Blessed Insurance

Chapter Two: You're In Good Hands

How soon Holmes lack of doubt was to be justified, neither of us could possibly have known. Though for perhaps the first time in our acquaintance, I should have been delighted to witness him proven wrong. Yet it was not to be.

No more than a fortnight had passed before my friend was at last presented with a much coveted case. One which even he himself credited with the means by which to test his mettle. It was a most fascinating business involving a rather high name in England and idiomatic bride. But I shall hold back the details for another time and place.

One dreary afternoon found me alone in Baker Street, Holmes having left some hours ago to follow up on a clue. I just completed my luncheon and settled down in my armchair with a new yellow-backed novel that had appeared to be of some interest. Unfortunately, the book turned out to be rather slow reading and I must've drifted off for I was awakened some time later by the slamming of the front door. Assuming it to be Holmes, I made no move to rise, but upon the banging open of the sitting room door I was on my feet in an instant.

"Why Dr Watson, what on earth are you doing in your robe? It's practically the middle of the day!"

It was not Holmes. I fear that I failed to entirely bridle my temper at the sight of the man before me. Perfectly pressed suit, ridiculously clean spats, impeccable hair and a disgustingly large, American smile. "I'm afraid Mr Holmes is not in just now, Mr Smooth, perhaps you'd care to return at another time…" I invited through involuntarily clenched teeth.

He sailed into the room as if I were the mid-day intruder, not he, sitting himself down in Holmes' own chair. "No, no Doctor, that's just fine…fine and dandy, I thank you. But it wasn't really Sherlock Holmes that I came to see, oh no sir." He said, offering me my own seat across from him. I remained where I was in an attempt to maintain an offensive stance.

"Oh?"

"No sir, not a bit. It's actually you I came to visit today, Doctor."

I said nothing, not trusting my tongue to prove civil. Smooth gave me a sudden shamefaced look and reached into his breast pocket.

"I'm sorry to say I sort of 'pinched' your pen when I was here before…terrible mistake."

The very instant he withdrew my nib from his coat pocket I snatched it from his grasp, quick to check it for fresh scratches. "A terrible mistake indeed, Mr Smooth. I must say I'd considered pressing charges against you for the theft…but Holmes insisted otherwise." I admitted, replacing the pen in its stand.

Smooth put a hand over his heart in a most melodramatic gesture. "How good, how very good of Mr Holmes! I knew from the start he was treasure! A real treasure, sir! You're a lucky man, Dr Watson to call him friend, a lucky man to be sure."

I ignored his outlandish talk and attempted to steer the conversation towards his departure. "Yes well…I thank you for returning my pen and-"

"Oh no Doctor! Offer me no thanks I beg you! Such praises would only cause the guilt upon me to spread like flames in a cornfield! To think that I, a supposed helper of men, a benefactor if you will, to think that I could stoop so low as to…no! I can't say it. It is painful to even think of it. Let's just allow bygones to pass us by and continue our friendship as it were."

I must confess I was somewhat taken aback by his over-stressed remorse. "I wouldn't say it was as bad as all that, Mr Smooth. A simple, understandable mistake. No need to speak on it further."

He practically leapt forward in his chair and grasped my hand with a fervour that gave me quite a start.

"How kind, how inestimably good-hearted of you, Dr Watson! I will never till I perish forget your humanity. You, in all probability spent a sleepless night, pacing to and fro in your boudoir, wondering to whence your best pen had vanished, and here you forgive me as if it twere nothing a' tall. You must love it a great deal, Doctor."

I was now growing desperate. "It's a fine pen to be sure. Haven't you some-"

"No doubt! Took up with passion to set down the greatest literatures of our day! Why, its chills me to think of it. I'll bet my life it's etched any number of cataclysmic events! From the death toll of a murders' knife, to the proper prescription for the cold of a babe-in-arms. No doubt you've seen a great many things in your professions, Doctor, a great many. Tell me, no appointments today? All is well in the thriving metropolis?"

His quick change of topic quite threw me. I'd been so lost in my own thoughts of how I could be rid of this incommodious nuisance I'd hardly noticed when he stopped for breath. "Why I…er, no that is to say, this is my day off."

Smooth slapped his hand down upon the perfect crease of his trousers. "And you deserve it, Doctor, you truly do. Toiling day after night, scraping up a bare living in such a worthy profession. It's a pure wonder they haven't bishoped you yet, really!"

I blinked once or twice in an attempt to piece together his prattle. "Would you happen to mean...knighted, Mr Smooth?"

"And that too! But however do you do it, Dr Watson? Helping all those men, women and little folk, and getting next to nothing thanks? Sure they offer a mere pittance but honestly, between gentlemen and friends such as ourselves, for I do fondly hope that is what we've become, between us, all must admit that the work itself is not booming."

I shifted rather uncomfortably, wondering when in blazes Holmes would be returning. "I suppose it's not the most affluent of practices, but I do fairly well."

"No doubt, Doctor! No doubt! But how tiring, how utterly flabbergasting it must be! To work night and day for the people! No doubt you get quite a few cases that aren't even worth your inestimable time! Such nonsense, I tell you. It's a wonder anyone bothers to practice medicine anymore. Tell me, Dr Watson, do you get many of those?"

I took my seat with a sudden resignation. "Many of 'whats', Mr Smooth? I'm afraid I have no idea what you mean."

Smooth shook his head slowly, clicking his tongue in almost a reprimanding manner. "Poor poor Doctor. So wearied he can scarcely remain on the lookout. Tis a pity!"

"I beg-"

"Oh please don't, Doctor! Truly not necessary, I assure you. But what I meant was, do you have many folk who, by no fault of yours naturally, who come to you and can't be helped? Those sort of folk who not even the angel Gabriel himself could satisfy?"

"Well, I suppose it's impossible to please everyone. There have been a few such patients. Most were never ill at the outset." I admitted casually.

"Precisely! They take advantage of you, Dr Watson! It's disgraceful!"

The fellow suddenly leapt from his chair and began to pace around the room quite viciously. "Distasteful! Dishonourable! Quite bad."

"Well, it's the mark of the profession, sir. No work is without its deficiencies."

"A good mind to take, Doctor! A very good true-blue way of thinking! But see here, sir, you may have to stand for such disannulling behaviour, but I, sir, do not."

"That's very fortunate for you, Mr Smooth. But if you'll excuse me, I'm afraid-"

"Oh no, Dr Watson!" The man stopped immediately in front of me and threw his hands into the air. "You need not seek excuses! Never! For I am prepared to be your, your guide, if you will, your alleviator. I am here, today, this moment to help you through these desperate times. When all hope seems lost and the publics' demands weigh so upon one that one feels flattened, I shall act your helping hand."

Somehow I knew what was to follow. I started to stop him but it was far too late. Out flashed the legal document of impossible breadth and up came my same pen from the desk.

"Here have I your salvation!" The madman shouted, rattling the beakers across the room. "This Professional Liability Coverage with a blanketed Stop Loss program will guarantee your nights no longer sleepless!"

I rose from my chair. "Mr Smooth."

"It provides extensive coverage for employment lawsuits, discrimination complaints-"

I took a step forward. "Mr Smooth."

"Modification expenses, locum tenens coverage-"

I took yet another step. "Mr Smooth."

"But it is not for everyone! And no signature should be stretched across paper with pen and ink unless great thought and deliberation has been taken. This, I can clearly see is what you should like to do, Dr Watson. Have no fear! I shall return, perhaps tomorrow? Yes! And hand over this immeasurable coverage to you then!"

Smooth had managed to back his way to the door and had opened it before I blocked his way. "Oh no you don't, Mr Septimus Z. Smooth! You're not making off with my pen a second time! Once bitten twice shy!"

He gave me a look of utter innocence. "I've not bitten you, my good man. And neither have I the pen of your hearts desire. I left it over there upon your desk. To be sure, it would pain me beyond words to make the same mistake a-"

I jumped ahead of him, just blocking the stairs as he again attempted to escape. "It's it your breast pocket once more and don't you try to deny it! You give it back at once or I shall press charges no matter what Holmes says!"

He held his hands up in yet another mock display of blamelessness. "You may search me, Doctor! Upon my word I've not touched your precious writing utensil!"

I took him up on his offer, I fear, and somewhat viciously took hold of his coat with every intention of searching him head to toe. By an entirely unknown intention, I somehow pulled the fellow off his feet, tripping him up quite effectively and sending us both tumbling head-long down the seventeen steps leading to my flat. In an act of desperation I managed to catch hold of the railing and stopped myself from striking bottom. My irascible guest was not so fortunate.

Checking for injuries but finding nothing more than a bruise or two, I made my way to the landing where Mr Smooth lay face-down and unmoving.

"Mr Smooth? Can you hear me?" I called, a sudden thrill of fear evident in my voice. If he was hurt badly the entire ordeal could become quite disastrous. The man would have every right to take me to task lawfully in the matter. Providing that he still had the presence of mind to do so. I gently turned him over to find a rather nasty looking gash across his forehead. "Dear Lord.." I breathed. His pulse was steady, his pupils were not dilated, in fact, he seemed in good health aside from the unconsciousness. I quickly rifled his pockets in search of some sort of contact information. Perhaps if I could get him home-

I stopped cold at what I felt just inside the inner pocket of his coat. My pen. If the man had not already been unconscious I should have promptly sent him thus. Though what exactly was stuck to the grip confused me to no end. It was a rather small, oblong shaping casing of some sort. Red in colouring and for some reason vaguely familiar…I'd seen one of these before, yet could not quite place it. Holmes had one I was sure, he used it for disguises sometimes…I remembered.

"Smooth?" I called once more, this time with somewhat of an edge to my voice. The ghastly fellow jumped to his feet so quickly that I was very nearly bowled over.

"You see there, Doctor!" He cried, wiping the fake blood from his forehead. "One never knows when one might need such assistance as I wish to provide! Why, what if I'd been dead or worse? Then what? Can you not see it? The shock? The horror? Poor Mr Sherlock Holmes deprived of his dearest friend simple because said dearest friend had no helping hand whence he needed it so badly. Terrible, truly."

By this time I'd lost all vestiges of my temper and what remained of my sanity was quickly following. "Mr Smooth…I may still need that coverage after all-" I took two steps and he ran for his life; out the door and down the street shouting his thanks for my valuable time all the way. I returned to the sitting room in a much more amiable mood than I'd left it. Sherlock Holmes returned shortly after and I informed him of my days' activities, to which his responded with unnecessary jocularity.

"I really don't see what you find so humorous, Holmes."

"I am sorry, my dear fellow. I don't mean to make light of your trials, but even you must admit to the ludicrousness of the entire situation." He said whilst making a futile attempt to stifle his laughter.

"It could have been quite disastrous! Why, if that man had pushed me any farther I might've, I might've killed him!"

"Oh no, Watson." He waved me off. "I dare say you have more self control than that. Perhaps you might've…lessened his tendency to be quite so…buoyant. But I sincerely doubt you'd have done him any real harm."

"I do hope you're correct."

"I'm sure that I am. Now, ring for luncheon would you? I've discovered quite an appetite."

I did as he asked and set myself at the table. To my perplexity my friend rose instead of joining me began to rifle through his numerous papers upon the mantle. "Holmes, what the devil are you looking for?"

"Did you take this mornings' mail, Watson?"

"Haven't touched it. Are you missing something?" I asked, moving to help him look for whatever it was.

"There was a telegram from Mycroft, something about my last-" He stopped suddenly with a sigh.

"What is it?"

"Watson, how long was your Mr Smooth in these rooms?"

"No more than an hour, why? What does….you don't think he…?"

Holmes gave me a silent nod.

"You'd better warn him!" I said, grabbing both our coats and hats.

"Mycroft or Septimus Z. Smooth?"

"Both!"

My word, this could be interesting! Haha I don't know why I thought of Mycroft as a potential victim but here we go. Anyone have any better ideas?? Or ideas for the future? Mr Smooth is glad to oblige! J Please let me know what you think, should I continue, etc. Thanks for reading!