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For what felt like the first time since this whole nightmare started, Holmes allowed himself to feel an incredible sense of hope, even as it was marred with horror. He had a leada real honest to goodness lead that had not been planted by "Bryson", or as he was now revealed to be, Wilson. He knew his enemy's real name, even had an address. Unfortunately, it was an old one. According to Watson's journal Wilson had moved out not long after being questioned by the police. Then there was the knowledge that Wilson's last known victim had been tortured before his death. Of course Holmes knew that Watson was not being kept in the lap of luxury all this time, but still, he now felt even more desperate than before. Even if he did find Watson alive, who knew what sort of shape he would be in? He could be horribly maimed or-

Stop that at once! Holmes scolded himself. You have a lead, now you must follow it.Wilson's old address was on the East End, near the docks. Holmes would have to don a disguise to avoid recognition. A rough dock worker should do the trick. As he gathered up Watson's journals he glanced toward the window. The gray light of dawn was just beginning to appear over the rooftops. Holmes swallowed hard. He had already lost four days, now there were only ten left. Don't give up, Watson. Please do not give up!Shaking himself free of his thoughts, he returned the journals to their places on the shelf. He glanced at the wall mirror. He had not shaved in days, and his grey/green eyes were slightly sunken in. Even wearing his own clothes he had a rough and dangerous look about him. He hoped his acting skills would not betray him. Just then he remembered something. Wilson had hired an agent-or perhaps he himself-to follow Holmes to keep up to date of his doings. He knew that Wilson was familiar with his gifts of disguise, he had said as much in their first meeting, so that would probably mean he would followed now, too. He had already planned on carrying his revolver with him, for the East End was not a place one wanted to go to unarmed, if they could help it, but now he would most definitely be on his guard. This time, he would try to catch his pursuer in the act. He could only pray that it would help save Watson's life, and not get him killed.

Holmes returned to the sitting room to find Mrs. Hudson tidying up. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked. Holmes nodded as he went into his room to get ready. "I must be on my way, Mrs. Hudson, I shall be back as soon as I'm able."

It took about an hour to finish preparing his disguise, and it seemed to take two more to reach Wilson's old address. At least Holmes was able to come up with a cover story in that time. He did not have the energy to come up with something on the spur of the moment.

He pounded on the door with his fist. "Open up, I say! I need a word with you." A rather large woman with gray hair and a mole on her left cheek answered the door.

"Wot is yur problem?" She snarled. "You've got any idea wot time it is?"

"I am looking for that blighter that sold me a sick bird." Holmes did not have to work hard to keep the disgust in his voice. "I got it for my little niece, see? Real sweet little girl she is. Since I'm her favorite uncle I thought I'd surprise her with a pet bird. The fool who lives here told me his birds were real strong and healthy, should live a long time. Well, I had to go off to sea not long after I gave my niece her new pet, and it wasn't until I got back here that I learned the bird had died the very next mornin'! Now you best bring him out here so I can have a word with him!"

The woman shook her head. "If yer talking about that Wilson fool, I had to throw him out. Blasted birds of his making such a racket at such odd hours, and the smell! I might not 'ave minded much if he'd at least 'ave taken care of them poor creatures, but he didn' even do that! Imagine, he was suppose to be such an expert too. Some expert, I was the one who had to feed his stupid pets."

"You won't know where he went off to, do you? I have a score to settle with him. My poor little niece was so upset, she refused to come out of her room for two whole days. I won't let nobody get away with hurting her, all right? I have no quarrel with you." And I certainly won't let anyone get away with hurting Watson, Holmes thought to himself, relieved that his act seemed to be working for the most part.

The woman scowled. "Never did give me a new address. Wish he had, I still gettin' complaints from former customers like yerself. Sorry for not bein' of more help."

Holmes felt his shoulders sag. Now what was he supposed to do? This woman was obviously telling the truth, she clearly had very little love for her former tenant. Holmes was going to have to think of something else.

"Thank you anyway, sorry I troubled you." Holmes turned to walk away. As he did, the landlady called after him.

"If ye ever do find him, give him a box on the ears for me."

Holmes nearly smiled at that. He made his way down the street, trying to stay alert to any signs of trouble. He could not see or hear anything out of the ordinary, but he knew that did not necessarily mean no one was following him. He could be quite invisible himself when the need arose. Then again, maybe once they had seen him start to converse with Wilson's old landlady they went to report their findings. There had to be some way to catch them in act, some way...

A sudden loud crash and a loud voice shouting "Watch where ya goin' you bloody idiot!" yanked Holmes from his thoughts. He looked behind him at the house he had just passed. A very drunk, very muscular gentleman was swaying over the sprawled form of another gentleman, whom he had obviously run into. The latter began trying to stand up. When he caught sight of Holmes, he took off in the opposite direction. Holmes ran off after him. This had to be the man who was following him, why else would he run away when Holmes looked at him? Holmes nodded his head in thanks to the drunken fellow, who was still stumbling about.

The former pursuer was clearly not used to being the pursued. Perhaps he was still rattled that he had been discovered, and in such a manner too! He made the fatal error of ducking into an alley. It turned out to be a dead end.

"There is no where left for you to run," Holmes told him in his own voice. The hired hand braced himself against the wall. "I know you were hired by Peter Bryson, or perhaps he used his own name of Andrew Wilson. Ah, I see the recognition in your eyes. Then you must know where he is."

The other man shook his head. "Come now," said Holmes smoothly, removing his revolver from his pocket. "There must be some place where you report your findings, maybe by sending a wire, hmm? You are not leaving here until you tell me where I can find the man who hired you."

His prisoner smirked. "Boss said you won't hurt me because he would hurt your friend if you did."

Holmes lashed out, striking the man with the butt end of his revolver. "If that were so, then pray tell me why you ran when I saw you. If my friend's survival was so dependant upon your safe return you would have stayed where you were, knowing that I was powerless to touch you." Holmes knew that he was taking a huge gamble by doing this, but it might be the only chance he had to save Watson. He pinned his now terrified prisoner to the wall, the barrel of the revolver pressed to the man's skull. "Tell me how you contact your boss with what you know and maybe I will let you walk away."

The man swallowed hard. "We met at the races. He told me all I had to do was follow you around and make sure you didn't talk to anyone you weren't supposed to."

"I am losing patience, tell me how you contact him."

"U-usually I s-send him a wire," the man stuttered, yelping in pain when Holmes pressed the revolver even harder against his skull.

"Very well then, you are going to send him another wire, and you will tell him exactly what I want you say."


To be continued...