December 3rd: Crossover of your choice!
From: cjnwriter
I was returning to the rooms of my dear friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes from a grueling day at my practice on that blistering cold night when I chanced to look up in anticipation at the sitting room window and observed two silhouettes rather than one.
My first thought as I headed up the seventeen stairs was that it was Lestrade, or Gregson, or one of the other Yarders with whom we were so familiar.
What I found instead was an unfamiliar man pacing in front of the fireplace, a sopping wet hat clenched in his hand.
"Watson!" Holmes exclaimed, rising to clap me on the back. "How good to see you, my friend! Pour yourself a drink and sit, pray join me in hearing the strange tale Mr. Utterson here has promised to give us."
Mr. Utterson was of a respectable height and stature, and the self-assured pomp in his step and the crisp cut of his suit made me suspect that he was a lawyer. I was, I confess, taken aback when he fixed his eyes upon me.
"Doctor Watson, as you are a respectable man of the medical profession, perhaps you will be somewhat acquainted with the problem I have come bearing. I have a friend, an esteemed friend in the medical community, whose beliefs are...unorthodox, to say the least. He has taken to all manners of experimentation, and though I am too staunchly loyal to judge his choices, a mutual friend of ours, one Doctor Lanyon, has vehemently renounced them, calling them devilish...among other, more unspeakable, things."
I nodded slowly. "I have heard of Doctor Lanyon, we belong to the same medical club, though I have not had occasion to thoroughly converse with him. Who is this esteemed man of which you speak?"
Mr. Utterson held up a hand. "I will get to that in a moment, but first it is crucial that you know the story. May you simply understand how worried I am for the safety and sanity of my friend. A year ago, a man trampled a young girl right upon some person's doorstep. He was apprehended, and offered no remorse for the crime, but agreed to pay restitution. He disappeared into that very house, and emerged with a check signed by my friend. My dear old friend, who had recently made a will leaving everything to this fiend,of whom myself and Doctor Lanyon, knew nothing. At this time, I became terrified that my friend had become involved in some horrid blackmailing scheme, and took it upon myself to watch the house in case the man ever called there again. One night, I saw him, and confronted him regarding the air of malice he exuded, but received nothing but threats in return. Threats that would make your blood turn to ice, Mr Holmes."
I glanced at Holmes, who was leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingertips and regarding Mr. Utterson with a look of interest.
"Following this encounter, I rushed to my friend's house, hoping to confront him about his relationship to this horrible man, but was told by a servant that he was absent. I asked the servant, Poole, if the ogreish fiend had ever called there. Poole told me that he had, and had been instructed to regard him as a second master. This escalated my anxiety, and I approached my friend soon after at a dinner party he hosted. He assured me not to worry, that he could be rid of the man anytime he pleased."
Holmes lowered his fingers with a sigh. "As utterly cryptic as this is, Mr. Utterson, you say all of this occurred a year ago. What brings you to us now?"
Utterson set down his cup and wrung his hat between his hands, dripping water onto our hearthrug. "Things came to a standstill after that, and I was sure that my friend really had cut loose from whatever business in which he had dabbled. But two months ago, a respectable old gentleman was murdered, one whom I knew very well. Sir Danvers Carew. Perhaps you recall it from the papers. I had heard rumors of a horrible, grotesque man at the scene of the crime, and I knew who it must have been. The police called on me, as an acquaintance of Carew's, and I directed them to the fiend's house. The rooms were sparse and bare, no hint of the comforts of living. But we found the remains of a checkbook, old and brittle, which seemed to have been lit on fire. Within the past months, my friend had seemed back to normal, showing no worry over the reappearance of the monster who had plagued him last year. Of late, however, he has stopped receiving visits altogether, and hosts no more dinners. He only immersed himself in his experiments. I called upon Doctor Lanyon, to discuss the matter with him. He was ill, gray skin and glassy eyes. He said he had visited the lab and received a shock which would soon see him dead. He gave me a letter, one which he says I must open in the event of my friend's death."
Holmes stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Have you visited your friend since your last visit with Doctor Lanyon?"
"A small number of times, though I confess I have been more discomfited by his erratic behavior each time. Something is weighing heavy upon the man's soul, and I pray that it doesn't kill him."
"Mr. Utterson, do not trouble yourself over this matter, I will be looking into it and shall correspond with you upon my findings. However, I shall require the name of your affected friend."
Utterson uncrumpled and donned his hat, the firelight reflecting in his eyes as he met the both of our eyes. "The esteemed Doctor Jekyll."
A few weeks passed, and being caught up with the busyness of a medical practice in the dead of winter, I had not occasion to ask Holmes for updates on the Jekyll case. But one evening, I was sitting in the Baker Street rooms, working on a draft of my latest story, when the last post of the day came in.
In it, was a letter for Holmes, forwarded from our acquaintance Mr Utterson. A strange expression came across Holmes' face as he read.
"Is it the Jekyll case? I asked, and picked up the prefacing page of the letter which Holmes had set aside on the arm of his chair.
Mr. Holmes,
I beg of you to take this document, I cannot bear to have it in my possession any longer. I am changed enough by its contents and by what I have seen.
Many thanks in your endeavors,
Utterson
My voice felt useless for a moment. "Is-is it the letter to be opened open Jekyll's death?" I managed at last. "What does it say?"
Holmes gathered the stack of papers in his hand and folded them with a slight tremor. "It is best to put the matter far from our minds, Watson. The duality of man is something best left in the subconscious."
And he set the papers into the fireplace, rearranging the logs with the poker so that embers covered and obliterated the letter.
I heard whispers in my medical club, but I shall not repeat them. Should you possess the curiosity, you can find out for yourself what Doctor Jekyll had taken it upon himself to do. You will want to put the matter far from your mind, and God have mercy on your soul as you try to forget.