The Angel Part Three

My brothers gold watch told me that the hour was only three and thirty, yet my mind ached for the herald of dawn and a resolution to this lonely vigil. It was at least nigh time Mr Sherlock Holmes appeared and set my mind at peace, Bart's morgue was no place for calm reflection. Regardless of the light from my lantern, the room had gradually seeped into even colder darkness and there was certainly little warmth to be found, (no matter how hard one pressed oneself against Mr Holmes' hypothetical boiling room hot spots.) Indeed, my very soul was assenting into this deathly chill and my only connection with life in a place of death was the warm hand of my silent patient, I grasped it harder in desperation.

"Hello."

The sound shattered my contemplation and echoed across the stillness, I shifted violently, "bloody-hell!"

There was a moment of silence as we looked at each other.

"I say Inspector!"

"Sorry." His hand slowly detached itself mine and he gazed upwards curiously.

I looked at my empty hand, "it has been a necessity to monitor your pulse sir, how are you feeling?" I adopted a purely professional air and deliberately re-captured his wrist, making it my business to take the aforementioned pulse.

He gently smiled and turned his head slowly and a little nervously from side to side, like a weary ferret before it leaves its burrow, "fine, where am I?"

Salvaging a little of my composure I stood to examine his face, "we are in St Bartholomew's Hospital," I learned in a little closer, "in the morgue sir."

He looked up in alarm and then gently shook his head.

"I'm afraid so."

"Why devil..?"

"Well, it was Mr Sherlock Holmes that..."

His hand shot upwards with such animation that I was immediately silenced, "Holmes, bloody idiotic, hare-brained bastard."

"Please sir, try to rest a little and not over excite yourself. Indeed, you may insult Mr Holmes quite soundly and a little more so for me at a later date, but do try to rest a little now." I placed my hand across his forehead to check his temperature and push the long greasy fringe away from his pale face.

"No, I have questions," although his voice sounded a little weak there was a distinct note of professionalism to it, "who are you?"

"My name is Miss Jane Watson, I work here."

"No you, you are definitely are not from this place," his eyes darted quickly across the morgue, "or with Holmes. You, you are an angel, I seem to remember that."

He looked so pale yet so determined to be heard that I was absolutely in conflict on how to proceed; should I silence him with a dose of morphine or engage with him and gain some insight into our collective fate. "And you sir are quite a determined fellow, however this audaciously will soon ebb out, you have had quite a shock."

"Where's Holmes?"

" Oh well-yes, Mr Holmes disappeared three hours ago and has not bothered to return. Do you think he will, in-so-much-as he cares enough to do so?"

The Inspector resumed the thorough examination of his surroundings, "he never leaves a job, likes it organized before he hands it over. Left you alone then?"

"Yes quite."

"Bastard."

"Yes, I a surmised quite early on in our association that he is rather an ass, but please don't worry about me, I have been in worse pickles than this I assure you." There was an uncertain tone to my voice that betrayed exasperation and fear. Indeed, I was accustomed to danger, it had been my constant working companion in Afghanistan, but its threat was reduced by prevention and that required foreknowledge, something lacking in my present situation. Despite my reticence to exhaust an already weakened patient I enquired, "do you know where he might have gone, what he intends to do?"

"Not even bloody god almighty imself knows what Sherlock Holmes is up to, even at the best of times miss, law unto himself." The Inspectors little brown eyes warmed and a sudden charming smile lifted the right side of his mouth into a crooked curve, "has his good points miss, just doesn't give imself a chance to show them. You would have to be a rare sort to gain his trust. Are you a... err" he paused here looking for the right words, "a friend of his Miss Watson?"

I laughed despite my poor mood, "good- lord no, does he have any friends?"

That seemed to confuse him, "no, never seen any, certainly not seen any of his lady friends."

"I am positively not one of Mr Holmes' 'lady friends' Inspector," the notion sent a shiver down my spine. "If you can remember, he introduced us formally last night, perhaps you have forgotten?"

He winced," can't hardly say, don't seem to remember a blasted thing," a thought seemed to strike him, "not drunk or rude was I?"

I laughed, "no not at all, but you do sound rather different this morning, quite the gentleman."

"Mr Holmes," he paused and I suddenly realised how easy that name now rolled off his lips, as opposed to the drunken awkwardness of last night, "didn't swear at him or anything did I?"

"Yes, you did rather and there was an awful lot of cursing too I'm afraid."

The crooked smile returned, "I am being teased and well I deserve it," he stopped for a moment to collect his breath and I debated again the necessity to inject him with morphine. "My behaviour was out of character miss, circumstances obliged me to fall back on emergency fortification; I don't normally indulge." He looked at me with sincerity, "I promise to behave myself from now on."

"Indeed I believe you sir, you are now quite a different fellow than you where last night. Now please rest, I fear I have pushed you too far."

He looked a little embarrassed, though he made one last attempt to re-direct the conversation towards a more suitable ending, "its morning then?" He suddenly paled," oh, oh-no," his arms flapped and he shifted quickly upwards, "god-almighty, is it still there?" His little head darted under the blanket that was covering his lower half.

"Is what still there Inspector?"

"Me leg?"

"Oh lord yes, your injuries, I had quite forgotten to explain, I am so sorry." I pulled the blanket fully away from him and examined the neat bandage that covered a good portion of his left leg; it was not yet bloody or soiled so the stitches were obviously holding, though I would need to check them later. "You still have a complete leg, although there is some slight damage to the Abductor Hallucis, this may affect your inner foot, at worst it may twist inwards. However I do think all is well, I am not a Doctor but have managed accordingly, can you feel this?" I moved my hand across his heel.

"No"

"Oh-dear, that does not bode well, perhaps there is some numbness here as well. How about this?" I went a little higher.

He went ridged and looked somewhat shocked, I had an idea that he would have blushed had he enough blood to do so, his hands began reaching for the discarded blanket.

"I assume that was an unspoken yes Inspector, now this," I aimed for his upper thigh.

He mumbled something and shifted uneasily.

"If I am to determine muscular paralysis Inspector I need you to speak up, can you feel this?"

"Everything feels just fine thank you madam."

I was familiar with this reticence, "I do realise that you are uncomfortable and fatigued sir, but you need not concern yourself as I am a professional. However an actuate prognosis would be rather useful at present, so just say 'yes' or "no" instead of pulling such shocked expressions, if I am uneasy about the extent of your pain I will give you something to ease it. Now, do not trouble yourself too much, but could I have an short informative response, you can have your blanket back after I have finished, if that is any incentive."

He looked at me stunned for a moment and then lowered his glazed like a scolded child, "everything hurts, even my arms and head."

"Good, that is to be expected, but your foot, nod if you can feel anything," I gently shifted his foot from right to left.

"Will you stop poking miss, I'm a married man!"

"And I'm a nurse, you promised to behave Inspector."

The door to the morgue suddenly slammed shut behind us, "not misbehaving are we Lestrade? I leave you alone with the good nurse and what do I find upon my return, you lying there with no trousers and her hand on your ankles, quite scandalous." He was chuckling.

"I say!" was all the little policeman could offer; he pushed my hand away as through it were scalding his skin.

I spun in rage, "now look here Mr Holm..." and then I stopped short. Before me stood a very old and fragile women, bent double with age. Her body was so twisted it looked near to collapse, however an ancient wooden stick held her upright, but leaving her the shape of an up-turned horse-shoe. What appeared to by a basket of posies was clutched firmly to her chest and a set of dark eyes peered at me behind spectacles. "I am sorry Madam, where is..." I began, "dash-it, he's gone again. There was no mistaking that voice, where is he hiding?" I was half tempted to peak beneath the old lady's rather voluptuous frilly skirts. "Mr Holmes?"

The chuckle returned, "he is here Miss Watson" and the old lady straightened to six feet and pulled away her silver hair to reveal a raven black mop that fell forward over his face.

"Good-lord Mr Holmes!"

"Is that you Holmes?" The Inspector's ferret-like head popped from behind me, "not dressing as a woman again are you? Something queer about that if you ask my opinion."

"I always make it a habit of never asking your opinion Inspector. Good morning Miss Watson, I trust all is well and Lestrade's foot is not about to drop off?" He pushed passed me and peered critically at the bandaged leg, "oh yes, a very neat job madam and no residual bleeding, my congratulations." He proceeded to pull off the woollen shawl that covered his shoulders in a quick, dramatic fashion. "This 'queer' costume Lestrade has just got me neatly passed a look-out posted at the rear of the building; they have the place covered both back and front." His voice was momentarily muffled as he pulled an old moth eaten jumper over his head, "though they are spreading their recourses thinly, as they also have Scotland Yard covered." He started to pull at the buttons off a ridiculously high collared blouse and one popped away bouncing on the white tiled floor, "we need to smuggle you out openly Inspector, preferably via the front entrance where they have not yet observed this disguise, indeed they will not expect such audacity." He ripped the remainder of the garment away and stood before me naked to the waist.

As I was totally unprepared for the display of so much bare flesh, I stood and shamelessly gaped. Indeed, I had seen hundreds of bare chests, but fortunately never a healthy one. Mine tended to belong to man that where inevitably bleeding, or bandaged or suffering from some recent illness. There had been torsos that were carved into pieces like a Christmas goose or blown apart to reveal internal organs. This one however belonged to a mere acquaintance and there was absolutely nothing to fault it at all, it was rather healthy looking, somewhat muscular, speckled with a fine layer of dark hairs that thickened towards the waist and it was very masculine despite the skirts below it, "Mr Holmes!"

"What?"

Lestrade popped his head around again, "Holmes, do cover yourself, we have a young lady present!"

"Nonsense Lestrade, Miss Watson is not a lady," he stopped short, immediately realising what he had just said, but then pushed on regardless, "as she has just finished explaining, she is a professional nurse, two different things entirely."

"Not quite so sir, it may be my sworn duty to endure the inspectors legs, but I am not morally or ethically bound to stand here and be exposed to your ... your chest. You sir are not a patient." I snatched Lestrade's blanket, "and I do have some rules about male nudity, you however seem to have no grasp of common social etiquette at all, now cover yourself at once." I shoved the blanket into his hands, "I have been very badly used already, so I am in no mood to be affronted."

He pulled the blanket around his shoulders rather awkwardly, his natural air of superior confidence had momentarily slipped and there was suddenly a decided shyness about him, "oh for god's-sake madam, morality and bloody social etiquette indeed, women!"

I held my chin aloft and smiled, we were both well aware that this was my first victory.

"Oy, that was my blanket." We both turned to see the policeman attempting to cover one bare leg with his little arms, he looked upwards pleadingly, "I'm not decent."

"Don't trouble yourself Inspector, apparently Miss Watson does not find your flesh objectionable," he turned to face me with a sudden and somewhat wicked smile across his astute complexion. Then, with his gray eyes firmly locked with mine he began to slowly and deliberately unfasten his waistband, plucking at the buttons in a rather suggestive manner. I fear I was unable to look away, caught between his gaze and the action of his hands, but also not prepared to lose my minor triumph, I braced myself to brazen out the worst. He flicked apart the last button, raised an eyebrow and swiftly pulled the garment downwards; I let out a loud and rather relieved breath when it became obvious he was wearing a pair of slim black trousers underneath the huge skirt. As it slipped to the floor a small bundle fell out of the folds and he untied this to produce a shirt, a tweed jacket and a flat cap, no wonder the skirt looked so voluminous. Having slipped on the shirt and jacket he flopped the cap upon his head, twisting it to an odd angle he grinned at me rather smugly. He then passed the discarded clothes to the little Inspector, "we will have to dress you between us Lestrade, you are going to be my sick and crippled mother."

ooooooooOOOOOOOO00000000000000000000OOOOOOOOOOoooo oooo

I love to write Inspector Lestrade, he is such a wonderful character. I do plan to explore him a little more, he's dragged himself up from a working class background and tries hard to disguise it, through the facade does slip occasionally.

I was watching Jeremy Brett in 'The Six Napoleons' and to me Colin Jeavons is the definite Lestrade, I'm afraid I also copied the morgue from that episode... it's a classic. Through JB is not my Holmes, as much as I love him he's a little too old for this story. I once had the pleasure of meeting JB at Granada studios, still have his autograph on my wall.

My Holmes I think is warming to our brave Miss Watson, though she is defiantly not convinced with him, she still sees him as a bit of a scoundrel!

Please read and review, your feedback is always acted upon, any suggestions are welcome as we are all in this big fanfic world together ... Tegan :D