Imagine failure...
A short piece written because I had severe writer's block, and during Na No that is really NOT a good thing ... so I wrote this in a vague attempt to do something related to the plot ... epic failure, but oh well. The idea was, if Mary had not gone with John to collect his things ... she would think he was a very poor doctor, and ... well, it kind of snow balled. Oh, and I replaced Mary with Mrs. Hudson so I had some one to fuss over Gladstone. * shrugs *. I do not own Sherlock Holmes ( 2009 ) but I believe the characters are in the public domain? Correct me if I am wrong!
- - SH - - JW - -
John Watson stood on the pavement, supervising the packing of his things in to a taxi. This was it: he was finally leaving. Well, he hoped he was. Mary had been rather ... distant ... of late. Shaking his head, John entered 221 B Baker Street to find the land lady, Mrs. Hudson standing out side the living – room door, wringing her hands nervously.
"Dr Watson, I do not know what he is doing – but there was a lot of crashing – I dare not go in there, God knows what he has done this time." John sighed, and pushed opened the door. The duo stepped inside.
"Holmes!" John cried, seeing Holmes suspended from the ceiling. Mrs. Hudson paled. "Do not worry; Mrs. Hudson, suicide is not I his repertoire. He likes himself to much." He nudged Holmes with his cane. The man started, twisting to face them.
"Oh, good afternoon. I was trying to deduce the manner in which Blackwood survived his execution. Clearing your good name, as it were. But it had a surprising soporific effect on me, and I was carried off in the arms off, Morpheus, like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Good afternoon, Nanny ..."
"Get on with it, Holmes." Watson remarked. Holmes half – nodded, quite an achievement due to the noose still around his neck.
"Cleverly concealed in the hang - mans knot, was a hook. Oh dear, I think my legs have fallen asleep - I should probably come down."
"John, shouldn't we help him down?" Mrs. Hudson asked nervously.
"No, no, no, I'd hate to cut him off midstream. Carry on." Watson said brightly. Holmes frowned, looking slightly miserable.
"Well, er, the executioner attached it – the hook - to a harness. Thus the weight was distributed around the waist and the neck was allowed to remain intact. Oh my lord, I can't feel my cheeks. Might we continue this at ground level?"
"How did you manage it, Holmes?" Watson asked, clearly rather enjoying seeing Holmes suffer. He did, after all, kind of deserve it. All that risking your life in the name of solving a crime ...
"I managed it with braces, belts and a coat hook. Please, Watson, my tongue is going and I'll be of no use to you at all."
"Worse things could happen." Retorted, struggling not to laugh.
"John ..." Mrs. Hudson reprimanded gently. Watson sighed, climbed on a chair, and cut Holmes free. The detective tumbled to the floor, wincing. John hopped down, and helped him up.
"None of this explains Blackwood's lack of pulse." He observed.
"Right. Now the medical mystery. We must restore your reputation, Watson. There is a toxin refined from the nectar of rhododendron ponticum. It is quite infamous in the region of Turkey, bordering the Black Sea, for its ability to induce an apparently mortal paralysis. Enough to mislead a medical mind even as tenacious and well - trained as your own. It is known locally as ..."
"What's wrong with Gladstone?" The land lady interrupted, pointing to the comatose dog.
"Mad honey's disease. He is demonstrating the very effects that I just described. He does not mind."
"Mrs. Hudson, do not worry. He has seen far worse." Watson said soothingly.
"Mr. Holmes? Doctor, Mrs. Hudson ... sorry. Inspector Lestrade asks that you come with me right away." A police officer entered the rooms, looking slightly ashamed.
"What is it this time, Clarky?" Holmes asked, disentangling himself from the make shift harness.
"It's one of our sergeants, sir. He went missing in the sewers the day, you stopped Lord Blackwood. I'm afraid the sewage workers found his body just this morning, sir. We believe the sergeant, was our first man on the scene ..."
"How can I help you, officer?" Holmes asked scathingly. Clearly, the facts sounded dull.
"He was ... shot in the head." Clarky explained.
"Was it a small calibre bullet?" Holmes looked at the man rather sharply. Clarky nodded
"Yes."
"Were there powder - burns on his eye brows?"
"Indeed, sir."
"Point blank range ..." Holmes mused, and then looked at Watson, who nodded.
"Moriarty?" He asked.
"Professor Moriarty." Holmes corrected.
Gladstone suddenly awoke. Mrs. Hudson knelt next to him, tickling his ears. "There's a good boy! Everything is going to be fine." Holmes rolled his eyes.
"Where is Blackwood's device now?" He asked Clarky.
"Secret Service has it, sir. They have taken over the case." Clarky replied.
"I'd wager, there is a piece missing ..." Holmes said slowly. Watson quickly caught on.
"So Moriarty was after a piece of the machine."
"Not the poison. There's nothing more elusive than an obvious fact." Holmes agreed.
"The wire free invention was the game all along."
"And Adler was just the diversion. He knew I would chase after her, there by leaving the machine accessible. The technology of that kind can be worth, an untold fortune. Imagine being able to control a radio device simply by sending a command via radio waves. It is the future, Watson."
There was a knock at the ( open ) door. "I have loaded the last of your boxes, sir." The cabbie interrupted. Watson hesitated, looking to his friend.
"Well ..."
"Well?" Holmes asked, smiling slightly. The cabbie sighed and left again.
"Gladstone!" Mrs. Hudson called, as the dog chased the cabbie down stairs. Watson sighed.
"Stop him before he gets to the front door."
"Clarky? Case reopened." Holmes glanced at Watson, who smiled back.
John H Watson, M D, stood by the window of 221 B Baker Street, staring at the rain – soaked cobbles below. Sherlock Holmes glanced at him, mouth quirking with amusement at the doctor's expression of annoyance. He had spent the last few minutes trying to think of a reason for Watson's visit – surely he should be with his fiancée? He decided to try and get the answer out of the until – now – silent Watson.
"Watson, you know, it was an easy mistake to make. He had virtually no pulse, and the concoction that induced his apparent 'death' is exceedingly rare. I only know of it because of Miss Adler." His tone was calm, but if John had looked around, he would have seen a slight trace of worry on the other man's face.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because it is not working! I almost got all the members of Parliament that are not in – that were not in – Blackwood's order murdered, Holmes!"
"Logical conclusion, but erroneous. Even if Blackwood had died – if you had noticed his neck was not broken –"
"Thank you, now I feel even worse ..."
"If you would let me explain! Even if Blackwood had dies, I think Lord Coward would have been able to push the plan through. He seemed ... well involved. He knew of Miss Adler's ginger midget, for example."
"I doubt he would have had the influence to complete the plan alone. He was like me – a worthless sidekick."
"Watson, you are by no means worthless."
"Oh, of course! A doctor who cannot even tell if a man is dead! Even Mary was not stupid enough to think I had purpose!"
"Mary? What does she have to do with all of this?"
"She left me, Holmes! My fiancée left me! How can you say I am not worthless when all of this - !" He turned, walking towards the door, but Holmes stepped in front of it, blocking his path. John pushed him aside angrily.
"Watson. I did explain -"
"Not to Mary, remember! Tea with her parents indeed! More ... avoiding me."
"Are you still moving out?"
"I do not know. Mary – in her letter, she said the house was mine, if I wanted it ... but her father bought it, I just – it would be wrong to take it ..."
"So that is a 'no' then?"
"I think so."
"Good."
"Good? How is it good? I am a doctor of decidedly tarnished reputation -"
"Restored. Restored reputation."
"Yet still! What patients want a doctor who made a mistake like that?"
"There is a simple explanation, of course."
"Which is?"
"Do not tell them."
"So you are asking me to lie! That would be even worse!"
"No, Watson, not lie ... just ... do not mention it."
"Okay – saying – hypothetically – I did that, and wanted to stay here. Would that ... well, could I?"
"Of course! I would be lost with out my friend, would I not? You saved my life at least twice during that last case, Watson."
"Maybe if I was not there, you would not need saving quite so often. Admit it, a man with a limp is hardly the best choice of companion for a 'consulting detective', is it?"
"Why not? It does not affect your ability to observe, does it? Go, if you wish, but ... I would rather you did not."
"I will think about it." John Watson closed the door behind him as he left the room. Sherlock Holmes leant against the wall, and glared at the picture – photograph – of Irene Adler on his desk.
"This is all your fault, Woman.
FIN
- - SH - - JW - -
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