A/N: Thanks mattsloved1 and johnsarmylady for looking this over.
Usually disclaimers, yada, yada, etc.
3. The Day
The sun was warm on Wiggins' face when he finally roused. He had one of the best night's sleep he'd had in a long time. He was comfortable and no one was trying to rob him of his few meagre possessions or slit his throat. Normally he would have slept with an eye toward someone coming into the room but there was something about this place that lulled him into a deeper slumber.
The light in the room wasn't what disturbed him however and neither did the dull ache in his wrist, which now that he was awake was demanding some attention. It was the odd noise coming from downstairs. A shriek or a cry, but it didn't sound human. It was a wild sound, like a bird. Underneath it was a deep rumble. Someone was speaking, but not the mad fellow, that doctor or captain or whatever he was, from last night. His voice was higher. It hadn't vibrated through his head like this one did. He rubbed his face, threw back the covers and slipped his shoes on. Having gone to bed fully clothed that was really all there was to it.
He crept down the stair, wary and nervous, and peered into the living room. There was no sign of the doctor. A taller, dark haired man stood near the table, his back to him. The deep voice spoke murmured words, which could just be made out.
"You are upset. You are always upset in the morning. I need to check first. I will let you out to fly just as soon as I speak to Mrs. Hudson."
Wiggins saw whom or rather what he was speaking to. A magnificent bird, a hawk he thought, was perched on the back of one of the chairs by the table. It was many shades of brown with hints of grey, black and gold accenting the feathers. The man was stroking and scratching the head, on the crown and around the eyes and beak. Large, dark eyes swept the room and when they fixed upon the figure in the door, it cried again, a voice both desolate and fierce, speaking of skies, the wind and clouds and loss, but also commanding. Wiggins thought the bird was telling the strange man to turn around, someone was here.
What an odd thought. He brushed it aside. The bird wasn't really telling the man. It was a bird, a hunting bird. Of course it would notice him there, observe the movement in the shadows. He really didn't have more time to think anything else, because the taller man whirled around.
"Who are you? Come out where I can see you. Slow and steady. Don't be stupid."
Wiggins entered the living room cautiously.
He got a better look at the man in the room. Dark, curly hair fell over silver eyes, the colour of which seemed to shift with the light, tall but not as tall as some, lean and hungry, but not for food. For knowledge, information and something else. Something was missing in this man. There was a bottomless ache, a hole. Something he had lost or caused to lose. There were endless depths of sorrow he tried to hide in his eyes. Wiggins was thinking all of these things furiously, wondering why, why did he have these thoughts about a stranger. There was also something about him that reminded him of the doctor, a similar loneliness, a similar fierce intensity, a similar agony.
"And who might you be?" A rather posh voice asked.
"Er, sorry your governorship, sir. They call me Wig."
"No, they don't."
He blushed. "Wiggy or okay, Mouse."
"But what is your name?"
"Wiggins, Bill Wiggins."
The man's eyes skimmed back and forth rapidly, glancing at his face and other parts, studying him. The long face finally settled into an expression of recognition. Like the other fellow, he had heard of him. The thief wasn't sure he liked that.
"Well Bill Wiggins, what are you doing in my flat? Does Mrs. Hudson know you are here?"
"Er, yeah, I was brought here last night. Against my will, I might add."
"Who was it?"
"Beg pardon?"
"Oh, good lord. Why must imbeciles always surround me? Who brought you here?"
"Small fellow. Mad he was, tetchy too. He sprained my wrist. Said I could kip here. I really need to go now." He began edging toward the stairs but was stopped. Not sure how it had happened but suddenly the man was standing in his space, blocking his way to the stair.
"You saw him? You spoke to him?" And the wild, hungry look intensified, craving and yearning, but not comforting, not a hunger to be satisfied by food and drink. It was dangerous, feral, like the look of a wolf denied nourishment, but of the soul not the gut.
"Yeah, sprained my wrist, he did."
The taller man backed down a bit, the fire in his eyes dampened as he realised where he was and that it was neither the time nor place. He waved his hand in the air dismissively.
"I'm sure he had cause. He never does things without cause. Never mind then. I will speak with Mrs. Hudson. You will wait here. Don't touch the bird. He's in a mood. He'll do more to you than a sprain."
Then he turned and headed down the stairs to the ground floor. Wiggins cocked his head and mentally shrugged. They were all insane here. "Lord, it was easier on the streets. At least there I recognized the mad ones and stayed away from them. Just saying."
He looked back at the bird, which was watching him carefully. It raised its wings slightly and squawked and then shook itself.
"You and me both, bird."
Wiggins headed into the kitchen to see if there was any food. The table was covered with old, dusty equipment that looked like it came out of a lab or a doctor's workshop. He rummaged through the cupboards. There was an old style fridge in the corner, but since there was no longer anything like electricity he didn't bother looking in there. He had heard some of the richer families employed magic of the Fey to keep food cold, but that was a luxury most didn't have. The poor in this time and age got their ice in the winter not the summer. He wistfully remembered eating something called ice cream back in the day.
He wandered back out to the living room. By the fire there was a small kettle on a chimney crane. The fire was still burning brightly. Perhaps the tall man had stirred it up this morning. He found water in the kitchen in a barrel and filled the kettle. It would take time to heat. He was sure he'd seen bread on the side. He went out to cut some and brought it back into the other room. Sat in front of the fire, he popped the bread on a toasting fork he found and held it next to the glowing coals near the base of the fire, slowly turning it until it was browned up nicely. When the water boiled, he found a mug and some tea that didn't look too stale and brewed a cup. He sat back in the chair and munched at the toast. It was a bit dry but it was better food than he had most mornings. He could hear the bird behind him as it sorted through its feathers, preening and cleaning them, the odd rustling as it shook itself. He glanced over at it. The bird's head turned to watch him. He thought it looked hungry so he held out a piece of toast carefully and kept his fingers as far away from the sharp beak. The bird twisted and craned its neck at an impossible angle and made a little hop on the chair back, closer to the toast.
"So what's your story? The other guy had himself a wolf."
"Don't talk to him. And certainly don't feed him toast," came an exasperated sigh from behind him. The bird cried out, sounding put out when the toast was withdrawn. The man looked at the bird with fond irritation. "As much as you love toast, you can't eat it right now."
Wiggins sat up and saw the old lady from last night, Hudson, had followed him into the room.
"Here you go, dear," she said as she placed a tray down upon the table.
His nose was assaulted by the lovely odours of bacon and eggs and, "Oh please Lord, are those scones?"
Wiggins stood up, tossed his dry toast into the fire and moved to sit down at the table. The hawk chose that moment to spread his wings in a massive stretch and beat at the air. The little thief stopped where he was, shuffled his feet, his stomach rumbled at the tantalizing smells.
Mrs. Hudson loaded a plate and handed it to him. "Now dear, you mustn't mind him. He just needs to get outside and fly a bit. Sherlock, I checked and it's safe. The brownie said she was talking to Mrs. Turner's and there hasn't been much interest from the Watch for several days now. They are looking elsewhere. Let him out. He'll just get cranky." She patted the arm of the Sherlock fellow. He smiled at her, a warm smile that didn't quite look at home on his face, and held his arm out to the bird. The bird shrieked and glided toward the other man. It landed on the outstretched limb, onto a padded sleeve. Looking at the long, wicked claws wrapped around the man's arm he could see why. The bird was carried out to the landing and up the stairs. The tall man was back in a few moments without the bird and stood looking at the thief.
Uncomfortable under his intense gaze, Wiggins ignored it and continued to eat. He tried savouring the rich food but he was so hungry he just kept shovelling it in. The other man raised an eyebrow at his eating habits.
"So you are Bill Wiggins?"
"I said that didn't I?"
"You're a thief."
"Yeah, look the other guy was interested too, what's up with that? He said to tell you to ask if I'd help. You need something stole? 'Cause it'll cost you." Might as well lay down the rules hard and fast if he was going to get involved in any of this and he wasn't saying he was.
"The other fellow did, did he?" he drawled out, a hint of sarcasm peppering his voice.
"Yeah, what's his name, Watson? Walks like he's got a broom up his arse."
The man looked down at the ground, a shuttered look on his face, his eyes flicked back and forth rapidly. When he looked up again, the fierce light was back.
"You have questions."
"Uh, yeah. Where's the other fellow?"
"Not your concern. Next."
"Okay, uh, er, who are you?"
"The name is Sherlock Holmes. That's all you need to know for now."
"Okay, um. So now what?"
"Did the other fellow say why he wanted me to ask for your help?"
"Nope, he just asked me if I was the Wiggins who could crawl into small spaces or break into anywhere."
"And you said yes. You like to feel important. You like people to know that about you, don't you?"
"What if I do? Everyone's got something special about them. Me, it's breaking and entering."
Holmes looked like he was debating about what to say next. When he did speak it was the last thing Wiggins was expecting to be asked,
"What do you know about breaking into the Tower?"
Wiggins dropped his fork. The clatter of it hitting the plate rang through the heavy silence. A cold heaviness settled in his stomach and all the rich food seemed to curdle in an instant. Holmes knew, he didn't know how, but he knew.
"You're as mad as him, ain't you? Break into the Tower? Into Appledore? You're cracked, you are. No one can break in there."
"Ah, but I happen to know for a fact that you broke out of it."
"That's it. I'm out of here. I don't know how you know and I don't want to know. Thanks for the food, but I need to get my sorry arse back on the street, where it's safe and away from the likes of you lot."
Long fingers, strong and firm wrapped around his bicep. "Oh no, you don't. You will stay here and you will tell me what you know. Or I'll turn you into the Watch myself."
"Ha, that's a laugh. I saw your face and heard that old lady…"
"Mrs. Hudson."
"All right Mrs. Hudson, I heard her tell you they were keeping an eye out for you, so you ain't likely to turn me in."
"Perhaps not, but I know others who will. Interesting, don't you think? You were captured and imprisoned in Appledore. You escaped but you still hang about. Aren't you worried they'll find you?"
Wiggins looked miserably around the room and then back at Holmes. "Look, I know what they do there. I know if they wanted me bad enough, they'd come after me, but they ain't interested in me. That Mage, he's got other things on his mind." He paused and cocked his head, his own brown eyes swept up and down Holmes. "He'd be more interested in you than a lowly thief, wouldn't he?"
"Possibly. What makes you think so?"
"I deduce things, see. I know stuff about people. Just goes into my head, it does."
The other man rolled his eyes, but he didn't say anything for moment, and then, "What if I paid you? I can make it worth your while. I don't actually need you to break in. I just need you to tell me how you broke out."
"Nope."
"I can help you find out about your sister."
Eyes big and round looked half crazed at Holmes. "No, just no! That is not happening. She disappeared a long time ago and me knowing what happened to her ain't gonna bring her back. No!"
He looked down at the ground, his hands clenched at sides, his chest heaved. Then he looked back at Homes. "How'd you know? About my sister, how?"
"You aren't the only one who can deduce." A grin, not a nice one, flitted across the smug bastard's face. "All right, fine. You won't help. Is there anyone else you know of who could tell me these things? Anyone, beside you?"
Wiggins thought for a moment. There could be no harm in telling him. "No, no one 'cept me. I often wondered if it was a joke, they let me escape. Just to give others hope, like. But no."
Holmes face sank a little. He shrugged. "I guess we'll have to figure out something else."
The little thief watched the other man. Something made him ask, "Why do you want to break in for?"
"To kill the Mage of course."
"You're serious?"
"Yes."
A hope, a kindled flame of desire for things he couldn't have, a terrible, bright longing filled him and he almost couldn't breathe. He stared at the other man. He's mad, Lord, plain and simple, but thank you for leading me to him. "What do you need to know?"
The feeling of intensity he held inside was mirrored on Holmes' face. The tall man did a little half jump in the air and a fierce "Yes!" pulled itself out of his throat. "Ah, Wiggins! You are a marvel. I will owe you so much for this."
"Yeah, you'd better."
"Gather your things. We can't stay here again tonight. It isn't safe." He disappeared through the kitchen.
Wiggins nodded and ran up to get his pack. By the time he came back down, Holmes had also returned carrying a pack and holding several other smaller items he was shoving into the pockets, here and there.
"We shall go down and say goodbye to Mrs. Hudson. She'll have provision for us. We will then go to pay a visit to an old friend. Well, when I say friend…" Whilst he was talking he swept on a long wool coat and wrapped a blue scarf about his neck. "Let's go."
Wiggins sighed wistfully, looked at the cosy fire and the remains of his nice breakfast and followed after the man.
Mrs. Hudson met them with a large package of what the thief sincerely hoped was food in her hands. She passed it to Holmes, who placed it in his pack. A look of sorrow was on her face. "Must you leave so soon, Sherlock? You just got here."
"I'm sorry, but it isn't safe for us to stay here and you know it." He paused and opened his mouth as if to say something. She hugged him tight, which prevented him from speaking. He carefully wrapped his long arms about her and squeezed back gently.
"Don't you dare say goodbye, Sherlock Holmes. You come back when you can. Get this nasty business sorted." She reached up and kissed his cheek. "That is for John." She pecked the other. "And that is for you. Look after each other."
He smiled, a tight smile, "We always do."
She patted his cheek, one last touch. "Just be careful. You've been seen out about too much, lately."
The man just smirked and left the building, trailed most glumly by the thief.
Puddles from the rain the night before, lay on the pavement, bits of blue sky reflected in them. Holmes looked up, lifted his fingers to his lips and blew a sharp whistle. Up high in the sky a tiny speck could be seen. It began to circle and grew bigger every second. Just as Wiggins realised it was the hawk, there was a whoosh of sound and he instinctively ducked his head to avoid being buffeted by the edge of a wing.
He glared at the hawk now perched on the other's arm again, the coat also padded. Attached to the bird's feet were jesses, which Holmes carefully wrapped in his hand. A fond look crossed the man's face, gentle and loving, out of character with most things the thief had seen regarding him.
"Did you have a good flight?" The bird cried out once, his beak open, looking like he was panting.
The bird turned and looked at Wiggins with bright eyes and then clacked its beak at him. It bobbed its head up and down as if in greeting. Whilst it was occupied with the thief, Holmes pulled a hood out of the coat pocket opposite and deftly hooded the bird. Wiggins raised his eyebrows.
Holmes didn't say anything, just continued fastening the hood.
"He doesn't like me much."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm the one who doesn't like you."
"Good to know."
They began walking out into the city, heading north, sticking to the back alleyways and side streets. The day was fine so there were many out and about, some human, some not. They tried to avoid contact with most of the pedestrians.
They stopped near a corner where a tall, willowy looking creature stood. Holmes told him to wait and he went up to it. Wiggins could see them speak but couldn't make out what they said. A small package was removed from the large coat, handed to the creature and Holmes walked back to where Wiggins waited.
'This way," he said.
"Was that an Ent?"
Holmes turned and looked at him, his face riddled with scorn. "A what?"
"An Ent. Me dad, he read me a story about little furry footed creatures. There were talking trees in it, called Ents. I liked them. There are so many new creatures these days, I just wondered."
"Not an Ent. Ents aren't real. A woodwife. The man I am looking for is married to one. There aren't many in London. Too polluted, even now. The woodwives prefer the countryside, but they are a tight knit community and know one another. I was able to discover where the man I am looking for is living."
"Looked like a guy. Why are they called woodwives?"
"They are actually gender neutral and you talk too much. Shut up."
"So this guy you know is married to a woodwife who isn't a he or a she? Huh."
Holmes glared at him
"Not judging!" Wiggins held up his hands. "Takes all kinds."
Another glare, so he trailed along in silence.
For about two blocks.
"How much farther?" Silence met him again.
They tramped across what felt like half of the city until they came to some row houses with what at one time had been uniform fronts, but had been decorated and adapted since the Change. The variety of people living in London these days had brought with them their own styles and design by whatever denizen lived in them now. Some were plain but some were beautiful with wild colours or strange attachments. Holmes walked up to the third one, the front door covered in moss and bark and knocked.
It was answered by a surly looking bearded man, whose face broke into a smile at the sight of Holmes.
"Holmes! You're still alive! Come in, come in. What the hell are you doing here? Where have you been? How did you escape the city? We hadn't heard from you these past two years!" He moved as if he would hug the other man, but a look from Holmes and the sight of the hawk on his arm, changed his mind.
They were ushered into the house and lead to the back where another of the willowy creatures was sitting at a small kitchen table. The bearded man went up to it and whispered something. It stood and bowed and then quietly left through the back door.
Holmes didn't bother introducing the thief.
The man served them fresh water, which Wiggins gulped down greedily and sat them down at the table and started speaking rapidly. "I knew you were still alive. I told Lestrade, but he didn't believe me, but then we heard rumours. People said they spotted you. What the hell are you doing back here? You know the Watch would love to find you. Is John with you? We haven't seen him since you left."
"In a manner of speaking, he's with me. I've no time to go into details. Anderson, be quiet a minute and listen. I need to speak with Lestrade. I can't approach him directly, but you can. Can you get word to him?"
"Why yes, of course. But…"
"The less you know the better. I can't explain now, but some day. I can't stay long. Tell Lestrade to meet me at noon, three days from now, near the old Vauxhall Arches. He'll know where exactly."
"All right, but I don't like it, Sherlock. He won't like it, either. You are going to get caught and then what?"
Holmes just nodded at him and they left out the back door through the little garden. The woodwife was standing quietly in the corner, its face turned toward the sun. The two men ignored it, went through the little gate in the garden fence and made their way back toward the streets.
They hadn't gone far when Sherlock grabbed him by the arms and pulled him into the shadow of a nearby building. The thief opened his mouth to protest when Sherlock hissed in his ear. "Quiet!" The hawk ruffled his feathers irritably. They melted further in, down an alley and behind an old rusted skip. Just in time as a group of uniformed and armed men trooped by.
Wiggins swore silently. And then started praying feverously, whispering inaudibly, "Lord, please, if you love me, do not let them find us."
"Hush!" The men marched by in ridged formation, staring straight ahead. When they had disappeared from sight there was a palpable feeling of relief. Holmes looked quickly up and down the alleyway. "This way." He walked briskly in the opposite direction.
They wandered for what seemed like hours. The day was rapidly disappearing. Holmes began to look for someplace to settle for the night. The shadows of the afternoon were getting longer and Holmes glancing up at the sky as if trying to see the sun.
Finally, he led them into an old abandon building. He settled the hawk on the banister of a set of crumbling stairs. He disappeared into the back of the building and returned almost right away.
"There are two rooms back here that will do. One for you and one for me and the hawk." He rummaged in the pack and handed Wiggins the package of food. "You take this and do not eat it all." He paused, the silver eyes bore into the younger man's. "My friend John will show up here tonight and he will be hungry. Make sure you save him some. And here," he drew out a large flask. "Water. Also use it sparingly. I can get us more but it's not always easy."
He turned abruptly, his coat billowed out behind and showed Wiggins where he could sleep for the night. There was a mouldering old chair in the room and little else. He eyed it askance and set his pack down on the floor. He turned to ask how Watson would know where they were, but the other man had closed the door and left. With a sigh, he sat in the chair. It wasn't the most comfortable place but it was better than some.
"Lord, I am sure you must have a reason for the things you do to me. I just wish you would think to fill me in now and then on what my purpose in all this is." He rooted through the package of food, hunger made his stomach grumble, having not eaten since the morning. He carefully tallied up what was there and only took a small portion, some bread and cheese and an apple. He had lived on the streets long enough to know how to hoard food, despite what Holmes might think. He didn't know what to do with Watson's share. He stood and went to the door and opened it. He peered up and down the hall and went to the door of the other room. He knocked. The door was flung open.
"What?"
"Well I thought you'd likely see your friend before I would, so here's his share for tonight."
Holmes looked at him strangely and then took the food. He started to close the door, but before he did he said, "It would be best if you did not disturb me for the rest of the night." And shut the door firmly in his face. With a shrug he turned and headed back to the little room. After eating his share and drinking some water, he curled up in the shabby chair, an old blanket from his pack pulled over him. He was asleep in minutes.
Sometime later, in the middle of the night, he sat up straight, his heart pounding. An unearthly sound filled the night and pulled him out of his dreams. It came again. It was the sound of a wolf calling out to the dark, a voice both desolate and fierce, speaking of the dark, the moon and wind and loss. It reminded him of the wild cries of the hawk that had awakened him that morning.
