Hyde Park, London
Two days later
The fiddle's cheerful tune sang out through the cold night air, joined by the tapping of heels against the wood planks of the makeshift stage. What the dancers lacked in rhythm, they more than made up for with enthusiasm. A tall thin man, made to appear even more so by a small peaked hat and a long tailed coat, wove his way expertly through the whirling dancers, long arms flapping with exaggerated movement as the fiddler increase the tempo of the tune. Cheers and whistles sounded from the small crowd of onlookers, seated on a scattering of colorful rugs and blankets spread on the lawn before the small stage, as they clapped in time with the beat.
"Please tell me someone is filming this."
Lestrade smothered a laugh as Anderson executed a perfect pirouette before dropping into a low bow, his long nose nearly touching the stage. The man had been born to play the role of the gangly school master Ichabod Crane.
"Absolutely." Donavan replied.
Lestrade smirked, his eyes darting to the rear of the audience where she sat watching, cell phone in hand pointed at the stage. The smirk slipped into a grimace as he glanced at the luminous dials on his watch. It was nearly half past nine, with only three hours remaining before Gregson's appointed deadline. The Headsman had not been sighted since the incident with the pseudo Moriarty, nearly four days prior. Mycroft's file had provided him with little more than a collection of newspaper clippings detailing similar sightings, all located in the New England region of the United States, and a photo and short dossier on an retired American professor, of folk literature, who had entered the country a month before the sightings had begun, and who had not been seen since.
A call to the local police force in professor's town of origin, one Sleepy Hollow, New York, had provided a note of interest. The man was a master equestrian. There Lestrade's rash of luck ended as the officers were apparently in no hurry to identify their own ghost as it was 'good for tourism'. As for the professor, the man had no priors, and he had entered the country legally and had four months remaining on his visa and he had vanished, or just preferred to pay in cash as his credit cards had not been charged to. Regardless Lestrade had no cause to launch an official search.
The case seemed at a standstill, until Hopkins and Bradstreet had stumbled upon a rotting old mews not far from the park, with evidence that it had recently been occupied. A large hoof print was found pressed into the hard earthen floor, and a patch of faintly glowing black hair caught on a nail. Not much to go by but enough to aid in the search of the horse. A canvassing of local stables had led to the discovery of two coal black equines, one a large Friesian gelding and the other Shetland pony. A groom had provided the tip that the gelding was being readied for shipping to the United States at the end of the week. With his assistance, Hopkins had compared the cast of the hoof print from the mews to that of the gentle giant.
A match.
Further inquiry revealed the horse had recently been sold and that the new owner was none other than their elusive professor. The groom had not seen the man in a few days, but he had mentioned the possibility of a trip to the north before returning to the States. Lestrade had given the man his card with a request that he call him when the professor returned for the horse. With the deadline looming and Gregson in no mood to approve his request to extend it, what they had needed was bait to tempt the Horseman from the shadows.
Oddly enough, it was Anderson who had provided the perfect bait for a trap, with an invitation to a community theater production of none other than The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, premiering Halloween night. With a bit of convincing, and the calling in of many favors to gain access to the necessary permits, the theater troop agreed to provide a preview performance in Hyde Park. The groom from the stables had called a few hours earlier with the news that the horse was gone, the owner returning sooner than he expected.
And so they waited.
It was a pleasant night. The air was crisp and fresh, the sky clear with a sliver of a moon shimming against the black expanse above. All was silent and still, as if the world held its breath in anticipation of what might come. On stage the actors sat gathered around as Brom Bones began to weave his tall tale of the race with the Headless Hessian.
"Everyone ready?"
Affirmatives rippled over the radio in his ear from stations set around the park. The tale continued on, and the tension grew as time passed on. Lestrade swept a glance along the edge of the woods as Anderson began to plod dejectedly across the stage on a stick horse. After a moment a cackling laugh sounded and Lestrade watched as an actor in black with a glowing pumpkin beneath one arm joined Anderson.
Disappointment laced through Lestrade as the scene continued without interruption.
…and then he heard it.
A deep bone chilling laugh boomed across the park.
Anderson froze mid step, his mouth falling open, eyes locked upon woods behind Lestrade. The confused murmuring of the crowd gave way to cheers and applause, and Lestrade turned to see a glowing, ghostly apparition in the center of the path. Though he had seen it once before, the sight of the massive horse and its headless rider made him pause in awe for a brief moment. The animal snorted, his breath white against the cold air, and then reared as the Headsman gave ghostly cackle, flaming pumpkin raised high.
"Now!" Lestrade ordered.
A shimmer appeared from the woods on the across of the Serpentine, it broke from the trees, rounding the path and morphing into a second rider, nearly identical to the Headsman. It moved as swiftly and silently as a wraith across the grass toward its mirror image, heedless of the cheers and whistles of the audience. The pumpkin fell from the hand of the Headman, splattering against the path, as he spun the horse around and plunged into the darkness, the doppelganger hot on his heels.
"Bradstreet!" Lestrade shouted as he slid into the borrowed ATV, bracing himself as it lurched forward.
"Ready." Came the steady reply.
They sped along the dark path as quickly as the vehicle would go, catching a glimpse now and then of the riders before them. As the approached the bridge, a blinding array of blue and white light lit the night, and a voice boomed over a loud speaker.
"This is Scotland Yard. Dismount and raise your hands above your," Bradstreet paused. "head."
Lestrade pretended not to hear the snicker over the radio. The horse reared with a shrill whinny and darted toward the bridge. It shuddered to a stop as a third rider and then a fourth appeared, dressed in black, sans flaming pumpkin. Bradstreet repeated the command and the gloved hands clenched the reigns for a tense moment, and then relaxed, a hand smoothing along the trembling neck of the horse as he did as ordered. A constable moved forward to take the reigns as Bradstreet and another restrained its rider.
Lestrade glanced up at the second Horseman as he passed.
"Well done, Hopkins."
The man pulled the black hood from his head, revealing an ear to ear grin. "Thanks, boss."
Lestrade snorted, composing himself as he approached their quarry. The man's face was visible now, having removed the costume harness. Lestrade met the pale face with firm stare, calling upon every ounce of professionalism to hide his smirk as he uttered the man's name.
"Doctor Irvine Ichabod Crane. You're a bit far from home."
It was nearly midnight before the scene was finally brought to a close. Dr. Crane had been charged with disturbing the peace, and the horse taken to the Yard's stables, though Lestrade suspected the man would suffer little more than a heavy fine and a seat on the next transport back to the States. No one had been injured, and riding in the park was far from illegal. At least the audience and the theater troop had a good story to tell. The director had offered Hopkins the role of the Headless Horseman on the spot, though the man had gently turned it down. They are all more than ready to put the whole mess behind them.
The case was closed and Gregson's deadline met. All was right for the moment…though with two days to Halloween and the week to follow, it was unlikely to remain that way. John had yet to explain what exactly had occurred up North, though he'd insisted it was nothing, and Lestrade might have been inclined to believe his friend, if not for Mycroft's involvement. When a Holmes was involved, it was never just 'nothing'. He planned to interrogate John as soon as the man returned from his extended holiday.
For the moment, all he wanted was a stiff drink and his pillow.
He smiled as the others joined him. "Fine work, all of you. I couldn't have solved it without you."
Donavan grinned, falling into step at his side as they headed for the exit.
"Come on, boss. Buy us a drink and we'll call it even."
"Was worth it to see Gregson taken down a notch or too." Hopkins added, to which the others added their agreement.
"Not to mention entertaining." Bradstreet added. "How often does one get a chance to catch a ghost?"
"From ghoulies and ghosties," Hopkins bellowed out in his most ominous voice. "and long legged beasties!"
"And things that go bump in the night." Bradstreet joined in.
"Good Lord, protect us!" the others finished in rousing chorus.
Movement caught Lestrade's eye as he cast a glance back toward the park as the exited, in the distance beneath a lamp post on the edge of the woods, and his step faltered as he caught sight of a figure beneath it.
The familiar silhouette of a man in a long dark coat – with an unruly head of curls.
"Good Lord, protect us." He breathed.
A/N: again – apologies for the long delay – hope it was worth the wait. Season 3 was brilliant – can't wait to see what they do with Season 4. Did anyone catch Mycroft's reference to another sibling in Episode 3?