"No greater love hath a man than he lay down his life for his brother. Not for millions, .. not for glory, not for fame. For one person, .. in the dark .. where no one will ever know .. or see. " - J. Michael Straczynski

Chapter 25: "In the Dark"

Watson:

Mycroft listened with an increasingly pale face to my explanation of my suspicions of Carter's falsity, and no sooner had I finished than he rose to his feet.

"That's it, I have had enough of this affair…it has gone too far. We are going straight for the police. Tavish should still be on duty. I'll get your coat, Doctor."

He moved to the coat rack, pulling on his own wraps.

The police. Good…but…doubt suddenly entered my mind. If Mycroft led the police to Clyde and the others…than surely they would kill Holmes before they could be caught.

Clyde had made it painfully clear that I was what he wanted…good heavens, what had I done?

I had to go alone, without Mycroft. And I had to go now.

I nodded at the elder Holmes and made a great show of getting to my feet, coughing deep in my chest and stumbling purposefully.

The ruse worked. Mycroft had paused in his preparations and was watching me with concern…his natural astuteness clouded by worry. "Are you all right, Doctor?"

"I…I'll be fine Mycroft…" I gasped, as I swayed and leaned heavily on the table. "I – I do not think I will be of much help to you though…you'd best go without me. I shall be fine here…go dig that stubborn brother of yours out of trouble -"

Mycroft glanced at me and then to the door. I hated to play on his emotions like this…he was obviously torn between his promise to protect me and his duty and love for his younger brother.

I sighed and said in a gruff, irritated voice. "Mycroft, please. They cannot possibly try anything tonight, and you must find Holmes quickly. I will only slow you down." I added a rasping cough for good measure.

Mycroft took a shaky breath and, as I knew it would, his familial duty asserted itself. "He will kill me if anything happens to you, Doctor…use the revolver without hesitation if you have to. I will send a constable back."

I nodded again and waved him off, seating myself at the table where the revolver lay.

Mycroft pulled on his coat, yanked open the door, threw back one last worried glance at me, and then disappeared.

No sooner had the door shut then I was on my feet again.

I knew that they were holding Holmes on the estate - they had to be. I could hire a trap to take me out to Rathclythe far before Mycroft convinced Tavish of the danger.

I hurried back to the bedroom as quickly as my protesting injuries would allow and picked up my discarded boots…then realized I could not possibly tie them with only one hand.

This was ridiculous. I tore the cursed sling from my shoulder, moved to my medical bag and pulled out a roll of bandaging. With the aid of my teeth I was able to wrap my wrist tightly and knot it in a crude but effective version of a brace.

I sat on the bed, pulled on my boots and a dark jacket that buttoned up all the way to my chin…the effort made the injured wrist pang, but it still appeared to be functional.

I decided against my greatcoat and instead pulled on a scarf and a dark cloth cap for additional warmth…the cab that I meant to take and the effort I was about to put forth would keep me warm enough.

Now dressed, I stalked back to the sitting room and picked up my revolver, making sure that it was fully loaded, reveling in the familiar weight and feel of it.

I pocketed it and a few pounds…it would take some persuasion to get a cab to take me to Rathclythe at this time of night without prearrangement. I dug in the disarrayed pile of Holmes's maps until I found one marked with Andrew's estate…and on an afterthought went back into the bedroom and dug out the dark lantern from Holmes's burglary kit.

Then I rose to my feet, my preparations made…feeling rather like a soldier who had just donned his uniform. It made a great deal of difference to have a purpose before me, and helped me to combat the pain and the fear.

If this was to be a battle, then like the ancient knights of Britain, I had donned my armor and spurs and there was no turning back now.

I snorted thinking of how ridiculously romantic and idealistic such an idea would sound to Holmes…

Holmes...what if…

I struck the morbid idea firmly from my mind, opened the door, and set out to find a willing and able cabbie.

I could not afford to think such things…I would not think them. I would find Holmes alive, I would be in time. And I would bring about his release no matter the cost. It was the least I could do for such a man, who had become…in all honesty, every bit as much my brother as Andrew had been in my boyhood.

Hold on, Holmes…I am coming.

Holmes:

My limbs were going numb…I could no longer feel my hands and my legs ached from the cramped position I had been placed in.

I had deduced that we were in the barrow that Carter had mentioned. Emptied of any artifacts it may have held in antiquity, it was nevertheless recognizable in its squat, oval form…with its rough stone slab walls and precarious ceiling. This was apparently one of the sept's more regular meeting places, as evidenced by the rough table and chairs…and collection of wax on every surface that could readily hold a candle.

They were gathered around the table now…bent over a collection of papers, their faces barely discernable in the dim light a good sixteen feet away from where I sat. Clyde was seated in the middle of them…speaking in a low tone, gesturing at the papers, and every once in a while shooting me a condescending grin that wrung my stomach.

The only company in my dark little corner was Carter…who sat perched on a fallen wall stone, a leer on his weaselly face. To think that I had ever had the inclination to compare him to my good-hearted Watson.

I shifted, trying to lessen the pain of the uneven ground beneath me as it dug into my legs. For the thousandth time I tested the ropes and found them as strong as ever.

Never in all my years had I been in such a situation, bound nearly beyond movement in a such a narrow dark space, denied even the power of speech. I have never been the least claustrophobic…but in such an atmosphere and with my increasingly cramped muscles I was rather inclined to develop such a fear.

My agitated movements attracted Carter's attention and his face adopted a ridiculously mocking expression of sympathy.

"A wee bit frustrated, are we, Mr. Holmes? Do you fancy a chat to keep yer mind off things until the Doctor arrives?"

I glared at him but the nauseating man seemed only to take encouragement from this fact. He rose to his feet and approached, I tried to shift away but with little result…my leaden muscles aching in protest.

His smile widened and he took hold of my coat, lifting me slightly, his face only inches from mine.

"Having a little trouble, Mr. Holmes? Things not going quite as you planned? The great consulting detective finding things a little difficult? We're a good deal more trouble than you had counted on, aren't we?"

I was incapable of speech but I snorted in disgust and rolled my eyes away from his face.

He released me abruptly and I fell back against the stone wall, scraping my head, unable to repress of grunt of pain.

Several blows landed on my unprotected stomach, and when I tried to curl in on myself he lifted me again…and he was not smiling now.

"It's men like you who think you can run the world…men like you who make weaklings of patriots like Andrew Watson. He might have made a change, you know, before he was weakened by the likes of you, before he became a weak, sniveling coward living in the shadows of other men…just like his pathetic excuse for a brother. You've made a weakling out of him as well."

He dropped me onto the ground and drove a boot into my chest just below my ribcage, driving the air neatly from my lungs. I choked and gasped, my efforts for breath impeded by that infernal gag. The blows did not stop either, jabbing painfully into my near numb arms and legs and sides…

"Carter."

Clyde's voice sounded very close to us and the abuse abruptly ended. I lay choking on the dusty earth, waiting for my breath to return and the pain to subside. When I was able to focus it was to see that Carter had straightened and now stood facing his master.

"Sorry, Mr. Clyde…he was being difficult."

Clyde sniffed and looked down at me. "Just don't damage him too much, lad…we need him to motivate the Doctor."

Carter nodded like a puppy eager to please…the irony of this image and his earlier statements to me made me laugh…though it sounded more like a cough through the gag.

Clyde turned his condescending gaze to me and spoke again.

"Carter, go and help Thomas stand watch…I will keep Mr. Holmes company for a while."

Carter left without a word and Clyde seated himself on the stone that his subordinate had occupied earlier. He waited, smiling, until I had managed awkwardly to regain my former position.

Then with an arrogant smile he drew a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, taking in a long draught, and wafting the smoke deliberately in my direction.

I sighed with frustration…yet another thing I was denied. Perhaps there was more to Watson's lectures on abstinence than I had earlier given them credit for.

"This case has been rather frustrating for you hasn't itm Mr. Holmes? I imagine it must be a rather galling experience for you to be attacked so closely to your own haven in Baker Street…to be taken in so easily."

Oh heavens, I thought…it seemed that no matter where I went in my detectival pursuits I would continually meet egotistical maniacs whose greatest wishes were to prove me inferior.

"I must admit that Andrew Watson was a clever man." Clyde went on, inured by the sound of his own voice. "He out-thought even me…he could have been a great asset to our cause."

I attempted to ignore him, closing my eyes and leaning back against the cold stone…this was the last thing I wanted to listen to at the moment, but to my dismay he continued, more to himself than to me, continuing for quite a while, recounting the recruiting of Watson's brother, of his initial enthusiasm, of the months of work they had accomplished with his help.

And then the anarchist said something that did interest me.

"We had such plans, Mr. Holmes, such plans…those documents you see…the ones he stole last January, held our designs for a great event."

I glared at him bidding him silently to go on…he smiled, knowing that he had my full attention now.

"It was to have taken place this year, Mr. Holmes, in June…and if we had been able to carry out the plans that the little coward did away with, it would have changed the face of the world. And brought an end to the tyrannical rule of the great institutions of Europe."

I frowned in confusion and he chuckled patronizingly. "Can you not guess, Mr. Holmes…I am surprised at you, a good patriotic Brit such as yourself."

No. It was too fantastical…he could not mean...

But the maniacal grin on his face told me that he could and would have done it had such an opportunity arisen. He laughed outright as I began to struggle again…a horrified look on my face.

"Ah…so you can live up to your reputation. I was beginning to worry, Mr. Holmes…yes I am indeed referring to the Golden Jubilee of our beloved queen, long may she reign. We had received word that more than half of the dignitaries and officials of Europe would be attending the old dear's party last June."

He leaned in, his smile widening to reveal the large white teeth of a predator.

"A beautiful chance to rid the world of their corrupt influences in one fell swoop."

My breath began to come fast and hard, and I tugged at the bonds on my hands until they bled. I am not given to hysteria but at that moment I was very frightened indeed. Mycroft had been right…this went far beyond the bounds of Baker Street and even Scotland…this threatened the peace of the Realm, the provinces…of Europe herself.

And Andrew Watson had stopped this dastardly assassination plan single-handedly – and given his life as payment for that cause.

Watson's brother – was in every sense of the word a hero?

Watson was far more patriotic than I but even I could see that such a catastrophe would have caused a war such as we had never seen. A conflict that would have spread across the entire world. Indeed, I remembered the rumors that had arisen last spring regarding some planned attempt – I had discounted them as merely that, rumors.

Clyde's smiling face had changed on the instant to a hard, cold mask of hatred. And when he spoke, it was with the bitterness of a year's worth of bottled-up hatred.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, Andrew took off with all the plans and everything we had for that glorious coup – and we did not find out until after he was dead that he had done so. It took months to track down part of the clue he left, and even more time to track down his younger brother," he spat angrily, his brown eyes flashing with the fires of vengeful hatred.

"Andrew Watson decided to make a hero of himself – so we executed him for his traitorism to our cause. But those papers must now be destroyed, else we shall all stand in constant danger of hanging if they were ever to be discovered. We've waited a long time for this, Holmes!"

The man's maniacal glee was overpowering, and I shuddered at the thought of what they would have accomplished had Andrew not saved the nation from their dastardly plan. They were mad with rage and a lust for vengeance.

And I was trapped in this den of madmen, and if they had their way…Watson would be as well.

And then I would be the object of persuasion used to find and destroy the only evidence capable of condemning them.

Clyde rose to his feet, no doubt satisfied that he had tormented me fully, and I continued to struggle until he had returned to his position at the table. Then I let myself fall limply back against the wall.

For the first time in my life I was utterly powerless – I could do nothing but hope and pray that someone would notice something had gone amiss…Mycroft. Mycroft would watch after Watson, surely. He would not allow him to be caught or to do anything so foolish as to…

A sudden gunshot and then a muffled shout rent the night air and I froze, listening with the other men in the barrow. After a moment Clyde went to the ancient door and shoved it open, peering into the darkness…then he returned the shout, turned and motioned one of his men to fetch me.

He did so, drawing a knife and cutting the bonds on my legs, pulling me roughly to my feet before the feeling had had a chance to return. Clyde took hold of my bound arm and yanked me to the entrance of the barrow, and I peered out into the darkness….

And a shock of terror ran through me.

No, it could not be – please, no…

But it was…I recognized the voice and the figure all too well.

Watson…my faithful Boswell had come to rescue me…and in doing so had condemned us all to the mercy of a group of madmen, bent on revenge for his brother's turning.

TBC…