A Christmas Carol
Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.
Victor Hugo
Chapter One
The winter snow was relentless. Snowflakes were twirling down, already covering the snowy tracks left by patients coming and going from the Kensington practice that Dr Watson was locking up for the final time. It was almost dark and Christmas Eve. Dr Watson was looking forward to the scrumptious meal that he observed Mrs Hudson had been making that morning. Dr Watson pulled at the door one more time and was satisfied everything was secure and began to negotiate his way down the steps and into the streets. It was icy and Watson held onto the package he had secured under his arm. A Christmas present for Sherlock Holmes. Watson smiled fondly remembering his decision to buy the present in question. He did not quite believe it himself when he decided to buy it for his friend, but Holmes was his friend and he could not bear to see Holmes bereft of his most valued possession. It had happened several weeks ago whilst Holmes was on a case involving blackmail and murder. Two dangerous criminals had entered Baker Street and attacked Holmes and in the process destroyed his Stradivarius. Holmes had been injured but recovered but Watson knew that Holmes longed for his music and the loss of his violin had hurt him far more deeply than his physical injuries. He hoped his Christmas present for Holmes would help finally heal a broken musician's heart.
Tiredly Watson walked tentatively into the snowy street. It was late and with the harsh winter snow Watson realised with some mortification that many of the hansom cabs and the horses that pulled them had retreated into the warmth of the stables. He sighed and pulled up the collars of his coat. He knew that if he at least walked to Paddington Station he would be able to get a cab back to Baker Street from there. It would be a ten minute walk away from where he was now. Nothing like a good walk to clear away the cobwebs and I will have plenty of room for Mrs Hudson's dinner thought Watson darkly as he began his journey and focused on the snow covered pavement in front of him aware that his leg had been paining him for a few days now and tried in vain to hide this from the world's only consulting detective who had disapproved of Watson going out in such inhospitable weather.
It was his concentration in trying not to slip on the snow and ice that led to Watson failing to hear the thugs creep up behind him until it was far too late. With a heavy blow to his head Watson let out a cry as he was dragged into a side alley by his attackers and his cries for help was muffled as a heavy hand covered his mouth. He tried to fight back, but one of the attackers was too strong and burly and roughly pulled Watson's arms tightly behind his back as the other, thin, lean and rat faced looking reigned several blows into Watson's stomach, Watson collapsed under the strain, his legs giving way, but not giving up completely he tried to fight back yet again staggering back up and taking a swing at one of his attackers making contact with Rat Man's face and broke his nose. But he was weakened by the earlier blows and his attackers had the upper hand. Rat man, in an opportune moment picked up Watson's heavy cane and struck Watson heavily across his head. Watson fell into the snow trying in vain to protect himself as the heavy cane came crashing down onto him again and again until Watson moved no more. Blood ran down Watson's head and began to form a pool as his attackers picked his pockets clean and the burly attacker was about to pick up the discarded parcel Watson was carrying when a passing Policeman came into view and the thieves ran leaving Watson face down in the snow. The parcel was thrown down besides Watson. The Policeman blew his whistle signalling for help, kneeling down and felt for Watson's pulse. It was there but only just. It was very weak. He turned over the victim gently and to his surprise recognised him. As a sergeant stationed at Scotland Yard, he had seen him often enough at in the company of Sherlock Holmes. The Policeman took off his cloak and placed it on top of Watson. He would see Watson safely taken to hospital. As his colleagues arrived he tore a bit of paper from his notebook having written a brief note and turned to instruct one of them.
"Here, Alf, I want you to go to 221B Baker Street with this note, tell them what has happened and advise that this gentleman is at Charing Cross Hospital"
Alf nodded and left. The Sergeant turned back to focus on the unconscious Dr Watson. He knew that within an hour one very angry and distraught detective would be at Charing Cross Hospital. As to the thieves, their future did not bode very well indeed once Sherlock Holmes had caught them, and catch them he would. They had chosen the wrong person to mug, tonight of all nights thought the Sergeant grimly as the ambulance arrived and he helped lift Dr Watson onto a stretcher and quickly taken away to hospital. Dr Watson was badly hurt. He placed the discarded Christmas present besides the Doctor and patted the doctor's shoulder gently, his role in this was over but he would pray for his recovery as would everyone else in the Yard on this snowy Christmas Eve.
OOOH! Poor Watson! I do think though that Sherlock Holmes is not going to be a happy detective when he hears of this! I am so sorry to have been away so long. My muse deserted me and has just come back in time for Christmas!