Chapter 7: Sparassidae

As Sherlock swooped his cloak on, and Gregson put the dome back on his head, I sat back down. Sherlock noticed my sluggishness, and tried to pry for answers. "What? You're not coming, Watson?"

I let out a sad chuckle. "Too cold for me at this time of year. You'll have to go on without me, I'm afraid."

The raccoon glared at me with another of his trademark looks. It was obvious that he knew I was crafting a ruse of some kind... he just couldn't figure out what. It bothered him greatly, any coherent man could easily see. For a brief second I was pleased that I had been able to stump the greatest detective, but it turned into regret and pity soon after.

"Fine. Come along, Bear." He said curtly, putting on a face without care, leaving the door open for the rotund inspector. He looked over his own shoulder at me, with a dumber variant of Sherlock's glare, and retreated behind him. I waited for the second door to slam, the customary chewing out by Miss Hudson, then the third door... and slumped in my chair.

In that moment, I had grasped something very sure. Very exact. I had neglected to tell my colleague the truth... something that Sylvester had never done previously. Yes, he had more than once decided to leave out a detail, like the many hours I would be away from my office because of a case. More than thrice, in fact. But he had never outright lied. If he had, I'd never noticed it.

Along with my current realization, there was another fact that I had decided to ignore as of late. Even with Sherlock's constant pestering, I could have easily been able to deduce some shred of evidence about Irene's predicament. Me being a doctor, and a co-consultant to many a gruesome murder, you would believe I'd hold that as a higher obligation than cashing in a payment for a case. And spending said payment on more than an acceptable number of trifles.

It would seem like I had a debt to pay. To my friend, to my thieving employer, and to myself. I would have to, no matter the consequence, work my hardest to ensure Irene's innocence. And half of my effort, no doubt, would be to assure my nosy partner-in-crime would not interfere.

Great. Just great.

The air was crisp on this fall morning. The duo were walking along the gravely banks, heading toward the bridges and shadowed nooks of the riverside. Even in the better months, a select few traversed of the Thames; Beggars, Pickpockets, Thieves, that sort of person.

Sherlock knew them well.

"Tobias, this is a common place for criminals. I assume you sent a man or two to investigate here, maybe for some information?" The phrase held sarcasm. They passed many of the afore-mentioned classes, most of which begged for a handout. Sylvester felt for these people.

"Of course. We have some men in the inner circles of this... place. One in particular, in fact." He glanced at one of the beggars, a young bird with a torn cap, wrapping around his left wing, and a make-shift cane. Molted feathers were riddled around his little patch of the land. He looked up at the inspector with large eyes, trembling from the cold. The bear kept walking... but Sylvester stopped.

A frown came to Sylvester's face. He could remember times like that; begging to the people, not knowing where his next meal would come from... it was never a pleasant memory. He gave the bird a warm smile, about to hand him a few coins for his efforts. The bird's eyes glinted, awaiting his prize.

Gregson dragged him away without a word.

The bear didn't let go of his arm until they turned a corner, and pushed him against the wall. He shouted, "Why in God's name did you do that?! I know you don't have a brain, you should at least have a heart!" Sly was infuriated.

Tobias gave him a harsh glare. "Sherlock Holmes..." Steam was nearly coming out of his ears. It took all of the bear's reserves not to explode. "You... you are the most stupid person that I have ever been cursed to be around."

The outburst threw Sly, but he kept stone-faced. "You have so much knowledge about everything murderous. Burglary, toxicology, assault, chemistry, and every other black-hearted thing that managed to crawl from under a rock, and into your brain. And yet you're stupid. You think I'm a dolt, right? An idiot who can't discern a revolver from a mallet? Well, I'm intelligent enough to know that I should never let my guard down, or let anyone in my trust too without careful consideration. Especially when it's a rotting beggar with a knife in his sleeve, stuck in this freakish hell-hole of London."

' "Revolver from a Mallet?" ' The onlooker thought skeptically. Even Tobias could have thought of a better comparison than that.

"Your 'famous consultant' status," the bear continued, "won't keep a jackknife from running through your gullet. Your bleeding heart will become very literal if you keep giving handouts to cut-throats! And if you can't set aside your sympathy for these... these wastes of skin and fur, then I'd suggest you head back to your cozy little flat on Baker Street and let respectable, real police officers handle what you're too cowardly to do. Are we clear?"

Surprisingly patient, Gregson was waiting for an answer. She saw Sly grind his teeth, presumably to keep from punching Tobias in the mouth... "...Yes, Gregson."

He nodded sharply. "Good. Then let's carry on, shall we?" He didn't miss a beat. "John Straker should be able to tell us some sort of information. Old friend of mine, actually. He's done one or two odd jobs for Scotland Yard, way back when. Now he makes a living being our fly on the wall in this place. Maybe you should take some notes from him! Get you prepared for an early retirement, perhaps?"

She heard nothing from the raccoon. She tailed them as they walked, staying motionless in the shadows when they stopped at a large wooden door. "...I remember this place. The Ragged Rat. A Common House, or as close as you could get to one down here... Smart."

It looked like it physically hurt Sylvester to compliment him. The condolence hurt even more.

"Thank you. Every rumor in London goes through this place at least once. Let's see if Mr. Straker wants to talk."

The two walked into the tavern. Slowly, the corners of her mouth curled into a smile. 'Like a moth to a flame,' she mused. With a smile, she dug through her satchel and dropped two things: A scrap of fabric, and a blue fingernail clipping. "Be quick, little scavengers..." Hushed the Fox.

"...The hunt is on."

WOW, it's been a long time. What, 4 months? That's too long! Personally, I blame Skyrim. Bethesda made too good of a game to get away from! Writing time kind of turned into Dragon Slaying time.

Here's Chapter 7 of 'A Crime in Cobalt'. Enjoy! :D