I recall the morning after we arrested the two thieves. I had noticed from the start of your transformation that when you turn yourself back into a human, you are utterly exhausted, as if the effort costs you greatly. I suspect that it is quite painful for you, but you refused to allow me to observe you… as great as my curiosity is, I respect your pride and your dignity, my dear fellow. I am sure you knew of my desire to see the change for myself, however!
Yet your change was much more than that of man to wolf and back again. You became something more than a man, Watson, in whatever form you choose to wear. There were so many subtle changes… not just to your physical strength, but to your inner strength as well. One who did not know you as well as I might not have observed these alterations in you. Your instincts, for example; already honed from your war years, took on an edge that I could not hope to attain, and your skill and stealth as a hunter are unparalleled…
I am ever grateful that you did not choose to hunt me, even in your darkest hours.
It was still a few hours before dawn when Holmes emerged from his room at Baker Street, pulling the dressing-gown cord tight and knotting it around his waist. It had been a couple of hours since he had returned from the arrest, climbing in through the bedroom window after shinning up the drainpipe, to avoid disturbing his erstwhile landlady by coming in through the front door at the obscenely early hour. He had rested for a short while, collecting his thoughts on the case ready to present as a statement to Scotland Yard come a more reasonable hour of the day. He had then washed, shaved and changed into clean clothes, before stepping out into the sitting room to light his favourite pipe.
Holmes was amused to find Watson, back to his usual self and fully dressed, fast asleep on the settee. Holmes moved as silently as he could as he lit his pipe and dropped into his armchair, beside the dying embers of the fire. He stoked it up a little, tossing on more wood and coal.
"I trust Inspector Gregson was satisfied with the arrest?"
Holmes glanced up, surprised; he had not heard Watson stir, let alone move over to his side. He quickly hid any expression behind a calm smile and a nonchalant air.
"He was indeed," he responded, leaning back in his chair as Watson took the other seat, "remember, Watson; if he asks, you were tending to a patient last night. No other doctor was available."
"I remember," Watson nodded, with a yawn, "thank God they made a move – I couldn't have spent one more night in that freezing, empty house!"
Holmes gave a bark of a laugh; "And there was me thinking that your fur coat would keep you warm!"
Watson shot him a hazel-eyed glare, and Holmes held up an appeasing hand, saying; "You did excellent work tonight, my dear fellow. Cartwright and Reamer are now safely behind bars, and a lot of stolen property will no doubt shortly be recovered from them and returned to rightful owners. And we shall be very well paid for our efforts – at least four of the rightful owners in question are clients of mine."
"Good," Watson yawned again, and stretched, "If you don't mind, this evening's activities have left me rather tired – I think I will retire, if it's all the same with you? Do try to get some sleep, Holmes – now that the case is concluded, you do not have to stay up all hours!"
"Thank you, Watson," Holmes replied, as he placidly smoked his pipe, "Sleep well!"
Watson sighed quietly, and headed out of the room sleepily, heading for his chambers. The smell of strong tobacco wafted up the stairs after him, and he found the smell oddly comforting.
In the living room, Holmes continued to smoke, grey eyes staring sightlessly into the dancing flames of the fire, as he wondered what the coming day would bring.
Oh, Watson – if I had known what those following days held for you and I, I would not have sat smoking so calmly, and your sleep would have been anything but restful…
That day started much as any other, if my recollections are correct. Mrs Hudson knew nothing of your secret, but I am sure she suspected that something was different – she has always been rather perceptive, for a woman!
I recall it clearly – the calm before the storm, as it were. Forgive me, Watson – I am not one given to fanciful wishes, but I fervently wish that I could have spared you from what was coming!
Inspector Gregson, as expected, arrived at Baker Street early that same morning, knowing full well that Holmes would still be awake. Mrs Hudson ushered him into the sitting room, where the consulting detective greeted him with cool cordiality – it was better than an open insult.
"The Superintendent was very pleased with our work last night," Gregson reported, hiding a yawn behind his hand, "sorry; haven't had a chance to go home yet. I just came by to get your statement, Mr Holmes…"
"I have taken the liberty of writing it up for you," Holmes replied, to Gregson's surprise, handing over a sheet of paper covered in a barely-legible scrawl, "I am in no mood to discuss the matter at length again at this hour of the day, Inspector – besides, I have a number of clients that I must contact this morning to advise of the successful conclusion to the case; and two other cases that require my attention…"
Gregson quickly covered up his surprise – it was unlike Holmes to miss a chance to brag about his methods, and the Inspector did not want the detective to change his mind and be subjected to half-hour lecture. He straightened up, pocketed the statement, and pulled out his notebook.
"I'd like to add another case to that list," he told Holmes, grimly, "it might concern that evil-looking mutt you had with you last night. This morning, we found a body down by the river; witnesses said they heard the sounds of a large dog growling; when they heard a man screaming several men went out to see what was happening, and found the poor fellow had bee, quite literally, torn apart. The coroner's first impression is that it was a dog attack – but whatever did it was massive, much bigger than your average hound."
"I can assure you that the culprit was not the hound that accompanied me last night," Holmes replied, calmly, "where is the body now?"
"In the city morgue," Gregson replied, "you're welcome to see it, if you like – we don't have any identification yet, but he looks like a vagrant."
"We will come to the Yard shortly, when Dr. Watson is awake," Holmes responded, leaning back in his chair, "Do not allow anyone else to touch the body until I have seen it – you may expect us within the hour. Good day, Inspector."
Realising that he was being curtly dismissed, Gregson took a deep breath, straightened his jacket, and departed quickly.
For his part, Holmes closed his eyes and listened carefully as the Inspector walked down the stairs to the front door, exchanged parting words with Mrs Hudson, and then left. Holmes waited a heartbeat longer, and then shot from his armchair, bounding up the stairs. Flinging open the door to Watson's room, Holmes grabbed an armful of clothes from the wardrobe and dropped them on the bed.
"Awake and arise, Watson! There is a body in the morgue that requires our combined expertise!"
Watson groaned, but sat up accordingly, only to have a waistcoat hit him in the face. With a muffled curse, he flung the material to the floor and glared at Holmes.
"Holmes! Please desist from eviscerating my wardrobe! I will join you downstairs in a moment."
Holmes flashed him a quick grin, as the detective dashed from the room. Watson sighed, and picked up the waistcoat – it clashed horribly with the mismatched jacket and trousers Holmes had thrown at him. Selecting a more appropriate outfit, he dressed hastily, and was soon following Holmes out of their front door.
I had feared this moment from the day that you first succumbed to the Change, as we came to call it. I am ashamed to say that I doubted you, my dear fellow, even if I could not bring myself to admit it at first. I doubted that you could control the creature that you could well become, and that like so many of your kind you would give yourself over to the bestial mentality of the wolf.
I feared what awaited us in the morgue. I feared, though I dared not acknowledge, that it might have been your handiwork…
As Holmes had promised Gregson, they arrived at the Yard within the hour. Holmes swept imperiously through the building, barely glancing at Gregson as the Inspector stepped out of his office to greet them.
"Glad you could make it, Mr Holmes," the Inspector greeted him, "Dr. Watson."
He tipped his head politely, and Watson returned the gesture.
"You know the direction to the morgue by now," Gregson commented, even as Holmes led the way, "I know you've both seen some sights, but I warn you – this one's nasty."
"And you say witnesses heard a dog," Holmes replied, ignoring the warning, "did anyone see the alleged hound?"
"No-one, Mr Holmes – it had run off before anyone found the body. But a couple of my lads did see paw-prints in the mud around the body – they were huge, a good six or seven inches across the pad-print."
"Why was I not summoned to the scene? No doubt your men have destroyed all of the evidence!"
"Well, for one thing, we were arresting Cartwright and Reamer at the time," Gregson shot back, dryly, "and for another, the scene was ruined before I could get there – the landlord of the local pub decided to wash the blood away with a sluice bucket of water, before my lads could stop him."
"Then we shall have to glean what little we can from the body," Holmes said, all the time not looking at Gregson, "Inspector, please wait out here – come, Watson, we shall work better unfettered by an audience!"
Gregson scowled, but acquiesced. It was unusual for Holmes to not want an audience, but then, Gregson had no desire to see that ravaged body once more. Moments later he was joined by a very unhappy pathologist, who did not appreciate being thrown out of his own lab by an "arrogant amateur". Gregson commiserated with the man, and sent him off on a tea break. He just hoped Holmes would let him in on the act in time for him to report to his superiors…
Having peremptorily dismissed the pathologist, Holmes crossed over to the table that held the corpse of the supposed 'dog attack'. Despite the presence of several bodies, this one was easy to spot – the white cotton sheet that covered the corpse was stained heavily with blood. Holmes walked around the table slowly, and then, reaching out, without hesitation he snatched back the sheet.
For one long moment, he had a hard time associating the bloody mess in front of him with a human body. Then, his analytical mind took over and he leaned forwards over the sorry state in front of him, though he was barely able to distinguish the man's features.
"Your first impressions, Watson?"
The doctor leaned in as well, and inhaled deeply through his nose.
"He's been dead for about seven hours – which corresponds with Gregson's account that the attack took place while we were arresting the house-breakers," Watson murmured, keeping his voice low, well aware that Gregson was trying to listen through the door, "He was terrified at the time he died – I can smell the hormones on him. Quite rightly, too – he was attacked by a werewolf, for sure."
"There are traces of canine hair on the body," Holmes reported, using a pair of tweezers to collect a sample, "look at the bite marks on the bones of his forearm and ribs! Can the teeth of a wolf really do this sort of damage, Watson?"
"Oh, yes," Watson replied, distantly, still sniffing carefully, "Holmes, I don't recognise the smell of this wolf – it is not Hemmingway… and I have heard no others call in the night. Whoever did this, he wishes to remain anonymous."
"He?"
"It is definitely a male wolf," Watson leaned in further and sniffed again, apparently unaffected by the smell of blood, flesh and bile, "he was extremely hungry, whoever he was – most of the internal organs and a good deal of flesh has been consumed…"
"Would you recognise his human aspect?"
"Oh, yes – our scents actually change very little when we change shape," Watson answered, straightening up, "The change is… well, indescribable, really. Holmes, from the size of the paw prints and the teeth marks on the bones, this wolf is a great deal bigger than I am. If he has come to claim London as territory… well, I doubt Hemmingway and I could stand up to a beast this size."
"A worrying thought," Holmes commented, as he visually examined the torn clothes of the luckless victim, "He is indeed a vagrant; the mud on his boots and trousers indicates that he lived near the docks. He worked casually on the boats, and spent a lot of time begging; note the damage to his left knee; he was incapable of walking or working for any length of time. He was a cripple. He was left-handed, and smoked dog-ends of various brands. There are several stubs in his pockets. He had not eaten for some time before his death."
"Agreed," Watson replied, straightening up, "There's not much left to autopsy. I suggest we tell Gregson he is looking for an extremely large hound, much larger than the one he saw last night. He will not find it, but it will keep him occupied…"
"I concur," Holmes nodded, finally pulling the sheet back over the body, "let us hope that this new wolf in the city will be moving on swiftly – a spate of killings and a territorial battle is the last thing we need."
Holmes pushed open the door with a dramatic flair, causing Gregson to leap back in surprise, narrowly avoiding a nasty concussion from the door. Holmes fixed him with an imperious gaze.
"Inspector! Your killer is indeed of the canine variety; I deduce this from the hairs, teeth and claw marks upon the victims' body. However! The hound that you are looking for is much bigger than the one you saw accompanying me last night. I suggest that you employ an experienced dog-catcher, and contact the London Zoo to see if they have any escaped animals – I doubt very much that this creature is a domestic pet. Check also with the boat captains at the docks near where the body was found – it is possible that the animal had come from one of their vessels, either as escaped cargo or an unexpected passenger."
"Err… yes, of course, Mr Holmes," Gregson was already scribbling notes, "We're already checking door to door in the area for eyewitnesses – anything you can tell me about the victim that we, uh, might not have established yet?"
"You mean that you missed for yourself," Holmes corrected him, lightly, "yes, of course – he was left-handed, a cripple, a beggar and part-time dock-hand, when his injuries permitted him to work. He was probably an ex-soldier, given the nature of his old wounds. He spent a great deal of time lying or sitting on the streets by the docks. He was starving, and a heavy smoker. He will no doubt be known to many of the dock-hands and prostitutes on the harbour front. He was unfortunate as he could not run from whatever attacked him."
"Thank you," Gregson nodded, as the pathologist reappeared, "would you be interested in a copy of the pathology report?"
"Have it sent over to me," Holmes nodded, "but I doubt I shall work this case – I specialise in human behaviour, not canine. Send for the dog-catchers, Gregson, not the world's only consulting detective!"
Holmes threw the last comment over his shoulder as he breezed down the corridor, with Watson in tow. They stepped outside into the misty sunshine, and Holmes flagged down a passing cab. They stepped aboard and sat side by side, as Watson tapped his cane on the roof to signal to the cabbie to walk on.
"I do not like this, Holmes," the doctor said, at last, as the cab rattled down the street, through traffic, "We have only just realised the existence of werewolves – and vampires – and here another appears in London!"
"The full moon is yet two weeks away," Holmes reminded him, "if we can locate and perhaps reason with this new lycanthrope, we may avoid further bloodshed."
"I hope so," Watson nodded, "even in a full moon transformation I doubt that I would be a match for such a creature, if the impressions of his scent and his teeth are anything to go by!"
"Given that he has not announced himself to the local wolf population, I suspect that this individual merely wishes to pass through London unnoticed," Holmes said, "he had no way to know that his kill would be investigated by one of those local wolves! No doubt many such kills are passed off as the work of a vicious dog or an escaped zoo animal…"
"Nonetheless," Watson said, quietly, "We should be on our guard. Should I warn Hemmingway? I could call to him, tonight…"
"Best not to," Holmes cautioned him, "I have no desire for you to reveal your presence to this new wolf – I would hate for him to come looking for you."
"I would not place you and Mrs Hudson in such danger," Watson replied, with a nod, "I shall, perhaps, send Hemmingway a private letter… though he often ignores my correspondence, I feel obliged to warn him, even if he does see me as an interloper in his territory!"
"Old fool," Holmes agreed, without rancour, "very well, Watson – as you must. But please! Be careful when you are out and about…"
"As should you, Holmes… As should you."
Forgive me, Watson. You have a strong heart and an iron will, and you have never harmed anyone except in defence of yourself or another, and even then only when no other escape presented itself.
I should never have doubted you.
