Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, be it the movies or the books. I am merely a huge admirer.
Onto the next chapter...
All this Holmes noticed in a second, and in the next he had his arms out as he caught the crumpling figure of Constable Clarke.
"Watson!" Holmes yelled as loud as he could, hoping he would wake his friend. He held the limp form of Clarky in his arms, and gently dragged him into the hall, shutting the front door with his foot. He heard Watson come out of the living room, and heard a curse as his friend saw the sight at the bottom of the stairs. Soon, he had joined Holmes and was pressing his fingers against Clarky's neck, searching for a pulse.
Seeming satisfied, he looked up at Holmes. "Can you carry him upstairs? I'm going to get my bag." Holmes nodded and Watson charged up the two flights of stairs to his room. Holmes gently placed Clarky over his shoulder and stood up. The constable was surprisingly light, and Holmes had no trouble lifting him up the stairs. Rushing into the room, he laid Clarky down on the couch where Watson had been minutes before, and stepped back as said doctor came into the room, carrying his medical bag. Watson crouched next to the unconscious constable, and opened his eyelids, using the fire nearby to use as a light source as he studied Clarky's pupils. Watson continued to check over Clarky, and after a while, he stood next to Holmes, with an expression of relief on his face as he watched the constable.
"Just a sedative," he breathed. "He'll be fine."
Holmes nodded and moved over to the couch with a handkerchief doused in brandy in his grip. He bent over Clarky and held it over his face. Clarky sniffed and turned his head slightly. Slowly, his eyes half opened and a pair of hazel-coloured eyes were staring up at them, slightly confused.
"Wha's happen'd? Where 'm I?" he slurred. Watson pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, soothing him as he did so.
"It's alright, Constable, you're alright. You're in 221B. You were drugged, is all. Go steady now; the effects are still wearing off."
Clarky blinked a few times, trying to shake off the vertigo feeling as Holmes and Watson helped him to sit up. "What happened?" he asked again, looking from the detective to the doctor.
"We were hoping you could tell us," Watson answered. "Do you remember anything?"
Clarky frowned. "I don't – it was dark... and I was trying to read–" Clarky's eyes widened and he rummaged in his pockets before pulling out a crumpled letter and handing it to Holmes. "Someone gave me this," he explained. "I didn't see their face, but I thought it was a little odd, seeing as it was late at night. Do you know what it means?"
Holmes opened the letter and read the contents, before handing it wordlessly to Watson. The doctor looked up at Holmes. "Do you think it's the same person?"
"Without a doubt." Holmes said solemnly.
"C.E.S." Watson muttered to himself. "Any idea who it is?"
"Charles Edward Silverstone." Holmes said. Watson looked sharply at him.
"Wait – you knew who it was?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes," Holmes said quietly. "I had my suspicions."
"And you didn't think to tell me? Or Lestrade, for that matter. One of his officers has just been drugged, for goodness sake!"
"Well, I didn't think Silverstone would act so quickly!" Holmes shot back.
"The man gave us a week's notice! When did you think he was going to act?"
"I don't know!" Holmes' voice had risen to a shout. "That's why I didn't say anything to you! Silverstone hadn't yet done anything, and I was beginning to think C.E.S wasn't actually him!"
"You could have still told me you suspected him! Here we all are, losing sleep over who it might be that is trying to kill us, and you already know who it is!" Watson's voice had also risen to a shout.
"Oh, right. Because this is why you're not sleeping," Holmes snapped. "Every damned night I hear you make your way downstairs, and I certainly don't think it's because you wish to consult your notes on this case." Holmes clamped his mouth shut as soon as he said those words, and he prayed for the possibility that his friend hadn't heard, despite the fact he'd been shouting.
Watson froze, hurt and anger flickering across his face. Then he slowly shook his head. "That was unecessary." he said quietly, before gathering his coat and cane and limping out of the door, shutting it behind him.
"Fine!" Holmes shouted at the door. "Take the coward's way out!" He heard the front door slam loudly. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he said as soon as the door was shut. Watson was a soldier, for crying out loud, there was no way in Hell that he was or ever would be a coward. What he'd said was unforgivable. Oh, and just like you, Holmes thought to himself to pick up on a man's weakness and throw it in his face. Very mature. Holmes closed his eyes and sighed loudly.
Clarky stood up and coughed nervously. "Perhaps it would be best if I left." he said.
Holmes opened his eyes and looked at the constable. "I'm sorry," he replied. "I hope you feel better."
Clarky nodded. "It is not me you should be apologising to, sir." he said sombrely.
"I know." Holmes pinched the bridge of his nose.
Clarky shuffled his feet. "With all due respect, sir, perhaps it would be best if you went after him, instead of staying here."
Holmes raised his eyebrows, before softening his features. The man was right, but it was Holmes that was too chicken to take action. Instead, he ignored Clarky and fixed his eyes on a piece of paper that had fallen on the floor and landed next to the constable's feet. "You dropped this, Clarky." Holmes said as he stooped and picked up the paper, holding it out for him.
Clarky shook his head. "The only paper I had was the letter. It's either yours, or Doctor Watson's." He nodded his head to Holmes before leaving also.
Holmes flopped down on the couch and studied the paper. It was folded in half, but it had been crumpled in the past. No, it couldn't be Watson's, it was too untidy. Curious, he unfolded the paper and read it.
Dear Mr. Holmes,
By now, I am sure you know that I was completely serious when I told you that you cannot be allowed to continue. The situation with Constable Clarke was an example of just what I can do. I have connections ranging from the docks in the East End, to friends in the royal family. I am also sure that you know who I am, and I must warn you thus: should you try to expose my identity to the public, I fear you may become a little... lonely, if you see my drift. It would be a shame, I must say, for the army will have suffered a great loss.
Yours,
Charles Edward Silverstone
Well at least he knew it was definitely Silverstone, Holmes thought. Though it was just perfect that he'd gotten Watson involved. Oh no, he couldn't have snooped quietly. He just had to make a scene. Holmes closed his eyes as the pounding headache reminded him that he had drastic amends to make, and soon.
A/N: So? What do you think? Was I too OOC? I'm still not sure where this story could go, so comment are always greatly appreciated, as you full well know. I'll update soon ;)