Prompt from SheWhoScrawls – Rugby
I wish it to be clearly understood that I am an American and know next to nothing of Rugby. This was the most perplexing prompt I have ever had. Hope I did it some justice, at least.
"Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,
In thunder and in earthquake like a Jove."
Henry V, Act 2, Scene 3
-~-)0(-~-
The Adventure of the Baited Boar
"A boy brought this for you just a few minutes ago, John," Mary said as I came through the door and set down my medical bag.
It had been a long day with many stops to make. I was standing in as locum for Dr. Bell who had taken a week to lecture in Scotland and had my own patients, besides. I imagined the note on the scrap of foolscap Mary held out to me was an urgent call that would keep me away from home and hearth for hours yet to come. I was partly right.
Watson,
The Baited Boar. Come as soon as maybe.
Holmes
I read through the cryptic note twice, being reminded of my friend's predisposition to brevity. Still it irked me. Surely he could have elaborated to some small degree. Anything that might inform me as to the nature of the errand he was on would be better than walking in blind. But Holmes was my friend and there was nothing else I could do. I apologized to Mary before turning for our door only to have her pull me back and press the cool weight of my old service revolver into my hand.
"Just in case, my darling," she said and kissed my cheek.
"I'm sure it won't be needed," I replied and kissed her lips. "Back as soon as it's done."
Mary stood in the open door until my hansom pulled away from our steps and whisked me down the lane at a trot. Fifteen minutes later we swung onto Thames Row. Almost instantly my eye was caught by violent movement and a few loud shouts ahead. Someone had been thrown bodily from a door, taking half the door with him. The sign hanging above it depicted a boar fighting a trio of dogs and the words 'The Baited Boar'. My heart sank.
Thumping my cane on the roof of the cab, I signaled the driver to stop. I threw him a handful of coins (Probably twice my fare.) before my feet had touched the pavement and began dodging through the suddenly snarled traffic. To my horror and consternation, though not to my surprise, I discovered Holmes had been the person so violently ejected from the pub.
As I pushed on more men emerged onto the street. Several of them were as tall as Holmes and none of them was under fourteen stone. They formed into a clot behind their leader who was advancing on Holmes with knotted fists. One on one I would have given odds on my friend, having seen him stand off some of the worst rowdies Whitechapel ever produced. With this lot, though, I feared Holmes would be bleeding on the pavement before any of the local bobbies could reach the scene.
Out in a crowded London thoroughfare I could not use my revolver for fear of injuring bystanders so I gritted my teeth and broke into a run. I had the advantage of surprise and meant to make the most of it. The first of them was taken completely off his guard and fell to the cobbles clutching at his back where I had driven my fist into his kidney. I struck the next in his jaw with an elbow, sending him spinning away. I ducked under a haymaker thrown by his fellow and tackled the man into a pair who were just turning to see what was happening. Rolling from these I bounced to my feet driving my forehead into the next man's breadbasket in the same motion. He coughed out a curse and dropped to his knees, retching. Hands reached for me, but I shoved them off, stamping on feet and kicking ankles. I threw another elbow or two and suddenly had no more targets to hit. I found myself standing, breathing hard and ready for action above a cowed group of ruffians. Those still conscious stared in bewilderment. Perhaps I flatter myself, but I thought I saw fear there as well.
"By gad, sir!" cried a man at the edge of the crowd that had gathered to witness the brawl. "You're John Watson!"
"I am," I panted, not recognizing the gentleman. "You know me, sir?"
"I should!" he laughed heartily. "I lost two pounds the day you lead Blackheath against Guy's Hospital. You never played like that in those days, though!"
"I think, Watson, that will do for the moment," Holmes said in my ear, laying a hand on my arm.
"What?" I asked, feeling strangely elated and reluctant to leave. Several men in the crowd were now clapping and laughing.
"Time for us to go," Holmes insisted and drew me away. "The police are on the way."
"Police?" I asked, having completely forgotten the errand I had come on.
"I dare say I can expect a visit from Hopkins this evening," Holmes said.
We found a four wheeler a street over and climbed in. Holmes gave my address and we two settled back in the padded seats, safe for the moment. I felt myself smiling, feeling the long forgotten ache of muscles too little used in these last couple of decades. I rolled my shoulders, noticing I had burst the seams of my jacket and not particularly caring.
"Watson," Holmes said with a smile. "Have you a few hours this Saturday?"
"I suppose I could set time aside, Holmes," I replied. "You want help on your case, I suppose."
"Actually, no," he said, his smile edging wider. "I thought you might teach me a little about rugby."
