This story was written in collabortaion with "an ounce of shag tobacco"
Most of the characters do not belong to either of us.
This story was inspired by the song "The Watchmaker's apprentice" by "The Clockwork Quartet"
Thank you for reading! We hope you enjoy, and have feeeeeeels! ;)
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Holmes watched her in his cold way, tapping his slender fingers against the wall in a 6/8 time. He waited for her to stop her grieving with impatience.
She noticed his gaze and soon her tears would cease to roll down her cheeks. Watson, who was standing behind Holmes, admired her self control.
"I'm sorry gents. It's my nerves..."
"Understandable Miss Fowler," Homes said. "Is there anything else you need to tell me? Hold no secrets, no little indiscretions, for I shall find out in the end."
"I know. What's enough 's enough, Mr Holmes. This bastard killed my dear sister, God rest her soul. You have to catch him. You have to bring him to court! Please! Tell me that you'll take this curse off me family!"
She went to her knees in despair, and wrung her hands.
"There is no curse," Holmes said. "But a shall do my best to rid you of any inconvenience. However I need your cooperation. Watson, your notebook."
"Yes! Thank you sirs! I will do anything you ask me to!"
"I want the names and addresses of all your known family members written in here." Holmes handed her the notebook and pencil.
The girl's eyes became big. "I...I can't write, sir. I can tell you where they live, but..."
she did not end the sentence.
Holmes gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.
"Tell Dr Watson," He said "and he shall write it down."
"Yes sir." the girl who had before been so quick tempered, had now suddenly become meek and bashful.
When Watson was ready, she began to tell him their adresses.
When she had finished, Holmes snatched the book from her hand and scanned the page.
"Watson, come..." He muttered, pulling John along with him down back through the pub. He stopped by the bar beside the land lady.
"Er, when we first arrived, you said ' especially you sir.' What did you mean?" Holmes enquired.
The woman shrugged.
"I hope you don't mind me saying, sir...but you do look rather pale. I just thought a little drink would do you good."
"pink up my cheeks?"
"If you want to put it so...yes"
"Did it?"
The woman shot Watson a helpless look.
"Holmes..." he gently pulled on his sleeve.
Homes broke his gaze with the women and turned to John.
"Thank you madam, you have been of great service."
As they were outside the public house, Watson blocked Holmes' way. "Why did you ask her this last question? I could also have told you..."
"A trifle Watson."
He stepped aside and shook his head. " I don't understand...but as I know you, it will all make perfect sense at the end of this day."
"Hopefully."
"Where are we going now, Holmes?" Watson asked.
Holmes didn't reply.
As much as he longed to press Holmes against the next wall and yell at him, Watson still kept quiet. He knew that all Holmes needed now was to be treated patiently. Instead of starting a row, the doctor called for a hansom.
"We need to go back to the hotel." Holmes said as they clambered in together. He placed a hand on Watson's knee once they had both sat down.
"I am sorry John."
Watson smiled. Those words were so rare, that Watson valued them higher than any
present in the world. Could he chose between the famous Blue Carbuncle, and a heartfelt apology from Holmes' mouth, he would most likely chose the second.
"It is alright, Sherlock."
"No it's not," Holmes shook his head . "It's not okay. I can see you're getting angry, but there are things I need to keep away from you."
"So? Why? Why can't you tell me? I can understand, that you need some privacy, and. you certainly are free to have your secrets; of course, but I feel that you are keeping something from me that is such a big matter, that it has an effect on our realtionship; and more important, on you. That is not good. I just don't want us to quarrel because of this all the time. Please, get some help. Or let me help you. But I can't promise that I can put up with this much longer. It's too heavy a strain that you put on me. You expect me to be there for you, but how can I, when I don't know what to protect you from? What haunts you so badly, that you cannot even tell ME? That is the only thing I wish to know..."
Holmes sighed and shoved his head into his hands.
"Oh John; the conductor of light and complexer of problems."
"I am sorry... it...I'm just worried. That is all. The only thing I hope to achieve is to get back your old self." Watson's voice had become quite weak and silent.
"So do I." Holmes muttered. "So do I."
Watson spared both of them the words "why don't you tell me then?", but put a soothing hand on Holmes' thigh instead.
"Because everything you mentioned before will happen. Either way it'll happen... Though I hope we'll have a better chance should you not know."
Watson gave a start.
"How did you...?!"
"Did I what?"
"How did you...know what I was thinking?"
"You think with your face."
"Oh, yes. I will never get used to your methods, when they are applied on me..." Watson smiled.
Holmes nodded a little and lay back.
"I fear Brighton shall be of no use to us until morning. If Miss Alice Fowler is dead by sunrise, we can go knowing that our Watchmaker is on the move." He suddenly said in an attempt to change the subject.
"You think he will kill her and not even attempt to catch him red handed?"
Watson exclaimed surprisedly.
Holmes turned away to look at the passing blur of streets.
"Who said I was not going to try?"
Watson smiled. Every fragment of Holmes' "old self" that bubbled up suddenly, but was gone as quickly as it appeared, made him happy. Even if it manifested in only one sentence or gesture.
"Will you tell me your plans?"
"I shan't." Holmes replied as the can came to a stop. "Come along."
"Why this time?" Watson did not even try to keep the surprise out of his voice.
"I want you to stay here, it's safer."
They headed back to their rooms, where Holmes sat at the desk and wrote out a series of telegrams.
The doctor retired to his room, locking the door. He could not refuse that he had enough of his partner's secrecy for one day, and could well use some time on his own; even if this time would be solely filled with sorrow.
It was around midnight that the key to Holmes' room clinked in the lock and his footsteps passed Watson's door, where they stopped. The handle turned, and when access could not be gained, the footsteps carried on down the corridor.
Watson awoke immediately at the sound. He wanted to wish Holmes luck; so he sprang to his feet and ran after him. Assuming that his friend had come farther than he actually did, he knocked him over, landing on top of him.
Holmes frowned at him.
"Here's hoping nobody comes here and sees is like this," he tutted. "What are you doing?"
"Umm...I wanted to wish you luck. And to aak you again, if you have changed your mind. My revolver is loaded, Holmes. I am ready!"
"No John. Now get off me before we get arrested for gross indecency!"
"Alright." Watson did as he was told. "Sorry."
He waited until Holmes was back in his feet.
Holmes dusted down his cost with a sigh.
"Go to bed. I shall be back soon."
"Good luck, my friend..." Watson uttered sadly, and returned to his room.
"Promise you won't come after me." Holmes said before John disappeared completely.
"Me too..." he whispered as the door closed, and he slid down to the floor; back against wood. "Me too..."
Late the next morning Holmes returned alongside a young constable by the name of Evans. They knocked a dull thud against Watson's door, and waited for a reply.
Luckily Watson was already dressed, and ready for breakfast, so he opened the door immediately.
"Good morning. Any news?"
Holmes just looked to the ground and shook his head.
"I'm afraid my efforts were to no avail."
Watson let Holmes in, and wished the constable a good day.
"Have you any clue as to his next steps?"
"Not until I receive replies to my telegrams."
"Alright..." there was a small pause; just enough time for both of their brains to think.
"How are you?" Watson then asked gently, drawing nearer to his companion.
Holmes looked at him wide eyed.
"I'm fine. Very fine." He said quietly.
"Do not believe you are the only one who can read faces. While you use logic, I use empathy." his voice was not threatening; nor was it cold. It was warm, and feeling.
He let out the air from his lungs. "I am sorry. I should rather ask what happened...did he show up in the first place?"
"He did," Holmes began, seating himself on the chair by the desk. "I'm glad you weren't there John."
He was torn between pity and rage, but he didn't know what to do anymore. How to behave? How to calm him? Or not calm
him at all? Confront him with the facts? It was too difficult a desicion, as John could make it. Simply: it was impossible. He was sure that Watson's own insecurity, did not help Holmes in his own sorry state. "Is is alright now. Just try and calm down until the messages arrive. Perhaps you should take a bath..." he knelt down in the floor, in front of Holmes feet and took his hands.
Holmes looked down at him and shook his head.
"Don't pity me John, of all things don't do that. I'm fine, I've seen worse."
"Well, if I may not pity you, let me care for you darling." Watson buried his face in Holmes' hands, which were folded on his lap.