Open up and let me in

I was lucky to live, don't need to win

Forgave myself and that's a sin

It's not enough you'd even know it

You did right to call my bluff

'Cause I won't say when I've had enough

And I worked so hard to need this stuff

And you tried so long to just ignore it

Won't you come down where I am

Words are hidden, understand

~Toad the Wet Sprocket: Come Down

Chapter One

Through the open sitting room door, Watson could hear the motherly tirade with which Mrs. Hudson was currently gracing Holmes. Carefully negotiating the stairs with his cane, he hoped Holmes would be ready to provide some desperately needed distraction this morning with his current case. He stifled a grin behind a yawn as he reached the sitting room door. He had heard for himself Holmes' constant shuffling the night before throughout the sitting room and could easily picture what kind of state it was in at this point. Not surprisingly, the weather and his dark thoughts had kept him up for most of the night himself. Having skipped coming down for dinner the night before, his stomach had less than politely informed him shortly after sunrise that breakfast was not an option, but a requirement.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," Watson called cheerfully, as she had failed to notice his presence.

Her hands still on her hips, she turned her glaring dark eyes to her other, less troublesome tenant. Though she knew it wasn't fair to him, her mood upon seeing the state of the sitting room had left her in no frame of mind for pleasantries. Mrs. Hudson was about to give the doctor a piece of her mind when she caught sight of the dark rings under the poor man's eyes and hesitated. Eyeing him more closely, her anger dropped completely in the face of her concern.

"Good morning, Doctor. Are you feeling quite well?"

Watson smiled widely. "It is nothing that some of your excellent food and coffee won't cure, as always."

Though her cheeks flushed with something other than anger this time, she couldn't prevent a humph in response. "Flatterer. Well, at least someone around here appreciates my cooking," she tossed over her shoulder at Holmes.

Still smiling widely, Watson stepped aside to let her pass through the door. "It's not mere flattery when it's the truth."

Patting him on the arm warmly as she passed, Mrs. Hudson headed back down toward the kitchen. Watson resumed his careful trek around the mess of papers and other detrius of the night's work. Hanging his cane on the back of the chair at the breakfast table, he gratefully eased his aching leg forward until he felt the muscles begin to relax once more. Holmes, still pacing the sitting room puffing away on his pipe excitedly, threw a dark glare at his flatmate that Watson only returned with an amused, somewhat cocky expression. This was by no means the first time Watson had so very easily soothed their landlady's ruffled feathers.

It was a source of great amusement between them that for all of Holmes' charm when it came to treating his clients, Watson still possessed the greater talent in dealing with Mrs. Hudson. Of course, it probably helped that she had a soft spot for the poor veteran. They had established this routine in their earliest days during the social dance of getting to know one another's strengths and weaknesses. Eyeing Watson now through the haze of smoke that filled the sitting room, Holmes was not fooled. That too-cheerful attitude at this time of the morning meant the man had likely been up all night and really was in no mood for conflict. Watson may be a lot of things, but a cheerful morning person he was not.

Holmes kept his peace until Watson had poured himself a cup of coffee and was sipping it tentatively while eyeing the mess all around him with a frown. By now he was well used to the routine, but that didn't mean he particularly cared for this part of their partnership. He would be all day in cleaning up this mess. He watched his flatmate's restless pacing back and forth through the only cleared section of the sitting room floor for several minutes as he tried to give his sluggish mind time to assemble itself into something approaching orderly thought. One of the things he appreciated the most about his rather eccentric flatmate, was the fact that he learned quickly that Watson was not the best morning companion until after his first cup of coffee.

Almost as if he had been waiting for Watson to pour his second cup, Holmes plopped himself down in the table's other chair. Seeing the excitement in those gray eyes, Watson knew dragging this out would only be a sort of torment to the man. Giving in, he sighed silently to himself, resigned to forgoing the usual first cup in peace.

"New case?" he asked the obvious.

All but bouncing in his seat, Holmes quickly filled him in on the details of the case involving a ring and its missing partner. The possessor of this ring had been seeking its mate for some time. It was the kind of story of broken family and love that appealed to Watson's romantic nature. The tragic tale of a family torn apart by greed and secrets had him enthralled. He had almost forgotten his cup of coffee and even breakfast by the time Mrs. Hudson reappeared bearing a breakfast tray. Holmes held off the rest of his story until Watson had begun to dig into his eggs with relish that spoke of the previous day's lack of appetite.

Feeling much more himself, Watson finished his breakfast as Holmes concluded the tale of how this gentleman had at last found his cousin in possession of the ring right here in London. Only days later she had been murdered and the other ring she had been wearing was stolen. The man was convinced this had something to do with one of the family's darker secrets. He wanted the murderer brought to justice and the whole ugly affair set behind him forever.

Taking their conversation over to the fire, Holmes outlined all he had learned through his night of research. Watson sighed with thinly concealed relief as the warmth of the fire began to seep into the aching leg and shoulder. The weather outside was still such that he did not feel like traversing the streets of London without a very good reason.

"So you already suspect someone?" Watson asked, casually.

"Of course, I've already drawn my conclusions. A couple of little inquiries in the right areas should prove my hypothesis correct," Holmes tossed back flippantly, relighting his pipe. "If you would care to join me, this should prove a most interesting and enlightening afternoon."

Concealing a sigh of disappointment, Watson nodded eagerly. He really did not relish the idea of an afternoon spent in the chilly rain, but there were few things he enjoyed more than watching his flatmate work. And, it was a source of no little pride to him that on rare occasions he could even prove of some use to Holmes in his investigations. He hoped it would be enough of a distraction for him today to put the events of the day before behind him. It still nagged at the back of his mind, stirring dark shadows he still did not feel like confronting. There would be time enough for that later in the days to come.

"Are you listening, Watson?" Holmes asked with some irritation, his dark brows furrowing.

Watson felt his cheeks color slightly. He hadn't realized he had let his thoughts drift so far. "I'm sorry, Holmes. I was...distracted."

Holmes waved impatiently as he rose from his chair to resume the perusal of some nearby papers. "Nevermind that, for now," he said vaguely, tossing more papers aside and rising from his chair.

Watson sensed this statement was directed more toward the thoughts that had been on his mind only moments before rather than the case discussion. Holmes had taught him time and again that there was nothing he could hide from the man. To Holmes he was an open book. His flush grew only deeper as he realized with some guilt he had been deliberately attempting to withhold the information from his flatmate. It really wasn't fair to Holmes, and they would have to discuss the situation sooner or later. But, for now, Holmes seemed wrapped up enough in his case that he hoped to put it off for a little while longer. The situation wasn't serious, yet. But it would be before too much longer. Checking another sigh, he attempted to focus his mind on the tasks that lay before them today.

~o~o~o~

Shivering and miserable, Watson limped along behind Holmes as they headed once more back in the direction of Baker Street. Soaked to the skin at this point, he had given up trying to keep pace with Holmes as his leg and shoulder cursed him painfully for daring to even consider the idea of trying to keep up with the detective. Their afternoon had not been the most productive. Holmes' theories and attempts to test those theories had left them all but empty-handed. As evening was swiftly approaching, Holmes now strode several paces ahead growling darkly to himself and muttering imprecations regarding the bungling fools with which he seemed to surround himself.

For his own part in the day's work, Watson had been left feeling worse than useless. At one point Holmes had set him to providing a distraction in a jewelry store while he slipped behind the counter for some information regarding recent receipts. The combination of unaccustomed exercise and foul weather had left him a little clumsy and off balance. The nearly invisible puddle of water on the already slick floor had not helped matters. The resultant crash of a display of watches had definitely provided a distraction for the shopkeeper, but not one that had served their purposes. As a matter of fact, it had earned them a swift removal from the premises.

Now, as they turned their feet toward home they were left walking as not a single cab could be found that was not already occupied. Wrapped up in his own thoughts, Holmes failed to notice Watson falling farther and farther behind until he was nearly half a block ahead of the limping man. Muttering darkly, he waited impatiently until the slower man could catch up. Watson had paled considerably and looked downright miserable. Given how Holmes' day had already progressed, this came as no surprise to him. Nor was he feeling particularly compassionate after his flatmate's failed attempts at usefulness. He only waited for the man to catch up so he could continue his snarling tirade.

Watson listened with less than half an ear. Right now it was all he could do to keep his mind focused on returning to the warmth and comfort of their rooms. A fresh, dry change of clothes and a seat beside the fire sounded divine. But he doubted it would do much to improve his mood. He let Holmes' angry words wash over him and be swept away in the steady patter of the rain. Finally, after what seemed like hours, they reached their front door. Watson waited for Holmes to fumble his way through unlocking the door with his cold hands. Even as they were shedding themselves of their coats, Mrs. Hudson stalked in fuming over the puddles of water they left in their wake. By this point Watson himself wasn't in any mood to deal with her. He muttered an insincere apology and quietly began his slow trek up the stairs towards his own bedroom.

By the time he had managed to change into something that wasn't dripping all over the floor, he wasn't entirely sure he was in any condition to negotiate the trek back down the stairs. Still shivering, though, he knew he would find no relief until he had at least warmed himself by the fire for a time. The very idea of a hot cup of tea was enough to motivate him into reaching for his cane once more. His left leg trembled threatening to collapse as he finally reached the landing and took the final few steps toward the sitting room door. Forcing his leg to comply, he opened the sitting room door to find it in surprisingly tidy condition. Of course, that meant Holmes was now tearing it apart to undo Mrs. Hudson's work.

"Holmes?" Watson queried gently, casually leaning on the door frame, hoping to conceal his trembling leg before it betrayed him completely.

"What?" Holmes snapped, not bothering to look up.

"Is there something I can help you locate? Or would you prefer to continue testing Mrs. Hudson's patience?"

Glaring balefully, Holmes threw down the stack of papers he had been perusing to take up his stack of posts and telegrams. "We will be having a guest shortly."

Nodding, Watson carefully made his way over to the fire, not bothering to leave his cane beside the door as he knew he would likely be needing it in his current condition. He waited patiently for Holmes to fill him in as he seated himself. Moments later Mrs. Hudson arrived with a tray of tea that had him cursing his leg silently. Thanking her, he eyed the tray on the table longingly. Resigning himself to the situation, he heaved himself out of his chair shuffling impatiently across the room. Once there, he sat himself down long enough to prepare a cup of tea. Now settled, but further away, he chose the tea over the fire. Besides, shuffling back across the room just meant having to dance around Holmes who was busy pacing the sitting room engrossed in whatever it was he was reading. He had paid about as much attention to Watson's dodging in the first trek across the room as he would the furniture. A second such attempt would likely end in an encounter that could be both painful and embarrassing.

For a moment Watson watched his flatmate's agitated pacing as he sipped some of Mrs. Hudson's finest tea. He felt the warming comfort of it soothing his rather taut nerves as he stretched out his rebellious leg. Relaxing into something approaching contentment, he waited for Holmes to either continue his tirade or at least enlighten him as to who this visitor was supposed to be, and when they would arrive.

This latter question was answered only moments later when the ringing of the doorbell announced the arrival of this visitor. Holmes excitedly shoved all of his papers out of the way to make room for the man to be seated on the settee when Mrs. Hudson had shown him up. Rather than changing locations, Watson simply scooted his chair closer for the discussion. Something in the man's demeanor spoke of tension that had once again set his nerves on edge. Holmes, however, was grinning from ear to ear with a mischievousness that had Watson more than a little curious.

"Firstly, I wanted to thank you for your prompt response, Mr. Blessington," Holmes started, as he seated himself. "There were a few questions I would like to ask you in regards to a Mrs. Rachel Edwards."

The man instantly tensed up. "I'm afraid you must have me mistaken. I am not familiar with such a lady."

Holmes smiled knowingly. Producing a ring from his pocket, he held it up with a flourish. "I believe this little piece should also be familiar to you, Mr. Blessington."

The man scowled darkly and refused to answer as he sat back into the settee as if wanting to distance himself from the object. A moment later Watson had to scramble to catch the ring as Holmes flipped it to him for his own inspection. "Let us not waste our time here, sir. We both know you are acquainted with Mrs. Edwards, as I have here the ring you were concealing in your jacket pocket—"

Even as Holmes spoke, he held up the twin of the ring Watson now held. Before he had a chance to finish this statement, however, the man reacted with a violence that startled both of them. He launched himself from the settee grabbing at Holmes' upraised hand. Watson shoved the ring into his pocket as he swiftly rose to his feet. Holmes, though obviously not expecting this sudden and violent reaction, had managed to flip himself backward out of the chair using the man's chest as a kicking point. The larger man hesitated only long enough to realize Holmes was out of his reach before grabbing up the chair itself.

Watson hefted his cane in both hands, prepared to distract the man at least long enough for Holmes to escape the narrow corner between desks where he was trapped. The man swung the chair with a roar sending it flying out through the sitting room windows as Holmes managed to duck between the man's legs. Seeing an opportunity, Watson stepped forward to swing his cane viciously at the man's back. Unfortunately, his already overused leg chose that moment to betray him. Already off balance, Watson practically fell atop the man. Before he had a chance to recover, he found himself flying bodily back in the direction from which he came.

The impact with the dining table and chairs left him stunned for a moment. Holmes, only just managing to recover himself on the far side of the room was not able to prevent the man from reaching the sitting room door. In a berserk rage, the man pounded down the stairs toward the foyer, Holmes just behind him. Ignoring the cries of protest from various areas of his body, Watson gripped his cane and disentangled himself from the mess of overturned furniture.

Mrs. Hudson's scream greeted him as he began his descent. Looking up, he found Mrs. Hudson being held up against Mr. Blessington with a burly arm around her throat. Holmes was facing them with his back to Watson as if trying to find a way to attack that would not further endanger their landlady. Like a coiled serpent waiting to strike, he shifted from foot to foot. The man snarled and raged curses at Holmes as he backed up toward the door. Using his free hand, he turned the knob behind him.

"Let her go," Holmes growled threateningly.

With a malevolent grin, the man carefully opened the door. Watson was helpless to do anything as he carefully tried to force his limbs to comply while he negotiated the stairs. Mrs. Hudson let out a terrifying scream as the man shifted his grip to her waist and then threw her bodily at Holmes. Distracted by these goings on, Watson failed to notice the warning signs as his leg again betrayed him folding beneath him on the last few stairs. Even as Holmes caught Mrs. Hudson, Watson impacted him from behind. All three of them went down in a tangled heap at the bottom of the stairs as Mr. Blessington escaped into the night.

Ignoring his own pain, Watson attempted to lift himself off of Holmes when he was shoved away roughly. His already aching shoulder stabbed mercilessly as it impacted the stair behind him. Of course, Holmes was no less gentle with the nearly hysterical Mrs. Hudson. Watson shifted over to her taking her into his arms in an attempt to soothe her and assess any injuries. The trembling woman sobbed loudly into his throbbing shoulder while Holmes blistered the air just outside their door for a moment at the loss of his suspect.

"Are you hurt?" Watson finally asked more firmly, when Mrs. Hudson refused to answer.

The trembling woman hesitated only long enough to take in his question and Holmes snarling voice. A second later Watson found himself again being shoved away to land on his back on the foyer floor as Mrs. Hudson jumped to her feet screaming.

"I've had enough! Get out! Both of you! Get out of my house!"

As if only now realizing the danger, Holmes raised his hands placatingly toward the now irate woman. This, at least, bought enough time for Watson to use a combination of his cane and the stairs to regain his feet.

"Mrs. Hudson—"

"No! No more from you!" Mrs. Hudson cut him off with a shove toward the door. "You destroy my house and let these—these—"

"Mrs. Hudson, I'm terribly sorry. It wasn't his fault," Watson attempted to cut in.

"Get out!"

Somewhat dazed and more than a little surprised at this sudden turn of events, Holmes and Watson found themselves standing outside the door as Mrs. Hudson slammed it in their faces and locked it with a resounding click.