lost in thought for some time. "I'm afraid I must apologize for dragging you into this business, Watson," he said finally. "A man of your reputation should not be put in this position and for that, my dear fellow, I am truly sorry."
"Holmes. You could hardly have kept me out of it," I pointed out. "I assure you, I would not have, nor will I ever, allow you to put yourself in such a dangerous position without me." I was not feeling nervous, as I would have predicted, but almost relieved, for what I had been unconsciously waiting for had finally come.
"Nevertheless, Watson--"
"Forget it, Holmes. Nothing you say can make me regret my decision to accompany you."
He gave me a fond smile, and I was pleased to see some of the tension in his face ease. "Good old Watson!" he murmured. "There are times when I truly wonder what I would do without you. Well, now that we are in it, I suppose we should take comfort in the fact that we are in it together." He stood and crossed to the fire, lighting his pipe with an ember.
"In any case, Holmes, it's as you said," I pointed out in an effort to cheer him up. "It's unlikely that Lestrade will be able to really prove anything--our descriptions are entirely vague, and Escott has indeed disappeared for good."
Holmes did not answer for a long time, and when he did speak his words startled me to no end. "I'm afraid he may not have, Watson."
"I--what do you mean, Holmes?"
"I... I fear I may have to take a risk. If I am successful I will throw Lestrade off track, but if I fail... it will almost certainly prove his suspicions. I am sure that I am doing right, but I am not sure that it is worth it." He turned to me and took a deep breath before continuing. "If Billy Escott were to pay one last call on Miss Agatha Smith..."
"Holmes! You'll be taking an enormous chance--if you're caught, who knows what will happen? The entire household thinks you're a cold-blooded killer, they might just shoot you on sight!"
"I find that highly unlikely, Watson. My only scruples lie with you--If I am caught I do not want to take you down with me."
"You don't have to go, Holmes."
"I think it possible to set Lestrade on the wrong track with this visit. If he is given nothing new chances are he will never let go." He paused a moment, and then sighed. "And... I confess, Watson, I feel I owe the girl a bit of an explaination."
My jaw almost dropped at this declaration. I, of course, knew that Holmes was more than just a thinking machine, but he certainly did nothing to discourage the impression to others, and to hear this confession of guilt was rather uncharacteristic of him. "You want to make things right with the girl?" I said finally.
"You were quite correct in saying that I used her, Watson. I had my reasons, and I stand by them. However... I feel a bit more consideration should be given to her situation. She thought--well, she thought I was in love with her, and I used that to my advantage. The least I can do is offer her some last words from the man who lied to her."
I had known that Holmes' conscience was unsettled by this affair with the girl, but I honestly had not suspected that he had such acute feelings of guilt. However, his actions certainly warrented it. "If that is the case, Holmes, then I think you are absolutely right."
"Thank you, Watson."
This next part wasn't going to be easy. "However--"
His head snapped around, fixing me with a steely glare. "No, Watson."
"Holmes, it could be dangerous. And we're already in this together."
"Absolutely not."
"I'll just wait outside the wall, Holmes. If I hear trouble I'll be on hand to assist you, but you can clear up your business without me standing by."
"There will be no trouble!"
"Holmes, everyone there thinks you murdered Charles Augustus Milverton! You cannot say there is no element of danger, and if there is danger to you I want to be there."
"You are not coming!"
"Then you are not going!"
He had opened his mouth to continue arguing when I saw on his face the familiarity of the situation strike him, and instead he burst out laughing. "Very well, Watson," he said finally, clapping me on the back. "I should know by now that you cannot be dissuaded. You will, however, stand by what you said and wait outside the wall."
"Have no fear, Holmes. I have no wish to intrude upon you and your fiancee."
I recieved a glare for that comment, but it was well worth it. "Tonight seems best then, Watson. I know the habits of the household well enough, I think, for us to arrive undetected. This will be a most unusual venture for us, old friend--instead of hunting criminals, we are the hunted. However, if all goes well the matter will not be a complicated one."
Through my acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have learned, if nothing else, that matters rarely turn out to be as simple as he says they are.
