A/N: Apologies in advance for the lack of action in this chapter. But, the distressed doctor has to have a chance to explain why he's asking for help! Next chapter will be much more exciting, I promise! (Of course, all of you who are familiar with the original stories know the basic outline of the plot by now!)

:-)

A huge thank you to those of you who are following the story. Please let me know what you think of it.

The Adventure of the Swinging Snitch - 2

Not very long after we began to wait the potential client arrived. We heard a quiet tap on the door and Sherlock hurried downstairs to let him in and bring him up. I heard them introducing themselves downstairs, but I could not quite catch the man's name.

He looked to be a man in his mid-thirties, but very pale, thin, and unhealthy looking. He appeared to be very nervous, with long delicate fingers that rather reminded me of Sherlock's. He even wore a dark suit similar to Sherlock's.

Sherlock introduced me as his colleague and the man shook hands with me saying, "Good evening Dr. Watson, I am Dr. Percy Trevelyan."

I recognized the name.

"Aren't you the psychiatrist who works with Obsessive Compulsive Disorders?" I asked.

He seemed pleased at my recognition. "Yes I am!"

"I have a copy of your book. I found it extremely interesting! Very well done!"

"Well, according to my publisher, you are apparently one of about ten people who bought it! I really appreciate your interest. You are a doctor as well, I assume? Are you a psychiatrist?"

"No, just a retired army doctor, although I took some courses on military psychiatry. It did come in handy in the theatre."

"Well, I've always wanted to specialize in OCD exclusively and that is the indirectly the reason why I have come to consult with you, Mr. Holmes."

"Please, call me Sherlock."

"Very well. I must apologize for imposing on you at this hour, but the recent events at my house have upset me so much that I simply couldn't wait to ask you for your advice and your help, if need be."

"Please have a seat and tell us what has brought you here. Give as many details as you can, no matter how unimportant they may seem."

Sherlock and I sat down in our usual chairs while Dr. Trevelyan sat on the couch.

"Well, I suppose I have to start at the very beginning with my college career. I got my medical degree, and went on to specialize in psychiatry. I was considered to be an extremely promising student, with a bright future ahead of me. But, I am not of a wealthy family and by the time I finished my studies I was deeply in debt and unable to go fulfill any of the dreams I had begun with."

Dr. Trevelyan sighed, then continued, "One day a man came to visit me at the clinic where I was working. A Mr. Blessington, a person I had never met before. He seemed to know who I was, familiar with my work and all the awards I had received. He also seemed to know that I was in need of financial assistance to achieve my objectives. He said that he wanted to invest in me - that he would set me up in a practice, alongside all the other leading psychiatrists in return for a portion of my income as well as personalized medical attention. He claimed to suffer from OCD, as well as having a pulmonary condition. He offered to pay for a comfortable house for the two of us, in addition to leasing practice space for me in any location I desired."

"Well, you can imagine that I was deeply suspicious of his offer at first. I didn't know if he was some sort of pervert, or what his motivations were. He claimed that he was suspicious of bankers and the stock market, and felt that in the long run, I could give him a better return on his investment. We discussed the issue at length, and then I told him I would need some time to think it over."

"I finally decided to take him up on his offer. After all, he was the one providing the money, so even if the whole thing went to pieces I wouldn't stand to lose much. So, as improbable as it seems, I was endowed with a comfortable home and a prestigious practice. In return, I gave him three-quarters of my income. Since my room and board were paid for, the remaining twenty-five percent was plenty as I have no family to support. We share a large comfortable house. I have the ground floor and he keeps to the first floor. We have a housekeeper, but she doesn't live with us, she comes in daily. There was nothing but truth in what Mr. Blessington said about the state of his health. His heart is very weak, leaky valves, but his OCD seemed to be fairly mild, limited to a need to double, sometimes triple check the locks on our windows and doors. So I monitor both conditions for him. He very rarely leaves the house. His stated mistrust of bankers is also supported by his behavior. As near as I can tell, all his money is kept in a safe in his bedroom. And in the course of ten years, I have made him a great deal of money. My practice has been a huge success, if I do say so myself. If only I could get my book to sell!" He stopped and smiled.

"So, that is the history of my situation, but now I need to tell you what made me contact you tonight. A few weeks ago Mr. Blessington came to me in a panic. He was very upset about a burglary he heard about on the news in the West End. He was so upset that he insisted that we put stronger bolts on all our windows and doors. I couldn't understand why he was so frightened, but I agreed. After all, he's the one paying for the house. But that didn't seem to satisfy him, and he remained in a paranoid state for almost a week. He had always refused to take psychotropic drugs for his OCD, but now I encouraged him strongly to consider it. That seemed to panic him even further, to the point where he even refused talk-therapy sessions. I had never held regular sessions with him, as his symptoms up until then had always been so mild, mild enough that I doubt his condition was ever clinical. I had never really encouraged him to take drugs either, until this recent upset. Now, he was vehemently refusing my help! The help for which he had allegedly invested in me! It was a very upsetting situation, and I debated with myself on what to do about it. Gradually, however, his fears seemed to lessen and things slowly went back to how they had been before, so I eventually dismissed the entire episode from my mind."

"However, two days ago I was contacted by a potential patient who wanted my professional help. He said he was an official in a foreign government currently stationed here in London. He wanted to see me, but only under the strictest confidentiality. He stated that he was in severe need of my help, but that if word got out of his condition, he would lose his position. Therefore, he wanted to see me only at my home, and in the evening, as that was the only time when his activities were not monitored by his staff. I accepted the offer, intending on waiving any fee for my services in the name of international diplomacy."

"He came to the house at 18:30 last night. He was an elderly man, very thin, with no particular distinguishing characteristics aside from a thick accent."

"What type of accent?" asked Sherlock.

"I am not sure, I did not want to pry, as his position seemed to be in such jeopardy. I didn't want to cause him to be indiscreet. If I had to guess, I would say Eastern European, maybe."

"Did the accent seem genuine? Or was it possibly faked?" Sherlock asked eagerly. I could tell that he was very interested in the story.

"I doubt they were faking, but I suppose it would be possible," replied Dr. Trevelyan.

"They?" questioned Sherlock sharply, "who else came with the gentleman?"

"Just one other man, very tall and muscular looking. The older gentleman said he was his personal secretary, and completely reliable and discreet."

"And they both spoke with the same accent? You didn't notice any difference between the two?"

Dr. Trevelyan looked a little confused. "No, but I did not speak much with the younger gentleman. I did hear them speak together in a foreign language."

"Ah," Sherlock made a satisfied noise. "But you didn't recognize the language?"

"No."

"Please continue!"

"I had a standard hour's consultation with the gentleman, while the secretary waited outside my study door. Mr. Blessington was out at the time, and never saw them arrive or leave. The consultation was fairly standard, especially since it was our first meeting. The gentleman was extremely anxious to begin treatment, and so we agreed to meet again tonight."

"How about your housekeeper? Was she still in the house at the time of this meeting yesterday?"

"No, she leaves at 17:00 each day."

"Go on."

"They came again this evening at 18:30, and it was just the same as last night. I had an hour's session with the gentleman while the secretary waited outside. Mr. Blessington was again out for his evening walk. After the hour was up, the two of them left. Shortly after that, Mr. Blessington came back from his daily stroll. Almost immediately he burst into my study, nearly insane with fear asking who had been in his room. I told him no one had been in his room. He insisted it was so, and demanded that I come up to his room to see the evidence. I had to admit that there were large, wet footprints on the carpet of his room. The intruder had come from outside, obviously, where it is still quite wet from today's rain. The footprints that were clearly neither mine nor Mr. Blessington's, they were much too large. I surmised they only could have been made by the secretary, although why, I don't know. Nothing in the room had been disturbed or stolen. I explained to Mr. Blessington that maybe the foreigner didn't understand that he had intruded on Mr. Blessington's privacy, and that I would explain that it was inappropriate at the next appointment. But nothing could console him. He collapsed, sobbing, completely unable to speak. When he finally regained some composure, he asked me to consult you. I felt it was a good idea, rather than going to the police as it seems a strange matter that might be better handled outside of official channels."

"When is the next foreign gentleman's appointment?" asked Sherlock.

"He has not scheduled one yet, but he did say he wanted to schedule another one soon."

"Aha! And is there any possibility that Mr. Blessington is himself a foreigner or related to these gentlemen in any way?"

"No, it does not appear that way to me. He seems as English as any of us. But if you will come and see him, you may judge for yourself," Dr. Trevelyan suggested hopefully.

"Yes, I think we should leave as soon as possible," said Sherlock.

"Oh thank you so much!" exclaimed the psychiatrist. "I brought my car and I am happy to take you to my home."

As we reached for our coats, Sherlock shot me a look of warning.

I muttered, "We're going in the car, I'll be fine." I handed him his scarf.

He rolled his eyes, smiled, and bounded down the stairs leaving me and Dr. Trevelyan in his wake.