On the Streets of Paris
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: Welcome to chapter twenty-five of On the Streets of Paris, the sequel to Brother. This chapter took me a while to get to, but I've had the basic outline of it in my mind since the beginning. So! Please, enjoy!
And I am an idiot and forgot this in the first posting of this, but I remembered and came to fix it, so...
Another big thanks to KCS! She did a beta-read for me again.
This one starts off in Watson's POV.
Sherlock Holmes and the fugitive from the law, Jackson Hughes, stood several paces apart, facing each other and glaring menacingly. My throat was dry and my ankle throbbed painfully as my heart raced, my mind searching desperately for a way to save us from our present situation.
Hughes's evil visage radiated a devilish sort of pleasure, but Holmes's aquiline features were stoic. I did not want to think of what could be running through his great mind at this moment, but I knew that part of it was about me. I wanted desperately to stop him, but I knew that I could never sway him from his decided course. And, deep down, I prayed that Holmes might win.
Holmes tossed his necktie to the side and took his stance, and I felt a slight rush as I thought of what an excellent boxer he was. Yes, there was a definite chance that he might be able to beat Hughes—and even possibly take his gun from him. That was our only chance now.
Hughes took his stance, raising his fists and positioning his feet, and I realised then from his posture that he must be a skilled boxer as well. That must have been what he had meant when he had talked about his records... A sickening nausea settled over me. So not only was he an accomplished boxer, but he was much heavier and more strongly set than my companion. And undoubtedly Holmes had known this as well when he had challenged Hughes.
As if on an unspoken cue, the two men closed the gap between them and began.
I watched as Holmes threw the first punch, a strong left, and Hughes raised his solid arm to receive the force of the blow—he wasn't even stunned in the slightest. Hughes took the opening, a slight opportunity, to launch a punch of his own. Holmes was too fast for him however, and his lithe form slid easily out of the way.
Hughes wasted no time after this first miss, assaulting Holmes with a series of fierce hits. Holmes managed to dodge out of the way of all of them but the last, which he was forced to try to guard himself against. The punch was so strong that, as it struck my friend's forearm, I heard him grunt, and the force of it sent him back several steps. He quickly recovered, however, and re-approached his opponent.
I was immensely grateful for his skill and knowledge of boxing as he delivered another punch, this time weaving through Hughes's defences and making firm contact with the blackguard's sharp jaw. Hughes's head went back for a moment, and when he looked back at my friend I could see shock in his eyes. He had not expected a man of Holmes's weight to have such power. And there was power enough in those wiry arms to straighten twisted iron pokers, as I well knew.
Hughes quickly recovered from his surprise and fiercely attacked, and Holmes was nearly overwhelmed. Three of the blows landed on my friend, the first striking him in the face on his cheek and sending him staggering back. The second landed at his midsection, doubling my friend over, and the third was dealt as Holmes was still bent, striking him full in the face and landing him flat on his back.
"HOLMES!" I gasped.
My friend sat up, and I saw the angry red mark of Hughes's fist beside his nose around his left eye.
"Stay back, Watson!" Holmes spat, getting to his feet and resuming his stance.
"You're a resilient one, Holmes," said Hughes as he rubbed his bare knuckles. "I've used that manoeuvre to finish off bigger men than you."
"And I have fought larger men than you." Holmes said. "You're going to have to do better than that. Where is all of your hatred from earlier?"
Hughes glowered at my friend, his flashing eyes stormy under lowered brows.
"Oh, I'm just warming up. You shall see plenty of hatred."
With a few steps they were together again and Hughes, with new ferocity, jabbed at my companion. Holmes slid out of the way of the punches, but it seemed as if he had more difficulty this time. Holmes found an opening and attacked, but his blows were deftly blocked by the skilled arms of his opponent. The speed and skill of their punches increased as both realised that neither was landing any blows, and it became difficult to properly keep up with each manoeuvre.
Finally I saw Holmes's thin arm dodge around Hughes's defences, striking him in the centre of his face. Hughes's thin nose gushed blood, and the man staggered back for a moment. He put his hand to his face, touching the fresh crimson flow, and looked at his fingers. His chest heaved at the sight; he kept his anger well in check, however, and quickly resumed the fight by advancing with a very well-delivered left.
Holmes managed to step out of the way, but was left unable to dodge the next, which hit him squarely in the jaw. Holmes's head turned, but he returned the blow, landing his next punch in nearly the same area on Hughes's chiselled face. Hughes spat out a tooth, and then fiercely retaliated, giving my friend a burst lip.
Neither showed any sign of stopping; I wondered how long they could possibly go on like this. Both were accomplished fighters of roughly the same height; Holmes had his speed, skill, and seemingly unnatural strength, and Hughes had his skill and sheer muscular power.
If Holmes didn't hurry, Hughes's henchmen could very well come up at any time, dashing any hopes of my or Holmes's survival.
Holmes landed a very good hit to both Hughes's midsection and shoulder, but that hardly slowed him. The fiend slammed Holmes under his ribcage, knocking the wind from him, and then delivered his next blow to the side of my companion's head. Another swift blow to the face had my friend backed against the balustrade, his nose bloodied, and Hughes then proceeded to deliver blow after merciless blow to Holmes's torso. It was agonising to watch; his attack was so rapid, so unrestrained, so vicious, that I knew that he was going to kill my friend. I could not let this happen.
I ran towards them quickly. The pain from my ankle was excruciating, and I nearly fainted, but the gasps of pain emanating from my friend as he was being beaten to death made me press forward. When I was within ten feet of Hughes he spun around, drawing his revolver from his pocket and directing it at me.
"Stay where you are, Doctor." he snarled. "Or you won't live to see your friend lose."
I swallowed, nervously eyeing the gun barrel that was pointed at my heart. I would not falter now, not when Holmes's life was at stake.
"Please, Hughes," I said, forcing the words past my lips. "Please…stop."
A fiendish smile spread across Hughes's lips, his white teeth bared like a tiger's.
"Oh, this is good. The staunch biographer is begging." His face resumed his icy mask. "But it won't do you any good. Mr. Holmes and I made a deal. If you try to interrupt us…" he pulled back the hammer, "…then the deal will be off. There's no better way to hurt someone than killing the one person they care about, anyways."
My heart leapt into my mouth and my eyes widened as I realised he was going to shoot me.
I was startled by an almost animal cry as my friend jumped suddenly to his feet and grabbed Hughes. The two struggled desperately for a moment, straying dangerously close to the low balustrade as each tried to take the gun. Finally the pistol fell from Hughes's grasp, clattering to the street below, and Holmes wrestled free from his grip. Hughes's emerald eyes flashed, and he bared his teeth in an angry growl as he leapt at Holmes.
Holmes was ready for him, and when Hughes was in striking distance Holmes delivered a powerful strike to his jaw. The force of the blow made Hughes stagger back into the low railing around the roof's edge, and he clawed desperately at the air as he began to lose his balance. He toppled over the edge and slid down, and with a loud gasp he finally caught the very edge.
Holmes and I quickly made our way to the side and looked over; Hughes had a feeble grip on the brink, and he stared up at us with wide, terror-stricken eyes.
"Holmes!" he gasped, struggling to hold on. "Holmes, please!!"
His eyes darted back and forth between us, reminding me of an animal that knew it was about to die. Instinctively I started forward to help, to pull him back to safety as was my duty as a healer, but I felt two thin hands latch firmly upon my shoulder and arm, holding me back. I hesitated under Holmes's restraining grasp, my heart thudding uncertainly. Hughes swallowed, and I saw perspiration gathering upon his brow as his hand slipped another inch.
"Holmes!" he gasped again, more desperately than the last, "Y-you can't just let me die like this! I'll do anything, I swear it!!"
His grip was slipping slowly, inexorably.
"I will even let you go! Anything; I'll never bother you again! Please!!"
He was truly slipping now, his sweat only aiding the relentless, inching descent. I flinched, and Holmes's grasp tightened until it was so intense it was almost painful. His face, near to mine, was set in a stolid mask, bereft of either sympathy or anger for the man that was so slowly heading to his death before us.
It was clear that Holmes was going to let him fall, but could I, a doctor? Could I let a man fall to his death, even if he had just been beating my dearest friend to death? Holmes was hardly in any condition to stop me if I truly chose to move forward and help Hughes…what should I do…?
My heart jumped and my racing thoughts were brought back to reality as one of Hughes's hands lost its grip entirely, his whole body swinging as all his weight was held by just one hand. His face was filled with absolute dread and alarm. His green eyes, only a few moments ago so filled with passionate hate, were now softened with frantic pleading.
I stiffened, recognising the look from countless dying patients in the past, and moved forward out of pure instinct once more. Holmes yanked me back sharply with a force I had never seen him use on me before, holding me as the criminal wavered on the edge, his cries for help ringing in my ears as my breathing quickened.
I saw the pleading in his eyes change to a pathetic hopelessness as he realised that neither of us was going to help him.
At last his fingers slipped, and Hughes plummeted to the street far below. Holmes's hands tightened comfortingly on my arm as the man disappeared, only a quiet, choked cry escaped from Hughes's lips as we watched him fall to his death.
I shuddered and looked away before he struck the ground below, and was sickened by the thudding sound of his landing on the street three floors down. I only realised I was trembling when Holmes held me closer shakily, murmuring something I was too shocked to hear properly.
But I had no time to think about what I had just witnessed before my friend turned me round, away from the gruesome sight below.
"We could not have saved him if we tried, Watson." he said as he led me, his hand clutching his undoubtedly bruised stomach, only his eyes betraying the agony I knew he must be in.
I could tell that he wanted—even needed—to lean on me, but chose not to, for I was barely able to walk even with the assistance of my stick. Holmes paused, his eyes darting quickly and anxiously about the roof-top. I could almost see his pain-clouded brain working feverishly to think clearly. I saw him draw himself upright with an almost inhuman effort and turn to face me, willing the pain underneath a mask of calm and speaking clearly and firmly through a set jaw.
"We must find a way off this roof without being recaptured…I do not believe we could make it through the house, and we certainly can't go the way Hughes did." he said, and then he looked at me. "All of the pawns are still free to capture us; the game is not over yet. We are dead men if we cannot get away from here. Follow closely, and do exactly what I say."
KS: Review, please! Thank you for reading!