*The Temple Church Mystery*

By: WhiteGloves

I finished a great volume of a book.

Thank you Sir Arthur Conan Doyle! My admiration forever!

Enjoy Reading~

From the Reminisces of Dr. J.H Watson.

No betrayal has ever been as sweet as that one which I was humbly involved. Mr. Sherlock Holmes' handling of the matter was that of a professional, yet I knew it had affected him greatly for I knew by heart the impressions his ever so familiar features make. With his trade, my dear friend was accustomed to such exposure of lies, treachery, and assault and of the sort. Never had I seen him so angry as that particular adventure yet, so human.

I am but his humble ally and after my actions, I cannot believe any association with him is righteous to continue.

It was on the October fourth of our long years of acquaintance in Baker Street that I found myself contained. It had been three years since I sold my practice in Kensington and assumed the role in that very comfortable quarter of 221B whilst Holmes practices his. Calls were made in Baker Street everyday both patients and clients alike and that year was the busiest ever to our landlady, Mrs. Hudson, who opens and closes the door, admits and meets more diverse and different people at different hour under the sun and over the moonlight.

"My guises certainly do not work on her anymore; she hardly even flinched when she saw me. But I thanked the stars when she smelled me." I heard Holmes say as he entered the room with a clatter on the next door for I myself was inside my bedroom. "Watson?" came his almost natural urgent call.

I paused a little and looked at my clock to find it was five in the afternoon before going out of my room with a towel on my hand, my sleeves pulled back to my elbows as I have just done washing my face. I found him still standing by the threshold and looking at me shortly if somewhat expectantly. I raised my eyebrows at his appearance.

It was not out of ordinary that I find him in one of his disguises. Clearly this time he was another drunkard on the street with too long a coat, beard and thick ghastly dark eyebrows. I hadn't seen him for two days— just when the buzz of the public about a missionary's death named Aleck Chance hit the Times and Strand. It was a most brutal attack in front of the Temple church in the middle of the night and no name of anyone suspected came till now, as I see my friend satisfied with his search, apparent to those dancing flames on his eyes. I knew he was hot on the scent of his prey.

I watched him enter and drop himself on his chair.

"This day proves promise, Watson," he was saying as he rummaged to his pockets, "The criminal of Aleck Chance is certainly a demonic fiend that would have preyed this world further with his intelligence had I not found such incriminating evidence. He is one of those wicked master mind, Watson who leaves neither loose ends nor signs of his crime. How very much like the late Professor Moriarty whom this world never sorely missed. Many a times we have seen Watson, how someone with brilliant mind, if used faultily, can lead to such foul actions. So what is there left but to pursue them myself and put an end to their reign of terror where none had succeeded? I am very much aware, my dear doctor, that I am the only one capable of stopping such horror eclipsing London streets."

"Evidence?" I took steps toward my friend with an interested air. He looked back at me and shrugged.

"Of course," he pulled his hand out of his pocket and dropped his coins mixed with buttons, cigarette butts, a piece of paper and finally, a broken leather wristwatch. I drew near the table and touched the watch where I observed that one of the straps was missing, torn off more like it. Something in my memory jagged me that I threw a look at the detective.

"Holmes?"

"Yes." He nodded with satisfaction as he leaned back on his chair with twinkling eyes after shedding his disguise, "This is the missing link in the puzzle. You remember Aleck Chance was found clubbed on the head, almost unrecognizable, and that on his hand tightly clutched was a strap of a watch? The Yard believed he was murdered by a thief because of his watch and that he fought bravely? I say to you that no, it was not his watch but that of the criminal. I think we can chain this up suitably with that evidence in the Yard and there will be no greater developments."

I turned the watch on my hand with some reverie and saw initials plainly scribed at the back of the metal.

"R.H.H." I murmured.

"Roland Horace Hayce." Holmes said with epiphany, with fingertips touching together, "The underground tradesman. One could not doubt the work of his brilliant mind if one can be the leader of such trade."

I must have sucked some air quite distractingly that made Holmes shoot me a curious look.

"But how come he and this Aleck Chance together? He is a missionary!" I ejaculated.

"There you are limiting yourself, dear old Watson." He stood up and grabbed his pipe from the fireside mantelpiece and threw himself on his favourite chair with legs above the chair in a familiar fashion, "What else could be the connection between a simple missionary at work, who has access to the Temple Church in London and an underground tradesman open to all the blacklist material coming everywhere?"

My eyes met his and my disbelief was answered.

"You don't mean... this Chance has been selling objects from the Temple Church to Hayce?"

"The only probable solution." Holmes closed his eyes, "I've done my footwork and found a number of missing silvers and valuables already missing from the Church. Scotland Yard is aware of that and has been looking for a link, but they shall not find it. Only I can provide it. After my day's work I doubt the tradesman hasn't noticed the missing watch in his possession. He is aware that I am on the case and with a mind like him, he is sure to strike back. That's why I'm waiting for the deadliest attack to-day."

"My dear Holmes!" I started—

"Oh yes, doctor. I have been vigilant since I took this watch this afternoon. Roland Hayce has some nasty reputation in the underground and well, we already saw some of his handiwork with this poor Chance. Anyone who crosses his path seems to end the same way. You remember that news report about a lady barkeep? She met the bloodiest end that rang terror in all newspapers. I daresay that is also Hayce's work. He is a deadly foe, Watson, and there's nothing to be done save be cautious. He plays in the shadows, much like his title of the Underground lord. I know he'll stop at nothing to get this watch back that will link the case to him. I expect a full attack at our 221B. Are you engaged by any means?"

He turned to me suddenly that made me study him for awhile. There was that intense look in his eyes that was both calming and alerting: calming for it seemed in every way possible that he knows what he is doing; alerting for it seemed ready for a tragedy. I told him I have an appointment at half past seven.

"Surely you have called the attention of the police?" I said as I glanced back on the table where the object from his pockets were and noticed the piece of paper, "Their mass power comes in handy during these trying times."

"I have and must be Lestrade is on his way," Holmes looked at the watch on the table as well, "but this object must never leave my protection no matter what. It must never find its way back in their hands, do you understand, Watson?"

I nodded grimly.

It was past seven when Lestrade called in Baker Street where he found the detective playing with his violin. I stood up at the moment's notice and entered my room shortly, before greeting the Inspector. The two had the most ominous talk as I bid them farewell for my own appointment was near. I took my bowler hat and nod at them—but not before snatching my hand quickly on Holmes' table and grabbing his material evidence straight to my pocket.

I left Baker Street with the most natural character save my frequent glancing back and hastening of my footsteps. I did not hire any cab, not until the next turn for I knew what Holmes' next step would be. It was probably one of the advantages of being Mr. Sherlock Holmes' closest acquaintance. I knew him well.

After getting down at the Strand, I moved away swiftly lest he has followed my scent. I had never worked against Holmes for the life of me; never had I not followed his instructions to the letter. So I daresay walking these steps in this circumstance has never given me the chill of exhilaration and excitement. I knew I can never outwit my friend, but I was one of those lucky people he blessed with his trust that I am given a good long ten minutes head start. He would never suspect me of betrayal. I suppose that was the same train of thought of the person who had arranged for this unforgivable errand of mine.

I, Doctor Watson, have betrayed Sherlock Holmes.

The thought itself was my doom.

The streets I found myself in near Wisteria were the most suffocating. Never had I seen any place filled with steam of smoke that wasn't from any fire. My shadow haunted me so as my steps. I felt every prickle of nerve stab at my instincts as I delved deeper into the alleys of not so noisy street. I was aware that no human breath was next to me as I went down a passage that surely was going deeper down to Hades.

He was not an underground lord of nothing.

Darkness enveloped me as I walked in the tunnel of the city. The smell was the most unimaginable. Must be all waste of the land travels down this deep waters of London. And there I saw light upon my errand. A small quarter of a door right at the end of my journey. I felt my jaw gone rigid and felt the revolver in my fingertips.

Upon opening the door, the headquarters to me was clear as daylight: boxes of different sizes on the sides, two to three henchmen standing by the light who were all familiar to me for I had made their acquaintance just this afternoon. And finally a table in the middle where a tall, strong bodied man was sitting. He was in a word—calculating. His brows told me as much as Holmes had indicated from somebody with a strong mind. His face was clean shaven, his forehead high; there was something about his high cheek bones that reminded me of some regal like on his part. His eyes found mine and the instincts which I had been so preserving till now, heightened.

"Dear doctor," he said languidly after a minute of staring at my position and his men all but lit their cigars in my presence that bode not well, "how came you here? We are supposed to meet at the tavern above the streets of Warrington. Tut tut, such task from you is not unheard of. How you found this place I congratulate you, but have you got what I wanted? It is you whom charged to take back what is rightfully mine—ahh, the watch, splendid, you have it."

I lowered my hand back to my pocket and then pulled my revolver and pointed it at him.

There was but a clench of jaw from his expression.

"Surely you do not intend to pull the trigger when you are so alone?"

I mustered my breath and felt a gun pointed at my head from behind me. Someone had crept behind me without my notice and was now in power of my life. I dare not blinked nor did I dare let go of my gun. I saw the underground master smile at me, but then saw that sudden change on his expression of one who has seen a ghost of some sort. His eyes widened as he looked past me and the next thing I knew, a hand grabbed my shoulder securely and a voice so familiar spoke near my ear that it nearly sent my heart thumping elsewhere.

"I'd like to pull the trigger myself but certainly not on my good old doctor."

"Holmes!" I cried in astonishment as I stared at the man standing beside me who was as astute as I remember him to be. Relief and confusion washed my expression as he pointed the gun at the men before us who clearly knows my friend from sight—but they were a second late as a swarm of police came flooding from all corner of the underground that left me staring in awe at my friend. He didn't look back at me so perhaps I was not quite well safe of his reprimand.

"A folly!" cried Hayce as he struggled from his cuffs, "Madness! You do not know what kind of wall you are up against! You do not know the people behind me, Holmes!"

"Oh, I think we should leave that to my knowledge." Sherlock Holmes said as he lit a cigarette behind me. "But I did not know you to be so cunning, Watson. You nearly deceived me if I hadn't been expecting the same actions from you."

"Wait—you knew what I was about to do?"

"Betrayal is part of my trade."

That stung me so deeply I was sure I turned the shade of grey.

"I—" I stammered, wordless upon his gaze when I found him clapping his hand on my shoulder and squeezing hard.

"My dear man, don't be so upset! It is not the kind of betrayal I am accusing you! Forgive me for the callous word; nay I never thought for a second of you that, Watson. I know my Watson well so much that I trusted even your steps of action even without my advice."

There were angry retorts from Hayce but I was not listening for my ears were all to Holmes' disposal.

"There is little to be explained. I knew malevolent steps will be taken by this fiend in any form but never had it crossed my mind that you would be the tool he's after. But then again—you'd be the perfect choice by any brilliant mind. Of course, judging from the moment I entered the room and saw every step you took to misdirect me I knew something was at play. You tried your best to conceal your engagement with these men by washing yourself and changing your clothes lest the evidences go against you. You know me too well to prepare meticulously, that anything out of the ordinary from you will be noticed by me. Well, you are correct my dear fellow. I had always been attentive to you. From your shoes to your trousers to the very tip of your fingers I know you well. So you washed your hands. I did not start getting suspicious until I saw you looking at that piece of paper on my table. Your attention to it, as I have observed, too intent. My dear fellow, you can never betray your own senses as it could never me. I saw that flame of anger passed by your eyes for a second and aware when you entered your room upon Lestrade's entrance and took your revolver. It never passes me without my notice. I was also aware when you took the piece of paper from my table to your pocket. I had noted this place's address there. You left the watch however, dear fellow, and I knew your plan excursion was to bring your own broken watch as trade. You were in dangerous waters, Watson, and it took me all professional cares not to indulge you. As it got, I have been in this hideout for a whole 24 hours, you could not mistake my smell from it as Mrs. Hudson was so dramatically saying, I smelled like the 'sewers' and when I realized it was the place you had disappeared to I sent Lestrade and the force to draw near the nets before anything out of hand happens. And thus I come here to collect my faithful Watson."

"You still think me faithful?" I had lowered my gun and was staring at my friend fixedly.

Holmes' eyes twinkled mischievously and for the first time that night I so wanted to know the exact meaning of it, not from my impressions but his own words.

"Of course. I know well by your pride, dear fellow, that you would not allow anyone to intimidate you against me; and I know you came here not to trade, but to give a deserving justice to the people who misjudged you."

"By Jove, you're right, as always." I breathed and never had I felt steams come out of me ears as I looked back at the man who was still held captive by the police. Amidst Holmes' narrative, the police had secured the area and were checking each content of the boxes while the master was kept at bay, grudgingly trying to knock his captors. When he felt my eyes fall on him, Hayce looked back at me with menace. I felt my anger rise, "This fellow's men knocked me out as I was on my way home and gave me the most vile thought of me stealing from you or my life and yours will be on the line. I say Holmes, I say! By the pride of me no one shall use me against you!"

"And they have wronged you so for thinking even for a second that you would." Holmes turned to Hayce as well and I saw the underground lord's face turn pale. Surprise, I turned in time to see Holmes' face—so angry, so flushed and so driven were his eyes that I swear I had never seen him so angry. "These people had the wrong notion, Watson... wrong notion of what could be played at the palm of their hands. Had it not been for the police, you would not have your conscious head upon your shoulder, Hayce! Take them!"

Such was his order and never such words were uttered with supreme command.

I tried apologizing to Holmes on our way back to Baker Street in a hansom but he waved it away casually.

"The only wrong thing of you, doctor, was to not let me in your confidence." He said cheekily for I saw the same twinkle on his eyes as he say opposite me. "Then again, you do have the tendency to bring closure to your own business by yourself. How is that coming along?"

"I have learnt my lesson." I shrugged my shoulders, "Nothing about me passes away from your eyes after all. I counted on that to the very last second."

"Nay. You were sure you had deceived me. Even your steps were designed to elude my eyes. The criminal world should really be eyeing you for who else can be in par of deceiving me than my own close friend who knows my every method by heart?"

"They'd have to go over my dead body for that."

"It won't reach to that end."

"You think?"

Holmes' eyes ignited—the same intensity I felt back then in his moments of anger to Hayce.

"Upon my word. The criminal world should know so. The next time something of this sort happens you do not need to speak of it. I'll be at your heels at moment's notice."

And thus continued my association with Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

-THE END-

I need not say more! Holmes has his way with words!

Thanks for reading!