Sherlock Holmes and the case of the floral token Chapter 12: The End, a sherlock holmes fanfic

Holmes rubbed his hands together and smiled. This was what he loved more than anything; The thrill of the chase, Watson by his side and the impending end of a case in sight.

Watson also smiled. It was like medicine for his own soul, to see that Holmes
enjoyed himself, even though the reasons for joy were questionable by moral standards.

It took them only twenty-two minutes to arrive at the address Lestrade had given them.

The Inspector was yet to arrive, no doubt he had only just received Holmes' reply. What Lestrade would say is "Wait for me before you take and actions," However, Holmes had other plans. "Watson, I want you to search the lower floors of the warehouse. If you find anything, tap your cane three times."

Watson looked at Holmes; his eyes widened for an instant, as he remembered the last time he was sent out on his own.
But then, it was just an instant. Holmes surely couldn't have noticed the slight moment of fear, could he?
Watson pulled himself together; his face became serious again. With a court nod, he turned around and wanted to make his way towards the house, but Holmes stopped him by grabbing his sleeve.

"John… When the Inspector get's here, stay with him. Yo… He'll feel comfortable with you." Holmes said. "It's alright. I won't let her hurt you again if she is here."

John smiled. "Alright. I'll tell one of the Constables around to inform Lestrade about my whereabouts, so he can join
me." he paused. "I love you." he then whispered into Holmes ear. Then he finally disappeared into the lion's den.

Holmes sighed as he watched him go, half filled with dread and the other half anticipation. He made his way round the warehouse and up the stairs that lead up the outside of the building. The door at the top was locked, though that was no obstacle for Sherlock Holmes. Within minutes he was inside; his footsteps the only sound save the occasional whistle of wind.

It was no hardship to
find an adequate entrance for Watson. The window that was there to bring some light into the otherwise cellar had been smashed in; perhaps long ago by a thief or some other kind of criminal. Now he was thankful for it, because Watson had to admit, that picking locks was more Sherlock's area, and he didn't want to open any doors by shooting at them
now. With these thoughts in his mind, Watson climbed down into the dark, filthy room. Covered in cobwebs, he began to look around. There was not a soul here; in fact it seemed this place had not been used for many years now. The place was entirely covered in dust and webs made by bored and hungry spiders. There were cupboards by the walls. Some were broken, some were empty, and in some there were bottles; also
empty and full. There was nothing of interest in this room, so Watson made his way towards the door, almost having to waddle through thick layers of dust and dirt. To open the door was also quite easy. He turned left into the corridor. All of a sudden, there was the rattle of broken glass, and steps behind his back. A shadow drew ever closer behind him. Quick as lightning, Watson had loaded his revolver and turned around, to face Inspector Lestrade.

"Bloody hell doctor!" Lestrade gasped, his hands raised in a defenseless gesture. "Where is Mr Holmes? I didn't see him when I arrive. Constable Porter told me where you were." He straightened out his jacket and rocked on his heels. "I'm taking it you've found nothing of interest in there then?"

"I'm sorry Inspector. I hope you understand my reaction; regarding the latest events…
Holmes is upstairs. He decided to search the upper floor on his own. I did protest, but you know him…" Watson shrugged.
"Now let us search the rest of the rooms here. I have the "order" not to leave your side."

Lestrade chuckled. "We're all ordered by Mr Holmes at sometime or other." He smiled and took out his own revolver. "Let us go then… It's bloody freezing in here."

Despite some footsteps in the (only little thinner) layer of dust, there were
not even signs of any form
of living to be found. While
Lestrade thought about the evil that might have housed in this building before, Watson thought about how Holmes was doing, above their
heads.

On Holmes' side, all was pretty well. He had found where the murderer was residing; A small room with candles on every surface except an old table in the middle of the room; decorated with a cloth, a bouquet of lilies, a cross and a small box engraved with religious symbols. Inside, Holmes discovered, were five of the tokens found on each of the victims. Satisfied with what he had seen, Holmes left the room and moved onto the balcony. "Ah Lestrade! You found the time to join us." He called down to the figures below.

"Ah! Mr Holmes! Here we go again!" yelled Lestrade. "have you found anything…erm…vital?"

In Watson's head, things looked differently. "Oh, bless you, you are alright, my love." he thought to himself, also smiling up to where Holmes figure was already visible.

"Quite a bit Lestrade, quite a bit! Watson, are you alright?" Holmes asked with a slight smile. He was relieved the doctor and inspector were together.

"Yes, yes, Holmes! All is fine! I have not left the Inspector's side, as you told me. But we have found nothing; except for some footprints, that must have been there before."

Watson said, climbing up the stairs.
"Would you be so kind as to show us what you have found? You said there is something of importance…" the Inspector chipped in, when also he reached Holmes.

"I shall Lestrade. Come along… Do be careful of that box." Holmes said as he guided them into the room. "I haven't been in there yet." He pointed towards a door in the corner.

The three men exchanged puzzled glances. "All we see here undermines the fact, that this woman was religiously motivated, and crazy." Lestrade stated in a very patronising tone.

Holmes nodded. "Yes…" He delved into a study on the table in the middle. "It looks like an alter. No bread or wine however. There are five tokens left in that box," Holmes said, taking off his hat and placing on a chair.
"If we do not stop her, I believe she will kill five more."

Watson could have done nothing. He was too far away to act, and too slow to shout. Had he cried out, perhaps he would have made the whole situation even worse. He watched Holmes stride towards the closed door, which most likely lead to a closet or this kind of room. The only thing John was capable of was opening his mouth, when he saw the movement under the slit of the wooden door. There was a clink, and it flung open, with such power, that it almost left a mark in the wall, as it loudly crashed against it.

A strong hand brought Holmes' arm to his back as a knife was placed at his neck.
"She's a tall women," Holmes thought, rolling his eyes. "I am only pulled down by a centimeters." He looked over at John and Lestrade, fear in both of their eyes and well as helplessness. "I wondered when you would find me." The women hissed, her mad eyes just visible above Holmes' shoulder. Her grasped tightened and the knife dug deeper, draw a little blood.

No! No! No, no, no. This could not be true! What was happening? Was this a cruel joke fate played on Watson? Was it a mirror? Was this how Holmes had felt like when he saw him lying on the ground, on the borders of death and life? No! it was not too late! He loved him too much to let it end here! But how? How could he save him? The use of weapons could be fatal for Holmes, for the matter what Lestrade and Watson did, this woman would be quicker. As much as it hurt him, but they could do nothing, but wait.

Holmes, however, seemed rather undisturbed by the unexpected act. "No need to worry Watson… I'm fine, it's just a scratch." He sighed, shooting his friend one of those quick smile, though his eyes betrayed him. "Pray, dear lady, I feel we should talk. Just me and you if that is what you prefer."
The woman frowned. She was hesitant in her reply, thinking over what she might say.

"Fine…" she creaked at last. "Just you and me, dear."

Watson's eyes widened as he watched the woman drag Holmes away with the knife still pressed to his throat.+

It pained Holmes. He knew Watson hated not being able to help. The door shut and Watson disappeared, as did the blade at Holmes' neck. The woman pulled it away, leaving a cut of two inches in length, throwing it to the floor. "Temper, temper…" Holmes muttered, sliding down the door to the floor, a hand at his neck.

"So what shall we do with you…does he deserve mercy? NO! Of course HE DOESN'T! You're one of them! You're a sinner. You deserve to die! And only that…DID YOU HEAR ME?!" the woman snapped, as soon as they were out of reach.

Holmes looked at her with dull eyes. "I really do not understand what you're on about Miss…"

She shook her head. "You! You, and your…" she grimaced with disgust. "At least there are some reasonable people left…I did this for a reason, you know. A noble reason. This world must be cleaned from scum like your kind. If God makes mistakes, we are the ones to correct it. WE are the angels who keep this world clean."

"And by leaving a blood bath you think that is clean?" Holmes asked. "I must ask,what is it we have done wrong but fall in love? Surely the bible does not condemn love."

"Only rightful love, you fool! What you do…is not rightful! It is barbaric! And nothing less! Believe me, it is better to clear people like you away from God's holy grounds. Phahh! Love. What you have, is not love, but a disease; yes. A disease of the mind." she pulled out the knife again, and looked fascinatedly at the blade; as Holmes' blood trickled down onto her fingers. She hadn't even cared to wipe it somewhere. "And eventually, this disease will be fatal. But don't worry. It is the best for you all. So, you can't infect us; the clean ones."

"But you were once like us, weren't you?" Holmes said, his eyes trying to avoid the blade in her hand. "Mrs McLeod left you, didn't she? You were both young, on holiday. Well she was… You spent nights together in your father's barn, complete bliss. Then you wen to see her before she left and there was a man. She said she was getting married and you didn't like that did you? It broke your heart so you turned to God."

The woman sank to her knees, and began to sob uncontrollably. "Yes! Yes! We loved each other! I-I didn't understand…" she trailed off and cried, before she hissed, "She was evil! The devil himself lived within her, and she had to be killed! Ooooh! I loved her; I would have done anything for her! But no, she would leave me! Without any explanation! When I saw her again, there was this man. And he…HE! Was one of them! I could not bear with the knowledge, and found the society. We thought about what we could do against such terrible creatures…and we found the only way to revenge ourselves…and free those poor, infected souls, by giving them back their purity. We made them immortal…we gave them everlasting youth and purity…" she had long ceased to look at Holmes. Now it almost seemed as if she was talking to herself.

"What society?" Holmes asked quietly. "Did they make you do this? Make you kill these innocent people…"

"Ooooh, but they are right! They told me this…all of it, all that I know about you and this other man…all that people shouldn't do, I know from them. They…educated us."

"Surely, you of all people should understand? About me and John."

She did not reply to Holmes' question. It was too late. She was lost, in her own little world. "Actually, I envy you…I mean…I envy them…immortality. Everlasting beauty and life…and a loving God in Heaven…I have not sinned. It was them. I helped others. ALL I EVER WANTED WAS LOVE, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" She cried, and threw the knife away. Suddenly, she started to fumble about with something that seemed to be hidden under her dress. "I want it too. I am ready…" and for the first time, her expression was as clear as that of a reasonable person. "Mr Holmes. I want to be loved; that is all…" first it looked like, she would put a hand to her head; but in reality it was a tiny gun for women. "Mea Culpa.", she whispered, before she pulled the trigger.

Holmes didn't have time to say what he had wanted to say to her. He wanted her have hope… "Then again," he thought, as he watched her lifeless body slumped against a pile of crates. "Her hope was in death and immortality."
How sad an end it was for such a lost women. So many factors had baffled her fragile mind and so many people had erased her views and penciled in their own. It was indeed a sad end.

Normally John would have thought twice before breaking in a door with his shoulder; especially after this mad creature had shot him…but exactly this mad creature had possibly hurt or even killed Holmes. There was no such thing as reason left in Watson's mind. Only a soldier's determination.

Lestrade was the first to act, attempting to open the door. The handle rattled and squeaked against the rust and gave no hope of giving way. "Doctor, I couldn't borrow your shoulder could I?"

John's heart stopped. Time froze; life ceases to exist in this very moment, as je saw that Sherlock Holmes was alright, despite the two-inch cut on his neck. He was alright. He was fine. He was not insured. What a relief.

Lestrade saw how the two of them stared at each other. He saw the spark, he saw the trembling of their lips, as if they would want to speak, but where kept from
it by a spell. And to be honest, it was a spell; a curse in this respect, and the Inspector himself was a guardian of this black magic: the law.
But he unserstood. Everyone sometimes was a criminal; and Lestrade had more than once committed the same crime as those two men before him.
"I'll go and see if there is anyone else in te house…" said he, thoughts drifting off to his own moments of love, and passion with the man who he would return home to, after his day's work was done.

Watson would never understand, why Lestrade did it; why he spared them. It was obvious now. The longing in their eyes, the tears on his own cheeks. All of it gave them away as clearly as if they'd formed into words. "We are lovers. We are criminals. We are animals."
And then, Lestrade wasn't a dull man; in the contrary. Just because Holmes and he, were not the best of companions, and enjoyed the odd teasing, it didn't
mean, that he was incapable of doing was he was payed to do: uncover wrongdoers.

As soon as the Inspector was gone, John fell into Sherlock's arms; panting, chuckling, sighing. "I think
we need to invite the Inspector for dinner some time." Watson said, his words muffled my the cloth of Holmes' jacket

Holmes remained still as the door behind him open and the heavy breath of John and Lestrade could be heard. "It's alright," He said, eyes still on the body in front of him. "I'm alright."

It was about one or two weeks later, that peace had returned to Baker Street 221b. Watson, Holmes and Lestrade were all gathered around the small table in the living room, for dinner. The Inspector and the doctor where enrolled in a vivid discussion; and they were listened to by Sherlock Holmes.

"Let me sum it up once again." said Lestrade disbelievingly, "you say, that the poison of a cobra can be made….a medicine?!"
Watson shook his head, "Yes of course, Inspector. This knowledge is as old as mankind itself. It has been rediscovered in China lately. It is the dose that makes a poison, you see. But, mark you, it is not only snake's poison that is used, but also bee's poison; plant-extracts, like belladonna, or poison ivy OR even lilies."

Holmes sighed and nodded. "We shall indeed." He said quietly, finally turning to him. "Be careful, you don't want blood on your new coat, which I must say looks splendid on you."

Lestrade's eyes narrowed. "Now you mention it… how did you deduce, that she would strike again, when she did?" he turned towards Watson. "I mean the day when…"

"Miss Hargreaves was a very lost women," Holmes added. "And being lost the offer of family in the form of this society was a warmth to her. Unfortunately, they took advantage of her weak mental state and impressing such information into her brain couldn't have been a difficult task. So off she went," He waved a hand dramatically. "Such atrocities on hand, willing to die for the cause."

"Yes, yes, Holmes." now it was Watson who interjected. "But how indeed did you know it would be THAT night?"

"I suspected as much." Holmes said, gettting up and going over to the mantel piece. "I believe Watson was targeted purely for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She could have attacked anyone she suspected of anything."

This statement only drew a mischievous smirk on Lestrade's face, but he didn't say anything further. Watson's reaction was, to look at Holmes in amazement and proud. "Well done." he thought. "My great detective."

"I just felt it… I do not really know." Holmes shrugged. "She wasn't going to stop and the first murder hadn't taken place on any religious day… I had to go on my instincts."

As the evening went on, Lestrade decided to return home, to pass the time with someone else, in front of his own chimney. It was not, because it had been a bore to visit 221b, but because he had the slight feeling, that his presence was no longer needed there.

When the Yarder was gone, nothing changed in the flat. Holmes and Watson sat in their chairs, opposite each other; Watson reading the newspaper; Holmes smoking his favorite pipe,filled with tobacco from the single, Persian slipper, that hang near the fireplace. After some five minutes, John slowly put the newspaper down; and looked at Sherlock for a long moment. Then he stood up and kissed him gently. Holmes smiled at him. "It is strange, John. Had you waited a little longer, I would have kissed you. How did you know…?"
Watson interrupted him. It was not necessary for Holmes to finish this sentence. "Your eyes have given you away. Like so often before." He smirked. Now it all was over, he could say it. There was no need to hide anymore. This was the end, of the "Case of the Floral Token".