Brother

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

KS: Halloa! Welcome to the twentieth chapter of Brother. The end is drawing nigh…I hope you don't all kill me for it. Here we go! I'm going as fast as I can while retaining quality! Unfortunately, I had to go wash my nephew's baby-bottles and do some other stuff, and then the chapter didn't want to load...silly connection...and then the chapter winds up being small...!! Well, I HAVE given you long chapters recently. The last was the longest I've done yet.

This one starts out in Holmes's perspective.

Enjoy!

For once, I wished sorely that this wasn't a case where everything went against me. I stared at that revolver and realised I had made a terrible mistake: when we fled from our captivity, we should have taken our guards' pistols.

We were completely, utterly defenceless. Just mere seconds away from relative safety, and we had nowhere to go.

I grasped Watson's arm more tightly. This was it. Our end had come. My mind was drawing a complete blank. For once, I could think of no idea to save us.

We had no possible way to take the gun from him, for he was high up on his horse. We could not run, not while he was on a horse, and not while he stood between us and safety—there was no cover to run to, besides.

Now that we had escaped, Hughes was obviously not pleased, and would waste little time in disposing with us.

"Now, come along. You've had enough exercise," said Hughes, motioning with his gun for us to turn around.

"Wait…right there," a familiar voice called, accompanied by the sounds of a cart drawing close along the wet gravel road and the clicks of multiple pistols.

Hughes's face blanched.

I relaxed my death lock grip on Watson's arm, feeling as if an immense weight had been lifted from my chest. I took up my normal, calm expression, despite the fact that I was quite elated.

"Lestrade," said I, "What kept you so long?"

The Scotland Yarder was in a cart, along with a few others of the force, and they were followed by another few carts likewise filled. Most of them had their pistols out and aimed at Hughes.

Lestrade smiled lightly. "Police procedure. You know how thorough we are at the Yard, Mr. Holmes."

Hughes turned slowly toward them, his face deadly calm, but I could see that he was unnerved by the slight tremors in his features.

"The Yard? Unusual to see the London force so far out at a time like this." He said dubiously. He shot a furious, questioning glance to us. I simply smiled calmly, and with a sneer he turned back to Lestrade.

"This does not look good for me, gentlemen, I'll admit that." he said, lowering his gun.

"No," Lestrade said, jumping down from the cart with a few other officers. "It does not, indeed." He walked up to Hughes, stopping a good few yards away from the horse warily, keeping his gun trained on the man's head. "I'll ask you kindly to please step down from that horse and come with us quietly. And, if you don't mind, dispose of that revolver."

Hughes hesitated at first, but soon tossed his pistol down into the mud on the side of the road. He leapt down from the horse and walked over to the Inspector, his strong form towering over the small, wiry official detective. Lestrade, however, held his gun steady, and the expression of calm professionalism never fled from his face for a moment.

"All right, men, fit the derbies on him." he said. Hughes did not resist the restraints, but looked evilly at Watson and I.

I read murderous intentions in his eyes, but now there was nothing he could do.

Lestrade then walked up to us, looking us over.

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, are you all right?" he asked, worry lining his features.

I looked at Watson, who smiled broadly at me. We had escaped. The vile criminal had been captured.

"I think we are just fine, Lestrade." I replied, setting my hand on Watson's shoulder. "Just a bit tired."

A little of the concern faded from his ferret-like face, but not all. He did smile, however.

"I'm glad to hear so. But I think you'd better get into the cart and let the boys take you to the station and get you warm and dry." He said. "We'll see to the rest of Hughes's house."

As much as I wanted to protest…the prospect of being dry and comfortable was rather tempting. And I knew if I went along with the police to assist, Watson would want to come along as well, and he needed rest. Lestrade would be capable enough to finish things off.

"Thank you, Lestrade." I said. I led Watson to the cart, and we rolled off toward safety, comfort, and peace, while Jackson Hughes rolled away to his fate.

KS: Whee, we're almost done! Almost! Almost! I know, I still have to settle the matter with brother Mycroft, etc. Things will wrap up! Perhaps to-night, perhaps to-morrow, but regardless, I do hope you enjoyed the chapter. I think you for reading, and please review!

And again, I remind you, that if you see anyting you'd especially like illustrated, tell me in PM or a review!