On the Streets of Paris

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

KS: Halloa to all you readers! Welcome to chapter ten of On the Streets of Paris, the sequel to Brother. We're finally on chapter ten! Goodness, I am very sorry I've been so slow with the updates. It...would be much better I'm sure, quality-wise, if I went faster. xDD It shall improve, though. Trust me. XD

This chapter starts off in Watson's POV.

Enjoy!

"Holmes," I began once we were in the comforting safety of the hotel once more, "Were those Leclair's men?"

Holmes was untying his necktie, having already removed his coat and waistcoat and tossed them onto the floor. He turned and looked at me, his long, nervous fingers fiddling with the knot.

"Leclair's? Yes…that seems like a good answer." he replied half-absentmindedly.

He finally got the tie undone and tossed it over the back of the sofa, disappearing into his bedroom for a moment and returning with his dressing-gown.

"You're going to stay up, aren't you?" I asked as he gathered a pillow or two from about the room, tossing them as they were collected onto the sofa.

"I must decide how we shall catch Leclair," he replied as he sat and nestled himself amongst the pillows, drawing his thin legs up and lighting his favourite pipe.

"All right," said I, "but don't exhaust yourself. Good night, Holmes."

Holmes acknowledged me with a nod and a glance, and I went off to bed. The bed, with its warmth and comfort, was extremely welcome after the long, hard day. I stretched my limbs, which were already stiffening and sore from the fight, and settled into a comfortable position, drifting off into slumber.

HOLMES:

I curled up among the cushions I had gathered, taking draught after draught off my pipe. I had a long night ahead of me. The thoughts about how to capture Leclair should not take long.

He was not a desperate criminal—no, he had no reason to be afraid of being arrested for anything. I doubt anyone in the world besides myself knew that he was connected to that string of unsolved Parisian crimes a few years back. He was not the smartest of criminals, either—just your average blackguard fresh from prison.

All I had to do was watch the public house with a few good policemen, to whom I would obviously have to give at least a few details before I could use them, and capture Leclair. After his trial and my evidence, the man would be away for at least fourteen years. Bourgeois would be away for some time, too, on his crime, but I would speak on his behalf to at least get some help for his wife.

But I had to decide what to do on the matter of Jackson Hughes. The devil was coming here, and would not take that long to arrive. With virtually nothing left to live for, and the police assuredly on his tail, he would be as quick as possible in locating and killing us in some horrific way.

I could not let Watson out of my sight, and yet I was loath to bring him along with me. But it was safer for him to come along—at least I would be able to protect him myself. After this case was wrapt up, we could be on the go more often, seeing various landmarks. Hughes would have a more difficult time keeping track of us then.

Right now, I would spend all night going over as many scenarios as I could, plotting out everything for our safety and survival against this merciless devil until we could place him back into the hands of the police.

I would get no sleep to-night. And very likely, little sleep for some time to come.

Watson awoke early the next morning, and at a glance I could tell that his sleep had been a little restless. He came toward the breakfast table where I was sitting with my coffee and newspaper stiffly, limping slightly.

"That fight last night wasn't too much for you, was it?" I asked, making sure that my tone was of concern and not derision, for I knew the question could be taken the wrong way. "We don't have to go out so early if you are not up to it."

"No, Holmes. I'm fine." Watson replied, settling himself at the table and beginning on the breakfast I had already called for.

"Are we going to the police station first this morning?" he asked after he had swallowed a bite of toast.

I looked up from my paper in some surprise.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. How did you know?"

"I just thought that we would go to give a few more details about the assault last night."

"Ah," I muttered, resuming my paper. "Well, we are going, but it really wasn't for that purpose. Though, I don't doubt they will ask for particulars, as you've said."

I glanced in the bowl of my pipe, in which the tobacco was disappearing far more rapidly than I would like.

"I'm afraid we will have to find a good tobacconists to-day, also." I remarked.

Watson laughed.

"I still have some, if you need any." he offered as he cut at the ham on his plate.

"No," I smiled, "that stuff you smoke is hardly strong enough. Ever since you stopped smoking Ship's, I'm afraid you don't smoke anything to my taste."

"Well, I can hardly be blamed. After living with you for a while, one gets tired of strong tobaccos." Watson chortled.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, only diluting it slightly with sugar and a touch of milk, wanting to keep it strong.

By the time I was finished with the paper, Watson had finished his breakfasting, and I hurried off to go change from my dressing-gown into my frock-coat, and taking up our hats, gloves, and sticks, we departed.

It was, as Watson commented ardently on our exiting the hotel, what most would call quite a lovely day. It was good enough that I decided a cab was hardly needed, and we walked some ways from the hotel to reach a telegraph office.

"Holmes," Watson began before I went inside, "what are we doing here?"

"I'm sending a wire, Watson. Surely you could have deduced that yourself without any help."

"That's not what I meant. Why didn't you send a wire before we left the hotel?"

"Because, it just entered my mind," I lied. I could not tell him that it was possible that a wire might be traced to our hotel, thus leading Hughes straight to us, since I had decided not to tell him of Hughes's escape just yet.

I entered alone, and I wrote up a message telling Mycroft to send all messages to this office, to be left until called for. It was true that Hughes could still track me by this, but not so quickly. I came back out into the street to find Watson gone.

My heart leapt into my throat. I was a fool—a complete and utter fool!—to have left him yet again. Stupid man that I was! Hardly the brain I kept claiming myself to be, making the same mistake twice!

I was just about to call his name when I saw him, only a little over ten feet away, looking into a shop's front window. He smiled as he saw me and walked back over, but when he saw my face his smile faded.

"What's the matter, Holmes?" he asked.

My face, I could feel, was slightly flushed, both from fear and embarrassment.

"I was wondering where you had gone," I replied.

Watson apparently found this funny and laughed a little.

"Really, Watson, it is Paris, and with someone as romantic as you, I never know what you'll be distracted by. I do need my Boswell on solid ground."

"Really, Holmes…" Watson sighed as we walked along.

I slid my arm into his as we continued on, truly afraid that we would get separated, and I kept a very close eye on the crowd about us.

"What I can't understand, Holmes," Watson began as we walked, "Is why on Earth Leclair would send men after us."

"Perhaps he heard we had been inquiring after him and became suspicious…" I said absently as I scrutinised the faces of passers-by.

"Do you think he'll try to send men again?"

"It's a possibility." I replied.

Indeed, if Hughes did not make another attempt, I would be extremely surprised. Hopefully we could avoid the next one, now that I was being more vigilant.

"It's a good thing I carry arms…" Watson said, his voice lowered as he looked about.

It most certainly was.

It did not take long for us to reach the police headquarters once more, and we went inside, where Inspector Achard was waiting for us in the lobby.

"Monsieur Holmes," he said, "I received your wire this morning. You say you have particulars that I would be interested in?"

"Indeed," said I, "but I think it's best we speak in your office."

"Of course, Monsieur. This way,"

KS: Thanks for reading! Don't forget to review!

I'm on spring break this week, so I will hopefully get a lot of chapters up…and hopefully at some point this story will actually get good, since I have some quite nice ideas. Sorry for the abrupt ending! xD