Sssssss...

His scalp prickles, melting swiftly into the shadows... but the deadly creature isn't after him, it never was, he only needs to let it pass... Sure enough, the beast continues on, its soft hiss becoming one with the waves, gliding out among them on its scaly belly. The yellow eyes never waver from the vessel across the bay, hulking black against the moon... The creak of her timbers is faint but clear over the water, the flap of canvas, the dismal peal of the ship's bell... which is rapidly becoming more dainty, delicate... What in the world is such a tiny bell doing on a pirate ship...

Ting-a-ling-a-ling!

"Uh?" Holmes blinked, struggling to lift weighted eyelids. His face was stuck to something hard... Peeling himself free, he noted blearily that his cheek had been resting on the surface of Watson's old writing desk, and his neck now twinged abominably. Had his chest been pressed against the wood as well? There was a dull ache around his sternum...

"Y'in, guv'nor?" Light, quick steps were ascending the stairs.

"Come..." Holmes cleared his throat and tried again. "Come in, Wiggins."

The Irregular strolled in, taking a detour by the fruit bowl on the sideboard. "Missus 'Udson said y'ad a message to sen'," he managed to articulate around a mouthful of apple.

"Ah, yes..." Holmes rummaged on the desk and found the scrap of paper, realising in annoyance that it still only contained half a message. He must have dozed off while grappling with the wording. "One moment." Given the circumstances, the blunt approach was probably best. Too many years lay between them now for niceties.

...FORESEE NO DANGER TO YOU OR J BUT BEWARE STRANGERS ASKING QUESTIONS STOP PD

"Yer should'n' be goin' out alone no more, guv'nor, t'ain't safe!"

Holmes arched an amused eyebrow as he donned hat and coat. "As if I didn't know that you boys have been shadowing me the last two months? Nevertheless, I shall take greater care," he added kindly as Wiggins flushed. "And you'd best be leaving by the back door, if you can dodge Mrs. Hudson. I'll see you at Pall Mall."

"Right-oh."

Holmes waited until the lad had dashed off down the hall, then swiftly exited the flat, heading towards Marylebone Road. An unoccupied hansom stood invitingly on the other side of the street, but Holmes strode on, resisting with difficulty the sudden impulse to tip his hat to the driver. Baiting the enemy like that, what could he be thinking?

A second empty hansom rattled past on his left. Making an instant decision, Holmes darted across the street after it, grabbing the side and swinging himself up onto the front platform.

"Hoi, steady on!" The cabby could do little more than shoot Holmes a ferocious scowl, hands full with the reins as his horse snorted and shied, startled by the sudden lurch. "What the divil d'you think you're doing?!"

Holmes didn't waste words, taking out his purse and tossing it up to the driver. "It's all yours if you get me to St. James's with a whole skin."

"Try hailing the next cab, for starters!" the man grumbled, but quickly whipped up the horse again.

Holmes peered around the side of the hansom. Was the first cab following? He couldn't see...

Half an hour and a maze of side streets later, Holmes peered cautiously around the corner of King Street into St James's Square, having ditched the cab two blocks back. Could he risk a dash for Mycroft's front door from here?

"Bang!"

The detective nearly had heart failure, instinctively sinking into a defensive stance as he whipped around, pulse thundering. Then relief washed over Holmes as he took in the person who had accosted him: a wizened, snowy-haired tramp, an ex-sailor by the look of him. He was ragged and unkempt, a broken pair of spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose, breath reeking of rum from the gallon jug clutched under one arm. The other hand was pointed unsteadily at Holmes's head, index finger extended, for all the world as if he were pointing an imaginary pistol!

"Ban'!" the tramp half croaked, half slurred. "Ban'! Go' you a' last!"

"You certainly did," Holmes said warily, attempting an ingratiating smile as he lowered his fists. The old man seemed harmless enough himself, certainly in no fit state to do more than rave at passersby, but a scene was the last thing Holmes needed just now. "A good clean shot, well done. Now, hadn't you better move along, so the police don't arrest you for murder?"

"Murd'r?" The tramp's bloodshot eyes were suddenly wide with alarm, gaze darting around. "Oo di' tha'?"

Holmes sighed, patience rapidly wearing thin, but steeled himself to give the agitated man a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "No one, understand? No one is dead. No murderers here." Turning to leave, the detective felt his arm seized in a grip like a mangle, and the next moment, Holmes was up against the area railings of the nearest house, something wickedly sharp and metallic pressed to his jugular.

"Liar!" Fume-laden breath hissed into his face from between bared, rotten teeth, the old sailor's eyes gleaming with fury behind the red-veined nose. "Think 'd forge', eh? Wha' y' did t' 'im? All me crewmates? I ain' f'rgott'n nothin'! You an' those bloody runts, sh'da gutted 'em all! An' 'm gonna! 'E said y' owed me blood, an' 'm collectin'! Start'n w' you!"