The Five Suggestions (or, life has nothing on literature)

Thank you, reflekshun, I've corrected the 'portent'!

Warnings: Slight AU SPEC. Holmes is probably OOC.

The tea was strong, the room airy, and the fumes wreathing from Holmes's pipe as bitter as ever. The overall picture was so ordinary, I had to remind myself we weren't holidaying... It occurred to me, as I was standing before the darkening pane, sipping the tepid beverage and being stared at by my own puzzled ghost, that between us Holmes was the man of action.

'Impossible!'

I jumped. His ejaculation seemed to galvanize the day, which had begun so dramatically and then wilted down into the monotony of a rustic hostelry.

'Whatever do you mean?' I retorted. I was dulling my fingernails on a cake I'd bought at the railway station. Never again shall I forget Mrs. Hudson's sandwiches. The thing had been baked, or possibly carved out, and then dried, to polish gemstones. It gave as good as it got, grinding one's teeth and cutting one's gums before succumbing to the inevitable victory of being spat out.

'That he be so reckless.' Here Holmes described an all-encompassing arc of smoke.

I turned the gas down a bit; the reflection was already too bright to see the black hull of Stoke Moran clearly.

'Dr Roylott, from what little I had seen of him, didn't strike me as particularly sound in mind.'

'And yet the man is a scientist. There are rules for keeping such dangerous pets, and he has been following them for years.'

I swept a cockroach from the sill. In actuality, the room was draughty rather than airy. The lower the sun sank, the sharper the wind grew.

'Yes, I remember your arguments, and indeed, a snake springs instantly to mind.'

'You and your metaphors,' he grumbled amiably.

'Furthermore...'

I hated what I had to say next, but it was only logical, and I knew that Holmes, of all people, wouldn't disapprove of stating a logical inference.

'Except for killing it on the spot... I fail to see how I can help you tonight. Its poison must be too potent; I wouldn't be able to do anything.'

'That, my dear, is why I insist on you staying here.'

'You know I shan't.' For a moment I contemplated doing exactly that. And I knew he knew I did.

Ms. Stoner was, by her frank admission, thirty-two years old, had been terrorized for years, and had no reliable relatives; compared to us, the girl was a ray of sunshine.

'How do we do it?'

Holmes stretched, his right fist missing the wardrobe's door by an inch, his left one less fortunate if more precise. The thing creaked on its hinges as he shook his knuckles.

'Blast! Haven't I asked you to close it?'

'It can't be closed. It should be nailed shut.'

'Morbid.'

'How do we do it?'

Looking on him, there couldn't be anything easier.

'I suggest waiting and disposing of it then and there.'

Disposing was killing without getting bitten. I hoped there were no more surprises for us poor breaking and entering devils.

'How does he intend to retrieve it?'

'What?'

'The snake. I imagine it so: he takes it out, gives it milk.'

Holmes's whole face twisted, and I myself was tempted to laugh at the image.

'I rather suspect the milk is used to attract mice, and mice are then fed to the...'

He drifted away, his look vacant but sharp.

'"Creature" would do. Feeds it mice, dumps it into the hole - up the hole - it becomes enraged - I would - attacks... And whoa! Two male corpses for the price of a female one!'

'You certainly do not lack imagination. Hmm. It must be difficult to put a poisonous snake into the vent so high in the wall.'

'He could have learned using dead ones. Or fake, for that matter.' The important thing, as far as I saw it, was that he had, not how he went about it.

Holmes clapped his hands and let out a whoop of joy.

'Fake! That's it!'

'Really?'

An imitation of a snake (or so I hoped), a man who bends pokers for the sake of rhetoric, no police within yelling distance. Gypsies free to roam anywhere, anytime, able to move unaccounted for bodies with them. And no witnesses; the girl would not be spared afterwards.

Holmes's irises flashed red.

'It is quite simple. Have you ever tried catching a wild mouse? Have you tried training a reptile? And I suggest we limit the death rate to one casualty at worst.'

'Bless you.'

'Fear not, my friend, it must be the explanation. Look! Ms. Stoner's candle. Come, then, to slay the dragon!'

Our hasty retreat from the premises had the host glaring at us with distrust; this close to Roylott's abode people tended to stay at home after dusk. Those who didn't either were not right in the head or had some business that couldn't bear the daylight.

And Holmes, his fervour and appreciation for airs aside, had not impressed the man as a loony bin.

'Good night, good sir.'

He grumpily let us out at our own peril without a word.

We ran behind trees, shrubs, other invisible and sometimes mobile obstacles, and at long last broke into Ms. Stoner's current chamber.

'Now, sit very still -' Holmes had to bodily prevent me from bolting forward when his voice materialized near my very ear. 'When you hear a whistle, take this and aim with all of your marksmanship at the thing to emerge from the vent. You will have one shot. Watson, I don't speak of... You must know... '

'I do know, I do.'

'I took your dessertspoon to obtain silver nitrate.'

'...I wasn't aware I missed it.' He dissolved my little dessertspoon. The dream of every visiting Irregular.

'Shh! Our vigil has begun.'

It had, as it were.

The only thing, which makes the thought of it bearable, is that nothing, nothing in my entire life can be quite as jarring as this single wait.

It was nearly midnight when the man in the other room began to do something noisy, and by the sound of it, detrimental to furniture.

'He's drunk,' Holmes hissed helplessly. 'The moron's drunk.' I elbowed him, hitting the cane in the dark.

It clattered on the uncarpeted floor. A hand clamped on my forearm with enough force to cut out the circulation.

We froze.

'Sleep, my dear,' bellowed the Doctor, who had apparently moved to the vent to see what had happened to his stepdaughter. That he couldn't see it through the twice-bent pipe didn't faze him in the slightest; he still felt compelled to be supportive. 'Want me to come over and kiss you good night?'

Holmes's hand shot out, but a plan had already hatched in my brain, and I answered brazenly.

'Yes, Dr. Roy-mmmph.'

Holmes groaned. Roylott growled.

'You have you a man there, m'dear? What will your little upstart of a fiancé say? Imagine that!'

In his diatribe glee prevailed over indignation.

'Correction,' I shoved Holmes off. 'Ms. Stoner is not here. We require a ransom if you ever want to see her again.'

'Do you? Or, rather, do I?' Roylott paused, mulling over my proposal. Beside me, Holmes quivered with frustration.

''Of course you do. What would people say?'

'Nothing will be proved! I will not be accused of this!'

'It will, Doctor, it will. She was in London yesterday, wasn't she? Went to that know-it-all with her trouble. We have enough resources to frame you for a nice ole'-style hanging,' I spied some movement above, a passing shadow, and cocked the gun. Holmes took it out of my hand. I didn't resist.

'You armed? How much?'

'So we are.'

'He's stalling,' Holmes breathed out.

'How much, I say?'

'Seventy pounds,' Holmes suggested. 'Seventy pounds!' I called out.

'Let me see.'

More movement and shadows, than some clinking, whistling - and Holmes fired my Webley without any warning.

Something ugly, spider-like fell off the vent, and a shout of rage informed us that our villain had also been apprised of the situation.

'Thieves! Blackmailers! Help, people! Help!'

Holmes lit up a vesta. In its sizzling light we saw a tiny humanoid monster sprawled on the bed, a gleaming chain running from its collar into the hole in the wall.

'A monkey,' muttered the detective. The vesta gleamed off the dark pooling blood and sputtered out. Only then did we remember our host.

'You will not get help, Roylott. You frightened everybody off.'

'Holmes?' Gasped the other man. 'Is it you?'

'In the flesh.'

'You will not have me!'

The voice was nearer, as if the Doctor himself tried to claw his way to our room.

'I have every intention to do it, and which is more, I have the necessary means. In several hours you will be arrested. I left the instructions with the constabulary.'

Something shattered on the wall separating us from the awful man.

'By the Lord Harry, I'll get back at you, you filthy scum!'

Holmes chortled delightedly, but his mirth was shortlived: a shot rang out, and a thud followed it immediately.

He swore, and tried the door.

It stayed closed.

Someone has locked us in, and for once in his illustrious career, Holmes couldn't burgle us out.

The next day, after we were let out and the official investigation run its course, we sat with our client at a table in the very inn we'd so gladly left the night before. As Holmes pointed out, it couldn't be harmed by a little negative publicity.

'You owe us nothing but the cost of the tickets.'

She blushed slightly. After a sleepless night and an embarrassing confession her face was drawn and pinched, but vigour and will burning in her eyes promised a full recovery.

'I am so sorry for the door, Mr. Holmes. I just thought that if it escaped...'

'It's nothing. It even convinced Sergeant Mallory that we haven't murdered your stepfather.'

Poor Mallory had to deal with an impatient Holmes, a girl frightened out of her wits, and yours truly who had had not a wink of sleep.

We took our leave of her and went to the station.

'That was all rather anticlimactic, old fellow, don't you find?'

'We have almost been set up for a murder.'

Being almost murdered ourselves was rarely a concern with him after it didn't happen.

'So we have. Roylott was a clever one, to place his revolver there. Though why did he think I would not find it...'

'He had your reputation in mind. I am told readers react to a felon killed by an investigator - ambiguously.'

I said it carelessly, too exhausted to consider my words' impact.

'I say,' Holmes drawled out speculatively. 'They prefer punishment dealt by fate.'

'Yes,' I smirked derisively. General public. We'd make excellent Romans.

'And some gothic gloom and doom.'

'...Yes. Since when do you pay any attention...'

'And exhotic beasts, family drama, and weird poisons.'

'Well, it did have poisoned claws.'

'Which any chemist worth his salts would identify on first sight. This apothecary they have is really a shame to his profession.'

I had to concur.

'Anyways, you ought not to give them tips how to commit crimes.'

'I thought you liked mental stimulation?'

'But not of the repetitive nature.'

I sighed.

'Fine. If I ever publish the disaster, I shall gloss over some details.'

I could see, however, that that was not enough. Something was brewing in my friend's mind. That was why I'd never let him to edit my accounts; in his quest to conceal confidential details and maintain logic, he suggested some highly improbable substitutions.

'No! Here's how it will go...'

Next Christmas, I thought sourly, I shall buy him Arabian Nights. The inscription will read: 'To the only private consulting detective and a hopeless romantic, from his friend and accomplice, with patience.'

I stumbled across the threshold to the compartment, lost in my meditation. Holmes caught me by my whole shoulder, though it required an uncomfortable twist on his part. Righting me, he smiled minutely again, yawned and settled into his seat, dozing off with no case to keep him awake.

Well.

Maybe patience was not the very word I'd use.