Tobias Gregson, a man of decent height and grand mustache, greeted us at Scotland Yard with glittering eyes and blooming excitement.
"And the plucky devil himself returns to our graces!"
Lestrade, with whom the derogatory statement had been aimed, huffed his amusement and stood rigidly before the officer. I had been overlooked while this exchange took place; it was not until I removed my hat and cleared my throat that I was granted full audience.
Gregson's good-natured smile dissipated as he lay eyes on me.
"By George, you're alive after all,"
"Brilliant deduction, sir," said Lestrade, taking a seat.
The inspector looked between the two of us with a confused and distrusting twitch before stepping round his desk. With his hands spread on the surface before him, his eyes darted between the two of ours rigidly as he inhaled a steady breath. "Come to turn yourself in, have you?"
"I'm here to clear my name." I said, avoiding his achingly obvious approach.
"Clear your name!" he laughed. "And how do you suppose that? You can't just walk in 'ere an' expect me to-"
"I am simply asking you to sit down and hear me out, Inspector Gregson. It may not be worth your while, but it certainly is worth mine."
Lestrade tipped his hat above his eyebrows and sighed. "Please, sir, it'd be much easier if you just comply."
Gregson looked far from amused by what he invited into his office, though with bitter acceptance he bit his lip and bade I continue.
"I would like to begin with the simple fact that I am not a criminal." I took my seat, watching his finicking features slacken. "I have done nothing to offend London or its people as the matters concerning Sherlock Holmes, as reported by Stanley Hopkins-"
"God rest his soul."
"... the matters in which I was first arrested, were made by misconstrued information. I do indeed know a man by the name of Holmes, but he is not the criminal Hopkins imagined I was referring. You see, I was out of London for quite a while now visiting family on the continent while simultaneously fulfilling my desire to travel. When I returned I thought I'd look up an old school friend of mine who went by the name Sherlock Holmes. Little did I know that is would be met by such disastrous misunderstandings! But nonetheless, I met the man whose name exactly matches my friend's and was subsequently abducted for a few days. No harm came to me before I left him."
Gregson stood suddenly and clenched both his hands into round, pink fists. "That's a very fascinating tale there, mister...?"
"Watson."
"Watson. Yes, a very fascinating story, but what exactly do you mean when you say you left? No one just leaves, for God's sake!"
I can't say I didn't expect him to catch that, though I really must congratulate the man. I relayed my days spent with Holmes from the cab heist to my leaving (though I omitted a few choice occasions) and put extra emphasis on the humanity displayed by the criminal in question. Throughout my account Gregson would nod his head even though it seemed like he wasn't listening. Lestrade, to my right, sat very patiently and soaked up my words like a sponge. I was not interrupted through my entire speech, but judging by the looks on my companions faces I knew that I got my argument across. Gregson had only one complaint by the end.
"You said you left."
"Exactly so, I left. Out of some slew of conscience, the man decided to let me off at a nondescript bar where I was allowed to take my leave."
He was sitting back and examining me with uneasy eyes. After a while his gaze switched to Lestrade.
"And what about you?" he asked. "Why're you here?"
"This gentleman was kind enough seek me out and apologize for my injuries. It was partially his fault." Lestrade cast a glance my way, his lips pulling into smile. "Anyway, I thought the least I could do was provide support, seeing as how I met him before the incident and can fully attest to his innocence."
"So you tellin' me, Mr. Watson," he said with a chaste glance towards my companion. "That one of our best inspectors was wrong when he said you were connected with Holmes? Look here, I'm willing to buy into a few strange claims, listen to word before I make opinion, but I'm finding it very hard to believe you right now. In fact, I'd like nothing more then to take you in."
I schooled my features with complete finality towards my statement. "I don't believe you've any actual evidence to prove what Stanley Hopkins has claimed against me, sir. You don't have my confessions and you have no witnesses. Though I am aware that it would be careless to suggest trust in my word as I will admit to the seriousness of current circumstances." I met Gregson's eye and watched as they narrowed to my words. "To have good faith amongst your men is ideal, Inspector, but to accept their word before fact is pure insolence."
A heavy silence fell upon the room as our officer wracked his brain to come up with a considerable conclusion. I was shifting uneasily next to Lestrade who was, in turn, quite in control of himself. But I waited patiently as Gregson pulled out a notebook and scrawled out a few hasty lines. Satisfied with whatever he'd written, he closed the book and slipped it into a drawer beneath his desk.
"I'll make you gentlemen a deal. What say you?"
"What sort of deal?" Lestrade asked, leaning forward.
"The kind of deal that establishes one's trust in another man's word."
We both nodded, encouraging him to continue.
"You look like a strong enough fellow," he said to me. "How familiar are you with a gun? And no need to be a gentleman about it."
"Unashamedly, I'm quite aquatinted with them. I was an army doctor only a few years ago; my record was nearly unbeatable."
"Good to hear. And what about you?"
Lestrade's face flushed red at the question. "You know damn well how good I am with a pistol, you twit!"
I could tell Gregson wanted to throw his head back laugh, but he settled on a small, demeaning chuckle. "I'm only asking for factual sake! You must not have been good enough to make it into the academy, at least. No, no, Lestrade, I remember you well enough. But there is a protocol to follow, as you are both almost my responsibility."
Almost his responsibility? "If you mean to proposition us-"
"That is exactly what I mean to do, boy-o." I had to blink back my astonishment before I could respond. I couldn't, of course, because when Tobias Gregson has the spotlight, there isn't a soul who can take it from him. "You have merits that the Yard could utilize. Legally I cannot invite you into the force, but I can deputize you." He cast his glance towards Lestrade. "Who knows? Maybe they'll even give you a second thought."
"Do you mean to say," I started, holding his gaze until he was no longer smiling. "Do you propose we follow under your word and help to bring in criminals?"
I could see Lestrade from the corner of my eye smiling, despite trying to suppress it. For him this was a second chance at what he was first denied. If he could establish himself in the face of the law, much like my Holmes did, then they would immediately jump at the opportunity to admit him into their ranks. But for me, it was like painting a target on my chest. I was no detective, I had no stake in this game without Holmes at my side protecting my back and leading me ahead. Here I was surrounded by no one who would do that. And aside from that issue, there was the fact that I had made myself known to not only that accursed D'Arville, but also that mysterious man from the club. If I were to think, for one moment, of turning against their better graces and having the misfortune of bringing in one of their men, well surely I would fall lower upon their conscience. It would be an insult to them that would cost me my life. And if I knew Gregson, which I still believe I did, he would try to utilize me and find a way to get at Holmes. Wouldn't it be grand if Tobias Gregson of Scotland Yard was able to bring down Sherlock Holmes (of course, with the assistance of some unknown)?
I shuttered at the thought but could not escape the glinting victory in the officer's eyes. "You will have to prove to me, Mr. Watson, that you're a man of your word. Now I know it can be intimidating, going up against this lot. What? Of course I'm not going to waste you on petty patrols and swooning drunks! No, no, my good sir, you will be on appointment directly from me. You will report to me whenever I call you; you will do exactly as I say and you will follow whenever danger beckons at London's doorstep. Lestrade here will keep you alive... he'll have to because I am far too busy to do so myself."
I shook my head. "Look, sir, this is a very reasonable proposition, but..."
"But what?" It was Lestrade who asked.
"But I can't accept."
"If you refuse me," Gregson stroked his mustache as he spoke. "Then I will have no choice but to put you in on suspicious behavior. I do believe you've spent a night or two in our cells. You can easily find yourself there again."
I wanted to reason with him, offer anything, but I already knew it was a losing battle. When arguing with an intellectual, one had the power to convince and convey reason. But when one is dealing with an idiot, words are only wasted. Besides, I don't think Lestrade would have let me leave without conceding. This was his chance at redemption, and I owed him that much. I did ruin his life, after all.
I stood up, smashed my hat to my head, and struck out my hand. Lestrade followed with more grace and watched as the inspector and I shook.
"I look forward to seeing what you can do, Oh Criminal."
"Why the trepidation in there? I saw no reason for it."
"I really can't say why."
"It's because of Holmes, I reckon. Are you afraid of him?"
"No, it isn't that. I suppose I'm just nervous as to what we may find... of who may find us."
Our conversation held none of the trivialities strangers resorted to in our walk back to my rooms. We talked little about Gregson and our new found obligation, however, Lestrade did ask about D'Arville and why I didn't mention him. I told him what I knew about the egotistical twit whom treated himself as a threat.
"I've never heard of him before."
"That's very likely. He's done nothing worth your attention."
"All the same, you can't ignore men like that. They're bound to turn up something."
I nodded, accepting this readily. "I'd bring him down myself if I could, if only to get him out of my life. However, with what authority I have, my only option would be murder."
"Well, it doesn't have to be; just turn him in."
"I wouldn't have a case against him in court, I'm afraid. He's good about keeping his name clear; that much I can say about him."
Lestrade shrugged off my comment and looked ahead. Looking at him in that moment, watching as his hands fisted in his pockets while he tried to remain civil by my side, I couldn't help but sense an immense change in character from the little detective I knew him as. He seemed to sense something in my thoughts as he began to turn down a different street.
"I suppose I'll be seeing a lot more of you from now on, Dr. Watson. I only pray you don't lose yourself in the battle."
He didn't look at me and I didn't answer.
And that was the mark, and indeed the nature, of our new partnership. As I sat up in bed that night I reflected upon exactly what that meant and what my feelings about it where. In the end, I didn't quite know what to think about replacing Sherlock Holmes as my friend and partner with the man that had always been known to me simply as Inspector G. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard.
Instead of another paragraph explaining why my updates are so suckish, and also that I am surprised that I've had this much written out for, like, ever, and just never realized this was the place to part, I'm curious to know: How do you guys picture Holmes? What with all the numerous adaptations, each bearing it's own unique voice, I'm interested to hear how you imagine him.
For me he is a mix across the mediums: In my mind Holmes resembles RDJ from the movie, with the grey eyes and mannerisms of canon, and the voice of John Telfer from the audiobooks (which I absolutelycannotrecommend more).
