What We Have to Fear


Need I say again that I do not own them?

May 3, 1899

1:00 am.

As I heard those words from the Scotland Yard official, my entire mind suddenly froze, as if suspended in time. I collapsed, limp as a rag, into the closest chair.

Moran, loose in London? No! No, no, no! Why he? Why was he not kept in maximum security! How could he have escaped! No!

It took none of my famed deductions to perceive why he had escaped.

And why he had chosen this time of year to do so. The nine-year anniversary of Reichenbach, the five-year of Moran's arrest.

My frozen mind went racing back to a tiny path above a raging waterfall. Once again I saw the inexorable purpose in Professor Moriarty's eyes as I negotiated the bargain of my life with my greatest enemy.

Watson's life for Moran's freedom, my friend's safety for his lieutenant's liberty, contingent upon my never returning to London if I survived the death-duel with Moriarty. Such high stakes!

I had been doomed to wander the far reaches of the earth as a fugitive because of that bargain. I had broken the agreement upon my return to London – for the purpose of putting that vicious tiger into a cage for good. I had done so.

But now the tiger was loose upon an unsuspecting city. Upon me. Upon Watson.

And it was that last thought that turned my stomach, and I felt absolutely ill.

Watson had by pure accident learnt last winter of the terrible facts surrounding the Moriarty case – how I had bargained, begged, and even fled the country with him to try to protect him from Moriarty's intentions.

Moran, the Professor's Chief of Staff, knew of course what his master had realized – that the most painful revenge they could wreak upon me would be to do harm to the one man in the world I could actually say I loved, outside of Mycroft. And for that matter, Watson had truly shown himself 'a friend that sticketh closer than a brother,' and Mycroft I believe was fine with the fact.

And now I knew that Moran was coming, not after me, but after Watson. And that thought was turning me sick and cold with absolute, undisguised fear.

"Mr. Holmes? Are you all right, sir?" I heard Lestrade ask, breaking into my morbid thoughts.

I jumped in surprise, and looked at the man. He was seated beside Watson, and I suppose he had been telling him of the circumstances surrounding Moran's escape.

"Yes, Inspector. Pray continue," I said mechanically, not really caring what he had been talking about. What did it matter how he had escaped? The only important thing was that he had.

I saw out of the corner of my eye, Watson fixing me with one of those long looks that made me feel as if I were not, indeed, as good at burying all feelings as I thought. But thankfully, he said nothing and turned his attention back to Lestrade.

I vaguely became aware, a moment later, that Lestrade and Watson had stopped talking, but all I could think about as I stared at the wall was the look of absolute hatred on Moran's face upon his arrest in '94. And his words, uttered with a ferocity that was almost unnatural, kept replaying in my mind like some hideous recording.

'I should have killed both of you when I had the chance, Professor's orders or no Professor's orders! I shall repay my debt someday, you may be sure of it, Holmes! And in the way the Professor originally intended to!' (A/N: See my story A Man's Home)

'In the way the Professor originally intended to. The way the Professor originally intended to.' He was coming after Watson – that was what Moriarty had tried to do in '91 to make me drop the case.

'I shall repay my debt someday, you may be sure of it, Holmes! And in the way the Professor originally intend –'

That voice playing over and over in my head was suddenly interrupted by the Scotland Yarder, who was holding out to me a glass of brandy. Realizing I needed it, I downed it in one sitting.

I was vaguely aware of Watson's raised eyebrows behind Lestrade, as the policeman turned to look at him. Watson said something I could not hear, and then Lestrade turned back to me.

"Mr. Holmes, I should like to place a guard round this house, by your leave," he said firmly.

"No." My response was final, in a tone I hoped left no room for argument. I knew only too well what Moran was capable of, and I could never allow more people to suffer for what he wanted to do.

"Without your leave, then."

Startled by the man's impertinence, I looked at him. "No, Lestrade. This man is on a personal vendetta now. He will stop at nothing, and no one who gets in his way will be safe."

Lestrade spluttered. "That's exactly why I want a guard on this house!"

"Besides," I pointed out, knowing full well the machinery in the force, "I cannot see the superintendent justifying such an action."

Lestrade freely admitted that the man would not authorize a guard, and I thought the matter would drop. But then he told us that he and Gregson were compiling a list of names of men who were willing to take a shift to keep watch over us in their off hours.

I was stunned at the news that these officials, whom I took every chance I got to tweak and poke fun at, were willing to go to such lengths to keep Watson and me safe.

My face must have betrayed the odd emotions I was feeling, for Watson cleared his throat and helpfully broke the uncomfortable silence.

His remark about criminal escapes making Lestrade and Gregson work together was a quite welcome bit of comic relief that I badly needed just then. I wonder if he really understands me that much, to know when to diffuse my tension and draw me back gently to reality, or if it is just his nature.

At that juncture, the front doorbell rang. Lestrade turned toward the door, and I saw Watson attempt to get to his feet but fall back with a low moan of pain.

Worried, I hurried over to him, telling him to not try to move. His face was taut with tension as he brushed off my concern and ordered me to fetch his revolver from the desk.

I realized the wisdom in his instinctive actions – my own instincts were at present shot to pieces. How much I desperately needed his stalwart sense just then! I snatched the pistol from the top drawer, snapping the chamber into place. Then I motioned Lestrade to move to my bedroom.

If the newcomer were Moran, we would be ready for him.

In the seconds before the sitting room door opened, I was aware of Watson's rather heavy breathing and the worry on his face as he realized I was alone and unprotected in the middle of the room.

Dear chap, even though he had to know, with the true facts of the Moriarty case in his possession, that the real danger was to him and not me, his first thoughts were still on my safety. Truly, the man is a far better friend to me than I deserve.

I wanted to shout at Gregson when he stepped through the doorway, so relieved was I that Moran had not decided on a direct confrontation. But my momentary relief was pushed back when Lestrade came out from the bedroom, making some remark about the portraits of various criminals on my walls.

I heard Watson laugh at the man's unintentional echo of his own question, put to me several times over the years. I tried desperately to pull myself together, realizing I would be of no use to protecting Watson if I remained in this highly emotional state.

I mechanically listened to Gregson detailing the list of men who would be guarding my door, slightly impressed with the man's idea of only using men I knew by sight and name at the Yard – that way, if I did not recognize one of the guards, I would know he was in Moran's employ.

I was endeavoring to try to find words to express my feelings but failing miserably as usual, when I instinctively looked at Watson for help.

As always, he understood, and despite the pain I knew he was in, he thanked the men quite nicely for their efforts and then the two of them left.

I breathed a sigh, now that that ordeal was over. I walked over to our windows, remembering VonHerder's unique air-gun of years gone by, and yanked down with a little too much force on the shades.

Then I stood, shoulders slumped, staring morosely at the shades and wondering what in the world I could do to prevent harm from coming to Watson through Moran's revenge.

It would do no good to get out of London – if Moriarty could follow us, then Moran could as well. And I had no place to send Watson until the danger was over – I could not let him out of my sight.

So engrossed was I in my thoughts, that I did not even hear the man get up and walk shakily over to me. When I felt a hand on my shoulder, I started violently.

"Watson, for heaven's sake!" I gasped.

"I did not mean to startle you, Holmes. But you simply must stop this brooding!" His eyes were filled with worry as he spoke.

Then he swayed unsteadily on his feet, and clutched at the desk for support. I instinctively grabbed his arm, and he allowed me to help him back to the couch. Once settled, he looked up at me with an odd look in his eyes.

"Sit, Holmes," he ordered, pointing to the chair I had occupied earlier.

I raised my eyebrows at his demanding tone.

"You heard me!" he exclaimed, and with a small smile I obeyed his order. I sat there, looking at him expectantly, waiting for his tirade about not being so morbid, etc. But his words startled me beyond measure – he really did know me better than I thought.

"Holmes, I am perfectly able to take care of myself. You have nothing to fear on that point."

I shifted uneasily in my chair, and I could tell he knew he had hit home.

I said something, I do not recall what, and then Watson reminded me of some proverb he heard in the East – Three people equal one tiger. And then he reminded me that he knew the true facts and that Moran would have a hard time doing something if we hung together.

After talking with him, I began to feel slightly better, but I knew it was going to be a very, very long afternoon and evening.


TBC, of course - thanks for reading!