SWAN FLOWN FROM BROKEN NEST STOP DOVE LEADING LOHENGRIN STOP TELRAMUND NEAR BRIDAL CHAMBER STOP HERALD FINAL STOP
"Get up." ...blood and vomit sour in Holmes' mouth, the stink of singed hair...
The battered detective remained limp, lifeless, the heavy, booted tread closing in warily. A pine needle was tickling his nose and his right eye was beginning to smart, sweat had trickled in without his realising.
"You heard me!" ...coarse laughter rasping in his ears, his choked gasps as they hauled him, half-drowned, out of the freezing water...
Holmes closed his throat on a grunt as the blunt end of a rough quarterstaff jabbed viciously into his lower back – but Lestrade had used that particular tactic once too often and Holmes was already moving, rolling backwards onto the branch, forcing it out of the Inspector's hands. Squinting against the afternoon sun, he lashed out viciously with the captured weapon at knee height – he'd quickly learnt that Lestrade showed no mercy and expected even less – then froze in mid-strike at the cold prick of a knife point below his ear.
"How many more times, sir?" Lestrade tutted from behind. "An enemy trying the same trick twice..."
"...doesn't mean he's predictable – yes, all right," Holmes sighed, trying not to look relieved as the Inspector resheathed his knife. "And what about you, letting go of the staff because you were certain I wouldn't fall for the same trick a third time? If that isn't predicting your opponent..."
"And thus endeth the lesson," Lestrade grinned, offering him a hand up. "Don't trust anything I tell you, either."
Their evening meal was, as usual, a quiet one. More often than not, both men were too weary from their exertions by the end of the day to expend any remaining strength on filling the silence: the once-awkward silence that had slowly grown comfortable through constant wear, long before they'd ever come to this forest.
Holmes leant back against tonight's sheltering tree, watching the last of the sunlight inch its way along the uppermost limbs. Just once, he mused, it would be nice to risk a campfire, or start even one morning with coffee – they'd never spent more than a single night in one place, the entire... good Lord, was it three weeks already? Then again, considering how preoccupied he'd been of late...
Starting at dawn on their very first morning, Lestrade had been driving Holmes daily through a gruelling physical regime: every possible calisthenic known to man, interwoven with endless combat training. The dismayed detective had been forced to admit, however, that when Lestrade wasn't bellowing in his ear or whacking him around the shins, the Inspector could more than match whatever he demanded of his trainee. Holmes also noted Lestrade was taking care not to let him fall into a predictable routine. One day might be spent entirely in tracking each other from one end of the Black Forest to the other; a good portion of another day spent working his way free of his bonds, whenever he failed to evade the Inspector's latest ambush... and today had been devoted mostly to staffs and cudgels. Lestrade, already an expert in wielding a truncheon, hadn't even bothered to conceal his satisfaction at being able to give his opponent a sound drubbing.
Holmes couldn't really begrudge the man his enjoyment, though. Having a weapon of his own, and the chance to give back as good as he received, had already made a greater difference to his own state of mind than he would have thought possible. More and more often, he was spending whole nights in blessed, dreamless sleep, waking only when the Inspector prodded him in the ribs the next morning. Holmes wasn't certain why his mind was becoming more tranquil, as his body's former strength and vigour gradually returned, but since it allowed him to rest between labours without his memories tormenting him at every breath, he was content to simply let it happen.
Content... yes, in an odd sort of way, Holmes supposed he was. Despite his ongoing concerns over Roland – of whom they'd had no word since his return to Baden – and Mary – mother and child-to-be safe for the moment at the priory – the detective was beginning to regret that soon, all too soon, he and his colleague must leave this verdant haven to undertake the most hazardous work of their lives.
"Lestrade...?" Holmes frowned as the name left his lips – he hadn't actually meant to speak aloud.
"Mm?" The Inspector's hum sounded extremely reluctant coming from where he lay, pocket handkerchief draped over his face as per usual – he must have been all but asleep. Oh well, no sense in dithering now.
"Did you mean what you said, back at the barn?"
"Er... which part?" Lestrade now sounded downright bewildered; understandable, really, that particular... incident had occurred over a month ago.
"About neither of us surviving this." At least you might be able to look the Doctor in the eye the next time you see him...
"Oh, that." Lestrade yawned. "Course not – don't be daft."
Holmes' frown deepened. "Excuse me?"
"Well, think about it: if you don't make it, there's going to be a mile-long line of criminals queuing up to spit on your grave." Lestrade's satisfied smirk was audible: "And I plan to be waiting to slap on the handcuffs."
Footsteps on the path, muffled by the falls...
"No rest for the wicked, eh, Holmes?" Watson smiles as he waves goodbye, Moriarty's forged letter crumpled in his hand a clear sign of his uncertainty; anxious to help ease the poor woman's suffering, yet still hesitant to leave his friend alone in this fearful place. Ah, but Watson forgets – Holmes is not quite alone, he has this unfortunate scrap of humanity for company. Roland, Steiler's hired boy, stands to one side, fingers nervously twitching – as well they might! Were Holmes in his situation, he should hardly dread Moriarty's arrival less than he does already.
The detective leans against the rock, arms folded, forcing himself to smile back at his friend. Thank heaven Watson does not suspect... and, God willing, the wicked will be laid to rest soon enough...
Forgive me, John...
Lestrade groaned as Holmes prodded him in the ribs. "Wha' issit?" His eyes cracked open, then widened in bleary surprise; the detective was bending over him with a freshly-brewed cup of black coffee, trying not to look overly smug at being the first one awake, for a change. "All right... Dare I ask what the occasion is?"
Holmes waited for his colleague to sit up, then handed him the cup. "It's time, Lestrade." Even if his growing restlessness wasn't enough of a sign, the dream that had woken the detective just before dawn would have convinced him all on its own.
The Inspector's expression cleared. "Finally. I was wondering when you were going to get that bee lodged in your deerstalker."
Holmes snorted; Lestrade knew perfectly well what he thought of such ludicrous headgear. The only time he'd ever worn one had been while camping in Dartmoor, and that out of pure necessity. "Whenever you're ready, Inspector."
Lestrade shot Holmes a pointed look as he blew the steam off his mug, relaxing back against the nearest tree. "I've been waiting on you the last three weeks, sir; now you can have the decency to let me enjoy my coffee in peace. Something tells me it's the last I'll be getting for some time."
"Coffee or peace?" Holmes smirked, taking the hint and seating himself again.
Lestrade sighed. "Either."
Holmes was relieved to find that re-entering Baden-Baden wasn't as overwhelming as he'd imagined; all that time with only his colleague for company hadn't completely turned him back into a hermit, it seemed. He did have quite a start as they approached Lichtenthal Abbey, however – he'd forgotten just how loud that confounded bell was.
"All right, sir?"
Holmes straightened hastily, giving Lestrade's hand on his elbow a pointed stare until it was removed. "Perfectly."
Lestrade nodded, looking annoyingly unabashed, gaze turning back to the priory's front archway. "Think she's forgiven us yet?"
The detective shrugged. "I expect so, we didn't disrupt things that much." Fortunately, one combat lesson in the cloister courtyard had been enough for the abbess to firmly invite them to find a different training ground.
"Mary, you idiot, not the Mother Superior," Lestrade sighed. "You know she'll have realised by now that we meant to get ourselves thrown out – she's not stupid."
"I know..." Holmes frowned. "Although you must admit she did seem rather relieved at the time."
Lestrade snorted. "And no wonder, with you constantly hovering! She must have been delighted to see the back of you."
What nonsense, he hadn't been hovering, merely attentive. It wasn't as if there'd been anything else to do, anyhow, besides counting those damned chimes. And the Inspector could hardly judge, given his nursemaiding of Holmes at the hospital. "Need I remind you that Mary's condition..."
"... was mostly annoyed at being waited on hand and foot." Lestrade's stern expression softened. "Look, I'm not blaming either of you, all right? But if you want Mary to admit to having missed you, like I know you've missed her, try keeping in mind that she's survived the last three weeks without either of us."
As if Holmes could forget. It might have been the best solution for all concerned, but leaving Mary and her unborn child with the nuns was an even greater wrench than he'd imagined. He had missed her company, there was no denying that – and he didn't want to think about how much worse it would be when he and Lestrade left for Switzerland again... especially since neither of them had remembered to practice their German since training began.
Author's note: Yes, folks, Part 2 is in progress. Sorry for the long wait, the evil Doctor Reality is pulling out all the stops this time. That's the main reason I'm updating on FFN, you wonderful, impatient readers do help to keep me motivated. Positive reviews and constructive criticism welcome... well, the reviews, at least, I don't know a single writer who *likes* criticism, however helpful. ;)
