AN: We've been in 2012 for quite a while now haven't we? I think it's about time we see what Sherlock and Watson are up to in the 19th century...
Thank you to everyone who's still following. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Chapter 9
As landlady to the greatest consulting detective in London, Mrs. Hudson has had her share of eccentricities. One had to have patience the size of the universe if they were to house the most infuriating, most troublesome lodger ever. Throughout the years of living in 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes has destroyed several furniture in the house, brought numerous guests of questionable morale, and indulged in the strangest practices even Mrs. Hudson wouldn't dare to think about. She took everything in stride, knowing that deep inside the detective there was a good man.
This time though, she felt her patience slipping. Good man or not, she was very tempted to throw the detective out into the streets. There was only so much that a religious, devoted woman like her could handle. While making lunch she heard the sound of the doorbell and rushed to open it. She saw Doctor Watson standing outside and hugged him tightly as she heaved a sigh of relief.
"Thank goodness you've arrived Doctor! You must put a stop to him this instant. He's gone mad!" She cried. Watson blinked as he looked at Mrs. Hudson.
"Yes, your letter stated that Holmes was behaving...more eccentric than usual. What on earth has he been doing?" He asked.
"Well Doctor, he bought several sacks of salt but he refused to explain why. He poured the salt on the windowsill and the door and forbids me to clean it or touch it. He brought home with him several containers of water and made me drink a glass of it. Not only that, he sprinkles the water at passers-by from his window. He's covered the walls and the floor with strange marks and symbols he wrote in blood. Blood! I can't imagine where he found such a large amount of blood. And what's worse, every night you could hear him shouting in a strange, foreign language. It's as if he's calling out to the devil! I'm very frightened Doctor Watson. Something must be terribly wrong with Mr. Holmes." Watson sighed as he placed a comforting hand on Mrs. Hudson's shoulder.
"I'll speak to him and see what I can do." The landlady visibly relaxed as she smiled at him.
"God bless you Doctor. I don't know what I would have done if you weren't here." Watson smiled reassuringly at her before he moved past her and up the seventeen steps to his old rooms. He opened the door and looked down to find that there was no salt on the ground, much to his relief, though he looked up to find the walls covered in the strange symbols and salt scattered all over the windowsill, as Mrs. Hudson mentioned. His experience and knowledge as a Doctor confirmed to him that the symbols were indeed written in blood. From the dried, brownish color he estimated that Holmes had written on the wall at least a day after he had last visited the detective. He didn't dare step in at first, and instead peered around the edge of the door in search of his old flatmate.
"Holmes? Where are you?" He called out.
"Watson? Is that you? Come in, come in! As always, your timing is impeccable." Holmes appeared in sight, holding a revolver in his hand. Despite his invitation Watson was still hesitant to go in. He looked around, wondering if something was going to pop out to scare him. Eventually, he decided that he might as well give in and slowly stepped into the room. When he made his way to the couch and sat there, Holmes frowned. He left the Doctor for a few minutes then came back with a glass of water and the revolver still in hand. He handed the glass to Watson before he sat down and stared at the Doctor intently. Watson stared back, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
"Is...something wrong Holmes?"
"No, not at all. I hope you'll forgive me for the state of the room. It's necessary for our safety." Watson didn't know what to say as he looked around. The room was messier than usual, he noted. He could see a pile of new books gathered on the floor beside Holmes' desk, as well as several pieces of paper scattered all over the room. A piece of paper lay close to where Watson was sitting and he saw that Bible verses were written on them. He immediately saw the connection between the paper and the books and, looking back at the pile, saw that they were indeed Bible books. He was about to ask how the Bible was necessary for their safety when he looked back at the detective and saw that his friend had closed the distance between them and was staring down at Watson like a predator.
"Holmes?"
"Christo." He whispered fiercely. For a few seconds the two stared at each other in silence.
"Holmes, are you sure that you're all right?" Watson asked worriedly. Holmes always had a purpose in his methods and his behavior. There was never a time when Holmes did something strange just because he felt like it. The Doctor wanted to believe that this was one of those times when Holmes had a plan, and that this was not an effect of whatever poisonous drug he was in the habit of taking nowadays. After several more minutes of staring, Holmes sighed in disappointment and settled back in his own seat.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine." He looked up, at the glass in Watson's hand, and gestured to it. "Please, have a drink." Watson was holding the glass away from himself as if it would suddenly explode or attack him. It looked normal enough, but Watson remembered the times when Holmes was busy with his chemistry set and remembered the state of the small animals Holmes acquired - subjects in his experiments - when they ingested or came in contact with some kind of solution. The burnt mark on the wall was also a clear reminder of how dangerous Holmes' experiments could be. Holmes would never harm Watson intentionally of course, but experiments like these were unstable and despite being sure of what he was doing, anything could happen. Watson was very reluctant to drink what was in the glass.
"What is it?" He asked as he looked down at the glass warily.
"It's Holy Water. To confirm that you are indeed yourself and not possessed by a demon. Though the Devil's Trap and my utterance of Christo have proven your identity, I want to be absolutely certain. Oh don't look so frightened Watson. It's merely blessed water, nothing more." Watson swirled the water in the glass before sighing and drinking everything with one gulp, half-expecting to taste something odd or feel some strange after-effect. Holmes smiled as Watson set the glass down on the small coffee table beside the couch and clapped his hands cheerfully.
"Excellent! Now that I have gained familiarity and experience with this method of detection, I can finally begin my next task."
"And that is?" Watson saw Holmes' eyes brighten and twinkle in excitement.
"Why, hunting of course!"
"Hunting?" Watson repeated, brows furrowed and his head tilted to one side in confusion. Holmes chuckled at the expression on his best friend's face as he continued tinkering with his revolver.
"By hunting, I mean the term used in reference to purging demons and other supernatural creatures of the night. I was surprised to discover how many of these monsters and demons are actually living amongst us. I have, in fact, successfully exorcised a demon. Mr. Ethan Calwell - he is, I have discovered, a descendant of Randall Calwell and is writing to us from more than a hundred years in the future - has given me quite detailed instructions in detecting demons and discovering omens and symbols, as well as some lessons in exorcism and factual myths regarding other monsters."
"I assume then that the symbols on the wall, the salt on the windows and the...things you did upon seeing me today is part of what you've been taught. But what of the strange noises at night that Mrs. Hudson has been hearing of late?"
"I was practicing my dictation of Latin verses of the Bible. Every word must be said perfectly and in the correct intonation else the exorcism fails and the demon is given the opportunity to escape. The first exorcism I performed failed when I mispronounced a phrase. You can't imagine my embarrassment and surprise when the demon suddenly laughed at me, insulted my Latin, and almost escaped the trap I placed him under." Watson frowned at Holmes' lighthearted recount of what was probably a frightening tale. To be honest, Watson was slightly curious about exorcisms and he was disappointed that Holmes didn't include him when it happened. He didn't know whether he should be angry at the detective because he attempted to hunt demons or because he attempted to hunt demons without him.
"Holmes, with all due respect, I am well aware of your strength and capability in a fight. I greatly respect and admire you for it - but this," Watson gestured to the windows and the wall. " - is not in your line of work. Mr. Calwell can't possibly expect you to simply drop your profession and become this...this exorcist or hunter as you call it. Surely there must be someone else more suitable for the task. Even you must agree that this is too dangerous for someone inexperienced to undertake alone, without the proper mentoring. And you shouldn't have been performing an exorcism! Your mistake could have cost you your life." Holmes glanced at Watson and smiled in amusement as he set the revolver down on the small coffee table.
"I apologize for worrying you unnecessarily, old friend. You know my penchant for dramatics. I did mention the word hunting, but I would hardly do so in this case. Mr. Calwell is against sending us on an errand that we are unfamiliar with as well." He paused to lean back in his chair and take the smoking pipe he left on the table. "My previous adventure, I promise you, is the first as well as the last of such undertaking. That was, I have to admit, quite an experience and one I am not keen on repeating." Watson breathed a sigh of relief, but some apprehension was still there.
"Then what does Mr. Calwell require of you?" He asked.
"He is aware of my line of work - from your chronicles of my cases I suspect - and wishes to avail of my expertise. He seeks information on a man by the name of James Maybrick, who Mr. Calwell believes is the key to a particular event that is occurring in his own time. But I have been warned that searching for this man might arouse the attention of demons. It's for that very reason that Mr. Calwell has given me basic instructions in fighting them. He doesn't wish for me to go unprepared. As you have already mentioned, hunting is new to me." He stared at Watson and blew a cloud of smoke before he spoke again.
"Although the task is familiar to me, the danger is still evident - greater even, compared to any case I've handled before. You know that I hold the utmost respect for your strength and courage in the face of danger, but I won't think any less of you should you choose not to assist me."
"I refuse to leave you in such a dangerous situation while I stand idly by. You know that I will always be more than happy to help you, no matter how dangerous it might be." Watson said, straightening his back and looking at his friend determinedly. Holmes smiled and nodded to him gratefully.
"I could ask for no better partner to have at my back." He said. When Watson saw that Holmes wasn't going to argue or force him to leave, he relaxed.
"Have you any clues or information as to who this Maybrick fellow is, or where he lives?" Sherlock didn't answer the question immediately. His hands played with his pipe, turning it around and staring deep in thought. Watson wanted to find out what his best friend was thinking of, but the detective was a master of hiding his real emotions and his thoughts. The Doctor could only sit and make wild guesses on the thoughts that lurked in Holmes' brilliant mind. Finally after a long pause, he looked at Watson.
"More than a hundred years have passed in Mr. Calwell's time. What information he can glean for us is either false or circumstantial - the most accurate information he can acquire is that James Maybrick is a cotton merchant and that he lives somewhere in Liverpool."
"It's not much to go on." Watson commented.
"If he was able to gather more information than that he would not be seeking my help." Holmes replied. The Doctor nodded in acquiesce.
"So what is our course of action?" He asked. Holmes stood up from his armchair and grabbed his coat from the stand. Watson moved to stand as well.
"I have sent my irregulars to find this James Maybrick fellow and they have found one such man living in Liverpool. I've decided to call on his house and see if this man is the James Maybrick that Mr. Calwell needs information on."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"I would like you to visit Scotland Yard and ask Inspector Lestrade for reports on the murders that have occurred near Whitechapel. Learn what you can of how the crimes were committed and see if you can find any pattern in the killer's methods."
"Are these murders connected to the man we're looking for?"
"I'm not certain. But Mr. Calwell has suggested that we investigate the crime as well. If you have nothing else to ask then I suggest you make your way to Scotland Yard as soon as possible. It is important that we gather as much information as we can, as quickly as possible." Watson nodded and together both he and Holmes left the sitting room to get to work.