Holmes vs. Dracula, pt 5 - the climax!
(221B x 7)
I stare up at my sitting room window as I hasten across Baker Street, but can see very little through the glass's reflection of the burning house, save for the slight twitch of a curtain... and the sight fills me with such a chill that I barely feel the heat of the spreading inferno behind me. Count Moriarty has truly anticipated my every move, it seems... and now I must once more face him under my own roof!
The growing crowd before my front door does nothing to comfort me, suspicious murmurs and darting glances impressing on me all the more how truly alone I am at this moment. I have nothing left, no allies, no tricks – I could not even gather up the scattered rosary beads from the pavement, for what good is a weapon for which my nemesis is surely prepared? And yet another blow awaits me as I enter the house... The street urchin who led us to Camden House lies limply on the lower stairs, pinched face white with terror, too-thin neck at a horrifying angle. Poor child! Did he know that he was leading Watson and I into a trap? Just how many of my contacts has Moriarty turned into his own thralls, unbeknown to me?
My insides sear with white-hot rage as I kneel beside the frail corpse, gently closing those staring eyes with a hand that scorns to tremble, my own eyes burning but tearless. Rest in peace, dear boy – you, at least, have nothing more to fear... and you shall be avenged.
"My dear Holmes, how good of you to join us. Do come in."
The sitting room door swings open as I approach, revealing a still more chilling scene: Watson sits bound to his armchair before the fire, Colonel Moran pointing my friend's service revolver straight at his head. Watson's eyes gleam with helpless fury, only sparing me the merest sideways glance, and little wonder... Moriarty stands before the bow window, the curtains reopened, bared fangs glinting in the light of the leaping flames and effortlessly holding a near-fainting Mrs. Hudson before him by the throat.
"Your quarrel is with me, Moriarty, not with these two," I begin, voice decidedly less steady than I had hoped. "Terribly bad form, old man."
"You disappoint me, Holmes," the dry voice tuts, sounding merely amused at my feeble attempt at provocation. "I had thought we were long past arguing over collateral damage."
"Like the pawn you sacrificed below?" I answer through gritted teeth.
"Your guttersnipe served its purpose." The thin mouth curves cruelly. "You thought I could not foresee what measures you might take, rather than face me a third time?" And I suddenly know the truth before Moriarty can even speak the words: "I have been resting daily in your attic, Holmes, since I returned to London."
"Well, now that you have my undivided attention once more," I smile pleasantly, willing my lips not to tremble at the dreadful mental image of the Count hovering over me as I slept, night after night... "what shall you do with it?"
"Why, hold it captive, of course..." Moriarty's hold tightens perceptibly on Mrs. Hudson's throat, exacting a weak moan from the half-conscious woman; "as I hold our little audience." I shudder as the Count reached up and strokes one extended claw down his captive's neck. "With this trifling game of ours almost played out, I have been at some pains to consider a suitable conclusion..."
"Moriarty..." I can almost hear the chair creak in protest over Watson's warning growl as he strains uselessly against his bonds. "If you harm so much as a hair on that blessed woman's head...!"
"How very predictable," the Count sighs. "Fear not, Doctor – I do not deny that the scent of her older blood has caused me considerable temptation these past weeks, aged and mellow as a fine brandy... but my time this evening is sadly limited, forcing me to grant this one, at least, a more merciful ending..."
"And what of Watson and I?" I interject hastily, as the claws of Moriarty's right hand begin to extend – any distraction is better than none now!
"What, Holmes, no pleas for mercy from you? For shame!" Moriarty's demonic smirk broadens as my fists clench; he knows – how well he knows! – that I am equally aware of the futility of such things. "Well, I feel quite sure you both believe that simply killing either of you would only be a mercy – and do you know, Holmes, I must confess myself rather loath to kill such a uniquely gifted opponent in any case... not when leaving you alive would be so much more satisfying..."
My whole being is numb as my enemy's meaning suddenly becomes clear, barely hearing the next gleeful murmur: "What would it do to you, I wonder... to be forced to watch your dearest friend become the very thing you abhor the most..."
I cannot breathe, cannot move, paralysed by the mere thought of watching the same hunger growing in Watson's eyes that smoulders in Moriarty's... and, dear God, Mary! Whatever she might have promised her husband, could she truly act to save herself from him, or the life of their child?
I need not look at Watson's face to know that his thoughts tend the same way as mine, but before either of us can respond, a fresh cacophony of noise breaks out from the street: the clang of an approaching bell, undercut by the rumble and clatter of a horse-drawn fire engine. All of us are startled for a moment, gazes going as one to the window... and as Moriarty's head turns, Mrs. Hudson's hand emerges from the folds of her skirts, the tip of one finger gleaming silver, and presses it to the Count's hand.
Cursing myself for being taken in by the fainting act, I prepare to spring forward, with what intent I know not... but while Moriarty screeches in pain at the touch of the thimble, his pitiless grip only tightens further on Mrs. Hudson's neck, eyes blazing a warning that freezes me to the spot once more.
"Fool crone! Did you think I would not sense even that amount? Now, meet the same fate as the rest!" To my deepening horror, the Count's jaw suddenly unhinges itself, exactly like a serpent's, bared fangs ready to tear open the woman's throat. Lord have mercy!
I can only look on helplessly while Mrs. Hudson wails in terror... but as the creature leans in for the kill, her wailing only seems to grow ever louder, everyone else in that room cringing at the now air-shattering shriek. Moran and I clap our hands over ringing ears, to no avail, and I almost feel sorry for Moriarty, face contorted in a snarl of bewilderment and agony as the noise assaults his far more sensitive hearing.
Next moment, every piece of glass in the room explodes in a shower of fragments, including the panes in the bow window... and no one, not even Moriarty, has time to recover before the last thing anyone would expect leaps through the empty frames: a blast of water! The driving jet hits a stunned Moriarty right between the shoulder blades... and before our very eyes, almost in the drawing of a breath, the Count's whole body crumbles into dust.
Even in that last terrible moment, Moriarty's face has upon it a look of profoundest peace, such as I never could have imagined might rest there, and looking over at Watson and Moran, I know that they have seen it, too.
"Mr. Holmes? Doctor!" A call from the street below reminds me that all is still not well – Moran has come to his senses and is once more raising my friend's revolver to his head! Before I can shout a warning, however, Watson's foot lashes out at Moran's kneecap with an audible crunch, and the Colonel drops to the sodden carpet, clutching his leg and swearing fervently.
"Watson!" I hurry over and snatch up the revolver, then pluck the jack-knife from the mantelpiece to cut the doctor's ropes. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, Holmes – just get me loose so I can help Mrs. Hudson!" God forgive me, I had not given a thought to the poor landlady, lying in a true faint this time where Moriarty's ashen remains ought to be... but there is nothing, no trace that the Count was ever even here...
With Moran handcuffed to the fender, we lift Mrs. Hudson to the sofa with the greatest care. "Watson, will she... be all right?" I whisper, staring into the pale face of the blessed woman who saved us, with what means I still cannot for the life of me comprehend!
"She'll be fine, Holmes," Watson murmurs, gripping my shoulder. "I'm so sorry, old fellow – she swore me to secrecy, I only found out by accident!"
I stare. "Found out what?!"
Watson grins ruefully, heading over to the window to answer Lestrade's now-frantic calls. "Shakespeare said it best, I believe: 'There are more things in heaven and earth...'"
I close my eyes, starting to laugh half-hysterically as the truth dawns on me. After all, if vampires exist, there is no reason why our beloved landlady couldn't possibly be a banshee...
A/N: Whew, thought I'd never get this one finished – and still one more post left for this thread!