"And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers." - Quentin Tarantino

Chapter 11: "Great Vengance"

Holmes:

There are very few parts of London with which I am not familiar, and I have never had a fear of making my way down even the least inviting of them. With the onset of the unexpected thunderstorm the cabs picked up their fares and vanished. And I was left to make my way back to Baker Street on foot.

Not that I much minded; the rain bothered me very little and I was in a black mood of contemplation and so welcomed the chance for a solitary walk to relieve the stress of my mind.

It is perhaps not a coincidence that both Watson and I were attacked during dark, stormy hours…and I should have realized from the beginning that I was being followed.

For I had walked alone in the rain for no more than twenty minutes or so before I heard the footsteps behind me.

The fool should have read some of Watson's stories in the Strand. If he had, he would have realized that I have exceptional hearing.

Despite thunderstorms.

No doubt he was one of Watson's original attackers. Seeing me suddenly alerted to his presence, the man rushed me in a very unprofessional frontal attack.

I dodged it a little too late…he was faster than I had supposed, and the blow landed on my left cheekbone.

He pulled back to strike again, a terrible leer of triumph on his face.

The expression dropped when I brought my stick up into his stomach.

The anger that had been building in me was funneled all at once into a cold and calculating fury. Adrenaline flooded my veins and I felt my lips curl back over my teeth in an animalistic snarl.

This was one of the men who had harmed Watson, standing solid and tangible before me, something I could get my hands on.

And all at once…I was no longer the victim in that deserted street…he was. And I was very much the hunter.

His terrified face at my inhuman look testified to that fact, and had I not advanced I believe he would have run.

He shook off my blow and charged again, knocking me back against the wall of the nearest building with considerable force. I felt my hand graze the stone and I cried out, ducking as he aimed a right hook at my face.

Instead his blow landed against the building and he swore, staggering back. I began to straighten, only to meet his fist as it hit the same spot on my face.

All the rules of fair-play, of which my nation claims to be so fond, left my mind and I cracked my stick over his head while using a long leg to knock his feet out from under him.

He hit the pavement hard…the breath fleeing from his lungs. I seized hold of the villain and held him up against an iron railing that extended from one of the buildings. I pressed my now damaged stick against his throat and he gripped it, eyes wide and terrified.

I glared at him for a few moments while I regained my breath…than said icily. "It is common courtesy to introduce yourself before beginning a conversation."

The man swallowed, or attempted to.

"Who are you?"

"M-m…"

I pressed my stick into his throat, he choked.

"Mcallistair! M-mcallistair…don'…please…"

"Whyever not?" I seethed. "Given your activities of last night, I would assume you enjoy roughhousing."

"I didn' do nothin'."

I pressed him harder into the railing so that he was leaning over the dangerously low staircase beneath it.

"You beat a man on Oxford Street last night, did you not!?"

He stuttered, glancing between my face and the drop behind him.

"DID YOU NOT?!" I snarled, completely losing my temper.

"Yes! Yes! But we didn' kill im!"

"Thank heaven that you did not….for if you had you would have been dead quite a while ago." I hissed with such menace it startled even me.

He strained feebly against my stick. "Are you goin' to kill me?"

"I should." I said glaring into his pale face, "You haven't the least idea how strongly I am tempted."

Mcallister whimpered, but far from engaging my sympathy the sound reminded me of how he must have ignored the very same sounds as he beat Watson. Just an inch and the hard wood could close off his windpipe…such was not beyond me at the moment.

"If you answer my questions I may retain enough of my patience to take you to Scotland Yard in one piece." I hissed, "What is it you are trying to get from Watson and why?"

"I..I..I don' know…that was his, job not mine…I wasn't s'pposed t' know!"

"That is not what I want to hear!" I snarled again, pushing him farther.

He whimpered, struggled and gasped past the stick. "A watch!...it was a watch!"

I frowned, thinking. "His brother's watch?"

Mcallister nodded fervently, still struggling.

"Is that why they killed Andrew Watson? Because he had the watch?"

"Y-yes…he ducked out…didn' want part anymore…but the watch was important…he took it with im."

"He sent it to his brother to keep it out of your hands."

Another nod.

I leaned further in, "What was it he did not want part of? What were you planning?"

"I don' know…I was only to help get the watch."

"Where is your friend?"

"He…he's goin' back…he's gone."

"Going back? Back where?"

Mcallister choked with his efforts. "Rathclythe."

"Of course…to Scotland. To meet the others."

At my words his eyes widened and he ceased his struggles.

"You're part of a group. There are more of you…"

He glanced at me, fixed, like a man before the muzzle of a loaded gun.

"Who are they?"

He shook his head again, and an even deeper fear settled in his eyes.

"Who are they?!" I growled

"I can' tell you!"

I pressed harder against the stick and he gagged and struggled, managing to land a blow on my knee.

It hurt but the sound that escaped my lips was more of a growl than anything else. I released the chokehold and pulled him back up only to send my fist into his face, crushing an already broken nose, and blackening his eye in the process.

He gasped and fell against the brick of the next building, clutching his broken face. But his eyes never left me…and I knew that his fear was genuine.

He could not tell me…not without instilling the wrath of this organization…he could be killed and all of his information would be lost with him.

He had to be kept somewhere safe while he was questioned…and I only knew of one place at the moment.

I caught hold of his collar, barely restraining myself from doing him in then and there, and hauled him roughly back the way I had come.

"Mr. Holmes!" Lestrade leapt to his feet as I barged without ceremony into his office, pulling Mcallister behind me.

"A present for you Lestrade." I said with a grin that made my prisoner shudder. "This is one of the chaps who decided to pay Doctor Watson a visit last night! I'm sure you have efficient methods to interrogate him."

The Inspector's beady gaze traveled over Mcallister's bleeding, bruised face and the shallow graze on his head that my stick had caused. The stick itself was still clutched in my right hand, very obviously broken.

"Erm, it would seem, Mr. Holmes, that you have done a little interrogating on your own."

"Oh yes, we had a pleasant chat."

Lestrade smiled slightly and sat again at his desk, shuffling his papers. "How nice. Very well Mr. Holmes…we'll take it from here."

One of the officers on duty came to relieve me of my burden and escorted Mcallister from the room. I turned to leave but was stopped by Lestrade's voice.

"You look a little off yourself, Mr. Holmes…would you like to rest? I could send for tea…and perhaps a medic."

I turned to face him, rather surprised. "No, thank you Lestrade…very kind of you but he has given me a lead."

The Inspector smiled and nodded. "I understand, Mr. Holmes….good luck. And be careful…we've gotten used to seein' you around here."

I thanked him again and left his office. I once told Watson that I would never get his limits…perhaps the same was true of a certain Scotland Yard Inspector.

I stormed up the seventeen steps of 221b Baker Street, still filled with the energy and exhilaration of the tussle I had engaged in.

Thus I did not deduce the presence of my brother until I had burst into the room and shed my coat.

Mycroft and Watson were seated before the fire, and both turned towards me as I entered.

Watson's already pale face blanched…and Mycroft's eyes widened.

"Sherlock!"

"Holmes!"

"What is it?" I asked as I took in my friend's stricken face. "Has something happened?"

"I think you had better tell us, Sherlock." My brother said.

Only then did I realize that my right hand was bleeding, and I still held the broken walking stick. Considering the blow I had received my face was probably bruised as well.

"Ah…well…"

"You're hurt." Watson said, beginning to rise from his seat.

I saw him wince at the movement, but he managed to rise and went to his bag.

I was rather pleased that his latest rest had given him energy enough to accomplish this feat…but his injuries still haunted me.

"Not badly, Watson. To quote our colonial cousins, you should see the other fellow."

"You found him?" Mycroft said, as quick as ever. He settled back in his chair with a sigh…as though I were a child and he an experienced and weary parent.

"No…he found me…the sod attempted to pull the same trick on me as he did you Watson."

My friend looked at me sharply, his hazel eyes dark with concern. "Sit down, Holmes."

I smiled as he approached with the bag in hand, his arm in a far looser sling than it had been secured in before. "Ever the Doctor, Watson."

Watson snorted. "Sit down, Holmes before you get blood on Mrs. Hudson's carpet."

But I was too eager to sit still to be treated. I turned to Mycroft.

"I gleaned some information from him before I turned him over to Scotland Yard. He and the other man who attacked Watson were assigned to get his brother's watch."

Watson scoffed softly behind me. "Why in heavens name…."

I held up a hand to quiet him and continued.

"There are more of them Mycroft, the attacker at large is on his way to a rendezvous in Rythclythe Scotland…they are a group."

Mycroft smiled without mirth. "They are more than that, Sherlock…that is what I came over to tell you. I have traced the Tartan – and found something very sinister. And very deadly."

TBC…