AN: ACD owns a LOT of what's in this chapter- you all will see why. In fact, some of it's verbatim (*ducks all lawsuits). Anyway, this story is basically my twist on the Holmes-Moriarty ACD plot… with a little someone named Laura Watson thrown in the mix. So, since some of you asked for longer chapters, and a little more tension, here you go… enjoy! (meanwhile, I'm going back to memorizing biochemical pathways… sigh… to have to live vicariously through you all) J

Chapter 6

Three hours later the man was resting peacefully on the bed in my guest room and Holmes was cleaning up the last traces of blood. I had collapsed from sheer exhaustion on the couch, and was currently watching Holmes trying to Clorox my carpet.

"I'm afraid you're still going to have to replace the carpet. I can't get this out," he admitted sheepishly before giving the spot one last futile scrub.

I shook my head, too tired to care. "Whatever, Holmes."
            He tossed the sponge into the nearest sink and washed his hands, finally plopping on the couch next to my feet. "Where do you want to start?" he asked after a long moment of silence.

"Ok… who's that man who's sleeping in my guest room and how did he end up there?"

Holmes sighed. "That is Peter Masterson. He was the one I was meeting at the opera tonight. That's why I had to leave; I was worried about his safety."

I shrugged. "You're gonna have to do better than that, Holmes. That doesn't explain anything."
            He sighed. "As you know, Watson, there's no one who knows the higher criminal world of Los Angeles like I do. For a couple of years now, I have noticed some deep organizing power which forever stands in the way of the law, and throws its shield over the wrong-doer. Again and again in cases of the most varying sorts -- forgery cases, thefts, murders -- I have felt… this presence, and I have deduced its action in many of those undiscovered crimes in which I have not been personally consulted by Lestrade.'

'It's taken me three months, and I've finally been able to trace it to the top, following the string, in a sense. I realized that it was…" Holmes paused. He was trying to decide whether or not to tell me.

"Who?" Holmes' account had gotten me hooked. I had completely forgotten that I was supposed to be mad at him. I was very curious.

He gave me a funny look. "The name is irrelevant at this moment, but let me assure you, he is the Napoleon of crime, the organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city. He is a genius, Watson, pure and simple."

"So he runs this top-of-the-line Mafia. No different from Al Capone."

Holmes chuckled. "Al Capone wouldn't even qualify as his right-hand man. But yes, the organization is similar, I suppose. This guy does little himself. He only plans. But his agents are numerous and splendidly organized. If there's a crime to be done, a house to be rifled, a man to be removed -- the word is passed to him, the matter is organized and carried out. The hired may be caught. In that case money is found for his bail or his defense. Al Capone was caught- but this man has never even been remotely suspected. This was the organization which I deduced, Watson, and I devoted my whole energy lately to exposing and breaking up."

I nodded, prodding him to go on. I was no longer tired, but enamored with Holmes' description. One guy ran the entire criminal underworld of Los Angeles. "Are you coming close?"

"You know my abilities, Watson- and for the last three months, it was impossible to get evidence against him that I could turn over to Lestrade. I was forced to confess that I had met an antagonist who was my intellectual equal. My horror at his crimes was lost in my admiration at his skill. But at last he made a trip- or rather, his right hand man- who's resting in your guest room right now- made a mistake, and I caught him. In exchange for his welfare, he has agreed to provide me with the ammunition to bring down the entire group."

"An informant."

"Yes, Peter Masterson is my informant. We arranged to finally meet at the opera last night during intermission; Peter had the papers I needed to finish off the entire organization. But I was spotted by the very man himself."

"This guy knows you're after him?"

Holmes seemed slightly annoyed. "Of course, Watson. He's been able to foil me for three months."

There was the ego again.

"He also saw Peter earlier that evening- and thus has put two and two together. Thus, fearing for Peter's safety, I had to leave you tonight. Having Peter alive to testify as a witness would ensure conviction. And yet I still arrived too late to prevent any harm…" Holmes' shoulders sagged as he trailed off.

I pulled him into a hug, trying to comfort him. "Hey, it's ok. The bullet didn't hit any vital organs; he'll live."

Holmes stiffened. I dropped my arms, a bit embarrassed. "Why didn't you call Lestrade?" I asked, attempting to turn the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"I did call Lestrade on the way to your place. They have all the evidence they need now, and my trap is in place. In three days- basically by Tuesday, the whole organization will be in custody."

"So what about between now and then? I mean, is Peter just going to hang out with you for three days? Sleep in my guest room?"

"Lestrade should be here to pick Peter up any minute now. He has assured me that Peter will be put in the federal witness protection program. How much protection that actually is, I wouldn't know. And really, Watson, I couldn't ever ask you to let Peter stay here. It's too dangerous. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

I looked at him, deeply touched. "So ditching me at the opera with the biggest, meanest criminal mind in Los Angeles milling around isn't dangerous?" I quipped.

Holmes' expression turned serious. "You are in more danger around me then you ever were around him. Besides, something came to light tonight that reassured me of your safety."

"What do you mean danger around you? He's coming for you, isn't he? Can't the feds protect you too?" The sheer adrenaline that I was running on was giving way to some hysteria.
            Holmes shook his head. "I don't qualify as a witness, Watson- you know that. And yes, I must leave as soon as Lestrade gets here; this man's rage against me will be all the greater when he finds me with you."

"Now what do you mean that? How am I involved in this?" I was now really confused.

 "I've already said too much, Watson."

A rapid succession of knocks at my door made me jump out of my seat. Holmes beat me to the door and looked in the peephole. Then he opened the door, letting in the rat-faced, weasly detective who, for Holmes' sake, I had actually starting being civil to.

"Dr. Watson," Lestrade greeted me. "Is the witness ok?" Holmes closed the door quickly behind him.

I nodded. "Yes, Detective, he should be fine. Though you might want to get another doctor to check him and make sure there's no infection to the wound."
            "Of course. So where is he?"

I gestured to the door of my guest room. "In there. He's resting."

Lestrade went in, reemerging a few moments later with the man I had "operated on" a few hours ago. They approached me slowly.

"Thank you, Dr. Watson." Peter's voice was a whisper.

His sincerity just capped the rollercoaster day. I felt myself beginning to tear up. I could only nod.

Peter then turned to Holmes. "And for you, Mr. Holmes- I have one last bit of information."

Holmes turned all his attention to the injured man. "What is it, Peter?"

Peter weighed his words carefully. "He may have loved her once, but I know that he doesn't love her anymore. And he'll use her against you- so be careful, or you'll end up like me." His voice dropped another octave. "And maybe this time, she won't be there to save you."

Lestrade and Peter left without another word.

            As soon as the door shut, Holmes dropped into the nearest chair and buried his face into his hands. I had never seen him so despondent. On the other hand, I was more confused than ever.

            "Holmes?" I placed my hand on his shoulder.

            He looked up at me, eyes uncharacteristically reflecting an emotion which I couldn't discern. "Watson? I know I have asked a lot of you of tonight."

            I smiled at him, trying to make him feel better. "Hey, we're friends. Besides, you'd do the same for me."

            He took my hand in his. "Undoubtedly. But I want to ask you one last thing. I was wondering if you'd be willing to take a weeklong trip with me."

            "Where?" I could feel my face growing hotter with every second he held onto my hand. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

            Holmes gestured aimlessly. "Anywhere, it's all the same to me."

            If I had understood any part of Peter's warning to Holmes, it was this: they would try to get to Holmes through me. I couldn't have Holmes coming back from hiding because he was concerned about my welfare. Perhaps then, I might be safer- and Holmes would be safer- if we traveled together, if I went with him into hiding. This must be what Holmes was thinking.

            "When do we leave?"

            Holmes' face lit up as he regained his usual sense of control. "These are your instructions. Please follow them to the very letter, Watson…"