A/N: "Hey," you might ask, "is this supposed to sound so OOC and disjointed?" and the answer is yes, for reasons that are stylistic and plot-related.

From Wordwielder: Over

Stiff upper lip. I repeated to myself. Stiff upper lip, show no fear, give no ground. My panicked mantra was all I had left. There was nothing for wit to glean nor fate to throw. This was a duel, a plain and simple contest of wills. My hand could not slide from the grip of the old cavalry sword. My feet could not falter on the slippery wood. I only prayed that this fight would not move to the shingles, slick with rain and ever fluttering in the gale. Holmes was in peril, but I was in more danger still. My last hope lay in the stimulants of my late-night coffee and the prayer that they would take effect before something worse. Holmes had insisted he needed none. For once I was glad of it.

The wind slapped my soaking jacket against my chest. I had given Holmes my coat, after his own was wrenched from him, along with his jacket. To borrow a phrase, it was hardly a night for man or beast- but necessity drove me out nonetheless. I could hardly see save for the waves of moonlight on the wind-beaten rain and the glow cast by my adversary's lantern. It hung in the window of the tower marking the escape should either of us survive.

If nothing else, we were evenly matched. He may rule his so-called 'Hunting Club' by some means of persuasion, but he had no such sway over me. We were equals on the odd roof of an even odder castle. Armed only with our swords, we would have to see this through by means of steel. It was anyone's guess as to our respective ability to hack each other to pieces. He could be a skilled fighter. But I was a desperate man.

Over and over we exchanged thrusts and parries. I know not what technical exchanges were made. We fought like bitter enemies, like hated rivals, like opposing sides in a boiling campaign. One would not know by the ferocity of the exchange but we hadn't met before today. In a way, we were longstanding opponents. I fought for justice and he for evil though neither of us saw it at the time. We were distracted. I never saw calculation in his eyes, as I am sure he saw none in mine. We were busy enough trying to swipe, stab, and maim.

Madly, we fought across the rooftop. Our antiquated weapons sounded a cacophony until I managed to score a hit. He was careless, and I sliced his arm.

"First blood!" I cried, holding my sword before me in triumph. "It's over, Samuels, unless you'd like to taste my steel again!"

To my frustration he laughed. "I see you're finally embracing us, Doctor Watson. It took time, but you are here now. Join us once and for all. Taste our victory instead!"

With a growl I lunged for him again. Our fight continued. By now, I was sure we were both drenched in sweat as well as rain. But I knew I had to win. There was something at the core of our conflict that ignited a fire in me. Upon my honor, I had to beat him.

Samuels deflected my swipe and I unbalanced, but he did not press the advantage. "Give in, old man. We'd be glad of you, you know. Why, I know for certain Alan could stand to have another physician around. Think of how much easier things would be for us. And you-" Here Samuels gestured around him, presumably to the castle. "You would have the run of the place. There's so much history here, Doctor Watson. If nothing else, that must appeal to you."

I had no time for a madman. I would vanquish him, and then we would see who was lord of this castle! Samuels put up his guard again, but I could see he was toying with me. Perhaps not, as I nearly disarmed him with my next strike. At the very least he had some secret knowledge that amused him. Maybe it would be less entertaining as he fell over the edge.

At the next opening, I lunged and he was too slow to completely dodge. My sword glanced off his leg, but Samuels' hiss morphed into a chuckle. "You really are taking to it quite well. I had no idea it would be this effective, but it just goes to show-" He blocked another thrust. "Alan knows what he's about. Chin up, Doctor! He'll be finished shortly and we can all put this behind us."

Finished shortly? A wave of confusion swept over me, muddling my senses from the base of my skull on up to my forehead. I blinked the rain from my eyes and tried to shake the feeling clear. Suddenly, Samuels was on me again.

"None of that, Doctor! You were just starting to come along. Now, we've got a fight to finish."

A fight to finish. I barely had time to get my sword up again as he came at me. Something had changed in the tide of battle, and I wasn't sure what. Nothing was clear, except that Samuels meant to kill me- No, that wasn't right! He had been on the defensive all this time, hardly taking advantage of obvious openings or weaknesses in my strategy. In all the fencing I had done with Holmes, I knew when someone was-

Holmes.

Where had he-

Doctor Alan. Holmes-

The realization struck me as if it had been lightning from the storm. Instantly, I felt the chill of the night and the heaviness of my limbs. I saw Robert Samuels and his laughing eyes and his languid sword. And once again, I saw red.

This time, he was not as prepared for the attack. Before I had been sloppy. Now, I realized with a jolt, I had just begun to fight in earnest. The picture was still not clear but I had enough of the pieces. It did not matter who won the fight on the roof. It only mattered that I got past Samuels and down those stairs.

He sensed the change in the fight at once. Samuels pressed, but I was waiting. In a quick movement, I sent his sword flying from his hands. It went over the side of the wall out of his reach. I did not care to see this through to the end. With a shout I shoved past Samuels and made for the open window of the tower. All I had to do now was make it to the door before him. Losing not a moment, I snatched the lantern and took to the stairs. He would be furious and right on my heels. I had no time to waste.

The ancient wooden door was before me in seconds. I dropped my sword, threw it open, and dashed over the threshold, slamming the door shut behind me with all my weight. There was a metal latch on the outside. This I barred an instant before Samuels crashed on the other side. He swore heavily. I did not stay around to hear it.

The hallway was half familiar to me. I knew I had to have come through this way, though I could not remember how I had done so. There was only one other door at the end. A door, and a half-empty rack of swords. My vision swam again and I thought I remembered hearing the scrape of rusted steel. Something wasn't right…

I caught myself on the wall as one of the torches ahead started to spin. I had no time to waste. With my revolver in my hand, I crept forward on the plush carpet. Doctor Alan was in the next wing, with his equipment. I was on the hunt and could not fail. The silence of the castle would not unnerve me again. Jumping at shadows was counterproductive. There was only one way out. I steeled myself for the confrontation.

The interior stone was warm, but warmer still was the handle of my gun. I could imagine the kitchens and the hearth in the main room being near. I had been over this area before without success. Only the final wing of the castle held my answers.

I paused at a strange sound. There was a dripping noise, soft yet near enough to put me on alert. So far indoors, it would have to be a serious leak to allow water through. That, or I was being pursued. The likelihood of my detection was high at such a crucial point. I was in a well-lit, knowingly occupied area of the castle. Anyone could be lurking around. Stalking me, trying to deter me from my course.

No. I would not leave until I had put a bullet through Matthew Alan's brain.

I jerked up my gun as something flickered in my peripheral vision. The hall was empty, save for the lone torch among the lanterns. No one appeared to have been through for sometime. That could hardly stay the case for long. Someone was on my track. I had heard them skulking about before. With one last survey of the room before me, I started to lower my revolver. It was the shock of my life to discover that this was not my gun, and an altogether different kind at that.

I turned over the completely unfamiliar piece. It was a Lancaster, a four-shot, with one of the rounds missing. I quick search of my damp pockets let me know I had no other ammunition with me. Where on earth had this weapon come from, and where was my revolver?

Shaking my head in frustration, I remembered. I generally kept my revolver in my coat pocket. Indoors, in only my jacket, I had left my coat somewhere else. Of course, I had given it to Holmes…

The lackey's face was beginning to purple, but I cared little for him at the moment. He would stay pinned to the wall by the mop handle until I had my answers or until his stubbornness cost him. Once more I would ask, and it was entirely up to him if he would survive the encounter.

"Doctor Alan. Is he here?"

With what seemed like the last of his strength, the man pointed to the door in the center of the back wall. Where that lead, I could hardly wait to find out. I released the pressure from his neck and dropped him with a single blow. He should count himself lucky. His friend with the knife would have a nasty concussion. But these two were not my targets. I hunted another, far more dangerous man.

The center door led downward. It was a dark and musty stairwell, haunted with the remnants of cobwebs but still too clean to be out of use. Dry air hung still like a curtain. Whether the lackey was lying or not remained to be seen, but someone was down here. The walls and floor were built of stone so dark it may as well have been quarried from a starless sky. The rest of the castle loomed low over my head as I journeyed down, ignoring the sharp pain in my wrist and the throbbing under the bandages. I had only my fists now to aid me. It would have to be enough. Anyone I met along this route had better be prepared.

A hair's breadth of light flickered on the wall ahead. I got into a crouch as I finished the last few stairs and crossed over to a large wooden door. Behind this was the light. Alan would be there. I had torn the castle apart for him, but he could not evade me. I had hunted him down to his lair and now I would have him at last.

The door opened silently on well oiled hinges. This had to be the place. What first caught my eye were the jars on the other side of the room. There was a great bookshelf lined and labeled, housing a glittering array of glass vessels. Near this was another shelf stuffed with books. I peered through the crack in the door for more information. Unarmed, I wished to press my advantage as far as I may. There was a ticking sound- a clock- and the crackle of a fireplace yet unseen. I thought I could hear a voice as well. Gently, I pushed the door open further. It swung without a sound.

Now I had a better sense of the room. The fireplace was on the far wall, and a large set of cabinets blocked it from my view. It seemed there was no direct line of sight from it to the door, and for this I was grateful. I looked to my left and grabbed a book from the nearby desk. Careful not to shuffle papers, I lifted it as I got myself clear of the door. I placed the book upright between the door and the jamb so it would not make a sound as it closed. I did not want Alan to know I was coming until it was too late.

Noiselessly I crept around the cabinet. The glow of the fireplace was stronger now, and I could see that Alan had other lanterns lit for his dark work. Soon, I would put an end to it. I shook a swimming feeling from my head as I passed by a chemistry table. It would not do to lose my balance and knock into something noisy.

At last I had him in my sights. Alan was murmuring to himself with his back to me. So focused was he on whatever was in front of him that he would not hear me coming. I had not made a plan thus far, but with him distracted, now was the time. Quickly, I scanned the nearby tables and shelves for a weapon but found none. All was the better.

I would challenge Alan, I decided, and against so great an evil I dared not lose. Eliminating that impossibility, I pressed my hands against my eyes in an attempt to clear the last of this ache that seemed to permeate my skull. Perhaps my identity as a Doctor was manifesting in protest. No, that couldn't be it. I had killed before to save a life, and many lives would be saved when this evil was expunged.

Now was the time. I stood, straighted up, and issued my challenge. "You are without honor, Matthew Alan! We will settle this once and for all, and I will put an end to your evil deeds!"

A touch of melodrama was more than enough to startle him. Alan turned, and in doing so unobscured his work. I felt a fresh, freezing wave of horror drench me head to foot. How had I forgotten? There before me was my friend Sherlock Holmes, gagged and bound to a wooden armchair. I was… late. When I had left- when I had left, they were to be taking a tour of the library. How long had I been away? My eyes darted to the stunned Alan for a clue. He looked the same as before, only with his lab apron on and a syringe in his hand-

Holmes' hands had been secured palm-up to the arms of the chair, and I had the double surge of panic and relief to see that I was not too late. It seemed I had remembered just in time.

I squared my shoulders. With a yell I lunged for Alan. We crashed into one of the bookshelves and went topping over with it. I felt the wood crack under him before I swung again. The syringe fell from his hand. He was not the fighter Samuels had been. He was soft, a coward hiding behind walls of stone and seeking shelter in the cover of darkness. Well, no more. His head whipped to the side and his body went limp, with only a sluggish wheeze left to prove he was still alive.

I could nearly feel the blood boiling beneath my skin. My wrist throbbed, but it was easier to ignore now. They had all come against me and failed. I would have liked to see another try, to get the chance to put another nail in the coffin. A slight noise from behind me reminded me of my primary objective. I picked myself up from the ruins of the bookcase. Turning, I was alarmed to see the expression on Holmes' face. My brow furrowed as I hurried to him. Pain? Worry? With the dizziness threatening to overtake me, I was not sure…

"You're not hurt are you, Holmes?"

He needed time to recover. He needed to be seen to, and in a safer location than this. I put myself between him and the mad doctor. Holmes was struggling to get past, but I wouldn't allow this maniac to get ahold of him again. We were backed into a corner, and all I had available to defend us with were the scissors that villain had so carelessly left within my reach. They underestimated me again, and it would be their undoing.

"Stay back!" I commanded. "You will not lay another hand on him!"

"Watson!" Holmes sounded more frustrated than alarmed. "Stop this at once. That is Doctor Cartwright from Maybridge, who is trying to tend to your wounds."

"Really, sir, there is no need of all of his hullaballoo-" The fiend said. I adjusted my grip on the scissors and kept them aloft.

"He's not himself." Holmes tried again, this time managing to pry my arm away and squeeze by. I tried to stop him, but he held fast to my elbow. "Samuels gave him something at dinner- a drug they were developing. There now, old fellow-"

I was forced to lower the scissors as Holmes set himself between me and the danger. It was unwise to turn his back- I lifted a hand to my eyes as my friend began to go out of focus. He took this chance to pull the weapon from my grasp.

"Holmes, it's far too dangerous-"

"The danger has passed, Watson." His tone was calmer now. How he could maintain his composure in such dire straits was baffling. "You do not remember, but you are suffering from the effects of a behavior-altering drug." At his insistent push I sat, and found a soft cot behind me. "It is too soon to know how long this will last, but the time between spells is growing longer."

"Spells?" I asked uneasily.

He nodded and leaned down to get a look at something on my face. Holmes was frowning, and I could see our acquaintance, the American Doctor Carwright peering at me from behind him. How he had come to be here, I did not know.

"This has happened before?" Cartwright asked.

"Twice." Holmes replied. "Once when we were still inside Barditch Castle, and another on the ride back here. With the presence of the Constable and the fact that we were in a moving cart, it was easier to remind him."

I blinked at him, trying to put together the pieces of what he was saying. "We have had this conversation twice since… apprehending Samuels' gang and returning to Maybridge?"

He made a small noise which may have been a sigh of relief. "Once before and once after, but you are mostly correct. Do you remember recounting to me the events surrounding your escape?"

I frowned again. "I remember Samuels taking me up to the rooftop. He said I should join him, that I could become like the rest. Once he began talking, it was easy to determine who in the castle was part of the plot and who was…" It was not as clear to me as I fear it should have been. The hunting club had proved to not be what they seemed, but I could not remember how we had beaten them in the end. There were at least a dozen in the inner circle, those who would follow Samuels and Alan wherever their crooked compass led. I did not know what became of them.

"My dear Watson, do not try too hard to remember." Holmes said at last. "Let Doctor Cartwright supply you with fresh bandages. When he is finished, you should rest. You have been through quite an ordeal."

He stepped aside to let Cartwright finish his work. I apologized quietly, but the old American brushed it aside. It seemed all there was to tend to was a slash on the back of my wrist I don't remember receiving, and a deep soreness in the shoulder of the same arm. I watched as Holmes observed the proceedings a moment before taking a seat.

"Relax, old fellow, I am not going anywhere." He retrieved his pipe from the nearby table. With a jolt, I placed myself at last. We were back at the Maybridge Inn, in our rooms. He saw the realization play out on my face and offered up a sad smile.

"I'm not going anywhere, Watson. It's over. And if it is over, and then over again, I will be here still."

A/N: Merriam Webster says:

Over, adjective: brought or come to an end

Over, adverb: once more; again