Disclaimer - I don't own any of Conan Doyle's characters.
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Chapter 7
As I fell backwards, and landed on the road, I saw the flames protrude from the building. The three of us got up and just stared at the club, which was now little more than rubble, with only a few small areas still standing. "Mycroft…" said Holmes softly, and started towards the club.
Watson caught his arm "Holmes, there's nothing more you can do."
"My brother…" Holmes murmured softly. The street had gone from dead quiet to horrifically noisy in a few seconds. There was the sound of people crying, of the fire bells ringing and of people shouting, and trying to force their way into the building.
Watson had a hand on Holmes' shoulder as he just stared into the rubble of the club, dazed. I put a hand on his other arm, trying to give as much comfort as I could, but suspecting that there was nothing that I could do to help the man. I looked across the street, and recognised a face at the edge of the scene. Rogers. Moriarty's mercenary. He was standing there, smiling at the look on Holmes' face, a look of complete anguish and sorrow. I had never hated anyone as much as I hated Rogers in that instant.
I walked away from Holmes and Watson, who did not notice me go. Rogers moved towards me and gave me a note. "From Moriarty" he said in explanation.
I opened it, reading it out loud. It was only a few lines, but those sentences made my blood boil. "I told you that you would suffer if you intervened in my business. Next time, it will be the girl. Moriarty." The anger rose up inside of me, but I also felt a chill of horror. If this man, this Professor could do this to my godfather, what…? My thoughts trailed away, as I looked around and saw the unmoving figure of Holmes standing with Watson. I had to be strong. I turned back to Rogers. "You tell Moriarty that he can't frighten me that easily".
Rogers smiled "I think he already has".
I looked down, and saw, to my disgust that my hands were shaking. When I looked up, Rogers was gone, melted into the crowd. I clasped my hands together, trying to steady them, and then went back to Watson's side. "Call a cab" Watson whispered to me, as I stood by him. "We must get him home."
I nodded, and hailed a cab quickly. Watson managed to lead Holmes into the cab, and I borrowed a blanket from the driver, giving it to Watson to put around Holmes' shoulders. "Is he in shock?" I asked.
Watson nodded "I believe he is. We should get him back to Baker Street". I nodded, and yelled up to the driver our destination. When the cab started to move, I looked back at Holmes, and then at Watson, who I realised was studying me intently. "And you?" he asked "are you alright?" He must have noticed that my hands were still shaking, because he reached forward to where my hands were lying in my lap, and clasped them gently, before smiling at me, and returning his attention to Holmes. We reached the door of 221B very quickly, as Watson had promised the driver a small fortune if he made it to Baker Street quickly. He helped Holmes and I out of the cab, unlocked the door, and then paused. He looked grimly at me "Will you look after him?" he asked "I should go and see Lestrade at Scotland Yard". I nodded, and he smiled fleetingly at me, before getting back into the cab, which drove off in the direction of Scotland Yard.
Mrs Hudson emerged from the kitchen, and saw a deeply shocked Holmes being half-led, half-carried up the stairs by me. "What happened?" she asked. A note of panic entered her voice "Doctor Watson…?"
"He's fine" I answered "He's just gone to Scotland Yard. I think Mr Holmes needs a cup of tea, and a blanket". Mrs Hudson nodded, and started off into the kitchen "And Mrs Hudson…?" I called after her.
"Yes?"
"Put some brandy in his tea. I think he needs it." I led Holmes up the remaining stairs and into the lounge. Mrs Hudson entered and we both helped him into a chair. The landlady left, and I looked at the man. I had never seen him like this. He stared straight forward, without speaking. His eyes were full of the fear that Watson and I had seen earlier. I went over to the fire, and knelt next to it, trying to make it warmer, both for him, and for myself. I was shaking all over now, a chill of fear running all through me.
While I was kneeling next to the fire, trying to warm up, Holmes spoke. "I'm sorry".
I looked at him in surprise. For a minute, I thought he was speaking to a memory, a ghost, but he was looking straight at me, his features softened. He had obviously awoken from the horrible living nightmare that had taken hold of him for the last few minutes. "What?" I said, not knowing why he should be apologising to me.
"I've put you and Watson in danger". Although he was not crying, Holmes' eyes glistened as he looked at me. I went to sit by the arm of his chair, and put a hand on his arm, which I noticed thankfully was not shaking. I don't think I could have had him see me afraid. It would have made things ten times worse.
He looked gratefully at me and I said "No need to worry about that. Watson and I are tougher than we look".
Holmes smiled quickly at me, just a flash of a smile "I know". He studied me, and continued "but what about you?"
"What about me?"
"He was your godfather…where…?"
I interrupted, knowing that that wasn't important now, but also knowing where I would have to go. Back to Sevenacres. "It's alright. Don't worry about me."
He seemed about to say something, but thankfully, Watson walked in. "How are you Holmes?"
"Better"
"Good." Watson lifted up a piece of paper. "List of all the British spies both here and overseas". He handed the list to Holmes.
The great detective looked at it for a minute and then looked up at the two of us, standing over him, whilst he sat in his chair. "The case is over".
"What?" Watson asked, in disbelief "What do you mean?"
"Just that. The case is over."
Watson and I exchanged looks. I murmured "For your brother, Holmes. Couldn't you do it for your brother".
Holmes looked up at me, and to my surprise, looked me straight in the eye "I can't put you in anymore danger…" I shook my head, and tried not to look him back in the eye. He rose and looked from me to Watson, and said "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I have to go. But you shouldn't come".
"Don't be silly, old man" said Watson, clapping a hand on Holmes' shoulder. "I'm coming".
I nodded "as am I."
Holmes looked at me. "You shouldn't come."
I nodded "perhaps I shouldn't. But he was my godfather, he looked after me. I'm grateful for that." I looked up at him "and Watson's right. You shouldn't go alone."
Holmes nodded, looked at us thankfully, and then ran off downstairs. Watson followed him, and I was left standing there. Why didn't I say it? Why didn't I say what I had so wanted to say? That yes, I wanted to help him because of loyalty to Mycroft, but also, I wanted to help him because I wanted to make sure he was alright. I shook my head in disbelief. No. No, I couldn't and wouldn't fall for him. I grabbed my cape that was lying on the settee, and at the sound of Watson calling my name, ran downstairs and got into the cab.
