AN: Man, I really threw all the angst I could muster for my first entry, huh? Hopefully, this one will be a lighter entry in my collection. Apologies for the mature response, it's what immediately came to mind.
Day 2(Prompt 10): From trustingHim17- Did Watson ever play an instrument? Does he still?
A Duel of 88
Watson's POV
"Holmes, are you positive this is the best way to catch our man?"
As often as I went willingly on Sherlock Holmes's adventures in chasing down all manner of the criminal element through the streets of London, sometimes I could not help but question my companion's motives and schemes. In particular, this one came from the elder Holmes, who wanted Holmes's aid in trapping a German conman in the music hall near the Diogenes Club, Tobias Hess.
If by going off anything Holmes gave me about the man, Hess was a villain with a talent for slipping in and out of places he did not want to be found, even if said place was watching dueling pianos as his entertainment. So here I was, sitting on a mahogany piano bench, staring at my companion who poised himself eagerly over the keys of a polished grand piano.
"Most certainly, my dear Watson. It is vital for our case that we are as close to Hess as we can to ensnare him in our nets. Look." He whispered, pointing a white-gloved hand at our man in question, perched directly in front of our conductor, who was, according to Holmes, Hess's newest prey.
He did indeed bear an intense, severe look to him, with a large, athletic frame to match. He was taller than Holmes, with a prominent nose, crooked upon his face, perhaps from a blow. And yet there seemed to be a distinct lack of the cold, calculated gleam I had seen on the likes of Professor Moriarity, who sewed his evil in mental battles. "Perhaps he does his evil deeds by physical means." I mused.
"Capital observation, my dear Watson. You are correct in the methods in which Hess does his work; Mycroft has informed me that Tobias Hess is the type of man who would wring you about the neck and force you to pay your dues to him. His nose injured from a blow with a riding crop like mine." Holmes praised, and I could not help but feel warm from it.
However, the warmth was temporary, as I regarded what I was wearing and where I was. Holmes had urged that we should go in disguise as the duellers ourselves, so I was vested in a well fitted, black suit, matching vest, and white gloves, which mirrored Holmes's own suit, apart from his suit being a dark grey. Our dueling opponents would be wearing white, so Holmes had claimed he wanted to go according to the theme.
I felt rather strange. As I voiced my concerns to Holmes, the little conductor, a toad-like man, picked up his baton, leading us to play.
"Come now, Watson, show me the skills that you learned as a child! I shall lead us if you desire." Holmes said.
"Holmes, lessons as a child, do not make me a professional pianist!" I hissed under my breath. That earned me a bark of laughter from my friend, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his grey eyes.
"Do you remember that list you compiled of me back when we first met? You labeled my knowledge of music to be nil apart from my violin, so now is the chance to show me your obvious talent, Watson." Said he, his tone dripping with wry amusement.
"Holmes, you can really be a cunning devil. I suppose I should have you follow me into my practice one day dressed as a nurse's maid for this charade." I muttered as Holmes grabbed my wrists, settling them over the piano.
"Yes, we can talk about the details later, my dear Watson. We must play, though." He whispered, before launching into some unknown song of Beethoven's that to me, a long-forgotten practitioner of music passed muster.
While Holmes was leading, I sucked a breath of air in, examining the familiar, yet faded swollen lift on my knuckles from piano lessons as a child. As a future member of English society, my mother had presumed that I should benefit from learning the instrument's ways. With each hit of the keys, I could see flashes of my younger self, hunched long into the night over the piano until my fingers swelled to become too large for the instrument, while my tutor repeatedly struck my knuckles with a ruler, should I have gotten any note wrong.
It was not that I wanted to stop playing the piano as I got older. I used the opportunity to turn my pain into melodies that would surely please her, as my youthful mind rebelled at her digressions. I did not want to be struck again.
As I grew older, I moved onwards from that instrument, or so I perceived. While I no longer greeted the piano with the same child-like reverence, something always drew me back to those early days of my fingers wandering the surface of 88 ivory keys.
Perhaps I yearned, once more, to be in the same spot other pianists were? I could never tell, and before long, my knowledge of the lessons I took faded into the back of my mind. Like Holmes's 'mind-attic,' indeed.
"Watson!" Holmes whispered, close to my ear with a hand-trumpet. "It is your turn; I have completed my duel with our opponent." I snapped out of the poetic nostalgia, and almost at once, my mind rebelled. I knew not whether it was from the apprehension that I should disappoint everyone round me, nor my youth coming back to my being. It felt as though I were back at my lessons, apart from Holmes sitting at my shoulder, not my teacher.
"I never thought I would say this, Holmes, but you owe me." I grumbled, placing my fingers on the smooth, white ivory. Our opponent began to play, and almost at once, I recognized the tune.
Fur Elise. It was like an old friend coming to greet me once more, a father welcoming home a prodigal son, not a reason to be afraid. Like a man who was not in control of his body, my fingers soon joined in, moving themselves up and down the instrument to match our opponent.
I had assumed that my skills had diminished, but at once, I could remember every next jump I would need to take. Every crescendo, every note of Beethoven's troubled love with his student flooded back into my mind.
When I had told my wife that I had played piano on our vacation to the countryside, this happened to be the piece that I told her I enjoyed the most-the piece was as if I could tell a story: one of love and great, terrible heartbreak.
Only, it seemed that heartbreak followed me into my life.
As I played, I was dimly aware of Holmes glancing at me with an emotion that I had not seen on the man in the several years I had lodged with him. Astonishment, mixed with an emotion I could not identify. I could not begrudge him for feeling as such, I too was astonished, and I was the one playing!
Our opponent sped up, and I did the same. This allowed me to look up from the keys, realizing that the men sitting across from us on the opposite piano was our old friends from Scotland Yard, one Inspector Lestrade, clad in white, who improvised vocals for the young Inspector Hopkins, whose fingers were flying against the keys.
"Holmes, have they-" I turned to ask a question to my companion, who suddenly leaned in close once more.
"I asked our friends in Scotland Yard to join us in catching our villain, Watson; they have been here this entire time. Do not look into the audience for too long; Hess is armed." Said he in my ear. Surely enough, I chanced a small enough look at the German, who had his hand resting on a bump within his hip-pocket.
"What do you aim to do?" I asked as Holmes caught the eye of Lestrade, causing the little inspector to give a small nod at us.
"In a moment, your turn shall be over, and I will resume. Inspector Hopkins and yourself will keep an eye on Hess until I give the signal, which should be me hitting the F key twice." Holmes responded, as both myself and Hopkins came to the final crescendo with a flourish.
"Very well, Holmes. Do try to be careful, my dear fellow." I said as Holmes gave a slight smile, taking up his position on the keys.
"I shall, my dear Watson." Said he. Apart from the conman, the audience clapped at our display, who continued his perpetual scowl towards the conductor.
As I watched Holmes face down Lestrade in this piano duel, I could not help but notice my feelings being thrown, as if in a tempest.
I had pleased the crowd, and yet I had done the very thing I swore not to do as a boy.
But did I regret it?
I tore my gaze away from the piano, looking for any excuse to get out of my head, when I saw the familiar glint of cold metal flash from Hess's jacket, steadying itself at the stage.
"Holmes!" I yelled before I grabbed my friend, throwing us both on the ground. "Gun!"
Holmes let out a cry of surprise, for it seemed not even he knew Hess was going to shoot. A crack rang out in the air, sending the audience into peals of terror and screams as the conductor fell to the wooden floor in front of the pianos, the conman climbing on to surely finish the job while blood blossomed on the conductor's white suit from the bullet-wound.
After that, I could not think twice. As Hopkins ran over to check on the conductor, Lestrade and I bowled Hess over in a mad scramble to pry the gun from his fingers.
"Doctor Watson!" Called Lestrade, grunting in pain to avoid the conman smashing his elbow towards his nose, "Pin his wrists!"
I would have been delighted to respond, opening my mouth as we were both flipped over by Hess's desperate attempts to get us off his back-side, when the air round my neck ceased, choking the words tight in my throat and my hands clawing towards the obstacle.
Lestrade had managed to get Hess cuffed on one wrist in our struggle, but the fiend used the chain to wrap it around my neck. "Put the guns down, before-" He growled as Lestrade went for his firearm.
If Hess had planned to talk only once, his words were a poor choice, indeed. The chain's weight lifted, as a cacophony of 88 keys clanged out before all fell still.
"Watson! Are you not hurt, my dear fellow?" In an instant, Holmes kneeled beside me after the silence, as I rubbed at my neck, meeting my friend's grey gaze. He was alert; this much was typical of him, though the flickers of worry coming forwards was new, his eyes dimming as he scanned my form.
"I am alright, Holmes. Hess did not cut my air off for too long."
As Lestrade and Holmes pulled me on my feet, I saw the predicament that our conman was reduced to, slumped across the ivory keys of the piano, his wrists cuffed together. Hopkins beamed from his spot next to the conductor. "I am glad to see you back on your feet, Doctor Watson; Mr. Holmes tossed the German into the piano once he saw Hess strangling you."
I knew my friend was endowed with such strength in his frame, after 'The Adventure of the Speckled Band,' but to throw someone who gave two men trouble in pinning his wrists? Holmes seemed to know what I was thinking, offering one of his gentle smiles he reserved for his clients.
"While I did know that Hess was indeed going to shoot, Watson, I must admit you saved me from getting hurt. I could not stand by and watch as he tried to hurt you just the same."
I could not find the words to Holmes' declaration, instead leaning against Inspector Lestrade and my friend as more constables swarmed the stage to drag Hess off.
"You should play the piano more often, my dear Watson." Holmes remarked to Lestrade and I, letting out a bark of laughter. "It makes for an excellent criminal trap!"
"I believe I will, my dear Holmes. I believe I will."
And that's chapter two in the books! Lucky for me, piano duels became a thing in the 1890s, and most of my stories will be set around 'The Dancing Men'(until I clarify otherwise), which was set in 1898. Sorry if I went overboard at all, I had a lot of fun with this chapter!
-In the Fields of Verdun
