Of the Coming of the Hound

Disclaimer - I hate Stapleton, just for the record, but I don't own him or anybody else!

A/N: VHunter07 is threatening to send a hit man after me if I don't update quickly - so call off your dogs, Violet! (again, no pun intended - sheesh, how many canine jokes are there in the world?)

KCS

Watson

I closed my eyes, trying to will my teeth to stop chattering and forcing a calm into my face that even Holmes would have been proud of.

Why was Stapleton returning? Why now – at twilight? I had now been in this man's power for over twenty-four hours, and he still filled me with the same amount of fear and dread that I had felt the first time I saw him as the murderer of Sir Charles Baskerville.

Swallowing my terror, I opened my eyes as the man approached.

"Well, Doctor, I am surprised rather to see that you are yet alive," the man said, looking at me with one of those twisted expressions of amusement.

"I do not give up easily, Stapleton," I replied, desperately controlling my emotions – I had to stay calm and not antagonize the man or he might kill me on the spot.

"Still entertaining some hope that your precious friend is on his way to rescue you, Doctor?"

I refused to rise to the man's baited question.

"Just so you know, Doctor, I just was at Baskerville Hall and saw Sir Henry." The man went on, an evil look of triumph coming into his eyes that turned me sick, "And I told him that you had decided to go against my advice out into the Grimpen. He believes you dead. And that is probably the knowledge that he has conveyed to your dear friend Sherlock Holmes."

The man's words hit me as if they were a physical blow.

"You what?" I gasped, wishing my voice were not so hoarse, trying to repress the violent cough that had risen in the back of my throat.

"The baronet thinks you are dead, Doctor. And I would assume your friend Sherlock Holmes has received the sad news by now as well. I do know that he has not arrived yet in Dartmoor – I have been watching the station. The last London train came and went an hour ago."

My face must have betrayed my dismay, for the man laughed evilly.

"Came and went, and no Sherlock Holmes. It looks as if you shall have to be my guest for another night at least, Doctor. If you survive for that long."

Holmes, where in heaven's name are you?

Holmes

"Hah!" I exclaimed loudly, seeing the hands on my pocket-watch finally reach seven o'clock. My rather vociferous cry drew several disapproving stares from the restaurant patrons, but I cared naught for that.

Three hours.

Only three hours. We could begin to act now. I turned to Lestrade, who had been staring at me as if I had taken leave of my senses, and began outlining the night's plan to him.

Three hours. I am coming, Watson.

Watson

My terrible dread and disappointment at learning that Holmes was not yet in Dartmoor and that Sir Henry now thought I was dead chilled me almost more so than I was already. Unless – unless Stapleton were lying to me.

But I could visualize the man telling Sir Henry in his calm, so-very-sorrowful way that I had met my demise upon the moors. Yes, I could definitely see him doing that.

And I had no doubt he had been watching for Holmes. I did not know whether he were lying or not; and at the moment, I was too dazed and ill to really care about trying to decide.

A rasping cough broke from my closed lips, and I noted absently that it seemed to give the man a twisted sense of pleasure.

"Why are you here, Stapleton? Did you come merely to see if I had survived your Hound and your treatment of last night?" I asked, trying to make my voice remain calm.

"No, Doctor," the man said with another of those awful giggles, "I came to fetch my 'pet' here. I am so dreadfully sorry you will not have him to comfort you with his company tonight, but he is needed rather badly elsewhere."

My sluggish brain took a moment to digest what the man had said.

"What?"

"Sir Henry is dining with me tonight, Doctor. I – ahem – want to introduce him to the demon dog of the legend!"

The man's eyes gleamed with a maniacal glee as he went on, drawing pleasure from my horrified stare, "Doused in a thick coating of phosphorous, the fine beast should function nicely as the Hound of the Baskervilles, do you not agree?"

I was horrified at the thought of Sir Henry alone and unprotected – because I was the one who was supposed to be protecting him; this was my fault and no one else's – out on the moors, being chased by that hell-hound.

The vision made me shiver, and I could not suppress the motion.

"You are the devil himself, Stapleton," I said in a low voice, helpless to do anything to aid the poor baronet.

"Perhaps, Doctor," the man said rather cheerfully, walking over to his 'pet' and speaking to it in a low voice.

To my complete surprise, the dog quieted somewhat and obediently stood while Stapleton unfastened the chain from the ring in the wall.

I was deathly afraid he would turn the beast loose on me, but after a long laugh at the expression on my face as I tried futilely to shift further away from the dog, Stapleton reined the animal in.

"You see, Doctor, he is quite well trained when I am around," the man said, starting to leave the central hut area with the horrid creature, "It is too bad you will not be able to see his final performance tonight. It will be most magnificent! Good night, Dr. Watson!"

I heard his voice die away on the wind, and I was left absolutely alone.

Shivering, I could do nothing but pray that Sir Henry might somehow escape from the trap set for him by this most dangerous of enemies.

By the time Holmes reached Dartmoor, it would probably be too late for the baronet. And it was my fault – I was supposed to be with him at all times and never let him go out on the moor in the dark.

It looked as if the powers of evil were really going to be exalted this night, and I could do nothing to stop them.

Holmes, where are you?

Holmes

"Blast!" I muttered, as the temperature plummeted rapidly once darkness fell. It was beginning to look as thought a bank of fog were about to roll in.

"Mr. Holmes?" Lestrade queried after my exclamation.

"Hope and pray for all you're worth, Lestrade, that this fog holds off – it is the only thing in the world that could wreck my plans!" I hissed, peering again over the rocks at the tiny light shining in the distant window of Merripit House.

The Yarder and I were waiting a good bit away from the house in a rocky crag, waiting quite impatiently for Sir Henry to leave the place.

"I didn't tell him to stay all night!" I growled, trying to curb my impatience.

Now that the time was actually upon us, I was growing very, very nervous.

What if something went wrong?

What if I had calculated wrong, and Stapleton was not going to take the opportunity to loose the Hound on the baronet?

What if he did not fall for my story, corroborated by Sir Henry, that I had had to return to London?

What if the Hound made it past me in the darkness, and I did not kill it in time?

What if Stapleton succeeded in his murderous plans?

What if he had already done away with Watson and I was going to have to arrest the villain for a double murder, not a single?

I gasped out loud with the horror of what I had just thought.

No. I would not give up hope. Surely Stapleton would have kept Watson alive in case he needed leverage for me. Surely.

I sternly pushed all thoughts of the kind to the very furthermost reaches of my formidable brain. I would find Watson.

And I would do so by tracking Stapleton after we had disposed of the Hound.

It all had to be done so, so carefully. And so quickly. As soon as the dog was dead, I vowed, I would lose no time in bringing its master to heel.

Not much longer, Watson. I give you my word. I am coming.

Watson

Another deep cough from my tortured lungs was the only sound I had heard in the last two hours. Darkness had fallen, so deep and so complete that I could not even see my bound ankles directly in front of me.

A violent tremor shook my body once more – I would be lucky to escape from this adventure with no more than a case of bronchitis. Thank God it had not started to rain – if it had, then I would have been dangerously ill by this point.

As it was, I attempted to keep my mind alert by categorizing my symptoms - just a bad cough and cold, perhaps a fever at this point – it was hard to tell if I was cold from the air or from the latter.

I spent several moments praying that the rain would indeed hold off. The cloud cover did not seem to bode well for that; and I knew if it were to start, I would indeed be violently ill before morning.

As I began to drift in and out of consciousness, fighting to remain awake, I wondered where Holmes was if he had indeed not arrived yet to Dartmoor.

Had he really not arrived yet? Had Stapleton told me the truth? And if he had arrived, then was he aware of Stapleton's intents against Sir Henry? Would my friend even find me in time?

Firmly I once more shoved my fear and mounting despair to the back of my mind.

Holmes would come. I knew he would - I just did not know when.

But as another shiver racked my frozen body, I fervently hoped it would be soon.

To Be Continued - thanks for reading! As always, reviews would be greatly appreciated!