Chapter II – I See Everything
Holmes manoeuvred his way around the heavy streets of London. His feet tapping on the dank concrete that made up the streets echoed among the footsteps of the everyday hustle bustle of these roads. A couple to his right passed, the lady was giggling at something her husband had said. Two men behind them were arguing over something while three others looked on with bored expressions. A woman to his left passed carrying a small basket of bread, she stumbled slightly and her hat fell forward to cover her eyes. The man behind her shouted as a horse drew into the scene as it pulled a wagon. She was bumped by several bodies moving to rid themselves of the horse's deadly path and she ended up falling to the ground. On Holmes's right people kept walking, some turned their heads to the commotion, eyes glinting with the excitement of the new event. Holmes's mind sped. Top hat, pocket watch, parasol…unless… He came to an abrupt halt. The woman had lowered her parasol and turned to help the lady with the bread. Holmes caught the brief flash of silver before striding forward towards the girls. The woman with the parasol had her hand on the bread woman's shoulder as if comforting her. She was a very nicely dressed lady. An atypical amethyst print shone beneath her gray overcoat. Even in large crowds she'd draw the eyes of nearly every notable person around her. The lady's fair, blonde hair was done up, she appeared very wealthy; and Holmes new for a fact, she was. Her husband had calmed the other man and redirected the carriage, or so the crowd would think. Holmes eyed the husband as he walked to join arms with his wife and assist in talking to the woman with the bread. The woman was gently fidgeting her shoulders back and forth in an almost childlike fashion. Holmes slid closer and eyed the couple warily. The woman turned to her husband and excitedly attempted to ruffle through his breast pocket for something. He gently nudged her away and shuffled through it himself. There… Holmes picked up speed as he gently tore through the crowd of people, mostly whom had gone back to their own business; his target, that man. Alright, now pick up the speed, if you hit him exactly right then there's a better chance neither of you will be harmed. If timed incorrectly then the weapon could be damaged, and unwontedly hit its mark.
The collision had already been thought out in Holmes's mind. He strode forwards, quickly gaining speed, just as he would pass the couple, he would trip, knocking the gentleman to the sidewalk. The gentleman would probably yell at him, Holmes would stand up and confront his culprit, then be on his way…quickly.
So commenced the steps Holmes took, the dim echo of his shoes off the sidewalk inaugurated, their drops picking up frequency until about one meter away. Here he readjusted his posture, gathered up his strength and charged; although to everyone else around it would seem like a miscalculation of footing. The shoulders of the two men collided harshly. Some bruising and soreness, but no other injuries should be suffered, Holmes reasoned. The man stumbled, the glint of silver appeared again and Holmes picked it up from his peripheral vision in the briefest of moments. Tucking his arm in slightly and rotating his hips, Holmes had twisted the falling duo slightly more, and Holmes felt the cold steel brush his side.
"Oh, so sorry~" Said Holmes as he picked himself up. As predicted, the man shouted at Holmes, although the inspector wasn't paying attention. He called over some nearby policemen, and spoke to them briefly. They took the arms of the gentleman and Holmes pulled the knife from his gloves. "An attempted assassination of your own wife in public, well thought out, however, incontinently timed. As well as your little slip with the police last night landed you prime suspect. Now, I don't have time for these games." He turned to the officers and nodded. They locked the man into custody and Holmes was left where he stood. No doubt Lestrade would demand some answers later. But that was to deal with when the time came.
Nodding to himself, he felt a job most certainly well done. Turning around, he sped right down the rest of the route to Baker Street. Skipping up the steps, he kicked the door in. It sped open and ricocheted off the wall behind it with a bang. Strolling in, he started to undo the buttons on Watson's coat. "Nanny~ are you here Nanny?" he called, kicking the door shut behind him again. Mrs. Hudson strode out from the kitchen and sighed.
"How good to see you." She remarked sarcastically, sighing and fixing a loose bit of hair.
"How jolly good indeed." Holmes remarked back. He held out Watson's coat of a second, as Mrs. Hudson reached a hand out for it, he snapped it back. "Actually, I think I'll be keeping this for now." He gave a shifty-as-ever smile and started his decent up the stairs, "Bring some tea will you, Nanny?" he called as he hopped up the steps. He stood gallantly, although standing as if mocking the word gallant all together, at the platform looking at Mrs. Hudson who stood at the foot of the stairs. "You know where to find me" And with that, he turned and slammed the door to his study.
"You'd do well to stop slamming doors!" she shouted back at Holmes, then turned and pinched the bridge of her nose in an oncoming headache.
Up in his study, Holmes stood with his back to the door. His expression was neutral, lost in thought. The steady rise of his chest barely showed beneath Watson's shirt. Slowly, he took a step forward, listening to the echo on the cold, wooden floors. Something didn't feel right. The echo of his step lingered in the room, like the dust particles that floated around the air, but were only visible in front of the window. He needed something to distinguish this oddity. His muscles slid beneath skin as he leapt into action, darting across the room, he raffled through papers. His eyes skimmed various cases that went solved, unsolved or partially solved. Or maybe those that were unsolved were solved in Holmes's own head. His eyes darted over words, wait…it wasn't here. Dropping the papers, he turned to one of the many chairs. The chair was one of familiarity, as everything in his study was. But as much as the room changed, Holmes was always sure to leave the chair there. Slowly, he paced over to the fixture and ran a rough hand over its surface. The oak frame was worn and soft. Knots from the branches used to make the chair shone slightly beside the curls and carvings of the natural material. He ghosted his hand over the red satin cushion, also worn from use.
That' right…Watson wouldn't be around anymore.
Holmes stood for a moment, his hand still in the barest contact with the chair. He soon came to when he felt the sadness weighing at his expression. He coughed and looked around, ensuring no one had infiltrated on his…hardly emotional moment. Well then, back to business. He jumped as he heard a knock on the door. Odd…I must really be out of it today he thought as he turned and let Mrs. Hudson in. "Here's your tea…" she said, putting the tray on a table. Holmes looked at her for a moment, and then she scurried out before he could say anything about something else she could do.
Sighing, Holmes turned and walked to the other side of his study. Here stored a great amount of books, mainly sprawled among the floor. Most of them Holmes had written all over in his own curvy scrawl. Found naturally in the stones of cherries, plums and peaches, the cores of apples and the leaves of the laurel plant, cyanide evolved as a plant protection… Holmes dug himself further into books as the evening sun set farther past the essential perfume that was London.