December 6: "A topple down the stairs" (from Hades Lord of the Dead)

A/N: Takes place sometime between Watson's marriage & Final Problem

Holmes

When I received a telegram from Watson one evening reading URGENT. COME TO MY HOUSE IMMIDIATELY. JW., I was concerned, to say the least. Watson rarely sent me telegrams, and I had never known him to send one with so little information, or to sign it with his initials.

But needless to say, I dropped everything and rushed to his home, slipping my pistol into a pocket before leaving. When I arrived, I raised a hand to knock at the door, then hesitated, noticing signs that the door had recently been forced. The combination of this discovery with the strange telegram combined to give me a very uneasy feeling indeed.

Instead of knocking or forcing my own way in, I slipped around the corner, and climbed carefully over the garden wall and into the Watsons' yard, creeping carefully up to the back of the house. There was a light in one of the windows that I could see, the one of the spare bedroom of the upstairs. Of all of the windows that should be lit, it was even stranger that this should be the one.

More and more, I began to feel as though this were a trap that had been devised for me, using Watson and his wife as bait. I felt my stomach churn a little, and wished I had not eaten dinner.

Climbing as agilely as I could up the downspout, I was able to look in the window from a position where I was confident I could not be seen, though my muscles protested the action. Inside, I saw with a shock of horror the last of Morrison's bank-robbing gang, Enoch Gerald and James Escott. Gerald paced the room, and Escott sat languidly on the bed, a bloodied knife in hand.

Craning my neck, I saw both Mr. and Mrs. Watson tied back to back in chairs. And that Mary had a bleeding slit cut across her face. I glanced at the knife in Escott's hand and the cut on Mary's face, feeling a rush of anger surge through my veins. How dare they treat a woman in that manner, and of all women, my dear friend's beloved wife!

I calmed myself, and pressed my face close to the edge of the window, but could hear nothing. From what I was able to see, however, it appeared that Gerald was questioning them about something.

But how could I get into the room? I examined the window; it appeared to be one that could be easily forced open. Simple enough. What I should do once I was in the room, now those were the steps I would need to carefully consider.

Gereld had apparently said something, and Watson shook his head in reply. Gerald seemed to repeat the same question—I wished I could read lips, perhaps that ought to be my next study—and Watson gave some short answer. I watched in horror as Gerald backhanded him across the face, a wicked sneer on his own countenance.

I felt a surge of rage unlike any I had felt in years, and all carefully concocted rescue plans were cast aside. These blackguards had forced my hand. I thrust open the window, and threw myself into the room. I pounced upon Gerald, revolver in hand, and hit him in the side of the head with it. He crumpled to the floor.

Escott gave a little shriek, threw open the door, and ran to the top of the stairs. With a growl, I hurled myself at him, and we tumbled down the stairs together. When we reached the bottom, all my limbs were in pain, but I saw Escott pulling his knife and quickly grabbed him by the wrist, forcing him to let it go, but not before he managed to make a gash in my arm. I gave an involuntary yell as the knife clattered to the floor, and I looked round for my revolver, but did not see it. No matter. I curled my hand into a fist, and smashed it into Escott's head.

"HOLMES!" I vaguely heard the Watson's yell as I watched a stream of blood run down my arm. It occurred to me that my friend had probably been shouting all the time.

"I'M ALL RIGHT!" I called back, and ran quickly back up the stairs.

"My God…" said Watson as I reentered the room. "What just happened?"

"Not to worry, Watson," I said, carefully concealing my injured arm behind my back. "Mr. Escott and I seem to have had a little topple down the stairs."