Prompt: Someone gets mugged

By: cjnwriter

Henry Ducksworth scuttled through the cold dark streets of London. His ominous pocket watch informed him that it was nearing the hour and minute of exactly quarter past 11. Oh no. He was late. Again. His wife Sarah would not be happy about this if he turned up now. He dreaded to think how she would punish him. Would he get no dinner? Would he be forced to sleep on the sofa? Or would he be locked out.

Ducksworth, whilst never a stickler for punctuality, was a man blessed with the divine gifts of honesty, loyalty and intelligence. However, he was also a man of a nervous disposition, never willing to toe the line, so to speak. He was a wonderful father to his daughter Margaret.

Regardless of these flaws, the owner of the Bank of England had entrusted Ducksworth with a priceless item- a scarlet locket. It was an old but lovely thing, embellished with pink and white rosebuds. The locket itself hung from an old burnished gold chain, fastened with a clasp, which was a bit temperamental (not that he wanted to wear it anyhow!).

He had been entrusted to look after it, because he was good with keeping valuables, and honest enough to give them back. An example of this was when his employer wanted him to keep a hold of a diamond and pearl necklace, an antique sapphire ring, a diamond brooch, and a ruby tie pin until he needed them. He took the necklace and brooch back after three days, as they were for his wife on their anniversary, the tie pin claimed back as it was for the banker's brother, and the ring was to be stored in a vault, but had to wait whilst the necessary arrangements were made. All of these items were returned in pristine condion, and all of them were returned.

So whilst the banker was on holiday in France, Ducksworth had been left to watch over the locket. He didn't mind. But Sarah was unhappy with him bringing home valuable and priceless objects home as she was worried about thefts and even muggings taking place. Of course, he was very cautious, making a cross over his heart and offering a quick prayer as he left.

And here he was. Stuck in the middle of the freezing cold, and still another ten or so minutes to go before he could collapse with relief. However, he was unaware of what was to come.

When it happened, he was just outside the Diogenes club. He had paused to check if the locket was safe in its matchbox and also to check the time.

Before he knew it, a strike to the jaw with an- elbow? - Had him sprawled upon the ground.

"Wh…who goes Th… there?" He demanded. "I have a revolver. Now show yourself or I will shoot!"

A sock in his right eye answered him.

In a blind flash, Ducksworth struggled to sit up in order to try and find help. But the attacker had other ideas. He was pinned to the ground by a bulky black boot, the pressure on his chest escalating as his ribs began to cave in slowly.

Then, a voice whispered, "Where is it?"

"Where is…what?" the poor man rasped.

"You know when you see it."

Poor Ducksworth was shaking violently and his perspiration began to flow like waterfalls down his forehead, teasing the back of his neck.

He could recall no more.

The next morning, he awoke to come across himself in a chair, sitting opposite a desk bursting with papers, and a balding man trying to sort them out.

"Good morning sir!" called Ducksworth his voice withering slightly. "Who are you and where am I?"

The man turned his chair to face him.

"Good morning Mr. Ducksworth. My name is Mycroft Holmes and you are in the Diogenes Club. You are quite safe now."

But Ducksworth gaped. How did the man know his name? The two hadn't met until now! All he could remember was walking home to be with his wife and daughter and then…

Wait! The locket!

He knew that it was his duty to check if it was safe.

His hand plunged into his right waistcoat pocket and scavenged around.

All he found was a piece of paper with writing scrawled on it. A note.

It read;

Dear Henry Victor Ducksworth,

Thank you for the lovely present you so kindly gave me last night. It is true what they say; a rose is very blinding to the human eye. My collection is now complete.

Yours truly,

R. Q

P.S It suits me very well, so I'm not letting go of it without a fight.

A/N: Quite proud of this one. Let me know what you think, as I'm not used to writing mysteries at the moment!

Silvermouse :D