Turn Left – The Veteran's House

by Soledad

Summary: What if John didn't meet Mike Stamford in the park on that fateful day. Would his and Sherlock's path ever cross?

Author's notes: Brownie points to those who get the Torchwood reference.


Chapter 06

John spends the rest of the week with his late uncle's private collection, comparing the items in the large room on the ground floor with the inventory list in Bradstreet's office. The room is incredibly crowded, and after a day he ropes in Doc and Leon to help him, just as the sergeant has suggested.

Not that Leon is of much help – he mostly sits in a corner, dozing in front of him – but Doc proves eminently helpful indeed. The accuracy and thoroughness he's used to from his former job come in handy. And they're both glad to be in the house for a change. Even without a working central heating system, it is a trifle warmer than the garden shed.

"I wish I had the money to have the heating fixed," John rubs his hands together to warm them a bit. "Once we get rid of all this rubbish, the room could be actually nice."

Doc shakes his head ominously. "I wouldn't want to move in with the zombie, if I were you, Captain."

He started calling John Captain because calling each other Doc would be silly, he explained. John doesn't really mind, especially when he learns that Doc's real name is also John. John Frobisher – not that he'd have used it much for the last five years or so.

"I thought you didn't believe in zombies," John comments, methodically packing the most likely fake gemstones strewn all over the central table into a bread box he's found in the small kitchen behind the staircase.

"I don't," Doc has cleared one of the corners, where he's now stapling the paintings, ordered by size; Clara has arranged for someone from the National Antiquities Museum to come out and take a look later, so that nothing would be sold under its real value. "But something is up there, and I don't want to be the next guy who'll vanish without a trace."

"But no-one has ever seen the zombie, save for Leon here, have they?" John asks. The bread box is full now, and he haphazardly places it on the table, looking around for the next thing to do.

"No," Doc admits, clapping his hands together to clean them from the years-old dust. "Of course, I never actively tried. I was happy enough to stay out of its way."

"Hmmm," John looks around distractedly. "Too bad we don't have at least water in the house. How do you wash in that shed anyway?"

"I try to avoid it, at least during winter," Doc confesses. "There's a small pumping well in the back yard, but the water is ice cold at this time of the year."

John hums his understanding. Of course, after years in the Afghan desert, he suffers from the cold more than most people.

"Well, I've had enough for today," he then says. His injured shoulder is in fire from all the lifting and moving, and his leg is killing him. "I don't think we'll be done before the weekend, though."

"Unlikely," Doc agrees. "Especially as you have to wait for those experts from London to evaluate the paintings. You'll have to postpone that sale you've planned for the next weekend, at the very least."

John pulls a face. "Too bad. I'd like to have all this junk gone as soon as possible, to have a little breathing place in here. But we've barely gone through a tenth of it, and it's possible that there's more on the upper level."

"I won't go upstairs with you," Doc warns. "There was never any activity here, so this should be safe enough. But upstairs… no. Just no."

John finds that a little ridiculous but he's learned – both as a doctor and as a soldier – that fear is seldom rational. That doesn't make it any less real, though.

"I wonder why Sergeant Bradstreet never found anything," he says instead.

Doc shrugs. "These old houses often have hidden rooms, trapdoors or the likes. Unless one has a house plan or has lived in there long enough to discover all the secrets, one cannot know. And if you're new to the place, there's a chance to get killed before you'd discover anything."

That's certainly true, but John's curiosity is piqued now. He could never resist a good mystery.

"I think a stake-out should work," he muses. "If I don't show my face here for a day or two, say, over the weekend, perhaps our resident zombie will decide to make an appearance."

"And how does that help us?" Doc doesn't seem to be taken by the idea.

"I'll talk Miss Bradstreet and her friends into watching the house," John explains.

Doc shakes his head. "They've already done so… to no end."

"Yeah, because they were too far away; and besides, regular binoculars are of no use in the darkness," John points out. "I'll ask my friend Bill if he still has a pair of those night vision goggles – I'm sure he does, he's just that sort of bloke – and we'll organise a watch from the garden itself. That ought to work."

Doc stares at him with shocked disbelief. "You're serious."

"God, yes!" John hasn't felt so alive for a very long time. Strategic planning is something he's always been good at, and he never thought he'd get the chance again.

Doc, understandably, is less enthusiastic.

"Leave me out of this," he says. "My life may not be very glamorous at the moment, but it still beats being dead. And I'm responsible for Leon here."

"Don't worry," John feels supremely confident, now that he's got something to do again. "Everything will be all right."

"That," Doc says darkly, "is one of the famous Last Words. Let's lock up the place and then you go home to Mrs Holding and sleep out your adrenaline high before you do something stupid."

John laughs and does as he's told.


When he returns to Dane Cottage, though, he finds an illustrious company in the drawing-room, stumbling right into the middle of the weekly event known as 'Mrs Holding's Friday Tea'. Among the regular guests is and elderly lady named Mrs Ponsonby – who turns out to be the mother of the rather unsympathetic real estate agent from Stockbridge – as well as an elegant lady of middle age who is introduced as Miss Parker-Smythe and is, apparently Justin's Mum. The inevitable Miss Morstan is also present, of course, playing host in her landlady's stead, and there is a small, bird-like, seemingly ditzy old lady, clad in purple from head to toe – a colour that clashes horribly with her too dark red lipstick.

Mrs Holding exclaims loudly her delight about John joining them for tea, and introduces him to the lady in purple.

"Martha, dear, this is my new boarder, of whom I've already told you over the phone," she says. "Doctor Watson, this is my sister, Martha Hudson. She's visiting over the weekend."

Mrs Hudson, while every bit as small-boned and fragile-looking as her sister, is clearly made of sterner stuff. Behind that ditzy old lady disguise she seems to have a razor-sharp mind, is frighteningly observant if her little side remarks about the other guests are any indication, and she shows great interest for John's house.

"I don't believe in zombies, of course, that's nonsense," she tells John over their respective cups of excellent tea. "But something must have frightened those homeless chaps badly. I wish Sherlock were here; he'd solve this puzzle within the hour."

"Sherlock?" John echoes, wondering what kind of name that might be.

"My tenant," Mrs Hudson explains. "He's a… consulting detective, he calls it. He loves puzzles and is very good at solving them. Even works for the police from time to time."

"Well, I don't think our little local mystery would be enough to lure here a private investigator from London," John smiles.

"Oh, he'd come if I called," Mrs Hudson assures him seriously. "We go way back, you see. A couple of years ago, when I was still living in Florida, my husband got himself sentenced to death. Fortunately, Sherlock was able to help out."

"He stopped your husband being executed?" John clarifies.

She gives him a surprised look. "Oh no, dear! He made sure Frank was executed."

That takes John's breath away for a moment; but then he decides that the late Mr Hudson probably wasn't a very nice man if his widow is so relieved to be rid of him permanently. He knows nothing about Florida and the criminal classes over there – nothing beyond what he's seen in CSI: Miami, that is – but Mrs Hudson seems a nice lady and she likely has a good reason to be grateful for her tenant's interference.

He drops the topic and the conversation turns back to his house. Not everyone seems to be happy about his decision to keep it, though, however temporary the arrangement might be. Mrs Ponsonby still appears to be cross with her late brother-in-law for having sold the house to Mr Garbler a decade and a half ago, instead of leaving it to her son with everything else… or, at the very least, consulting 'dear Thomas', who could have sold it for a much better price – or bought it himself.

Her comments make John suspicious that Thomas Ponsonby actually might know something about the house – something no-one else knows. Why else would he want it so badly? As a piece of property, the house really isn't worth much, and neither is Mr Garbler's collection as far as John can tell. He hasn't seen everything yet, of course, and he doesn't know a thing about paintings or antique pottery, but he very much doubts that they will come across true treasures when they're done with the inventory.

Justin Parker-Smythe arrives just in time to catch the tail end of the discussion – he is here to fetch his mother, apparently – and John finally has the chance to get a good, hard look at him. The young man is big, blond and blue-eyed, looking like those stereotypical jocks in US-series who are more interested in playing football than in studying. Since he doesn't look much like either his mother or his uncle, John guesses he must take after his father who probably was American. The similarities with that stereotype have to end with his looks, though, as he's finished his studies successfully and works for his uncle's law firm full time.

Not that he looks like a trainee lawyer right now. The lawyer must have stopped at home, for he's wearing comfortable, worn-in jeans and a light blue jumper that brings out his eyes most flatteringly – much to the disdain of his mother who's not above chastising him in front of a bunch of strangers. Justin isn't particularly remorseful, however.

"Leave it, Mum," he says sharply. "I'm not at work; I don't have to wear those ridiculous suits in my free time. They make me feel like a mummy, and I'm not old enough for that."

Miss Parker-Smythe shakes her head in exasperation but John laughs and decides that he likes the young man. The Parker-Smythes would obviously like Justin to stay in their own social circles and are most likely not happy to have him date Kate Bradstreet and be friends with the pizza boy, but Justin doesn't look like somebody who would let his mother's snobbish relatives dictate how he should live his life. As the heir apparent of the family business he can afford a little independence, too.

He seems genuinely delighted to see John again – every new face in Nether Wallop is a gift from the gods, he explains with disarming honesty – and is all for the planned stake-out instead of the sale that has to be postponed.

"I'll talk to Billy, Andy and the others," he promises. "And once you get us the right equipment, we'll establish a constant watch."

"You boys can hardly sit on a raised hide for days," points out Miss Morstan, who is obviously a very practical-minded person.

"No, but if we give Doc a pre-paid phone, he can alert us whenever there's any activity on the attic," Justin replies.

"I don't like you having anything to do with those tramps," his mother declares with an unhappy grimace.

"You don't like me having anything to do with anyone but Uncle Dennis and his business associates," Justin returns. "If it were up to you, I'd have no friends in my life and no fun, either. Sorry, but you don't have a say in this. I've done my duty to the family, studied law to take over the family business eventually, even if it's deadly dull, but I'm not willing to die of sheer boredom until then."

Both Mrs Ponsonby and Miss Parker-Smythe are shocked by this declaration, although John has the feeling it isn't the first time that at least Justin's mum has heard it. This seems to be a long-standing disagreement between mother and son; one that won't be easily solved.

"You didn't really want to study law, did you?" he asks quietly, while the ladies change the topic to flower arrangements in the church or something similar.

Justin laughs. "God, no! I wanted to be a rugby player, or the lead singer of a hard rock band; or, at the very least, a construction worker. Something simple and honest, you know, not professional lying for money. For a while I even seriously considered joining the Army… or rather the Royal Air Force. Becoming a pilot would have been wicked cool."

"And yet you obediently went to law school instead," John says.

The young man shrugs. "Yeah, well, it's called family obligation. Somebody has to take over the family business, and since Uncle Dennis doesn't have kids, there's nobody else to do so. Besides, that way Kate and I can work together, and that's cool."

"Your uncle doesn't seem to agree," John comments.

The young man shrugs again. "Yeah, that's his problem, no mine."

"It could be Kate's problem, too," John warns.

"Not if my uncle wants me to keep working for him," Justin says darkly. "He should be glad to have a secretary like Kate. She's smart and reliable and not afraid of working hard."

"I don't think Mr Parker-Smythe would make the mistake of harassing Kate," says Miss Morstan, who's been listening to them. "Only a fool would risk antagonising Sergeant Bradstreet, and whatever else your uncle might be, Justin, he's not a fool."

"True," Justin admits; then he shakes himself like a wet dog and drops the topic. "Okay, Mum's getting restless. I'll take her home before her nasty side can fully emerge," he fishes a simple, slightly knackered card from his pocket and hands it to John. "Call me when you've got your stuff together, Doctor Watson. This is my private number. Or you can send me word through Kate."


John promises to do so, and the Parker-Smythes leave, followed soon by Mrs Ponsonby. Miss Morstan gently but firmly steers Mrs Holding to her room and carries the used tableware to the kitchen to wash up. Mrs Hudson offers her help but the offer is politely declined.

"You're a guest in this house, Mrs Hudson," Miss Morstan smiles winningly. "I'm sure you've got more than enough housework to do with that eccentric tenant of yours. Use the chance to relax and rest a little."

With that, she closes the kitchen door, leaving Mrs Hudson with John in the drawing-room. Miss Hudson looks after her affectionately.

"A good girl," she says. "A very good girl. Not made for living in the countryside, though. Not in the long run."

"Do you know her well?" John perks up at once at the chance of learning more about the vivacious Miss Morstan.

Mrs Hudson nods thoughtfully. "Oh, yes. She was my tenant for the last year she went to university."

"Tell me more about her," John asks, and after a moment of hesitation Mrs Hudson launches into Miss Morstan's life story – as far as she is familiar with it.

"Well, she was born in India, where her father served at the time. She lost her mother at a very young age, and when she was still but a child, her father put her on a plane and sent her to boarding school in Scotland. She's been on her own ever since, the poor lamb. Her father supposedly returned to England some ten years ago but mysteriously vanished upon his arrival; they never had the chance to even meet."

"That must have been hard on her," John, too, had lost his parents at a fairly young age, but at least he got to know them – and the chance to realise that at least where his father was concerned, it wasn't such a loss, really.

Mrs Hudson shrugs. "Still better than living with a parent who couldn't show her any love. I think he blamed her for the death of her mother, that unreasonable man. In any case, she had her trust funds, could go to university and became a teacher, which is something she enjoys very much. Many people have it much worse."

"How did she end up with your sister?" John asks because he has to agree with Mrs Hudson: Mary Morstan wasn't made to live out her life in the rural, boring countryside. She belongs to a big city that's brimming with life.

"Oh, that was born out of necessity," Mrs Hudson explains. "She used to work for a certain Cecily Forrester in Southampton: a very wealthy businesswoman who wanted her small children home-schooled. When the children became old enough to go to grammar school, Mary was no longer needed there; and the only job available within reach was here, in Nether Wallop. She then all but adopted Geraldine, which is a blessing, really it is. As you've probably realised, Dr Watson, my poor sister does need a minder; and I can't come down from London as often as I'd like to. I've got a hip, you know."

John resists the urge to point out that she has two, actually.

"And you have your own tenant to care for," he says instead.

The old lady nods. "Sometimes I feel as if I have an overgrown three-year-old in my care. I mean, Sherlock does have a brilliant mind, but he'd forget to eat if I didn't feed him and would sink into compete chaos if I didn't clean up around him from time to time. Even though he really hates it when I do. Those… experiments he makes in the kitchen," she shudders. "Last week I found eyeballs in the microwave. Eyeballs!"

"Sounds like my late uncle," John comments. "You should see that room on the ground floor – no eyeballs, thank God, at least I haven't found any yet, but fossil bones, an entire cabinet of them! And plaster skulls on top of the shelves."

"Thank you, dear, but I think I'll decline, although I'm sure Sherlock would enjoy the place very much," the old lade rises from her armchair a little stiffly. "Well, I think it's time for my herbal soothers; and then I'll probably have a bit of rest."


She leaves and John hobbles up to his own room as well, where he calls Bill Murray. Bill agrees to collect his stuff, including his laptop – which means, of course, that he'll get John's highly illegal firearm, too – and bring every with him to Nether Wallop. Not that that would be much. Whatever John possesses – with the exception of his books that are still in storage – would fit into two cardboard boxes and one military-issue duffel.

He likes it that way. Travelling light is what he's done all his life, which is why he's so overwhelmed by all the junk he has inherited from the late Mr Garbler. He's simply not used to have lots of stuff around him, and the sooner he can get rid of it the better. He does feel the need to have his gun with him, though, especially after what Doc has told him about people disappearing in the house.

The next day is Saturday, which means that out of all his voluntary helpers only Billy Morgan has to work. That isn't a bad thing, though, as he provides them with fresh pizza – regularly ordered by Justin Parker-Smythe – every two or three hours. Miss Morstan cajoles Sergeant Bradstreet into lending her his car and transports a huge tea kettle over from the school. There's still no electricity in the house – Andy Davis, another friend of Kate and Justin's who happens to be the only electrician of the village, explains something about faulty circuitry, which he promises to repair as soon as possible – but Miss Morstan also borrows a small burner that the school uses on holiday trips to heat up water, so they can manage.

"It reminds me of a holiday camp," Bill Murray declares when he arrives around noon and takes in the sight of the young (or, in Doc's case, not so young) people eating pizza, drinking tea and trying to bring some semblance of order into the chaos of what's John's house.

In truth, the huge room on the ground floor isn't as much chaotic as overcrowded. Certain parts of Mr Garbler's collection – mostly the mineral and anatomical samples, as well as the pottery – the old man kept in cupboards and cabinets, sorted and labelled. It's the paintings, the Africa and Asian masks and the various knick-knacks that need to be sorted. There's even a totem pole among all the rubbish, although John seriously doubts it would be the genuine item.

The practical-minded Miss Morstan has also organised a dozen or so large cardboard boxes from a supermarket in Winchester, unfolded them in the anteroom and written on their side with thick permanent marker words like China, Silver, Books and the likes. That makes sorting the stuff a lot easier.

Unfortunately, they have yet to find anything of true value . The late Mr Garbler seems to have had a great fondness for wall-clocks as well, both the hanging and the standing versions, but while they do look pretty, they aren't real antiquities.

"Here, this should bring in good money," Justin examines a massive silver candlestick closely. "It has the hallmark, so it's genuine. I think you should take it to the antiquities shop in Andover, Dr Watson. To waste it in a house clearance sale would be a shame."

John nods in agreement because it's true that he can't afford to lose money due to ignorance.

"You should take a look at the upper levels," Bill Murray suggests. "Perhaps there are more of these things."

Since there are enough helpers to continue the work in the 'museum' without him, John finds that a good idea – despite Doc's protests – and he and Bill are soon climbing the still surprisingly stable wooden stairs to the first floor. There they find a fairly ruined bathroom – the sink hangs askew, the mirrored door of the small cabinet above it shattered, the bath-tub half-full of extremely dirty water, junk and even dead mice –, two bedrooms and something that might have been a study or a small library or both, if the dusty and partially rotten books filling the broken shelves are any indication.

"Somebody was clearly looking for something here," Bill comments, looking at the books, small statuettes, ashtrays, candlesticks and other knick-knacks strewn over the dirty rugs,

"Something specific," John clarifies, picking up one of the candlesticks – clearly the second half of an identical pair, the first of which they've just found downstairs. "Or else they wouldn't have left these here."

"Good for you, bad for them," Bill says philosophically. "Let's take downstairs everything that looks like silver. That Justin kid seems to have a bit of knowledge. He can tell you if they're genuine or not."

"God, I hope they are!" John replies fervently. "I could use the money."

They collect two more candlesticks, a cigarette case that also seems to be solid silver, an open wooden box with tableware – spoons, forks, knives, cake servers the whole nine miles – and a few silver cups (at least they hope the things are silver) and take them downstairs. Justin examines the booty and declares that everything is indeed silver.

Everything but the tableware, that is.

"It's so-called sterling silver," he explains, the sort you can see in better hotels, but not in the really good ones. This mark here says '60', which means that there's only a very small percentage of actual silver in the alloy. But they things are nicely made, and they're fairly old. Properly cleaned you'll certainly find a buyer for this set."

'How do you know so much about these things?" John asks in surprise.

"I was trained to," Justin replies. "Our firm often has to do with inheritances. We do employ experts in the more complicated cases, of course, but we need to have some experience in these things. Uncle Dennis made me work at a jeweller's for two months in one of my university holidays. Besides, as you may have realised, Mum's a bit of a snob. She always wants to be sure that whatever she buys has financial value. Simply pretty won't do for her."

"You must have had a really strange childhood," Bill Murray says.

Justin sighs. "You have no idea. Anything else of interest upstairs?"

"Mostly books; and mostly rotten ones," John replies pessimistically. "Water has clearly come through the broken roof repeatedly. The books, the furniture, the rugs… everything got wet, and there's a lot of mould and dust everywhere. I wouldn't go back up without protective masks. Mould spores can be dangerous."

"But you will have to clean out the place eventually," Bill points out. "Preferably before the mould creeps down to the ground floor and ruins everything here, too."

"We should get a container; a really big one," Kate Bradstreet suggests. "We could place it right under the window of the room upstairs, and then go up in protective gear and throw everything through the window, directly into the container."

"A container costs money," John reminds her. "Money that I don't have. Or else I wouldn't be here in the first place."

"You can borrow one from Mr Reno," says Billy Morgan, who's just arrived with a fresh round of pizza. "That wouldn't cost so much. Andy can put in a good word for you; he works for the man, after all."

The lanky, curly-haired blond electrician nods in agreement. "I can try. Mr Reno is a reasonable man."

Doc mutters something under his breath that doesn't sound like agreement, but the young people agree with Billy. In the meantime the pizza is gone, and they continue working in the late Mr Garbler's private museum.

"Let's do the fossils next," Miss Morstan says. "Mr Hope, the headmaster of our school, is interested in them; and in the plaster skulls. He might even be able to pay a small sum, purchasing them for the science lab."

That's fine with John, and so they clean out the small cabinet with the bones next, since he intends to keep the pretty little piece of furniture itself. When they are nearly done, Justin discovers a small hidden lever on the back of the cabinet. He pulls on it experimentally; there's a strange, grinding noise, and then the cabinet slowly turns around, together with a section of the wall.

"Now that's cool," Bill Murray says. "A real, down-to-earth secret chamber!"

"Seems so," John agrees. "All right everyone, stay back! We don't know what's in there, so better be careful. Bill, you're with me!"

The others obey his 'Captain Watson's voice immediately. Clearly, he hasn't lost his touch yet, which is good. He doesn't want the young people – especially Kate Bradstreet – to see his illegal firearm, unless it's inevitable.

He doesn't know what to expect upon entering the secret chamber. He only knows it wasn't this. Backing off, he allows the piece of wall to turn back and fall shut again; then he looks at Kate grimly.

"We should call your father; this falls under his jurisdiction."

~TBC~