Chapter Notes: If there was a buzz word for this chapter it would have been tension. Holmes is back but Watson and Lestrade have a preexisting relationship that works for them. The dialogue and the interactions were...interesting to say the least.
Nuff said.
Bart
Doctor John Watson, Police Surgeon: Scotland Yard 5
One Last War
Chapter Four
I have talked to Colonel Moran several times over the years. He's a shell of a man now, an empty husk...an empty house.
He has helped with some cases involving cults and leaders of secret organizations and became a bit of a resource, not many megalomaniacal psychopaths ever make it to lock up you know.
I was leaving after consulting with him on the Delineators case, he had just given me to clue that proved to be the clue needed to crack that secretive group wide.
"Where did I go wrong?" he asked as I neared to door. There was no further explanation needed, the topic had surfaced more than once. This time I answered.
I kept my back to him so he would not see me smile. "You went after the wrong man," I replied.
"He was the more viable target, or so I thought then," Moran replied I could hear the confusion in his voice. This was a man haunted by his mistakes and an ego far too vast to accept the failure, which shackled him.
I turned. "You forgot the old hunter's proverb," I informed him as I crossed the room placing my hands on the desk he maintained, inches from his confused eyes.
"Which proverb is that?"
"Do not hunt what you can not kill."
---
Lestrade made sure to nod at the Diogenes observer as they passed, startling the man, he confirmed the inspector's suspicions by taking immediate notice of his travel companion confirming that Mycroft was indeed looking for his brother.
Lestrade turned back in time to watch as Holmes spit blood out the window. The amateur detective had thought to grab Watson's hat, coat and cane. "I think he broke off a tooth, the man always had a wicked right," Holmes lamented holding his jaw.
"We have only two blocks, I will have this said," Lestrade replied making sure he met Holmes's disinterested gaze.
"He made it back you know," Lestrade began, "He made it back to life without you, he found purpose and completion, learned to accept existence on its own terms, found his equilibrium and standing. He did all this without you."
Holmes's eyes were as usual impassive and Lestrade knew he was throwing away his words, he doubted Holmes could accept any rebuke from the likes of him.
"Three undetected murders in one year won't do, Lestrade. But you handled the Molesey Mystery with less than your usual — that's to say, you handled it fairly well."
Lestrade rubbed his temples in a place that only Holmes had ever made ache. "The undetected murders were a serial, Alister Eads, and we have plugged that leak with a new cross referencing filing system. Victor Molesey case was one of the first with Watson, he figured out that Molesey was the herpetologist who smuggled in the Taipan, which bit Robert Jenkins, from Southeast Asia not I."
Holmes was silent for a moment, his gaze distant. "I assume that I have been supplanted then?"
Lestrade detected a hint of uncertainty, just a small grain doubt in the detective's voice, one that he had never heard before. "We lamented your absence, Holmes, we compensated the best we could, but you will never be replaced. Surely you know this," he replied with exasperation.
Holmes's gray gaze was quixotic as he turned back to Lestrade. "Do I?"
The cab ground to a halt, and Holmes was out the door with a flash leaving a sputtering Lestrade to toss a quid to the startled cabby and dash after his long legged stride.
He caught up as the taller man made the gates, and strode through the markers, Lestrade had a flash back to a despondent Watson that first day when Mycroft has brought him here to recruit the man.
Watson, seated in the same place by his wife's grave, his shoulders slumped in much the same manner as the earlier encounter.
His face was flushed and he looked more disheveled now than when he left his practice earlier. Lestrade wondered what had occurred in the interim to cause his bedraggled condition.
"There he is, Mary, and you did not believe me. I told you that he was alive somewhere," Watson remarked to the stone marker. Lestrade was beginning to worry that the man had left his senses.
Holmes stopped abruptly, his eyes scanning the surrounding grass; Lestrade followed his gaze and saw the torn patches and signs of a massive struggle. He studied Watson and was concerned by the stains and a bit of blood running down a cut on his right arm visible through a torn sleeve.
"Watson, are you injured?" Holmes called. "I see signs of five different assailants."
Watson let a bitter bark of laughter before producing a broken shovel handle nicked in multiple places and the metal spade broken off. "It is nice to see your abilities have not atrophied, Holmes. They are recovering behind yon sarcophagus; they wished to take me alive, I had no such restraints, however you were wrong in the specifics, there were only four attackers."
Lestrade saw a look pass between the two men, one that communicated more information that was verbally possible. Even after their separation, the men had a connection that was deeper than any Lestrade felt he could possibly ever have with Watson. He felt a pang of disappointment but he steeled himself for the inevitable reality. "I'll summon a constable," he called turning to leave them to a conversation to which he should not be privy.
"Holmes can summon the constable," Watson called before he had gone more than three steps.
He turned to Holmes. "While you are informing them, be sure to add that there is need of an ambulance, I'm fairly certain one of those blokes has some broken ribs, and for the gent with the knife, who did this," he stated pointing to the cut on his arm," he'll need a trip to the dissection rooms of the Yard."
Holmes handed Doctor Watson his belongings and turned to head out to the street. Lestrade saw stiffness in his shoulders as he did so. The stride was choppy and angry as he nearly gave Lestrade a knock he brushed past.
Lestrade stood gaping at his friend, his mind unable to adjust.
Watson grinned and rolled his eyes. "Thought I'd abandon you that easily, mein gott are you dramatic."
Lestrade shot him the look he deserved certainly ruined by a smile so wide it hurt his jaw. He gave Watson a handkerchief to bandage his arm.
"Quickly, before Holmes returns," Watson murmured as he worked. "Holmes has some sort of plan in place, he would not have revealed himself to me unless he was ready to unveil it, usual modus I'm afraid.
Undoubtedly, my own conflict with Moran and his taciturn collective of thuggery here has thrown a cog loose concerning my continued participation. He will express a desire for me to leave London for the duration for my own safety, as to not interfere with his showdown with the Colonel. You must accompany me, at all costs; I have plans of my own."
Lestrade glanced at the street as a constable's shrill whistle pierced the air. "How do I accomplish this without his suspicion, I am not a thespian by any measure?"
Watson gave him that impatient we-do-not-have-time-for-your-insecurities look that Lestrade had come to recognize in their months of close association.
"The constable is summoning compatriots and the Paddy Wagon is enroute, if I am permitted to rejoin the conversation," Holmes called in an impatient tone. Watson's face showed a flash of anger. "I have no objection, if you can stay alive long enough, that is."
A smile flitted across Holmes's features at his former flat mate's pawkishness. "I believe I can remain among the living for a bit longer, we need a bit more privacy there are matters to discuss."
"More private than a cemetery, have you become supernaturally inclined in the intervening years?" Watson shot back with impatience.
Holmes looked taken aback, his vast intellect made an adjustment, obviously needing to compensate for Lestrade's insertion into the affair. "Very well, I cannot tell you all I know, there are certain parties that must give their leave, however there are some aspects which are within my purview, to share. This place, however, is not conducive to such efforts." His voice trailed off as he nodded to Mary's marker.
Watson's eyes softened. "You are correct, I apologize. Shall we adjourn elsewhere?"
"To Baker Street," Holmes suggested with some eagerness revealing that his plan required that location.
Watson nodded. He leaned on his cane, leaving the shovel handle against a nearby tree trunk as he struggled to his feet, wincing enough to show that he might have more injuries under his shirt as he struggled into his coat. Holmes and Lestrade found other things to engage their gaze while he settled.
"Did she suffer overlong?" Holmes inquired, his voice tinged with regret.
Watson paused, glancing down to the well-maintained plot of earth. "It was merciful and quick; she took ill suddenly and the congestion had compromised her heart before I knew of it."
Holmes began his condolences but stopped when Watson raised his hand. "There will be years to discuss this matter, Holmes, at present there is a war to be fought."
Holmes agreed with a curt nod the constables began pouring in, following Watson's gesture they began rousting two beaten men able to stand, both larger than the Doctor, and formidable in appearance. Moran did not send duffers to abduct Watson, making the lone medico's accounting all that more impressive. The constables left Watson alone when Lestrade informed them that he would bring in the man's statement himself.
"You must be getting soft, Watson, if those four men could damage you to this extent," Holmes remarked in an offhand manner.
Watson shrugged. "I did not have my cane with me, and I have been recently ill, still yet you are correct, I have no excuse to offer."
Lestrade watched for sign that they were teasing, but saw not so much as a twinkle as they left the cemetery for their former Baker Street lodgings.
He wondered in an idle manner about Mrs. Hudson's reaction. She was a formidable lady to be sure, if she took Holmes's deception badly it would not go well for the detective.
They disembarked with Holmes and Watson checking the streets for observers. "There is one up on this end, his shoes have a military shine but I don't think he's Diogenes," Watson remarked under his breath. "No, the Diogenes observer is at the far corner, down street," Holmes replied as they crossed to the stoop.
They were nearly to the door when it opened from the inside. Mrs. Hudson took in the three visitors with a surprising lack of reaction.
"So you finally turned up, did you?" she remarked crossing her arms with a glare to shy a stallion charging at full gallop.
Holmes did not seem at all surprised by her words. "I take it you maintained my rooms as I left them."
"Better than, since you left them in ruins," she informed with a warning tone.
"You knew?" Watson asked the woman, his voice strained.
Her face shown with compassion as she replied, "I figured it out on my own, insisting I keep rooms of a dead man, then being willing to pay rent and a half to keep them empty, it was the only logical explanation. I am not as big a fool as Mister Holmes and his brother presume. You knew he was alive somewhere, Doctor, I could see it in your eyes. I believe you ignored your own instincts so you could function. I was not about to knock you from that precarious perch, I promised Mary."
From the look on Watson's face, Lestrade could tell that Mrs. Hudson's words had the desired effect. "Go on up I'll bring tea," she finished, indicating the stairs to 221b. As she walked away, she called back over her shoulder, "try not to muss the place, Mister Holmes, in your absence I have grown rather used to it being clean."
They took her advice and soon Holmes sat in his favorite chair tuning his violin with casual familiarity, enjoying the familiar surroundings as he settled in.
Lestrade felt a sense of familiarity creep in as he watched Holmes tune with a briar in his lips.
"Well, Holmes, I am thinking that time is of the essence so shall we begin our talk?" Watson remarked from his desk where he had his spare medical bag laid out to bandage the wound more permanently. He had his torn shirt off and Lestrade saw blossoming bruises across his muscular back as he bent to his work.
"It started at Reichenbach," Holmes began, "at least this business with Moran. There are other matters concerning my absence that must be addressed in appropriate company, you must not pursue that line."
Lestrade and Watson exchanged a look. "Agreed," Lestrade answered for them both. Holmes eyed their exchange with curious eyes then continued.
"After the combat which resulted with Moriarty's demise, words the man had said to me deeply disturbed my faculties, causing me to realize that until I could sort matters I was a danger to all around me. I could not bear to think that I would bring death to those I valued, so the decision was made to allow myself to be thought dead until I could get to the truth of the events."
"What was the truth, at least the part that we are permitted to hear," Lestrade inquired.
Holmes plucked another string and twisted a knob as he continued his explanation. "I was climbing the ledge to the plateau above in case I was being observed when I was nearly killed by a falling boulder, I managed to cling to the ledge and swing myself to the side where I found concealment in a nook. I heard a man talking above me.
"Inform the others, Moriarty is dead, Holmes is just below, we will finish him shortly, I will be taking the reins, if there are objections we kill them. Understood?"
"Taking the reins of what?" Watson remarked through teeth clenched around a bandage, which he was holding in his teeth as he treated his wound with a painful disinfectant, his eyes flashing anger at the blasted rebelling pain nerves.
Holmes went silent, debating his next words. "Moriarty was at the head of an organization that reached into the furthest points of the empire and that had ties all the way to the upper echelons of government, which is all I can say at this point."
"I thought he was a mere crime boss that controlled a vast enterprise, "Lestrade remarked leaning forward to catch Holmes's gaze.
Holmes used the violin bow to scratch his back as he shrugged. "Creating a criminal empire then siphoning off the funds to bankroll an organization with worldwide aims makes it nearly impossible to detect because the money produced would have no trail to follow. Moriarty was an even greater genius than I could have imagined."
"The encounter at the falls was an assassination of Moriarty, no matter who won," Watson concluded as he wrapped his arm the last round.
"Precisely," Holmes confirmed as he raised the violin to his chin and began to play.
PLINK!
He barely pulled the instrument away in time as a string broke. He stared at the offending catgut with loathing. "I may have been away too long."
"You can buy new strings after this is over, I assume you have a plan," Watson remarked as he crossed the room sliding a clean shirt that he had found in his old quarters into place, fastening the cuff.
Holmes grinned like a magician about to reveal his trick. He walked over to a window overlooking the back courtyard; he struck a match to light his pipe. There was a bird whistle from an alleyway that Lestrade remembered when he was creeping up on 221 Baker to rescue Mrs. Hudson.
Watson listened for a few moments. "That whistle was from Charlie, you involved the Irregulars?"
Holmes nodded. "I needed to move an item around London without being seen, I reacquainted myself with them last night, and I found out that most of them now have jobs? Who was behind that travesty?"
Watson's gaze was unrepentant. "If you so much as endanger one of my lads, we will no longer associate, am I clear?"
"Your...lads?" Holmes replied sputtering in anger.
"You heard me," Watson confirmed as Lestrade stood between them. "You two need to end this pissing contest right now, we have too many enemies without to be fighting within!"
Holmes smirked. "Pissing contest?" he remarked, "now that is crude, Lestrade."
"You have to over look the good inspector, Holmes, I have attempted to round off some of the edges but I'm afraid it is too Herculean a feat for such as me," Watson teased.
"Oh, sod off, both of ya," Lestrade replied with exasperation.
There was a muffled thump from the bottom of the stairs, they could here Mrs. Hudson scolding them to be careful with the floors, and then ask if they wanted some biscuits.
"We better help them, Lestrade," Holmes said as he headed for the stairs. Watson was about to follow when Holmes stopped him gesturing pointedly at his newly bandaged arm. All he received in reply was an irritated stare, he relented and they both went to lend the struggling young men aid.
"Whatchu got in dis trunk, Mistah Holmes, rocks?" Lestrade heard Wiggins complain. He saw Holmes and Watson struggling as they got the trunk to the top of the stairs, they managed to reach the landing with help of Geezer and Wiggins.
The taller boy collapsed onto an ottoman after Holmes had them set the trunk near the outside window. "I nearly broke a spoke on tha cab, Mister Holmes, I need some extra compensation if you don mind."
Holmes shrugged as he opened the catches on the trunk. "You lads did not need jobs, how is that going to affect your availability to me?"
"Charlie has a shoeshine stand which can be set up anywhere. Two Eye Tommy runs for the apothecary and can carry messages undetected all over the city. Bobby's a newsy and hears most of the gossiping that occurs around the street corners and will tell you for a pea. Wiggins here is the best bus in the city, he works shifts at multiple restaurants which cater to politicians and their ilk they tend to talk without paying attention to whose cleaning the next table. Geezer here has his own hansom, moves about the city at all hours, and has grown into an excellent observer. They are mobile and available and beyond that they are earning money while they do it." Watson finished. He added, "It was all Mary's idea."
Holmes was silent, his face impassive but Lestrade could tell his embarrassment from his ears. "Very well," he concluded, "I approve."
Wiggins rolled his eyes. "We's so happy to hear dat you do, Mistuh Holmes, anything else you be needin, I gotta shift at Mancini's to get to."
Charlie made the top of the stairs with biscuits in both hands and two in his jaws, "Wannfff biffcuit?"
Wiggins turned him around and marched him on down ahead of them.
"That lad is like a horde of locusts," Watson lamented in a fond tone. "Now what's in the trunk, Holmes?"
He opened it with a flourish and Lestrade did a double take. "That's you, Holmes!"
"That's wax," Watson replied.
Holmes nodded. "I had the best wax workman in Musée de Cires de Paris, France create this bust of me. I placed a letter letting Moran know I was back in London and willing to discuss the details of his surrender. He is finished and he knows it. He will bring his weapon and attempt to kill me. The firing sight is in an empty dwelling across from this parlor, I will be there when he fires to catch him in the act with his weapon of choice."
"But he will send an underling," Lestrade began...
"Actually, his behavior shows that he enjoys doing his own killing," Watson interrupted, "He killed Patterson, and the Diogenes Club is in a straight line between his abode and The Tankerville Club where he played cards with Ronald Adair so I believe he killed the guard as well. He also dropped the boulder on Holmes with his own hands; this is a man who allows no proxy when it comes to murdering his enemies."
"Precisely," Holmes confirmed. Suddenly his face became stern. "However, you need to leave London tonight, Watson."
The temperature dropped in the room a few degrees Lestrade sensed it. Watson's cold gaze found his former flat mate with deadly accuracy. "I beg your pardon?"
"You have insulted Moran, at the moment you are the larger target in his mind, but if he cannot locate you, he will make his appointment with me, you must not be in the city for my plan to work," Holmes informed with a pleading tone.
"Of all the arrogant, self-centered..."
CLICK
Watson's tirade ended by the sound of a bracelet locking into place around his wrist; he glanced down to see that the chain led to the other around Lestrade's own.
"I agree with Holmes, I will escort you myself," Lestrade said in a quiet tone that allowed for no contestation.
"Don't do this, Lestrade, please," Watson pleaded.
Lestrade shook his head adamantly. "I nearly lost you today, John, I will not allow your pride to jeopardize you further even if it cost us our friendship."
"Charlie," Watson called out suddenly.
"He left with the others," Holmes remarked his face showing confusion.
Watson smiled, "No, there was still food to be had."
There were some running feet on the stairs and Charlie popped into the sitting room stuffing a napkin of biscuits into his coat. "What does ya need Doc?"
"I need you to run a note to the Yard, is there anything you need to send Lestrade?"
"Who do you trust, Lestrade?" Holmes implored, "I trusted you to be at my side for the arrest."
Lestrade thought for a moment. "Gregson, that big Swedish bastard knows about the mole in the Yard, he's an ass but I'd bet me life on his honesty."
Holmes nodded, "Then so am I."
They sent Charlie off with the pocket not stuffed with biscuits containing two letters.
"Be careful of the firing site, Holmes, it may have an explosive device guarding it," Watson said with a sigh of resignation.
Holmes looked stricken at the thought of Watson leaving his side, he snapped back into present. "How do you know?"
"That's how Mayweather died," Lestrade supplied.
Holmes perked up, his eyes flashing with interest. "Algon Mayweather, the Ghost was in London?"
"Long story we don't have time for, Holmes, just mind my words," Watson concluded.
Their eyes met, there was more information passed, Holmes nodded as if he understood what was not being said.
"Be careful of tails," Holmes said in the way of goodbye.
Watson and Lestrade left without another word.
They hailed a cab as they hit the street, upon embarking, Watson held up his wrist for Lestrade to take off the cuff.
"We need to wait to leave the city, Lestrade, give them time to organize."
Lestrade removed the bracelet as he inquired, "Who?"
Watson gave him that lopsided grin as he replied, "The men who are going to kidnap us and take us to Moran, of course."
Story Notes: I know my die hard Holmes fanatics are going to be up in arms that Watson seems to trust Lestrade more than he does Holmes at the moment, but might I point out that Lestrade has been his good friend and salvation for nearly a year at this point while Holmes just showed back up out of the blue expecting to renew the relationship. In terms of trustworthiness Holmes is behind the inspector in this instance.
Besides, these are well rounded characters and an attempt to portray them realistically not an ACD fit of pique. (You want Holmes, okay heres the reset button in the most transparent and shallow way possible!)
So stay tuned and remember this is not ACD's Empty House!
Bart
