Bad Day Turned Good
Sherlock Holmes miserably limped down the side streets of London, desperately trying to make it back home. He glanced up at the street sign, only three blocks away. He groaned and kept trudging along. Normally, three blocks away from home would be no problem to walk, but tonight was different. Tonight, his plan had gone horribly wrong.
The scoundrel that had evaded Holmes twice had finally slipped up. Holmes had smiled when he unraveled the whereabouts of the scum, and decided to set off immediately to apprehend him. Watson had been out running errands so Holmes had just scribbled a quick note to his friend so he wouldn't worry. He then picked up his revolver(yes he could remember it),his hat, his coat, and set out.
According to his careful deductions, the scum was hiding in a rundown factory approximately half a mile away from Baker Street. He went on foot, deciding it would be faster than trying to hail a cab at "rush hour". Arriving in less than 30 minutes, he entered through a side door; hoping to use the element of surprise to his advantage. He smiled as he saw his man unaware of his presence. Holmes snuck up behind him and placed the barrel of the revolver into his back.
"Well, well, well," Holmes said, pleased with himself. "It appears that this time; my good man, you won't be giving me the slip."
The man sighed, "Yes Mr. Holmes, I defiantly won't be giving you the slip this time."
Holmes didn't like the sound of that, and he could have sworn he saw a smirk on the man's lips. But before he could react in anyway, he heard heavy footfalls and then a deep voice.
"Put the gun down Mr. Holmes," the voice said and the man smiled.
"And why should I do that sir," Holmes asked, desperately trying to think his way out of the bad situation he got himself in.
The response to his question was several more heavy footfalls and the cocking of at least two more revolvers.
Realizing that he was outnumbered, not to mention outgunned, he did as he was told and put his revolver down on the ground by his feet.
"Good boy," the voice said making Holmes feel like the man was talking to a dog. "Now kick it behind you, toward me."
Again, Holmes did as he was told. He was trying to work out how to get out of this situation, but there were at least four or five men in the room plus two to three guns. He could take out probably three men but then there was the issue of the guns, and now, he had no weapon. His thoughts were interrupted however by the man he had come to arrest, a Mr. Zach Robinson.
"Now Mr. Holmes," Robinson said, "you are going to take a little trip with us, after you sir." He gestured to a hallway to the left and Holmes started walking. After a few minutes, he deduced that there were four men and all four of them had guns (three that they brought and Robinson had Holmes' confiscated one). They were walking in a straight line following Holmes. A big man was directly behind him, Robinson was next, and two smaller men were bringing up the rear.
Holmes noticed that there was a turn coming up and he decided to try and use that to his advantage. He sped up a little and ducked behind the turn, pressing his body against the wall. The big man yelled and took the corner fast, earning himself a blinding punch in the nose from Homes. Big man staggered back, dazed and clutching his nose, and Holmes took this opportunity to grab the gun and bash big man over the head with it. Big man crumpled to the floor and Holmes faced the other three men, who were totally shocked.
Robinson recovered first, "Shoot him," he yelled and Holmes decided running would be the best idea at this point.
He took off like a shot down the hallway with the three men hot on his heels. Shots rang out behind him as he took a turn to his right, stopped, and waited to see which of the men would round the corner first. It was one of the smaller men that earned a punch to the abdomen. He doubled over in pain and cried out. Holmes swiftly delivered a kick to his ribs and another to his head, causing the man to black out. He hardly had time to relish his victory as another shot rang out and a searing pain rippled through his left leg. He gasped and pressed himself against the wall. He looked to his right and saw Robinson with a smoking gun in his hand and a smirk on his face. He looked to his left and saw the other man pointing another gun at him. He sighed and ran threw his options in his mind.
"So are you done with all this foolish running around Mr. Holmes," Robinson asked.
"Not quite yet," Holmes said as he shot small man in the arm and hit him in the temple with the revolver. The man fell to the floor next to his companion and Holmes aimed the gun at Robinson. Robinson smiled and fired. Holmes didn't move quite fast enough and the bullet grazed his arm. He gasped and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. The gun was out of bullets.
Robinson smirked again and fired, but his gun was also out of bullets. He swore and started running down the hallway. Holmes started to follow, but as soon as he put some weight on his left leg, he gasped and fell to the floor.
"Bloody hell," he swore and gritting his teeth against the pain, he inspected the injury. He pulled up his trouser leg, expecting the worst, but he was relieved to find that it wasn't that bad. He had been shot in the back of the leg, about four inches below his knee. There was a lot of blood, but the bullet did not appear to have hit an artery or anything. There wasn't an exit wound, so the bullet was still in the leg. He couldn't do anything about the bullet right now so he decided to focus on trying to stop the bleeding.
He knew how to tie a tourniquet because Watson had shown him how after he had nearly bleed to death several times before. He took the cravat from around his neck and tied it tightly around his leg, just above his knee, in a square knot. He then took the riding crop, placed it on top of the knot, and tied it in place with another square knot. Taking hold of the crop and gritting his teeth, he twisted it around to make the tourniquet tighter and stop the bleeding. He then tied the crop in place with the half of the cravat from one of the men that he had knocked out. He used the other half of the cravat to tie around the actual wound. He decided that the wound on his arm was just a graze and therefore didn't need a tourniquet. He took the cravat from the other man and tied that around his arm.
He decided that the main objective was to get home and take care of these injuries. Robinson is too far ahead of me now anyway, he thought. He took a deep breath and pushed himself up, leaning his back against the wall for support. The pain in his leg was excruciating and he couldn't help but gasp. He leaned against the wall for a few moments to get his breathing back to normal and then set out.
For a while, his leg allowed him to put some weight on it and the going was ok. Now though, just 3 blocks away from his home, his leg was refusing to work and had started bleeding again. He was literally dragging his left leg behind him, sweat was pouring down his face, and he wasn't sure how much farther he could go. Plus, on top of all this, it had started to rain.
"Well this just can't get any worse can it,"he muttered sarcastically to himself. Just as he finished this sentence, he stumbled and fell to the ground.
"You spoke to soon Holmes," he said trying to get up. He tried to get up, but couldn't. Instead, he decided to drag himself into an ally.
At least I'm out of the rain, he thought. He managed to raise himself up into a sitting position and leaned heavily against the ally wall. He closed his eyes for a moment to try and gather his thoughts, but he was interrupted by the growling of a dog. He opened his eyes and was alarmed to see a large yellow Labrador standing a few feet away from him and growling. Oh great, Sherlock thought, on top of everything else, now I'm going to get mauled by a dog.
"Gaston," he suddenly heard a woman's voice yell. "Gaston come here. What are you growling at boy?"
The woman came into view next to the growling dog. She was holding a lantern and bent to pick up the leash that the dog was trailing. She gasped when she saw Sherlock in the ally. Since he thought that she might sick the dog on him, Holmes decided that he had better say something.
"Madame," he began, trying to keep his voice level. "I can assure you that I in no way tend to harm you. In fact, I'm not even sure if I can stand up right now." He tried to laugh at the last part, but it didn't sound very convincing.
"Are you alright," the woman asked, still keeping her distance.
Holmes attempted to shrug, but the wound on his arm had started bleeding again so all he managed was a gas of pain.
"Well that was a rather stupid question," she said laughing a little. Keeping a firm hold on the leash, she walked closer to Holmes and held out the lantern to get a good look at him.
The first thing she saw was the tourniquet, which was soaked in blood, wrapped around his leg. She also saw the cravat, also soaked in blood, wrapped around his upper arm. Moving the lantern up to his face, she gasped. "You're as white as a ghost," she exclaimed.
"Yes, I believe I've lost a fair amount of blood," Holmes responded. She leaned in closer to his face and he noticed her eyes widen.
"Oh my God," she exclaimed again. "You're Sherlock Holmes!"
He smiled. "That's me."
She was shocked. To think, she was actually meeting the famous detective. She had had a crush on him for the longest time.
"What happened to you," she managed to ask.
"I got into a bit of a scrape," he responded casually.
"Okay," she said rather skeptically. "Can I give you a hand or something?"
Holmes hesitated. He really hated to ask anyone for help, let alone a woman, but did he really have a choice? The answer was obvious…no.
"Is there any way you could fetch my colleague for me," he asked. "We're not very far away from my home. Only about three blocks away."
"Where do you live?"
"221B Baker Street."
"Dr. Watson right?"
"That's him."
She hesitated for a moment. "I really don't want to leave you here alone," she said.
"I'll be fine Madame," he said. He was starting to feel a little light headed and really just wanted to get home as fast as possible.
She still hesitated, but then her eyes lit up and she got down on one knee. Holmes watched as she took the dog's head in her hands and spoke to him. "Gaston, I want you to stay here and guard Mr. Holmes for me ok?"
The dog actually gave a low bark as if agreeing to this and the woman straitened up. "Good boy," she added, rubbing his ears affectionately.
"Madame, that is quite unnecessary," Holmes started but the woman held up a hand to silence him.
"He'll stay here with you and I'll go and find Dr. Watson," she said. Holmes started to protest again but she ignored him. "I'll be right back Mr. Holmes." And with that, she took off toward Baker Street.
Holmes looked at the dog, and the dog looked back at Holmes.
"Well," Holmes said, "Nice to meet you Gaston."
The dog gave a little woof and moved closer to Holmes. After sniffing at his injuries, Gaston lay down and rested his muzzle on Holmes' uninjured leg. Holmes rested his hand on the dog's head and fought to keep conscious.
Meanwhile, the woman had made it to 221B Baker Street and was knocking on the door. A man with extremely blue eyes and a mustache answered the door.
"Are you Dr. Watson," she asked.
"Yes," Watson replied, "Can I help you Madame?"
"Well not me exactly," she answered. "I came across your colleague, Mr. Holmes, in an ally about three blocks back. He says, and I quote, that 'he got into a bit of a scrape.'"
"Oh Lord," Watson groaned, grabbing his coat and hat. "What has he gotten himself into now?"
"I'm not sure," she said, "But I believe that he has lost a fair amount of blood."
Watson just sighed and she led the way back to the ally where Holmes was.
Watson looked a little surprised, not to mention amused, to see Holmes patting a dog in an ally.
"What have you gotten yourself into this time old boy," Watson said and Holmes looked up, looking relieved.
"What took you so long mother hen?"
Watson just shook his head and attempted to approach Holmes, but he was stopped by Gaston. He was growling like crazy.
"Gaston, down," the woman ordered and to dog obeyed. Watson patted his head as he knelt down beside Holmes.
"Can you get up," Watson asked.
"I'm not entirely sure," Holmes replied.
"Well let's get you up then," the woman said, surprising both men.
Watson took Holmes' injured arm and placed it over his shoulders and the woman took his other arm. Together, they hoisted him up (not without a yelp of pain from Holmes) and started back to Baker Street.
"By the way Madame," Holmes said gasping, "I didn't catch your name."
"That's because I didn't tell you," she said and he smiled. "My name is Abigail Tanner, but please, call me Abby."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance Miss. Abby," Holmes said, still panting. "I would kiss your hand but…" he trailed off.
"You can later," she joked and he nodded.
Finally, they managed to get him home. Since the two stairs out front proved to be extremely difficult, they decided to just have him lie on the couch.
Holmes was panting heavily and was extremely pale. He was also sweating profusely and shaking.
"Miss. Abby," Watson asked, "Would you mind getting a basin of water and a few rags? The kitchen is right over there."
"No problem," Abby said heading into the kitchen with Gaston on her heels. She grabbed the necessary things and returned to the living room. Watson was already stitching up the wound on Holmes' leg. The bullet was out and Holmes had passed out. She placed the basin next to Watson and he nodded his thanks. She sat down in a nearby armchair and Gaston sat at her feet. Before long, her eyelids grew heavy and, quite unintentionally, she fell asleep.
The next morning, Abby woke up with a start and realized that she had fallen asleep. She was covered in a blanket and Gaston was still at her feet. She saw that Holmes was still asleep on the couch as well. She got up and she and Gaston made their way to the kitchen. Watson was sitting at the table and reading the morning paper. He looked up when she came in.
"Good morning," he said with a smile.
"Good morning," Abby replied. "I am so sorry," she began but Watson held up a hand for her to stop.
"No need to apologize," he said and she smiled.
"How is Mr. Holmes," she asked.
"He'll be fine," he replied. "He's been though much worse than this. You are welcome to stay until he wakes up."
"Thank you, but I couldn't impose like that."
"Nonsense," he said, "You saved his life."
She smiled again and nodded walking back into the living room where, to her surprise, Holmes was awake.
"Good morning Miss. Abby," he said smiling.
She returned his smile. "Good morning Mr. Holmes. How are you feeling this morning?"
"Better," he lied and she knew it. "You spent the night?"
"Inadvertently," she replied. "You should get some more rest."
"Indeed," he replied, already drifting off. "Will I see you again?"
"Perhaps," she said, smiling. "Good day Mr. Holmes."
"Good day Miss. Abby," he replied.
With that, Holmes fell asleep and she smiled. She bid good day to Watson, along with a promise that she would come back to visit, and called Gaston. Once she was out of the house and heading home, she turned to Gaston.
"We will defiantly be seeing Mr. Holmes again won't we boy?"
The dog gave a bark and Abby laughed.
ONE WEEK LATER
Holmes, against Watson's strict orders, hobbled down the stairs to answer the door. Normally, Mrs. Hudson would take care of it but she was off running errands or some such nonsense. The person on the other side of the door was getting impatient; this was the fourth time they had knocked.
"Hold on," Holmes yelled as he slowly and cautiously made it down the stairs on his new crutches. "I'm coming, I'm coming."
Finally making it to the door, he straightened and opened it. "Now, what can I…?" He was cut off by the sight of the person on the other side of the door.
"Good to see you up and about Mr. Holmes," Abby said with a smile.
Holmes returned the smile, "Good day Miss. Abby. And to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Well I did tell you that you would see me again," she said and Holmes swore he saw her blush.
"Well please come in," he said shuffling away from the door to create and opening.
"Thank you Mr. Holmes," she said walking in and he saw the dog sitting on the front step.
"Oh," Holmes said leaning on one crutch and bending. "Good day to you as well Gaston. Please come in." Holmes reached out his hand to pat the dog and to his surprise; the dog placed his paw in his hand. Abby laughed as Holmes shook the dog's paw.
As Holmes straightened up, he swayed a bit and Abby rushed to his side to steady him. "Let's get you to the couch," she said keeping him steady as he maneuvered around. "I'm sure you're not supposed to be up anyway."
They got to the couch and she helped him to sit down. She sat down next to him, "Do you need me to get you anything," she asked.
"No, no," he said shaking his head. "You have been more than enough help Madame."
There was silence for a little while, and then Holmes spoke again. "Did I ever thank you for that night?"
"There is no reason to," she replied and was shocked to see when she looked at him that he was looking into her eyes.
"Well, I am a gentleman after all and I never even kissed your hand when you introduced yourself."
She laughed and held out her hand to him. To her surprise, he ignored her hand and instead, kissed her cheek.
"Pleased to meet you Miss. Abigail," he said with a smile, "And thank you."
"The pleasure is all mine Mr. Holmes," she said. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek as well, "And you are very welcome."
They sat on the couch together for the rest of the day, just talking and getting to know each other. Abby realized that Holmes was getting tired, but she also knew him well enough from this one day to know that he would never admit it. So instead, she decided to pretend she was tired. With a yawn, she stood up.
"Well Mr. Holmes I had better be going," she said.
"So soon," he asked.
"We have been talking all day," she laughed.
"Ah, so we have," he replied. "Well let me walk you to the door," he said and tried to get up. Abby ended up helping him up and, realizing that he would never make it up the stairs by himself but he would refuse her help, she thought of a plan.
"Mr. Holmes," she began, "Dr. Watson promised to lend me a book. Do you think he would mind if I took it today?"
"Not at all," he replied, "Let me show you upstairs. He keeps everything in his room."
With that, she helped him up the stairs and into his room; detouring at one point into Dr. Watson's room to pick up a random book that she would put back before she left.
"Well thank you for a wonderful day Mr. Holmes."
"This was nothing," he replied, "When I can walk without these blasted crutches, I will have to take you to dinner to properly thank you."
"I would enjoy that," she said.
"Don't be a stranger my dear," Holmes said kissing her cheek again.
"I won't," she replied. "Good evening Mr. Holmes."
"Good evening Miss. Abby."
When she reached the top of the steps, she heard Holmes call out to her. "Don't forget to put that book back where you found it."
She smiled and blushed, "I will thank you."
She should have known he would be able to see though her ruse. She put the book back and called Gaston. Stepping out the door, she closed it and leaned against the wood. Sighing, she smiled and resolved to visit Mr. Holmes again very soon.