Disclaimer - I do not own Holmes or Watson. They belong to the fabulous Doyle. I do own the inhabitants of Morton Manor, including the horrible Sir Jonathan

Chapter 14

December 24th, Evening

For a day when a murder had been committed, and one of the most odious men I had ever met had come into an enormous inheritance, dinner was a wonderful affair. It seemed hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours earlier, we had been sitting around a table, all but one of us cowed and demoralised by the presence of an evil tormenter. Of course, the meal was made even better by the presence of the children, as well as the lack of Sir Jonathan, who was conspicuous by his absence.

The older Throckmortons, especially Marcus and Gregory, did not hold back in their distain for him, and I have to admit that the meal was improved by the relation of those events in the past in which Sir Jonathan had made an utter fool of himself. One in particular comes to mind in the event of a large ball to celebrate the birthday of Lord Throckmorton. Gregory related to us that Jonathan had been so keen to secure Meredith's hand for one, if not all, of the dances, that he had managed to some how fall into the orchestra, becoming wedged between a very portly man with a huge cello, and the pianoforte. He then proceeded to extract himself from this rather unfortunate position, but had again lost his balance, and had fallen headfirst into a very ostentatious decorative fountain. Having no replacement clothing with him suitable for a ball, he had to borrow a suit from Gregory, which unfortunately was not only too big for him, but also bore a striking resemblance to the suit being worn by the waiters and staff who had been employed for that evening. Sir Jonathan was then obliged to spend the whole ball without Meredith's hand, and instead being asked countless times for drinks. The culmination of the story brought an explosion of laughter from both the family and myself. Even Holmes seemed slightly amused.

Holmes again sat next to Meredith, although Kitty was on his other side, looking rather adoringly at him. I sat opposite Holmes, between Gregory and Ralph, who were both superb company. We sat more or less in the middle of the table, with Marcus at the head of the table, and his wife, the new Lady Throckmorton opposite him. There seemed to be no ill-feeling between Gwendolyn and Jane at Gwendolyn's replacement of Jane as senior lady in the household, and indeed, Jane looked exceedingly pleased to be sitting with her husband and children.

The conversation was stimulating and humorous, and everyone was in a jolly and rather seasonal mood. The meal was sumptuous, with a huge turkey, the remainder of the ham from breakfast, bowls of stuffing, chestnuts, vegetables and exquisite wine served, followed by an excellent and rather splendid plum pudding. Holmes, to my delight, ate well, and had engaged both Meredith and to my surprise Kitty, in conversation. From the laughter emanating from the other side of the table, I guessed the subject to be amusing, and could only hope that Holmes was not talking about me. Although, from the sly glances that he kept shooting at me, I judged that this might be the case.

My only concern at the meal was Meredith. While she talked to Holmes and I, she was vivacious and charming, but when she thought herself unobserved, she seemed melancholy and under some strain. She ate next to nothing, and I am sure I was not deceived in noticing a pallor in the girl's face. Holmes had perhaps noticed it before I because I did fancy that I saw some concern in his face when he viewed her. A couple of times, he said quietly to her "Are you alright, Lady Meredith?"

"I am fine…" Meredith would answer, shooting a disarming smile at Holmes, although I did think, in hindsight, that the smile looked rather false.

All in all, however, the meal was a complete success, and I assigned Meredith's looks and change in demeanour her being in some shock over the change her life had undergone in the past day. By nine o'clock, everyone was well-fed, and our party moved to the lounge. Decks of cards were brought out, and we divided into groups to play different games. I partnered Meredith in a game of Whist, against Gwendolyn and Marcus. Meredith proved a most skilled player, and we won the game thoroughly. Meanwhile, Gregory, Holmes and Edward had taken seats by the fire with glasses of sherry, and were talking earnestly about something. Jane, Ralph, Jeremy and Kitty were playing another card game more suited to the youngsters, while Peter, Ruth and Cora played with some toys on the floor.

We carried on like this for almost an hour, whiling away the time before we had to go to the midnight service at the little church in the village. At about ten o'clock, Gregory tried to engage the group in what he called 'A Christmas Game', which was met with little enthusiasm from anyone. I glanced at Holmes when Gregory proposed the idea, smiling at the look of absolute panic which came over his face. Meredith, who had also been studying Holmes glanced at me, and we grinned at each other. Holmes' relief when the game was called off was most palpable.

After the game of whist was over, Marcus, Gwendolyn, Jane, Meredith and myself went to take seats around the fire, whilst the younger children played. "I wonder," said Marcus "where Jonathan is."

"I don't care" said Gregory "as long as he isn't here."

"It seems strange though. He is not allowed to leave, is he, Mr Holmes?" Meredith asked.

"No. He is not. Though perhaps he has gone to spend the rest of the night in his room."

"The sooner he is out of here the better" growled Marcus "as soon as you are finished, Holmes, I shall take the greatest possible pleasure at ordering him off my lands."

There was a sudden explosion of noise from the children, as both Peter and Ruth started to cry simultaneously. Their mother got up and walked over to comfort them "It is too late for you, is it not, my darlings. I think you will have to miss church this Christmas." She looked up at us "I think I will take them to bed. We will all suffer tomorrow if they are dragged out to church tonight." She smiled at one of the maids, and took Peter in her arms, whilst the maid took Ruth.

They went out of the room, and Marcus turned to his daughter and the youngest of his siblings "I think that is a very good idea. Perhaps you should all go and get an hour or so of sleep before we leave…"

This suggestion was met by a influx of opposition, before Meredith stood and held out a her hands to Kitty and Cora. "If it makes you feel any better, I think I might go and have a nap for an hour, girls." Reluctantly, the girls acquiesced, as did Jeremy when he was convinced that he would not be left behind when we all walked to church.

Holmes stood as Meredith and the children left the room, and went to open the door for them. As Meredith passed, he muttered something along the lines of "Be careful…" to her. She looked up at him in some confusion, and then nodded, leaving the room.

We spent the next hour in the lounge around the fire, and I found myself succumbing to that pleasurable half-waking, half-sleeping state, when I was awoken by a bony elbow digging into my ribs and the grinning face of Sherlock Holmes looking at me. "What is it, Holmes?" I said, slurring sleepily "What happened?"

"Nothing has happened, my dear Watson, but you are falling asleep. If you do not rouse yourself, you will be in no fit state to go to church, and you know how awkward you are to wake up."

"Very well."

"I suggest, Watson, that you go and fetch our coats from our rooms. It is quarter past eleven, after all." I nodded, realising, to my chagrin, that the man was probably right, and rose from my seat. The others were rapt in quiet conversation, and Holmes walked me to the door, where we could not be overheard. "Have you your revolver in your pocket?"

"Yes."

"Good. Hurry back…and be careful…"

"Why do you not come with me?"

"I have something I need to discuss with Marcus."

"What?"

Holmes smiled at me in that infuriating way when he is keeping me in suspense "I'm sure you will find out soon. Take a care, Watson…"

"You talk as if I go on a secret mission, Holmes, not just to go and get your coat. I doubt, somehow that your fame has reached such a fever pitch that your outer garments are of national importance."

Holmes shot a smile at me "Well, I suppose you never know…"

I patted him on the shoulder and left the room. Holmes' statements had unsettled me slightly, and I ran part of the way, and collected our coats from our rooms and made to go back. As I emerged from my room, I heard a noise. Was it a shout? I stiffened, fingering the revolver in my pocket, and stood still for a moment. Then, I heard it again. A shrill cry. I thought for a moment that it might be one of the children, but it was not coming from the direction of their rooms. Moving stealthily down the corridor, I followed the sounds that were getting louder. I came to a staircase, and moved down, trying to be as quiet as possible. When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I found myself at the end of a corridor. The noises, whatever they were had stopped now, but they were coming from behind a large door. I took stock, realising where I was. The room behind the door was the gallery.

I moved forwards, twisting the door handle, and opening the door just a little, peering in. What I saw made me open the door completely, and I ran in, my doctor's instincts taking over. Meredith lay unconscious on the floor, her face bruised, and a large cut over one cheekbone. Out of her mouth came a thin sliver of blood, and she had a couple more cuts on her hands. To my relief, I saw that she was breathing, and I examined her skull. There was a bump on the back which suggested that she had been hit with something, and I surmised that she probably had a concussion.

In my distraction over the young lady, I did not hear the footsteps behind me. I called Meredith's name quietly a couple of times and then threw back my head, about to call for help, when a hand fastened itself over my mouth, and I felt the barrel of a pistol pressed against the back of my neck. "Another word, Doctor, and I'm afraid I will have to shoot you…" Sir Jonathan stood over me, smiling wickedly "now, I'm going to take my hand away, Doctor. One word, and I'll put a bullet to your brain. Understand?"

I nodded, and the hand was removed. I stood and turned to face the insufferable man "What have you done to her?"

"Oh, young Lady Meredith? Just hit her around a bit. She needed to be taught a lesson, Doctor. Not to lie…"

"What?"

"And" he gestured widely "she seemed to take offence at my removing some of these paintings from the wall…said that they were Throckmorton family property. Do you know how much these paintings are worth?"

"You have already claimed two houses and £50,000 from the will."

"The price I would get from one of these paintings dwarfs that."

"So you killed Lord Throckmorton…for the money?"

Sir Jonathan laughed soullessly "Me? No! You'll have to ask the family about that. My, my you aren't as good as your friend, are you." He surveyed Meredith lying on the ground "It's a shame. If she would have just said yes to me the first time, I wouldn't have had to hurt her…"

I took my chance. Jonathan had his head turned to Meredith, and I launched myself at him, trying to get him away from the woman lying on the floor. I punched him once, twice, three times, and thought that I was winning. All of a sudden, however, there was an almighty bang, and I felt a sudden sharp agony in the upper part of my right leg. I could not suppress a yell of pain, and fell back, clutching at my thigh. The bullet had gone straight through, perilously close to the artery, and the pain was almost unbearable. I tried to stem the bleeding with my hand, but there was only so much I could do. I looked up at my assailant, and he stood, studying me with a bemused expression on his face. "My, my," he muttered "What a lot of blood…"

Shaking myself, I reached into my pocket for my revolver, and realised that in the fight it had fallen out of my pocket during the fight. I reached out for it with my left hand, but I was too slow. Sir Jonathan lowered the pistol and shot. The bullet went through the back of my hand, and again I yelled, clutching the hand to my chest in inordinate pain. "Dear me" said Jonathan "You are going to have to stop struggling, Doctor Watson, or I will shoot bits off of you one part at a time."

I whimpered in pain, the agony in my leg not subsiding, and now joined by the pain in my poor hand. In too much agony to be ashamed, I curled myself into a ball on the floor, hurting so much I could hardly think straight. I was sure I was going to die of loss of blood. Then I thought of Holmes…he would find my body…heaven knows what he would do to himself…how he would cope. I did not want to die…did not want to leave my dear friend…our home in Baker Street…

Sir Jonathan walked over to me, and kicked me hard in the ribs. He grabbed hold of the hair on the back of my head, and pulled me up into a kneeling position. "You know…" he said "I've had just about enough of you, Doctor." He placed the pistol against my temple. "Good-bye, Doctor Watson."

There was an explosion…I expected a searing pain in my temple and then… Instead, I found myself still living. Sir Jonathan let go of my hair, stepped back and fell, shot in the chest. I turned my head to see Holmes standing in the door of the gallery, holding a smoking revolver. He looked at me, saw the blood, and went pale "Watson…" he whispered. Then everything went black.