From Domina Temporis: Watson invites Holmes to his club to meet his friends. What happens next?
"Of course you can come. I simply did not expect you to want to."
He stared at me, uncertainty showing in that grey gaze, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
"I have had a club membership since the first year we shared rooms," I told him, "and never once have you shown any interest in coming with me. Why should I expect you to now?"
He huffed, the uncertainty fading behind amusement as he conceded the point. He had never given any indication that he wanted to go to my club with me, and I had given up inviting him years ago. His hesitant question had caught me completely by surprise, but I had no reason to deny it. My only reason for going today was to play a game of pocket billiards with Reinald. I had been planning to stay for supper when we finished, as I expected the game to end after the time Mrs. Hudson usually brought our food to the sitting room, but Holmes would probably suggest Simpson's instead.
"What made you decide to come?" I asked as we walked down the street. I swung my jacket over my shoulder to keep my hands free. The sun would be setting soon, and the temperature dropped quickly when it did. Both of us would want another layer by the time we turned our steps towards home.
He shrugged, staring at a passing cab and refusing to look at me. "You know I have had very few cases of late," he answered simply, "and you seem to enjoy the afternoons you spend at your club."
I smothered a smile. He must be extremely bored, to decide that an afternoon spent in the company of a room full of strangers was better than the silence of our empty rooms, and a passing thought wondered if that was his only reason.
He would never admit another even if I asked, however, and I did not try, turning the conversation to deducing passersby on the short walk to my club.
"Doctor Watson," the doorman greeted me as we drew close. "I haven't seen you in a while."
"I haven't been in London for a while," I answered, purposely omitting where I had been. "It is good to be back, though. Is Reinald here, yet?"
The man shook his head, shrugging slightly as Holmes followed me inside.
"Couldn't tell you," he replied. "I don't know a Reinald."
He resumed his place by the door, and I led Holmes toward the billiard tables in the back.
"Does he not know everyone that comes here?" Holmes asked.
"Eventually, but Reinald recently moved to London." I started setting up a game at an unoccupied table. "You can play with us if you like."
He indicated a negative. "You play. I believe I will wander the room a bit."
He disappeared into the shadows before I could reply, and I turned back towards the table, curious as to why he was acting so strangely. He hated mingling more than he hated the company of strangers, and a thought crossed my mind wondering if he had a case of some sort. It was not often that he worked a case without me, but some cases had required my ignorance to grant him access somewhere. I hoped he would give me the details later. I had no idea what about my club could constitute a case for him, having chosen this one years ago partly because it was so quiet, but I would be interested in hearing about it.
Reinald still had not arrived by the time I finished setting up, and I started a solitary game to practice while I waited. Quite some time had passed since I had last played, and I welcomed the chance to recall the technique—especially when a stray shot sent one ball bouncing straight to the floor. Laughing slightly at the mistake, I tried again, and the ball went into its pocket.
I got better over time, and within a few minutes, I was pulling off my normal trick shots simply for the fun of it. Despite moving deliberately slowly, the final ball eventually tipped into the corner pocket, and I glanced at my watch as I started setting up for a new game. He was nearly thirty minutes late. Something must have come up since our chance meeting in the tobacco shop the other day, and he had not been able to contact me.
I would give him a few more minutes, I decided, though I rather wished Holmes had stayed nearby so I could teach him how to play. Billiards was alright when I had an opponent, but I had never cared for the solitary games, and I had always thought Holmes would enjoy the strategy behind some of the trick shots.
I saw no sign of my friend, however, and I eventually put the balls and cue away with a sigh. There was not much use in claiming a table with no opponent.
Slowly moving away from the table, I scanned the mingling crowd for something to do. I preferred not to leave Holmes here alone, but I had no real interest in any of the card games, and I knew nobody else here. I finally made my way toward the counter. A drink would kill some time until I could spot Holmes, and if he had not shown up by the time I finished, I would leave a message with the bartender and return to the flat. The club would not make him leave just because I had, and if something had caught his attention, I would rather he stay. Almost anything was better than the Black Moods that frequently plagued him between cases.
"Watson, move!"
The warning sounded when I was halfway across the room, and I barely registered Holmes' voice as I reflexively jumped to the side. Somebody plowed into me midair, knocking me roughly to the floor as something metallic hit the ground with a faint ping, and the other man's momentum rolled us into an alcove beneath a nearby table. A moment later, I found myself face down, pinned beneath Holmes as gunshots volleyed back and forth above our heads.
"Holmes, what's going on?" His weight firmly prevented me from moving, and my leg painfully protested both the tumble and my position. I fought to get free, barely registering the yelling voices of several Yarders as I tried to halt the spasm.
He readjusted, letting me move my leg while still preventing me from throwing him off, and only after the pain eased did I realize he stayed between me and the chaos.
"Hold still!" he snapped when I tried to switch places. "You are the target, not me. Let the Yard subdue him."
"Subdue who? Is this why you wanted to join me today? You used me as bait?!"
He shook his head, his chin bumping my shoulder as he did so. "Reinald has been kidnapping and killing people all along his route from Northern Scotland," he answered, lowering his voice as the chaos died, "primarily people who knew him at some point. You met him in medical school?"
"Yes." I moved slightly as my shoulder protested my cramped position. "We shared classes the first year."
"He suggested a game," Holmes continued, "because to reach the tables, you have to pass this shadowed door. We arrived minutes before him, and he has been waiting for you to give up on your meeting ever since."
The gunshots and screaming finally silenced, and Holmes' weight vanished, light now filtering beneath the table as he moved to stand. I followed slowly, and he gave me a hand up, steadying me when I stumbled.
"Alright?" he asked, scanning me to make sure his tackle had not injured me.
I nodded. After such a tumble, my leg was going to protest for a while, but it was nothing new. I would rather take a hard fall than be hit by the sharp dart I spotted on the ground.
"What did he throw?" I asked as the twinge in my leg eased. The dart lay inches from my foot, and I leaned over slightly to look at it.
"Do not touch it," he warned. "One of his victims died from the dart itself."
I waved him off, staring at the glistening drop on the tip. "Just looking. He obviously dipped it in something."
"A concentrated poison," Holmes answered, "likely using apricots." His hand landed on my shoulder, gently pulling me away from the dart. "The only classes he took were chemistry and botany."
"Apricots?" I repeated. What would be the point of that? Apricot kernels were full of cyanide, and concentrated amounts would easily kill the victim. "I thought you said he kidnapped them first?"
"Usually," he agreed, but he refused to say any more. "Come."
Holmes led me toward the group of Yarders near the counter, and Lestrade looked up from speaking with one of the constables.
"Unhurt?" he asked, probably noting the limp I could not quite hide.
"I'm fine," I said quickly. "You caught him?"
He nodded sharply, gesturing toward where three officers forcefully walked a familiar figure out the door. "He put up a fight, though," Lestrade added. "I'll give him that. You said he's the one responsible for the rash of murders between here and Aberdeen?"
My leg twinged again, and Holmes took my arm when I tried to lean against the counter. "He is," he confirmed, gesturing toward the shadowed alcove. "The dart he used this time is on the floor back there, but be careful not to touch it with skin. He seemed to rotate among three or four different poisons, and that small piece of metal could contain any one of them."
Lestrade scowled. "We'll be careful," he promised, signaling another policeman closer, and Holmes and I walked toward the door as Lestrade began explaining about the dart.
"Why are you limping?" he asked once we were clear of the building.
I watched my feet, trying not to lean on him and wishing I had my cane. "A bullet found my leg many years ago," I replied facetiously. "I thought you knew that."
"You were not limping earlier," he replied, probably frowning at me though I did not look up to confirm that, "and the temperature has not dropped enough to affect you."
I waved him off. "It will pass."
Silence answered me for a moment, and when he did reply, faint distress leaked into the quiet words. "Did I hurt you?"
"I'm fine, Holmes," I said firmly. "I would rather a hard fall than be hit with that dart."
He said nothing, studying me in the fading sunlight, and I pointedly squeezed his arm. "Seriously. I'm fine. My leg always protests hitting the ground. It will pass in a couple of hours."
He huffed at me, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "stubborn" as he slowed his pace even further.
"How long have you been tracking Reinald?" I asked, hoping to draw his attention from my uneven gait.
"About three days."
I glanced up. The chance meeting at the shop had been three days ago, and he nodded at my silent question. "The kidnappings and subsequent murders have been in the papers for weeks, but I did not begin tracking him until you mentioned going to your club today. As it was obvious he was traveling toward London, the local constabularies had been including me in any new information, and all of his victims knew him. You told me you were meeting an old friend."
"Why did you not tell me?"
"I had no idea if my suspicions were correct until I saw him station himself in the shadows, and by then, I could not warn you without giving away my presence."
And giving away his presence would have either inspired Reinald to act sooner or scared him away completely. Attacking sooner could have put me in danger if Holmes could not react quickly enough, and Holmes would have wanted to capture Reinald before the man left London. At least he had a reason this time—a valid reason—but I could not let him off completely.
"So you did use me as bait," I finished, keeping my gaze on my feet to prevent him from seeing the faint grin trying to break free.
"No, I—" he cut his protest short, unable to deny the basic truth my statement. I had gone willingly to the club, unknowingly making myself a target, and he had followed because he had found Reinald suspicious. That he had not known for sure until Reinald set the trap was immaterial. Holmes had kept me ignorant of the danger, and that meant he had used me as bait. I understood the situation well enough to not be angry with him, but just because he had a reason for doing so did not mean I would pass up bit of revenge. I kept my gaze on my feet and said nothing.
"I had no choice but to let you think I had left the room," he told me, his other hand coming up to press mine into his arm. "Several Yarders were nearby to go after Reinald, but if he had known you were not alone, he would have chosen a different time to attack."
A different sort of distress colored the last few words, and I finally caught his worried gaze. He affected a scowl when he saw my widening grin, but amusement and relief mixed primarily in his eyes as he realized I had merely been jesting. He relaxed as we reached the flat.
Trying to hide that the spasms were growing stronger, I fell silent and fumbled for my key. He released my arm to reach his own key, however, frowning at me when I stumbled again as I followed him inside, but I waved him off. There was no need for the worry turning his mouth.
The door to Mrs. Hudson's rooms opened as I reached the base of the stairs, and she peered into the darkened entry.
"You are home early," she said, reaching to turn up the gas on the stairs. "Are you going to be here for supper after all?"
Holmes glanced at me for an answer, and I nodded. "Our plans were cancelled somewhat last-minute," I told her, "and I doubt we will go out again tonight."
I doubted I would anyway, and the way Holmes kept glancing at me said he probably would not either. The discomfort in that old injury was turning into true pain. I needed to get off my feet.
"It may be a bit late," she answered without hesitation. She was well used to unexpected changes in plans, "but I will have something up for you when I can."
She closed the door as I thanked her, and I tried to wave Holmes up the stairs ahead of me, intending to grab my cane from the entryway before attempting the stairs.
He ignored the gesture, taking my arm in his again despite my protests.
"You have gotten more stubborn over the years," he said when I finally leaned on him on our way up the steps.
I huffed a laugh. "I think we have had this conversation before." My usual reply was some variation of having learned it from him, and a grin twitched his mouth at the change.
"I believe you might have passed me," he replied, steadying me when I faltered on the step. "I have never tried to claim I was fine despite being almost unable to walk."
Playful banter changed to irritation, and my answering scowl was more genuine than affected. "I can walk," I nearly snapped, then shut my mouth with a click to prevent myself from angrily voicing a comment about why I was limping. Acknowledging that his tackle had caused me pain would only make him feel guilty, and I still preferred a hard fall over that dart no matter that his comment had pricked my pride.
"Poor phrasing," he acknowledged, the words as close to an apology as I would get. "I only meant that—easy!"
A spasm abruptly shot down my leg, and the knee buckled from the pain. Only Holmes' quick reaction saved me from losing my balance, and I found myself pressed against him, my arm slung over his shoulders while his arm wrapped around me.
"Watson?" he asked after a moment.
I shook my head instead of voicing a reply. I was not hurt—at least not any more than I had been before—but it would be another minute before I caught my breath. The abrupt ones seemed to knock the wind out of me worse than the others, and I could see guilt beginning to shadow his gaze. He should not feel guilty for pushing me out of the line of fire, but the breath to say as much refused to come.
We reached the landing before I found my words.
"Stop worrying, Holmes. This is hardly the first time I have had trouble on the stairs."
The guilt never lessened. "I should not have tackled you so hard."
"Better to hit the ground than become a human dartboard," I answered, redirecting our steps toward my chair when he tried to aim for the settee.
The answering huff carried a hint of amusement. "What about not hitting the ground at all?"
I waved off the comment. "We already established that that wasn't an option, and you could not have known that the tackle would cause this. You know it does not always." The awkward landing had been the difference, but I saw no reason to point that out.
He hesitated but finally nodded, and I carefully readjusted in my chair.
"So quit worrying. It will pass in a couple of hours, and until then, you can tell me about your case against Reinard. What do you know about him? Why did he start killing people?"
He seated himself in the chair opposite, studying me.
"Holmes?"
He finally sighed but answered, detailing the leads he had chased over the last few days when I had thought he was updating his indices. He had started with compiling all the information available for the previous murders, each occurring near the rail line from Aberdeen, and he quickly confirmed the pattern he had faintly noticed previously. Then he started applying that pattern here, frantically trying to locate Reinard before I was supposed to meet him. He never said as much outright, but I could tell he had hoped to catch the murderer and still have my afternoon go as planned. When this morning arrived and he had not yet apprehended his suspect, however, he had sent a message to the Yard to set up the trap and accompanied me to my club.
"But what was his motive?" I asked when he finished. "The Reinard I knew would never have dreamed of doing anything like this."
He hesitated again, deciding how to answer. "There was an incident your second year of school in which a classmate died. It was never proven that Reinard did anything wrong, but the scandal chased him out of school. It is possible an accidental killing gave him the bloodlust to do it on purpose."
I frowned, unable to picture the nearly boisterous young man I had known so many years ago as a repeat murderer.
"How many?" I asked simply.
"Unknown," he responded quietly, reluctance in his gaze. "He seems to have moved around constantly, and missing persons cases are difficult to track across cities."
"How many on this trip?" I clarified.
"There has been fifteen people listed as missing between here and Aberdeen in the last three weeks. Ten of them were found dead, one was found alive but died without waking, and the other four are still missing."
And I had nearly joined that number. That knowledge was probably a significant portion of why his gaze had not left me since my club.
"And now he is in jail," I finished instead, trying to lift the tension still resting on his shoulders. "Catching him here gave the Yard enough evidence to put him away for many years, if not see him swing. Many people are safe now." Including me.
He twitched a half-smile, hearing the unspoken ending, and I readjusted in my chair.
"So does this mean you are going to join me at my club more often?"
He merely scowled, and I laughed. I knew better than to hope for such a thing.
It really was too bad. I was sure the strategy behind billiards would intrigue him.
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