Fire

A/N: Ooohh, suspense. I won't give anything away…

Miss Labrette's illness had been more severe than I had at first anticipated, and so I was detained from returning to Baker Street until nearly 7:00. The sun was just setting, and through the hansom's windows I could see a red tinge hanging just above the buildings. As I neared my destination, a curious smell reached my nose. I leaned my head out the window and hailed the cabby.

"Is that wood smoke I smell?" The driver sniffed, then nodded.

"Aye, that it is," he responded. A second later a fire engine sped past us, its driver ringing the bell madly, and my suspicions were confirmed: there was a house fire somewhere ahead of us.

As the cab rattled closer to home and the smell of wood smoke became more and more intense, a small inkling of fear wormed its way into my mind. What if, just maybe, it was Baker Street that was burning? And another thought followed that: Where was Holmes? I tried to remember if he had had any plans today. I had left for my medical rounds in the morning, and Holmes had had a case to attend to. But surely that hadn't taken all day- he was most likely home by now.

With that realization, fear successfully infiltrated my mind. I was filled with it as I urged the driver to hurry. Pretty soon, we were only a street away from the flat, but the road was blocked almost totally by bystanders and empty carriages and he was forced to stop. I paid my fare hurriedly and probably gave the cabby way too much, but what did a few shillings matter when I had no idea if my flat mate had made it out of a burning building alive or not?

I took off running down the street, and when I rounded the corner if any doubt were left in my mind it was erased when I beheld the horrible sight of the flat engulfed in flames. Idlers and tenants of the neighboring buildings were standing around, all with gazes lifted to the blaze. Fire fighters were dousing the building ineffectually with their water hoses, but the blaze was too far gone to be contained.

Pushing my way through the crowd I began calling out Holmes's name as loud as I could. I searched the faces of the gathered, looking desperately for his familiar aquiline features. I couldn't spy him, and I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. Holmes had been through so many dangerous situations in the course of his work, it would be almost an absurdity for him to die, perhaps lounging in his armchair, of a simple house fire.

I had come as near to the flames as would allow, the fire teams holding back the onlookers for thirty or so feet in front of the conflagration. I tried to attract the attention of one of the suited men, but they were all focused on their task and ignored my pleas. My eyes grew wilder as my continued calls of "Holmes! Holmes!" elicited no answer. Temporary relief came to me as a woman grabbed my elbow, and I looked round to see none other than Mrs. Hudson.

She was weeping into her handkerchief. I wondered why she was crying. Panic surfaced as I thought the worst- no. Certainly not. He couldn't be-

I pressed her for details.

"Where is Holmes, Mrs. Hudson? Where is he? Is he safe?" My heart rate when through the roof as I waited for her sob-choked reply.

"I- I don't- I don't kn- kn- kn- know, Dr. Watson. H- h- h- he wasn't in the f- f- f- flat when it happened." A twenty pound weight seemed to lift from my chest, and suddenly it wasn't just the acrid smoke that was making my eyes water. I asked,

"What started it, Mrs. Hudson? Arsonists? Was it on purpose?" I thought of the many enemies Holmes and I had made over the years. I could think of no fewer than five who would think it fitting revenge to burn down our flat.

Mrs. Hudson didn't respond for a moment, and the blaze was making me so hot I had to take off my jacket. Finally she gasped out,

"It-it was me, doctor. I- I had a cake in the oven, and-and I had it in too long, I forgot about it, and-and it started the fire. I ran out and c-called the fire brigade, b-but by the time they arrived it was too late." I breathed my second sigh of relief that night. The last thing I wanted to have an arsonist after me.

"Mrs. Hudson," I said soothingly, "Please relax. It was a simple accident, and no one was hurt, thank god. Everything is going to be ok." She seemed a bit calmer. "Now, when did Holmes say he was going to be back?" She took a deep breath and said,

"He didn't, sir. I served dinner at five and he left soon after. He didn't say when he would be back." Then he might still be somewhere around town. The frantic beating of my heart was slowing, and I took in for the first time the total destruction of our flat.

The fire had already done its damage, and the building was little more than a brick husk. Everything wooden had been charred and eaten by the flames. The windows had shattered and the brick façade, devoid of support, was beginning to crumble. All around on the street, water logged wreckage adorned the cobblestones. I thought of Holmes's meticulously prepared scrapbooks, my own journals with records of all our cases together, Holmes's Stradivarius- all lost, reduced to mere kindling. But it was a small loss compared to what it could have been. Losing all my earthly possessions meant nothing beside the safety of my dear Holmes. I would forever be grateful to whatever case had called him out of the house on that fateful night.

I must have stood next to Mrs. Hudson watching the flames for less than ten minutes, and the firefighters were beginning to get the upper hand of their battle with the flames when I heard a voice raised above the crackling din of the blaze I had once thought never to hear again.

"Watson!" I dimly heard Holmes shout. "Watson!" I took up the refrain, wandering towards his voice.

"Holmes! Where are you?" Holmes answered quickly,

"Watson! Over here!" He was waving his jacket above the crowd, and I immediately pushed my way towards him

"I'm coming Holmes!" I yelled, and in a moment I was looking once more on that face of my best friend. His eyes were frazzled, his clothing soot-stained, but he was alive, and his eyes lit up with their old spark upon seeing me and his shoulders slumped in relief.

"Watson! Where have you been? I thought the worst when I saw the flames- I've barely got back from the scene of a murder." I was so relieved to see Holmes unscathed, and I could tell from his voice he was too.

"I'd been treating a sick woman and it took longer than I had thought. Holmes, I-" I paused, and he looked straight at me. "I'm glad you're ok." He took my hand in both of his.

"So am I, my dear Watson. So am I."

A/N: Don't really know how fire men fought fires back then. Hope I got it at least part way right.