"You're late

9. Spiders

"Now, Doctor, you do understand that I cannot be held responsible for Mr. Holmes's reaction to your…pets, shall we call them? Are you certain you are willing to take the risk of losing them?" Watson asked warily as the cab clopped back to Baker Street.

Dr. Berthelot Rosewood, explorer and scientist and old friend of Dr. Watson, looked back at him with a small smile below his ample mustache.

"I have many more of the same species, Doctor, and these are both male; I retain the females and several more of the males in my laboratory. I have no objection to your taking these two to use in this…what did you say it was, a prank? Against your friend Sherlock Holmes?"

"A bet, actually."

"I see. And your friend suffers from arachnophobia?"

"Most definitely," Watson replied with a grin.

"I certainly hope his heart is not weak, then, for these are no ordinary spiders," the explorer said thoughtfully, glancing down at the box he held on his lap.

Even Watson, who had no aversion to crawling things, had been somewhat unnerved by the sight of the two enormous South American tarantulas, with their hairy orange and black bodies…and both the size of large dinner plates to boot. Sherlock Holmes's reaction was very likely to be far less passive.

"Pretty little things, aren't they?"

"Not exactly, Rosewood."

The explorer laughed, resting a hand casually on the lid of the box as the cab turned into Baker Street. "It was good of you to invite me along, Watson – this study should be instructive. Perhaps I should write a pamphlet on the reaction…"

"I rather believe Holmes would kill me if you did," Watson said dryly, "but it was the least I could do since you were kind enough to lend me some of the spoils of your recent expedition."

"I say, isn't that your friend there, just getting out of that carriage?" Rosewood asked, peering out the front of the cab.

"Confound it, he wasn't supposed to return until this afternoon – Lestrade must have been more insufferable than usual," Watson exclaimed in high annoyance. "Now what are we going to do?"

After the door of 221B had shut behind the unsuspecting detective, Watson and Rosewood exited their cab, paid the driver, and strolled casually up Baker Street towards the house, stopping a ways down the street so as not to be seen from the sitting room windows.

Watson glanced up, saw a shadow pass in front of the blinds, and then the window cracked open in Holmes's bedroom – apparently the detective was taking advantage of the cool autumn breeze. Watson's eye traveled from the open window to the drainpipe adjoining the opening…

"Rosewood, do you think they would climb that pipe without falling off?"

"Mm, yes – but if you're wanting them to go in the window the trellis is a better bet," the man replied, "they're liable to just keep going to the roof if you use the pipe."

Watson's eyes gleamed, and Rosewood laughed, setting the box on the ground and removing the first of the two monstrous arachnids.

Watson repressed a shudder at the long, hairy, twitching legs, and the explorer placed the thing on the trellis as high up as his arm would reach; the tarantula began to climb up the lattice with a rapidity that was almost frightening in itself. The second of the species soon followed suit, and after a few minutes of wrong turns the massive spiders disappeared into the open window, no doubt seeking the warmth from within – being used to the clime of South America, the fog of London had to be shocking.

Watson darted for the front door, the explorer at his heels, and no sooner had they reached the hall inside and shut the door than they heard a frenzied shriek from upstairs and then a very loud shattering crash.

"I take it he's found the first one at least," Rosewood said dryly.

Watson was trying to stop laughing enough to answer when they both jumped at the sound of a loud explosion.

"What the devil!"

Gasping, wiping his eyes, Watson replied, "He's – he's trying to shoot them!"

Another gunshot.

Rosewood's eyebrows shot up to chase his receding hairline, and the other was close to howling with laughter as another yelp echoed through the house and rattled the gas-lamps in their sockets.

"Holmes? Is everything all right up there?" the Doctor bellowed, getting his mirth under control for long enough to call up the steps before dissolving into another fit of laughter.

There was a furious pounding of feet in the rooms upstairs, and then a door opened and slammed back against the wall.

"I'm going to kill you, Doctor!" the irate detective yowled.

"I seriously doubt you have any bullets left in that gun, Holmes!"

"Step into the light and I'll show you!"

"Erm, Watson…" Rosewood began uncomfortably. The other grinned calmly.

"It's quite all right, Rosewood. Though I wouldn't count on getting your pets back – if he is standing there calmly –"

"Calmly!?"

"For him, yes, calmly. Standing there yelling at me and not watching behind him, that means the creatures no longer pose a threat. I do apologise for your loss."

Rosewood shouted with laughter as Holmes erupted into what was apparently a bout of colourful swearing in a language Watson did not recognise.

"It was well worth sacrificing two of my beauties," the man gasped, wiping his eyes and backing toward the door as the detective's vociferations grew louder and nearer down the stairs, "but I believe now would be a good time to beat a hasty retreat. You coming?"

Watson took one look at Holmes's livid face as he jumped down the rest of the steps and hastily pushed his old friend outside, slamming the door behind him and waiting until they had reached the cab to collapse, weak from laughter.

"Does that mean you won the bet?" Rosewood asked with a chuckle.

"I'm afraid not," the other replied, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief, "Holmes will just tell me he was not truly frightened, just startled – and I have no way of proving otherwise."

"Ah, that's too bad."

"No, not at all," the Doctor replied with a twinkle, "just wait until you see what I have planned for tomorrow!"