Day Four

I will never complain about things not being interesting enough again.

It started with the two of us walking into a second hand bookstore. It ended (sort of) with me being fished out of the Thames.

At any rate, this morning I followed the Inspector into a bookstore. I had by now caught on that my job was mainly to stand nearby with my mouth closed, so I didn't bother asking why the Inspector suddenly seemed interested in browsing the dusty shelves of a nearly deserted bookstore.

I looked around where I was standing, but found nothing remotely of interest. I noted how the shopkeeper seemed to be ignoring both the Inspector and myself as if his life depended on it. I counted maybe three people in the shop, other than Inspector Lestrade and myself.

Suddenly Inspector Lestrade had an arm around my shoulders in what was a very familiar gesture and was pointing out something on one of the pages in the book he was holding.

"Walk out the front door." He muttered in my ear. "Once you get outside, run for the nearest Constable and send him back here. Then head for Scotland Yard. Find Gregson, tell him 'Lestrade found them,' and come back with him."

I didn't know what was going on, but as soon as the Inspector let me go I was headed for the door, trying not to look too nervous or move too fast.

I made it through the door and took off at a run for the Constable just turning the corner. I told him to go to the bookstore, and was somewhat surprised when he responded with a "Yes, sir!" and took off without the slightest hesitation. However, I didn't have time to think about it as I headed back toward the Yard.

I found Gregson's office, and with it the Inspector himself, and delivered Inspector Lestrade's message, word for word.

"Lestrade found them." The way the Inspector had said those three words I didn't doubt it was important to use them specifically.

Inspector Gregson sprang into action upon hearing them, and ordered me to "Stay here," after asking where Lestrade was, as he darted out into the hall and began rounding up several Constables.

Here was a problem. Inspector Lestrade had said to come back, but Inspector Gregson had just told me to stay behind. Well, one of the four hundred and some odd things that Inspector Lestrade had thrown at me during my first two days was that when on a case you reported to your partner first and everyone else second, and if you ended up in trouble for it later, you took it like a man.

I followed Inspector Gregson.

The bookstore was a wreck by the time we got there, and the front window had been knocked out.

The Inspector was apparently buried under a bookshelf and a large number of books. It was fortunate for him that most of the books had fallen off the shelf as it tipped; a shelf that size filled with books is a dangerous thing to have fall on you (Books are heavy. I would know, I had just that sort of thing happen to me when I was younger. I wouldn't set foot in a bookstore or library for years, even after my broken leg had healed).

Anyway, the Constables were soon trying to dig the Inspector out, and Inspector Gregson was standing in front of the broken window looking irritated, and I was looking around, trying to figure out what I was supposed to be doing now.

A glint caught my eye; someone in the alley across the street was aiming a pistol straight at Inspector Gregson!

I shoved him out of the way, and nearly knocked a pile of books on top of us as well. Then I tried to figure out why no shot had been fired while Inspector Gregson proceeded to accuse me of clumsiness and incompetence and a disregard for orders. Eventually he shoved me towards the door and told me to wait outside.

I went, my eyes peeled for trouble. The would-be shooter was still in the alley! He caught my eye, waved, and bolted.

Never go after anyone alone. The warning flashed through my mind, and I shouted over my shoulders at two of the Constables left to watch the street to "Come on!" Again, I was a bit surprised when they followed without batting an eye.

We chased the man through the alleys and down the streets, until finally I turned a corner and he was waiting for me.

If I had ducked a second later that bullet would have gone right through my head, and I wouldn't be writing this now. As it was, he missed, and swore, and tossed the gun aside.

That must have been his last bullet was the thought that occurred to me as he drew a knife and lunged towards me.

He caught me in the arm, and grabbed me as I was distracted by the fact that I was bleeding. Knife to my throat, he edged away from the two Constables who had by now caught up with us. I had outrun them, it seemed, unfortunately for me.

I realized we run as far as the docks as he moved us our over the water. I had covered some distance, chasing this man.

To be honest, I thought about begging for my life right there. I thought about pointing out that I had no idea who the man even was, and that I could have easily been mistaken when I had thought he had a gun and was aiming for Inspector Gregson.

The thought didn't sit well with me, so I promptly discarded it. That left me with one alternative.

"You're under arrest." I informed him. "For the attempted murder of an Inspector of Scotland Yard, if nothing else."

That caught him off guard. He started laughing. His grip loosened.

Inspector Lestrade had also, during my first two days, coolly informed me that in a fight where lives were at stake, and in our line of work, most times lives were, fighting fair was not something he considered commendable. It had made sense, at the time, and made even more now.

So I took the opportunity this fellow had just given me and slammed the back of my head into his face, and my elbow into his gut. He cursed and let go, and I stumbled and lost my balance.

Of course I would be standing too close to the edge of the pier. Of course I would fall in.

The man I had been chasing was promptly forgotten as I spluttered and splashed and tried to make my way back to dry land.

I managed, somehow, and someone seized me by my shirt and dragged me upright as I staggered onto the bank. I was still coughing and spluttering, and half expecting it to be the man that I had been chasing that had grabbed me and was consequently preparing for a fight.

"Easy, lad." It was Inspector Lestrade, looking rather worse for the wear after his episode in the bookstore. Having a shelf load of books fall on you may sound funny, but it actually has considrable potential for injury.

He pointed; the two Constables who had followed me had apparently taken initiative and had seized the man we had been chasing after I had fallen.

Inspector Gregson joined us then, and promptly began grumbling about me going after the leader of a gang of bank robbers by myself. When I reasonably pointed out that I hadn't gone alone, and had taken two Constables with me, it only seemed to annoy him farther.

He stopped when I stumbled and nearly took Inspector Lestrade down with me, and insisted that he could finish things up here.

Inspector Lestrade agreed, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and dragged me (I say dragged because by this point I was feeling somewhat unsteady from loss of blood where my arm had bee sliced open) home by way of a cab. It never even occurred to me to wonder how he knew where I lived. Maybe that's just part of the job.

He settled me on the couch in my sitting room and disappeared long enough (I found out later) to send someone for a doctor to see to my arm. Then he stirred up a fire in my sitting room before he disappeared into my kitchen and came back a bit later with a hot cup of tea. The tea was good; I found I didn't even mind the thought of the Inspector going through my kitchen.

The doctor showed up, and cleaned and sewed up my arm, and is almost certain it's going to end up infected. I'll probably end up sick from being in the river anyway, but now I'm writing this up while I wait for the doctor to finish trying to convince the Inspector to let him look him over as well. Inspector Lestrade insists that he is fine, just bruised, but their arguing is keeping me from passing out properly.

Oh, finally. They're leaving.

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys at the Yard do not belong to me.