A/N: I owe many thanks to Stutley Constable for providing me with the idea for the topic of conversation between Jack and Holmes while awaiting Watson's return at Baker Street! :)
Chapter Eleven
~~o~~
I'd been hesitant to leave Holmes and Lydia in the hands of Jack Sparrow, but one look at Holmes had produced a reassuring nod from him.
"Go on, Watson," he'd said calmly. "I'm sure Inspector Lestrade will find it all a bit irregular, but it shouldn't pose much of an obstacle. We'll await your return, old friend."
I'd donned my hat and descended the stairs, wondering just why Holmes had put such emphasis on the word irregular, and then I became aware of the commotion in the street as I stepped through the door: a swarm of young boys tumbling and churning straight for our front door, chatting boisterously among themselves and disrupting the cooling evening on Baker Street. Clearly Holmes had heard them approaching and realized the significance, even though I'd been more focused on the gun in Sparrow's hand. Their youthful leader, Wiggins, spotted me and marched up directly, but I had enough sense to know that we shouldn't linger under the possible gaze of the clever pirate in my flat overhead, and furtively gestured to Wiggins to follow me around the corner.
Once I halted out of view, Wiggins spoke up smartly.
"Found 'im for you, Doctor," he announced proudly, and gestured to the redheaded lad sequestered in the midst of his band, looking rather unhappy about his escort.
"Capital! Mr. Holmes will be quite pleased," I replied, knowing that Holmes must have realised the information the Irregulars had gathered would still possibly allow us to track Jack Sparrow quickly, even if we were to obtain and surrender the flask to him.
"This 'ere's Tanner, the one what was reportin' to that bloke in Owlsmoor," Wiggins added, and the urchin with red hair was ushered forward to the front of the pack. "Tell the doctor what you told us."
The boy looked quite hesitant, but I'd seen Holmes handle this sort of situation enough times to know the secret to doing so, and the clink of the coins I'd started to fetch from my pocket was enough to rivet the attention of the entire group, including the red haired informant. "Henry Matthews had you reporting to him weekly, is that right?" I asked.
The boy nodded.
"About the arrival or lack thereof of a certain ship, I imagine?" I prodded again.
"Yessir," he answered quietly, "'e wanted to know when a full-rigged black ship wiv black sails made port, and 'e gave me train money and some extra each week. I told 'im straightaway once she arrived," Tanner replied in earnest.
"And where was this ship from?" I asked, trying to gather as much information as I could quickly, knowing that I had a time constraint that I was operating under.
"Why, the Caribbean, sir," Tanner answered.
I smiled as I realized that Holmes had been right; this information corroborated his theory, as had the information from Lydia about the reptile. "You said she's black with black sails?"
"Yessir, you can't miss 'er."
"What is the name of this ship, Mr. Tanner?" I asked at last.
"Why, they call 'er the Black Pearl, sir," Tanner said, supplying me with the most crucial information.
I smiled, knowing that we would be able to track Sparrow and track him quickly now, regardless if he had the flask in his possession.
I paid the boy and the Irregulars well, and the group of happy lads disappeared whence they'd come, out of the deepening shadows of nightfall in London. Quickly, I hailed a cab and directed the driver to Scotland Yard, hoping that Lestrade would still be on duty; often he spent long hours there when involved with a murder, and such was the case with this one.
The problem was that I had no idea what reason I was going to be able to give him for demanding the flask from his keeping. I hadn't had time to discuss it with Holmes, but my instincts told me that he'd rather I didn't inform Lestrade of the hostage situation, and preferred to handle matters in his own manner. Even as I knocked upon Lestrade's door I wasn't quite certain what I would do, but then when I heard, with relief, him call for me to enter, I knew just what to say. I needed no reason at all; Holmes's peculiar manner of withholding information until he had all the pieces of a puzzle in hand would be in keeping with his character, and a frustrated Lestrade, who was nonetheless eager to solve the case, would likely hand over the flask.
Congratulating myself on having a plan of action, I stepped through into Lestrade's office.
"Evening, Doctor," he said, looking up from the paperwork in front of him and then pressing his palms to his eyes. "Fancy you being back here so late. What can I do for you?"
"Holmes sent me to request the flask," I simply announced.
Lestrade dropped his hands to his desk abruptly. "What? What does he want it for?" he demanded, clearly quite puzzled.
I shrugged, finding it easy to fall into the role of a half-informed assistant. Heaven knew that I'd been in this position enough times in the past to be able to play the part and play it well.
"You don't know what he wants it for?" Lestrade asked tiredly.
"You know Holmes," I said with a light shrug of my shoulders, "always reserving information until he has all the links in his chain."
True, Holmes's queer methods were inordinately effective, but I spoke with just a touch of frustration in my voice intended to evoke sympathy from Lestrade.
"I suppose he'll have some dramatic unveiling of the solution to the case," Lestrade said, slightly bothered.
"No doubt," I agreed, "although I'm quite sure the credit will fall at the feet of the official investigative force, as usual."
That seemed to pacify the good inspector enough, and he unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and removed the flask we spoke of.
"Mr. Holmes has been kind enough on a handful of occasions to help us here at Scotland Yard, and even once or twice has bowed out of the spotlight to let a deserving investigator have the credit. I suppose I can return the favour and let him borrow the flask," Lestrade said, his manner somewhat superior.
I elected not to point out that the 'handful' of cases now numbered in the hundreds and that Holmes's name typically appeared in less than ten percent of the newspaper reports; those where it did were usually because the press had gotten wind of his involvement before the matter was quite concluded. Of course, my own published contributions had also made the general public who read them quite aware of just what my companion had contributed to the unravelment of criminal mysteries, making me somewhat unpopular with certain segments of the investigative force at the Yard. Thankfully, Lestrade and I had always gotten on well enough.
"I trust that Mr. Holmes will return this once he's finished with it?" Lestrade asked, placing the now-infamous flask in my hands.
"I'm quite sure of it," I replied, and with that I thanked the inspector and left him to his considerable stack of paperwork.
Upon my return to Baker Street, I was a little surprised to find that although they remained captor and captive, Sparrow and Holmes were in the middle of a cordial and pleasant conversation about, of all things, the Giant Rat of Sumatra.
"No one ever believes me about just how big the bloody things are," Sparrow was saying in a frustrated way from where he was lounging in Holmes's chair with his legs draped over the arm.
"I quite understand," Holmes replied, from where he was still apparently content to sit handcuffed and smoke his pipe. It appeared that Sparrow had been good enough to fetch him the Persian slipper in my absence.
"You'd think I was trying to convince them that I'd roped and ridden a sea turtle when I talk about three foot long rats," Sparrow huffed.
I looked to Miss Hasting, who, quite to my surprise, rather than appearing horrified, chimed in on the subject from a naturalist's point of view.
"They are supposed to be exceedingly rare, and they're hardly ever spotted. What I wouldn't give to actually see one," she said longingly. "They must be fascinating creatures."
"Until they get aboard a sailing ship, love," Sparrow said to her ominously. "Bloody disaster when that happens."
"Figuratively and most literally," Holmes added before he realized that I was standing next to him. "Such was the case with the Matilda Briggs ...Ah, Watson! I see you've managed to convince Lestrade to hand over the flask. Well done! However did you manage to persuade him?"
"I simply told him you said you needed it, but wouldn't tell me why yet," I replied, watching the knowing, subtle smile spread across Holmes's face.
"Well done, indeed, Doctor," Sparrow said, sitting upright and pointing the gun my way. "If you please?"
He then held out his hand, and I placed the flask in it and went to sit next to Holmes once more. Sparrow's dark eyes gleamed in triumph, and he caressed the old tin lovingly.
"Quite a chore it's been to get this back," he said absently, and I wasn't certain if he was addressing us or speaking to himself. I thought it to be a measure of each.
With that he removed the cap, and pointing the gun vaguely in my direction to remind me to behave, placed the flask against his lips, and tipped his head back for a generous swallow while Holmes and I each raised an eyebrow at one another.
A half-dozen heartbeats later, I was pointing the gun at a surprised and displeased Captain Jack Sparrow, for once he had taken a large swig of the water in the tin, he'd been so shocked, apparently, at what it contained, that he completely lost his composure, and reflexively spit out what he'd meant to swallow. Having not been re-handcuffed yet again, I'd seen my opportunity and pounced, leaping to my feet and landing a solid right hook across Sparrow's jaw, then snatching the gun from his hand as he reeled back in Holmes's chair from the blow. Ruefully, he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and shot me an aggrieved look.
"I thought we had an accord: you fetch me what I wanted, I let you all go unharmed," he spat at me. "This dishonourable behaviour is beneath you, Doctor."
"And what would a pirate know of honourable behaviour?" I challenged him.
"Quiet, Watson!" Holmes said soberly. "What is it that you expected to be in the flask?" he asked, addressing Sparrow.
"Water," Sparrow replied unhappily, "but not the bloody sulphurous swill you've obviously filled the flask with."
He then tossed me the key to the handcuffs after I'd gestured for it. I leaned over to unlock Holmes's cuffs, but he waved me off and gallantly indicated that I should release Miss Hastings first; after all, she'd been in handcuffs for some time longer.
"Thank you," she breathed, relieved to be free again, and she rubbed at where the handcuffs had mildly chaffed her wrists.
Once Holmes was free, he gained his feet quickly and stretched like a cat, glad to have use of both hands again. Once more he lit fresh tobacco and then began pacing, clearly energized and intrigued by the fact that once Sparrow had obtained it, the flask had not contained what he had expected it to.
"So, Lestrade managed to confiscate the wrong flask, did he?" Holmes mused, and I must say that there was the smallest hint of satisfied amusement in his tone.
"Nah, that's the bloody right flask," Sparrow replied bitterly. "You're saying that Doctor Watson didn't replace the water in it?"
"I did nothing of the sort," I said with some indignation, causing both Sparrow and Holmes to appear lost in deep thought.
"Bugger!" Sparrow gasped after a moment or two, having come to some sort of realisation. I have to say that he looked quite disgruntled about whatever conclusion he had just reached, but then he appeared to compose himself, and glanced at the clock on the mantel. A smug grin wound its way across his face.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, suddenly leaping to his feet, grabbing Lydia, and putting a heretofore unseen knife to her throat, "and lady, it's been a lovely visit, but I really must ask that you drop that gun, Dr. Watson."
Of course I complied immediately, not wanting to jeopardise poor Lydia any more than she had already been on our account.
"You must realise that you're only making the case against you more severe," Holmes stated, frozen where he was lest he provoke the pirate into doing something rash. "Surely nothing that might have been in that flask is worth facing the noose."
"Ah, that's where you're wrong, mate," Sparrow replied, slowly backing toward Holmes's desk and the windows with Lydia.
"You believe that it contained water from the Fountain of Youth," said Holmes.
Sparrow smiled charmingly. "A smart chap you are, Holmes, but not only do I believe it contained such water, I know it did. Collected it meself with great difficulty one hundred and seventy years ago to the month."
"That's impossible!" I exclaimed.
"Improbable," Sparrow corrected me with a knowing air as he took hold of one of the nearest drapes, "but quite possible, I assure you."
"You'll hang for this," Holmes said solemnly.
"If only I had a shilling for every time someone has said that," Sparrow said with a grin.
"Murder is no trifling matter," Holmes admonished him.
"Murder? You need a body, a dead one that is, to have a murder, and seeing that as of...oh, thirty minutes ago, if my estimations are correct, you no longer have a dead body, you now no longer have a murder."
Holmes scowled at the pirate. "Stealing a body only compounds the crime; it doesn't absolve you of it."
"That would be true," Sparrow replied, still amused, "but only if said body were dead, which it isn't, and only if I had stolen it, which I haven't. You'd be better off focusing your time on her body, mate," he added, indicating Miss Hastings with a wolfish grin. "And now, if you don't mind, I must bid you all adieu, leaving you to remember this as the day you almost captured Captain Jack Sparrow."
With that he abruptly shoved Lydia away from himself and leapt onto the desk, drapery in hand and knife between his teeth. I dove for the gun I had tossed aside, and Holmes sprang to intercept the falling naturalist. By the time I had retrieved the revolver and Lydia had landed safely in Holmes's arms, Sparrow had taken a firm hold of the material and swung from the desktop, smashing through the glass of the nearest window.
"Good Heavens!" I cried, even as Lydia gasped.
The draperies came crashing down, halting Sparrow's precipitous descent partway to the pavement below as the stout curtain rod wedged itself across the broken window. There he hung for a few seconds, we could see by the light of a nearby lamp post, as the three of us rushed to the opposite window to view what had happened. The curtain material, sturdy stuff of fine quality that Mrs. Hudson had chosen, could still only hold the weight of a person momentarily, and with an abrupt ripping sound, rent itself down the middle. Sparrow rode the tearing fabric to within a few feet of the ground, and then dropped nimbly to his feet on the sidewalk next to the stairs.
"Ta," he called back up smugly at where we had gathered in the window, and with that set off at a brisk trot up Baker Street and around the corner.
Back inside, all was quiet for a moment while we three surveyed the devastated window.
"Perhaps we needn't untie Mrs. Hudson just yet," Holmes said softly, knowing that our landlady truly was going to be fit to be tied once she saw the damage that one of his cases had led to this time.
~~o~~
Mrs. Hudson was unhappy for certain, but perhaps not as much as Inspector Lestrade as he found himself climbing our stairs shortly after the pirate had made his dramatic escape from our Baker Street flat. It was now nearing ten o'clock, and the good inspector was looking both tired and harried by that point.
"What the blazes happened here?" he asked as he we met him on the landing, for he had encountered Mrs. Hudson below, grumbling to herself about dreadful tenants as she swept up all the broken glass on the sidewalk.
"Nothing that I can't explain to you in detail on the way to Owlsmoor," Holmes said, quickly tossing me my hat, then donning his own and hurrying down the stairs Lestrade had just climbed.
"Owlsmoor! Tonight?" Lestrade demanded, looking even less pleased.
"If you want to catch a pirate!" Holmes called back up the stairwell.
"Pirate? What is he on about?" Lestrade asked me.
"We'll explain everything in the cab," I said, clapping a hand to his shoulder just as Lydia brushed past him.
"If we hurry we can still catch the ten thirty-two," she said, hiking her skirts several inches and quickly descending after Holmes.
"Apparently she's going also," Lestrade commented as we hurried down the stairs to where Holmes had hailed a four-wheeler.
"Apparently she is," I said, amused but leaving out the argument with Holmes she'd just previously won over whether or not she was accompanying us on what might prove to be a dangerous adventure. I had also thought it imprudent to let her go, but I was smart enough not to argue with a woman who had just weathered an encounter with Jack Sparrow.
None of us dared say a word to the irritated Mrs. Hudson, but Lestrade spoke up as we all made our escape into the cab.
"Apparently it's the night for broken glass all around," he said soberly.
"Certainly you must mean at the morgue," Holmes offered, as we settled ourselves in, Lestrade next to me and Lydia next to Holmes, where she sat a bit stiffly, clearly still disgruntled about what she perceived as more of a sexist than chivalrous attitude from him about her going where there might be danger.
Lestrade nodded.
"Holmes, how on earth did you know that?" I asked.
"From what Sparrow said," he replied cavalierly. "Clearly some confederate of his must have broken in and stolen the body of Henry Matthews, otherwise known as Hector Barbossa."
"I thought the same thing for a moment," Lestrade said, confirming Holmes's speculation that Barbossa was now missing, "except for two important details."
"And what would those be?" Holmes asked absently, only half paying attention to anything Lestrade was about to propose.
"Just that the one window in the locked morgue had been broken from the inside," Lestrade said, suddenly riveting all of our attention to him, "and that outside the window we found footprints of a barefooted man…"
~~o~~
A/N: I've finally posted a strictly SH piece posted under the title Fog and Moonshine. Just a bit of fun and random fluff. :)