I have not deserted this story…on the contrary, I am merely taking it down so that I can rewrite everything and make it better, and as soon as I feel it's ready to truly begin (in other words, whenever I get the time to begin it), I will be posting it again. I have several ideas for the direction I want this story to go in, so just be patient! :D

However, several people, some from this site, some not, have seemed to enjoy these first few chapters, so they will remain until I post the rest.

Thank you for understanding!

Introduction

"Holmes!" I yelled, not even bothering to keep the mixture of alarm and annoyance out of my voice as I was nearly thrown off of the door I was struggling to hold closed.

"Watson, please do be quiet. You very nearly made me lose my train of thought," the man answered without looking at me. His voice was maddeningly cool and untroubled, which made another wave of irritation roll over me. His voice now contrasted shockingly with what it had been just minutes before, when he was conversing heatedly with the smugglers; it had then been harsh and coarse, to match the dirty, ragged clothing that was also so uncharacteristic of him.

The old wooden door made a creaking sound as the men on the other side of it slammed their massive bodies against it, one after the other. There were at least five of them, all the size of bears. My weight, even combined with the heavy lock on the door, was no enough to hold them off for much longer.

"Forgive my rude interruption," I spat out; I was steadily losing control of my usually balanced temper, "but I for one would like to actually see another sunrise!"

"And so you shall," he retorted matter-of-factly, though I could sense a little offense underlying his tone. "But you do realize that I am not the to blame; it was you who decided to give away the masquerade."

"I had to!" I yelled at him, as the door buckled against my back. "What else could I have done? Rolan was going to shoot you!"

"That is where you are mistaken, my dear chap," said he as he continued to tap his bony knuckles against the cold, damp wall – why, I had no idea. "Rolan was merely attempting to intimidate me; he had no intention of murdering me just yet. I am too valuable a member of their gang. I have been working for nearly a month to make that so, I'll have you to know – and here you have ruined in all in one moment."

"Well how was I to know?" I cried, angry and embarrassed all at the same time – I never seemed to do anything right for him. "I did not even know why I was here, for God's sake, Holmes! You only dragged me into this blasted case this morning, you know, without telling me anything at all about it."

"I told you to stay hidden and keep silent," he responded, the irritation at my failure now obvious.

"Holmes, I swear before heaven, if you were not such a dear friend, I just might murder you myself!"

Of course I was not serious; I could never harm Sherlock Holmes for worlds. For one thing, the reading public would most likely have me thrown into a volcano. For another, though I hated his confounded over-confidence and unkind remarks at times, I knew that I would never forgive myself if any harm were to come to him had I not been there to prevent it. Years of companionship have taught me a great many things, the greatest of which that I am, and forever shall be, my dear friend's guardian – and as such, it is my duty to protect him, even when he needs protection from himself and one of his insane schemes.

Hence my screaming, "Look out, Holmes!" just minutes before, and ruining all he'd planned.

Honestly, however, I did not care whether my remark was true or not. I knew he would not believe me anyway; it was a miracle if he even heard me at all.

Before he had the chance to respond, the worn lock finally broke under the strain, and the door exploded open with such force that I was hurled to the floor with a sharp cry of pain as I landed on my bad shoulder.

At that very same second, however, Holmes cried out in victory, "Aha!", and was immediately followed by a muffled crash and then the ceiling above me came crumbling down!

I just barely managed to scramble out of the way before a rather large bit of cement hit the floor where I had just been lying. I realized after a moment there was a wall of rock standing between us and the men.

The dirty water from the Thames came pouring into the little room from above. I heard their muffled cries of shock, drowned out by the sound of rushing water.

"You not hurt, Watson?" I heard the genuine concern in his soft tone, though he was trying to mask it, and saw the worry in his grey eyes as he stared at my cradled arm.

"No, no," I replied hastily. "Just a bit shaken, Holmes."

"Your arm…"

"It is fine," I reassured, a little touched by his obvious worry, "Just hit it a little hard, is all. But Holmes, how…?"

"I feared they would eventually discover my charade," he said calmly, slight pride replacing some of the tension in his eyes. "I planned ahead and set my trap of small explosives in the ceiling. Therefore, if things went amuck, I could lead them here. There is now no way that they can reach us; we are perfectly safe."

"They will retreat and flee the other way, Holmes!" I cried.

"Do not concern yourself, Doctor," he half-smiled. "The good Inspector Lestrade is presently awaiting them at their hideout. Unless those blundering Yarders are even more fool than I thought, the gang will not escape."

I looked down. There water was pouring in fast through the long break in the ceiling. In the little time our exchange had occurred, the dirty stuff had reached my mid-calf. I looked around. There were no other doors, save for the one we had entered – the one that was now blocked by a mountain of rock. I looked up. The hold was long, but not wide; not even Holmes' thin form could fit through it.

"That is all well and good, Holmes," I stated, my agitation overwhelming my admiration. "But what of us, then? It will take at least an hour or more for the workmen to come through the cave-in. At the rate the water is coming, the room will be filled within twenty minutes or less. We are trapped, Holmes. We'll drown!"

"Do not trouble yourself, my dear Watson," he said, a hint of an amused smile twitching at his lips. "We shall not meet our end just yet."

"Oh really?" I crossed my arms and winced when a pang went through my aching shoulder. "And how do you know this, pray tell?"

He did not answer verbally, just looked at me sidelong with a twinkle in his eyes and stepped over to the far wall. With a swift, single tap of his bony knuckles against the cool cement, there was a slight popping sound, and then a small portion of the wall the size of a small door opened inward, revealing another room. The water now up to my knees gushed through the doorway.

"It really was not difficult to find this passage. It was quite obvious to see when you examine this wall that there are small lines which separate the hidden door from the rest. Once inside this room, there is another door that opens to a staircase, which leads to an empty building. We shall be fine, old fellow."

I did not speak. Part of me wished to roll my eyes at him, but I knew this was not justified. The other part of me wanted to wring his hand and congratulate him for his brilliance, but I also knew this would lead him to believe I was not still displeased with his wily behaviour. So I did not respond more than a grunt.

He sighed and held his hand up, motioning for me to proceed through the doorway.

I did so, slowly. I was unsure why, but I had a peculiar feeling something was not quite right.

My fears were confirmed when the door creaked closed and a dim light appeared behind us, penetrating the cool darkness.

We whirled around to face Jeffery Rolan. The head smuggler and most dangerous and cunning of all.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes," said he, his eyes twinkling as he trained his revolver on us, "I must say that you are indeed as clever as I have heard." A smug smile pulled at his ugly mouth. "Though not as clever as me, I'm afraid."

"I should have known," said Holmes evenly, "that I could not fool you, Rolan. I take it you have known all along that it was I."

"You are so observant, Mr. Holmes," He was mocking my friend now. "I must hand it to you, you played me well at first. Took me three days to get suspicious enough to follow you. When I realized you were actually Sherlock Holmes, I was genuinely surprised, sir. But I have to say that I was quite certain you would notice me following you – I suppose you are not all as wonderful as the good doctor here makes you out to be, eh?" He waved his gun carelessly in my direction. "I think you have certainly met your match in wit, detective. Perhaps more than your match, I daresay." He chuckled.

I did not see what was so amusing.

"Sit." Rolan pointed the gun at two identical wooden chairs nearby.

I caught Holmes' eye. Another thing I have learned: Never make any move until approval is received. Sherlock Holmes always knows what is best (as far as matters as this go, at least, though I cannot say the same for day-to-day living).

He nodded slightly at me and slowly moved to the one.

"Bind him," the villain demanded, tossing some thick rope at me.

When I had done so, making the knots as loose as possible without acquiring suspicion, I took the second chair, and he secured me to it, tightly. I could not help an embarrassing sharp inhale of breath as he jarred my pained shoulder.

"Do not!" Holmes' voice was a vicious hiss.

It was rare that he let any type of emotion slide through his careful walls, especially something as strong as anger. I was always secretly warmed to know that my welfare was something that he valued so, that it would instigate that hate in him. Even then, I had known for some time that he was certainly not emotionless, as he claimed; he probably would never admit it to even me, but I knew he cared for me more than he showed. Most men would probably be offended or upset over his flat denials, but I knew that when he said "Your presence is not sentimental for me, Watson. I merely have you along for your useful qualities on a case," he was truly saying "I enjoy having you by my side, Watson, for your friendship." And so I do not push, though I can clearly see he is as fond of me as I am of him.

"Relax, Mr. Holmes, please; I mean him no pain. On the contrary, you and he shall both die painless deaths." Again, that blasted vexing snigger.

I did not comprehend what he meant until he had walked over to the door we had just come through. He pulled it open as far as it would go, and a small waterfall poured in from the previous room.

For the first time since this whole business had begun, I actually felt terror building up inside of me. Had this vile man actually succeeded in outsmarting my seemingly infallible friend? I could scarcely believe it.

I refused to believe it. I knew my Holmes. Eccentric and dramatic and – yes – maddening as he was at times, Holmes was never fooled, not by the greatest of cons. He was too genius for such trickery to shield his eyes from the truth.

Yes, I know my Holmes. I trust him with my life. He had never let me down previously, and I knew he would never put me in harm's way unless he was sure he could get us both out safely.

But then Rolan walked back over to where we sat. He looked from one of us to the other, his brown eyes glinting with a sickening mixture of malice and glee.

And then he struck my head with the butt of his revolver with such force, my other temple slammed into the chair. The last thing I heard before the darkness claimed me was the sound of the fiend doing the same to my friend.