A/N: So here is the start – I have used a lot of elements from both the movies and the series but I have also changed a lot of things – this is the way I wanted it to be:)
I hope you enjoy this version.
I owe many thanks to my lovely friends johnsarmylady and mattsloved1 for looking this over and putting up with me:)
I have borrowed a few words and sentences from the movie and the series. I do not own. Hmmmm. That's too bad:(
2. The Thief
Two months earlier
There were rumours and sightings of a man and a huge black wolf that roamed the streets at night who healed the injured and protected the people. Others whispered of a tall, clever-minded man who walked in the light, with a large hawk on his shoulder. He wasn't afraid to talk to the common people or the Fey. He was respected but most stayed out of the way of the sharpness of his tongue.
With hope in the sound of their voices, folk whispered they had come to stop all the wrongdoing heaped upon the heads of the destitute; the petty crimes The Watch neither cared about, nor controlled. In the silence of the dark, when prayers are held tight to the heart, if a stray thought asked that these men and their beasts put a stop to the immoralities done by the Mage and his people, well, then no one was the wiser and no harm could fall upon someone for an idle thought.
No one connected the two men and their familiars to each other. Not until dawn broke the night of Bonfires and then only one there knew it for what it was.
In the abandoned house on the outskirts of the city centre, the thief Wiggins sat curled up and hunched, making himself as small as possible. The night sky had opened up and the rain, which had begun falling a few hours ago, was now hitting the ground and freezing on contact. At least it was just water and not anything deadly or magical, like sometimes happened in the summer. Many had come to seek shelter here, even if it was a known drug den, or perhaps because it was.
It was his turn to guard the door, make sure those who had come to lose themselves in the dream world of a drug induced stupor, were not disturbed. Leaning up against an inner wall, he was muttering and talking to himself. Petty criminal and sometime drug user, he often went by the name Wiggy. Some called him that because they thought he was as mad as a March hare. He mumbled and spoke out loud all of the time. Behind his back some called him Mouse, since he was small, light and could crawl in and out of any space, no matter how tight. He'd managed to get away from the Watch on many a raid by use of these skills. He didn't like Mouse much. He didn't think it was grand enough or struck fear into anyone.
He was an oddity. He didn't worship the gods, the way most did now days; hard not to when the gods walked the streets in broad view. He followed the old Christian ways of the Catholic Church, which had mostly gone out of fashion. It was the way he had been raised and it was one warm memory from his childhood. He could barely remember what it was like before the Change. He remembered the soft glow of light that put the dark at bay, vague memories of flickering, moving pictures on something called the telly. He remembered a loving embrace and hot food every night. He also remembered screams and fires and panic when things stopped working and the magic came, when the world shifted and science was mostly replaced by miracle. He didn't remember, or choose to remember, how his parents died. He did remember his sister being taken away by the Mage's men, led away for his own perverted uses to the fortress and palace that use to be the Tower. He did remember learning how to steal small trinkets from those well off and trade them. He did remember his first hit of the new street drug brought in by the Fey. He didn't remember when he received his last hit. It had been awhile and he was shaking, not just from the cold.
"I know I promised, Lord, never again. But I also know that You know what a weak-willed person I am. I ain't touched a drop in weeks, I'm certain, but really if this is to be my last night, surely You won't begrudge me. A little comfort in this lonely world, Lord?"
He shifted a bit trying to get into a more comfortable spot, perhaps warmer as well, when the door opened and someone came into the house. More than one. Two. One upright and one on four feet. These days you never knew what might walk in unannounced.
In case whatever was coming toward him was something not wanted, he turned his head to track it. He scrunched up and tried to be less of a target, but when he saw what came through, he let out a squeak of surprise and fear and automatically crossed himself. A large, black, shaggy dog was padding toward him, sniffing the ground. It stopped and lifted its head, staring where he was hidden. Its large ears perked and swivelled in his direction. He blinked and looked again.
"Dear God, Almighty! That's a wolf! Lord, if you let it eat me tonight, I may warm its belly, but it won't be much comfort to me!" His breath rushed out of his lungs and he couldn't move, shock held him in place. He had heard the stories making the rounds on the streets, but had scoffed at the idea of a man walking with a wolf. It appeared that he was mistaken.
So mesmerized by the wolf, he had forgot the man trailing after. As he came into sight, the movement snapped Wiggins from his stupor. He glanced quickly and had the quick impression of short, powerfully built and blonde. There seemed to be an air of calm that hung around the man as well. Not surprising. One could be calm and fearless when one had a wolf at their side.
The shorter man stepped closer and crouched down beside Wiggins, shifting the weight of the pack he carried upon his back.
"I'm looking for someone. Perhaps he is here."
Wiggins' mouth flapped open to speak and then he snapped it closed again, eyes darting back and forth from the man to the wolf.
The wolf had not stopped watching the thief, its eyes gleamed soft silver in the fairy lights shining through the broken windows. The man looked at the wolf. He leaned back a bit on his heels and stroked a hand though the wolf's rough hair. The wolf seemed to relax into the touch. In a fanciful sort of mood, Wiggins felt they spoke without words, for it abruptly sat on its haunches and looked oddly bored, as it stared around the room.
The man turned back to look at him.
"I am searching for a young man named Isaac Hudson. Is he here?"
With the wolf's eyes somewhere else and no longer on him, Wiggins felt a little braver.
"You ain't needed here. If there were such as Isaac around, he don't want you to see him."
The man cocked his head to the side and suddenly there emanated from him a feeling of danger. The man exuded power and mystery and Wiggins felt with a twinge that perhaps he should have taken him by the hand and led him straight to Hudson, maybe stopping for flowers along the way. Before he could say anything, the man reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. A light twist and sharp pain flared through Wiggins' arm.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"I asked you a question. I expect an answer. Is Isaac Hudson here or not? I am not a patient man."
"You broke my arm!"
"No, I merely sprained it. You'd know if I broke it." The wolf stood up again and came nearer to the little thief. It seemed a good deal bigger up close. A low growl emanated from deep within its chest, which was felt more than heard.
Wiggins gulped. "Upstairs. Second room on the right."
The same small but firm hand reached out and ruffled his hair. "There you go. That wasn't so bad, was it? You know you needn't worry. I'm not here to hurt Isaac."
"But my arm! It feels squishy! Is it supposed to feel squishy? You sure you didn't break it?"
"It's not broken." This was said with a hint of kindness; as if he really felt what he had done was distasteful, even if it had been necessary. "I used to be a doctor. I know how these things work."
"Most doctors I know don't do much else but hurt people."
"Yes, well. Times have changed. Maybe they will again."
And with that, the man left. The wolf trailed behind him, but not before it flicked an ear in Wiggins' direction and let out what sounded like an exasperated huff. It trotted up the stairs after the man.
"Lord, if I hadn't seen that with my own eyes." He shook his head, the movement jarring his arm enough to cause him to wince.
He thought about getting up to see what the man, and presumably the wolf, wanted with Isaac, but the pain radiating from his wrist was most distracting. He searched around beside him for the small pack he kept his few belongings in. He rummaged around and found an old scarf and wrapped it around his wrist to see if he could ease some of the pain.
By the time he finished, the man and the wolf, with Isaac in tow, were coming back down the stairs. Isaac, obviously heavily under the influence of the Fey drug, was muttering about being manhandled, but by the look of determination on the other's face, it was a losing battle.
"Your aunt is a good person and she needs your help. You are coming with me and you will clean up your act and give her a hand or so help me you'll wish I had turned you over to the Watch."
"But Captain Watson…"
The man, Watson, stopped on the stairs and turned to face Isaac, who was swaying slightly on his feet. "Isaac, I'm not your Captain any more. I haven't been Captain of anything for several years." This was delivered in a rather matter of fact tone, but shadows played on his face, dark and thick. Wiggins, who was a curious man and saw things other did not, wondered what had happened to cause such grief in someone who seemed so sure, so in control and more than a little scary.
The wolf, waiting by Watson's side, nudged the man's hand as if telling him to get a move on. Watson looked down at the animal. He seemed to drift for a bit in thought as he once more ran his fingers through the coarse hair. He shook his head, as if clearing cobwebs of memories, and turned to continue down the stairs, Isaac trailing miserably behind. When Watson reached the bottom, he glanced over at Wiggins and frowned. He sighed and marched over to where he was still sitting, his eyes glanced at the makeshift wrap.
"What's your name?" he asked, unexpectedly.
"Wiggins, most call me Wiggy."
The man stooped down to him again. "Bill Wiggins? Some call you the Mouse?"
Wiggins nodded, reluctantly.
"Hmmm, I've heard of you Mr. Wiggins." Dark eyes stared at him. Wiggins felt he was being examined even more thoroughly than he had been the first time. "Tell me, are you as good as they say, crawling into tight spaces? Can you really break into anywhere?"
He nodded again, more cautiously, but was too afraid not to give an honest response. Watson seemed to come to a decision.
"Here," he held out a hand. "Come with me and I'll fix that."
Wiggins looked at the proffered hand and then grasped it with his uninjured one. Watson pulled him to his feet. He wondered at his sudden trust of this dangerous and strange man. The look in the Captain's eye seemed to hint at a challenge. Come with me, it seemed to say, and you will see wonders. As Wiggins was a bit mad already, he gave in to the impulse and took the offer. It was better than playing guard in a house full of addicts. He reached down and picked up his pack and thought some more. This man had said he was a doctor and part of him just wanted relief. He followed the men and wolf out. Watson opened the door and cautiously looked about.
"Okay. We have about 10 minutes before the Watch descends and we get swept up in a scheduled raid, so keep an eye out gentlemen and let's get the hell out of here." He pulled up the collar of his leather and wool coat, trying to stem the flood of water running off the roof from trickling down his neck. "Careful now. The roads are slick. I don't want to have to fix up more than a sprain."
They darted out as quickly as they could, as they scurried from corner to corner, hiding in the lee of the buildings. When they were far enough away, Watson relaxed a bit and they began to make better time. They still stuck to the shadows and out of the fairy lights as much as possible. The fairies would report them if they thought there was something suspicious going on. It wasn't just the Watch one had to be careful of. There were other things out there that could hurt you or make you wish you hadn't been born. Steady travel for about an hour or so brought them to an old run down building, which looked like it had once been flats. With another glance around, Watson knocked softly on the door. It was cracked open and a face appeared. There was a furtive conversation and the door opened fully. Wiggins could make out the figure of an older lady. He could see at one time she would have carried herself well, a gentle lady perhaps. Her carriage was still upright and proud, but her face was careworn. She spoke past the Captain when she saw her wayward nephew.
"Oh Isaac, what have you done now. Your mother, rest her soul, would be so sad to see you like this. Come in, come in. John, how can I thank you. I was that worried."
Watson leaned and let her hug him. "Careful now. I'm wet." But a small smile touched his lips to take out the sting of the abrupt words. "Do you have anything I can use to wrap a sprain? My friend here seems to have received an injury." The lady tsked and fussed but led the men and the wolf to a set of rooms at the back of the building. She scolded the wolf impartially as it shook itself and sprayed water over everything. "You'll be cleaning that up tomorrow." The wolf looked up at the woman and let its tongue dangle from its mouth. It seemed to be laughing at her. She turned and took in the surprised look on Wiggins' face. "Oh don't mind him. He's an old friend."
Once they were inside her rooms, she firmly closed the inner door. Isaac was directed to a back bedroom to 'sleep it off', while John and Wiggins were brought into the kitchen. She pushed the thief into a chair and bustled about getting bandages and water. Watson, meanwhile, scrubbed his hands. He held out his clean and dried hand and gazed steadily at the man in the chair. Unsure where this feeling of trust came from, Wiggins held out his injured wrist and let the man gently unwrap the scarf. His arm was carefully washed and dried and wrapped tight in a long piece of clean cloth. After tucking in the ends, the Captain nodded sharply and cleaned up the left over mess.
He then spoke to the old lady.
"Can we kip here tonight? It's near time and we won't make it back before dawn.
"Of course, dear. You old rooms are still clean as usual. You could sleep in Sherlock's old room and your friend here could use yours. I really wish you'd stay. It's better with you nearby."
A brief flair of loss crossed his features, but the stoic look was back just as quick on the Captain's face. He reached out and hugged the woman. Wiggins could just hear him murmur to her "Martha, you know it isn't safe. Magnussen knows we are back and it worries me greatly he hasn't made a move yet. We would be putting you in danger." He paused. "More danger than you already are. He knows about you."
Her face crinkled into a smile "He's the least scary thing I know. He wasn't married to my husband." A tentative smile tugged at the corners of the man's face. Wiggins was greatly intrigued. There was so much to see, so much going on between these two, he could read it all, a story played on their faces.
Watson glanced at Wiggins. "All right. You can sleep here for the night."
Wiggins reached out his good arm, "Why?"
Watson crinkled up his brow, "Why what?"
"Why did you sprain my wrist, only to fix it and why are you letting me stay here?'
"Because sometimes people are good," was all he said and he started to leave, when he paused. "Perhaps I am hoping you will do me a favour." He continued on as if he hadn't paused and the wolf, who had been dozing in front of the old wood stove, climbed to its feet and followed his master.
Wiggins picked up his pack and came behind, muttering under his breath, "You know I go where you send me, Lord, but this is one strange journey, even for me."
The two men and the wolf ascended the set of stairs and arrived in another flat. Watson, with the familiarity of someone who had lived in this space, set about lighting the oil lamp just inside the door. He made his way through the flat and lit several more.
"What, no fairy lights?" It seemed strange not to look at the little faces that peered out from the glass globes most kept in their homes these days.
Watson glanced at him, "No. Not here long enough to feed them and besides, I think it's cruel, keeping them caged. Wild things need to be free." His face grew thoughtful, before he shook himself and spoke once more. "Take this lamp and go up one more floor, you'll find a room with a bed. Mrs. Hudson keeps things neat and changes the sheet regularly. She lives in hope we'll come back. When you awake in the morning, I will most likely not be here, but if you run into my friend, tell him to ask if you'll help."
"Help with what?"
A crooked grin pulled at the man's mouth but in the shadows from the lamp, it did not appear to reach his eyes.
"I think I'll let him explain. Good night, Wiggins. Or I should say, good morning as it is almost upon us." With that he left and turned into another room, the wolf trotted after him. As it reached the threshold it turned back and gave Wiggins a measured stare, eerily like the one Watson had given him in the drug house. It flicked an ear and then left to follow the Captain.
"Curious and curiouser, Lord."
Questions circled in and out and settled in his brain. They would have to wait for the day. Wiggins found another set of stairs and followed them up to the other room. As promised, a warm bed awaited him. He didn't even pause to shuck off much besides his boots and his pack. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
John shut the bedroom door carefully behind him and turned the lock. He looked to see the wolf had already made its way onto the bed and was curled up amongst the pillows. A soft smile lit the man's face, this time making his eyes glow. "Made yourself comfortable, I see. You always were a hog when it came to the pillows." He put down the pack he'd been carrying onto a chair and began to undress. He was a bit hastier than usual. The rhythms of the rise and fall of the sun were ingrained into his very molecules and he could feel the turn of the earth as it carried them closer to dawn. His thoughts were already becoming muddled. He frowned as he thought about what he wanted to say. "I don't have time to write this down, so good luck meeting the fellow upstairs. I think I may have found our thief." He climbed naked onto the bed. The wolf whined and licked his face. "Shhh, not much longer now, love. We're that much closer to the end of this mess." The first tremor hit his muscles and he stiffened. A gasp clawed its way out of his throat and the wolf whined again. "It's never not painful! Christ!"
He bent his head and let the curse take him.
