Chapter 11b - The Vendor's Side

After John and the orange juice vendor were kicked out the pair made their way down to Mrs Hudson's flat in the hope that she might have a room they could borrow. Thankfully she did, and soon they were settling into her parlor (with the door shut for privacy) while Mrs H. bustled around the kitchen getting everyone some much-needed tea. ("Just this once though, dear.")

The room was small, but cosy, and fussy in the way that Mrs H herself was, and once seated the vendor kept looking around nervously at the bric-a-brac and then shifting uneasily and glancing at his watch. John, meanwhile, crossed his legs in what he hoped was a business-like manner, propping his notebook against one knee, and took a deep breath to clear his head. "Okay," he nodded. "Let's start at the beginning. Where did you meet Sam, and when?"

The man pulled himself up sharply as if he'd been called on during a meeting. "Yesterday," he returned. "I met him yesterday afternoon, by my booth, about..." he paused, tapping two fingers together thoughtfully. "..Probably less than twenty minutes after you left the area."

John blinked. Twenty minutes? They'd only missed their perpetrator by twenty minutes?

"..Okay!" he muttered, jotting down the time in rather large letters. Then he looked up. "Did you...see him come? Did he approach your booth or anything?"

"No, no," the other hastily corrected. "I was helping a customer at the time and my assistant pointed him out to me."

"Okay." John scribbled that down too. "Then he saw Sam arrive?"

"No," the vendor shook his head, shifting a little. (Nervously, or guiltily?) Then the man muttered, "No, he just - he noticed the costume and thought that I'd be interested."

For a moment the comment threw John, but then he remembered. "Oh, right. You look for the Halloween costumes people wear to Camden."

Yussef Walitch's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I didn't tell you that."

"No, but you told Sherlock, and he told me." Then as the vendor continued to frown, "We're colleagues, you see. He tells me everything. Eventually," he added after a half-beat.

No, I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no-one else can compete with my MASSIVE INTELLECT!

"Oh. Okay, right." The vendor didn't look too happy about that bit of information. He paused a minute, as if to regroup. "Well, yes, I do. It's interesting to speculate why a person would choose to dress up as an alien, or Freddie Krueger, or a king. Take the king, for example. Is it a subtle satire on British history? Do they secretly harbour a desire to rule the land? Did they just - have ermine trim at home and decide, 'this is the year I need to use that up!' Or Krueger. Do they just like scaring others? Do they like scaring themselves? Maybe they're really a serial killer and this is the only time of year they can properly advertise." He paused, as if he'd suddenly realised what he'd just said, then added rather defensively, "It's just - a really good way to pass the time."

"..Okay," was all John could manage as he tried to evict a bizarre vision of Moriarty in a Krueger hat and claw from his mind.

An awkward beat or two passed between them.

"Right," John tried, looking over his notes. "So, your assistant pointed him out to you, and.. that was the first time you saw him?"

"Yes, and as soon as I saw him I knew that he had to be Sam."

John raised a brow. "Yeah? Why?"

"The costume!" the other returned, looking a little excited. "I've really never seen medieval garb done better than Frodo's before, and then here came this brown one to match it, clearly done by the same person or group, almost like salt matched to pepper; all the details, all the finery, the subtle elegance...it simply had to be Sam wearing that garb. It couldn't not be Sam! The garb itself was too well done for him to be anyone else. Thank you, ma'am," he added in a more subdued tone as Mrs Hudson (who'd slipped into the room while he was talking) handed him a cup of tea. She hummed a little in response, obviously not wanting to interupt too badly. (She'd added a plate of shortbread and ginger nuts to the table between them though, so no chance of that.)

John took advantage of the distraction to jot the strange words down (and accept a cup of tea as well). Maybe it was just useless clutter and Sherlock would throw it out right away, but it did seem to be eccentric enough that he'd be interested.

"Okay, so... you just assumed that he was Sam?" he prompted as soon as the words were safely on paper. Mrs H slipped back out.

"No, no. I asked him," the man reassured him. "He was suspicious until I described your young man in blue from earlier, and then he assured me that, yes, he was Sam and that was Mr Frodo. We tried to catch you right away, but you were already gone."

My young man in—?! Yeah, no; not going there!

"...Uh, yeah. Twenty minutes, yeah," John nodded. "We'd have been about halfway to Bart's."

"Well, some people don't leave the market that quickly," Walitch shrugged.

"Sherlock moves fast."

The vendor gave a non-commital grunt. "Well, you didn't show up, so after about a half-hour we both concluded that you weren't coming back, or rather, that Frodo wasn't. So we—"

"Hang on, show up where?"

"At my booth." Seeing John's frown the other elabourated, "As soon as I realised who Sam was we went to one of the information booths and they made an announcement that Sam was in the market, at my own booth, waiting for Frodo. But like I said, you never showed."

Obviously.

Shut up, Sherlock.

"So I let my man take a break and then Sam and I went to Scotland Yard hoping that maybe they'd heard of you—"

John snorted, imagining Sally Donovan's face at the suggestion.

Walitch cracked a twisted smile as well. "Yes, well, they weren't very fond of you—"

"Yeah, no."

"—but they did at least give us your address. So, we came here, found that you weren't home, and left word with your landlady that we'd come back tomorrow. After that we returned to my booth and finished up the day, and then I took Sam home for the night. Then this morning, as you know, we came here."

"Okay." John glanced at his notes ruefully. The tale was short and to the point; just the way that Sherlock liked it. (Except for that bit about the costuming.) Which of course meant that John still had to figure out what questions Sherlock would have asked. But first his own most pressing one...

"Erm, what made you go to Scotland Yard?"

"Mr Holmes," the other nodded. "He was acting like he might be a detective, and there were the questions he was asking, and that other man with you was claiming to be a detective-inspector, so I thought that it would at least be a place to start looking..." He shrugged, and left the answer at that.

"Okay..." John muttered.

Okay, doesn't really sound like a tie to Moriarty. On the other hand, the man did hide in plain sight, right in front of Sherlock, and flirted with him!

"Seems like a bit of a jump to make," he goaded mildly.

"You weren't there when he questioned me," the vendor retorted. "If he wasn't either a detective or the police then I'd guess that he probably escaped from the Bedlam."

John pursed his lips. "...That's fair," he admitted. Alright. He supposed that was good enough, for now.

Now, what would Sherlock ask?

"Okay, going back to Sam, do you think you'd ever seen him before?" he tried.

"No."

"Not even out of costume? Maybe running around in jeans and a jumper?"

To his credit the man did appear to be trying to think, but in the end he still shook his head. "I suppose that... At that height he might have slipped past my booth, but to have actually seen him? No."

"Okay."

John tapped at his notebook, musing.

"Did he tell you how he arrived in Camden?"

The answer was clearly yes because Yussef Walitch immediately began shifting in his chair and looking uneasy. John waited. Eventually the vendor mumbled, "He..mentioned it, but it's really not my place to say."

Oh, great. "Er, no, sorry," John grimaced. "But if I don't have this information Sherlock will probably track you down."

The vendor was shaking his head again, a rueful look on his own face. "I feel that it would be a breach of the trust Sam placed in me."

Again, John frowned a little at the choice of wording, but then he grunted. "That bizarre, eh?"

The man's head shot up. "I never said that!" he snapped.

John raised an eyebrow. "You forget, mate. I've had the pepper around as long as you've had Salt, and I know what Pepper says happened."

Yussef Walitch shifted a little more at the comment, clearly still not comfortable with the idea. John waited.

Finally the vendor muttered, "Maybe you don't have a problem with betraying Frodo's trust, but I happen to like Sam and want to consider him my friend."

Now it was John's turn to shift uncomfortably. Alright, so maybe he needed to rethink his strategy a bit.

The silence seemed to swell between them, making it difficult to think.

After what seemed like five minutes had passed John tried again. "Look," he began, "I understand completely what you're saying, and I can respect that. They are— Well, I don't know about Sam, but Frodo's a decent fellow, and I would really like to get him the help that he needs. Clearly, something - happened to him, to both of them, and they need our help." Yussef Walitch still seemed to be listening, so John bridged into part two. "I happen to be a medical doctor. An army medic, actually, which means that I've seen a lot and I know a lot that the average civilian doctor does not. I also know what Frodo claims happened to him, and between you and me, it's — a tale."

Walitch nodded.

"I need to know how Sam told you he got here, because I need to know if both stories match, or if it's just Frodo making these claims. And from there, what kind of help can we get them. For that, I need you to work with me. Please tell me how Sam told you he arrived."

The vendor was shifting again, and remained silent for a long time. At last he mumbled, "Did Frodo mention a bench?"

In one word John had his answer. He felt his lips twitch into a grimace of a smile, but still nodded and returned, "Yeah. Figured pretty high in the narrative, actually."

The man nodded, still shifting. John continued to wait.

Finally, slowly: "He told me..that he..sat down on a bench in a tower, in a place called Minas Tirith...and then he stood up —from the bench— and...found himself...in...in Camden; in front of my booth. Or, rather," he hastily corrected, "near my booth, not in front of it at all, just—just—" he broke off looking anxious and mumbled, "It really is his own tale and not mine to tell. At all."

John's smile tightened dangerously. Two of them. Now he had two brainwashed hobit-people believing that they'd travelled via magic bench. Clearly there hadn't really been any kind of time for them to exchange details since Frodo met up with Lestrade yesterday either, which meant that whatever or whoever had done this had managed to plant this bizarre idea in not one, but two heads before dropping them in the middle of Camden.

—Of course, that didn't rule out the possibility of prior collaboration between the two... "And why Camden of all places?"

"Why Camden what?" the vendor asked.

John blinked, then realising that he must have said at least part of his thoughts out loud hastily said, "Nothing. And what does Sam think of this sort of 'travel'?"

"Think of it?" the vendor echoed.

Yeah, that's a good question; we'll go with that. "Yeah."

The man eyed John with a small measure of concern "He is...rather worried about the whole thing and claims that such things are unnatural and should never happen."

John snorted. "Well, there's something we both agree on," he quipped, hoping to get at least a chuckle out of the man.

Yussef Walitch just nodded uncomfortably.

John sighed a little as he went back to consult his notes. "Okay... Okay, so he sat down on a bench." Same as Frodo. "We can work with that." No. No he really couldn't. He'd hoped that maybe Sam could help Frodo see the light, but now... "Er, well, how did he act when you first saw him?"

"Sorry, what?"

John grimaced. Okay, bad wording... "I... Behave would probably be a better word. Maybe... Did he seem calm and relaxed, for example?" The exact antithesis of Sam's personality, if he could judge from what he'd seen so far.

"Calm?!" the man barked, almost laughing in disbelief. "No! Calm was the last thing he was. Is!"

Desired effect acquired. "Okay, then..." John gestured that he continue.

The vendor shifted uneasily again. "He was worried," he finally said. "Maybe even frantic. Certainly frantic to find Frodo. Anxious, confused..frightened... But all for Frodo."

John frowned. "Not for himself?"

The vendor was shaking his head. "No, he is very...protective of his friend, and every minute that he didn't know where Frodo was became a great cause for concern. Even once we learnt that he was with you he still worried about whether you were caring for him properly or not."

The mess of analysis and experiments Frodo had already undergone flashed through John's mind. He highly doubted that Sam would consider any of it 'proper care'.

"But he wasn't ever concerned about he how he arrived in Camden? Maybe, who did this to him? How to get home, anything?"

"Well, yes, he was concerned about that, of course. But it was still always...based around Frodo: how Frodo was doing, how he was going to get Frodo home, who would dare do this to Frodo— er, himself also," the man hastily added, "but, mainly Frodo."

John blinked, frowning a little at the phrasing. "Sorry, who would dare?" he tried.

"Yes. I asked Sam about that and apparently Frodo is an important and well-loved person back in Minas Tirith," the other explained.

"Oh." John rocked back a little, surprised by the vendor's words. But...now that he thought about it Frodo had mentioned that he was friends with the king a few times, he was wealthy, he did have that air of authority about him while at the same time being easy to like... "That explains so much," he muttered to himself.

But there was one definite problem with this information: it didn't fit.

Oh, it certainly seemed to fit what he'd seen of Frodo, and him being a person of such importance sort of explained Sam Gamgy's anxiety about his well-being...but pawns trapped in think-tanks or brainwashing experiments weren't exactly given ranks or peerages. They were just there to do what they were told, and, sure, some of them had to be in charge of others, but weren't those sorts of positions either held by people "in the know" or else the ones who had ruthlessly cut down all competition in their way? Frodo didn't act like the former (unless..he was a better actor than Jim Moriarty...) and he seemed too meek, quiet, and, well, kind to be the latter. Unless, maybe it was the 'king' who was in charge of this thing—or at least the representative of the people who were in charge within the...programme? But why would someone like Frodo end up with a peerage? And what had Sherlock said? It wasn't just any peerage; it was a high ranking one?

"Mr Watson? Is that all you need?" the question interrupted John's thoughts and he hastily reshelved them to be examined later.

"Er, no. No, I, uh," John scrambled for something else to ask. "Okay, so according to you Sam claims that he sat down on a bench in Minis Tirith and stood up in Camden, correct?"

"That's what he told me," the other replied stiffly.

"And he's anxious about how to find his way home, and he was very anxious about Frodo before now."

"And probably still is," Walitch returned, a bit sharply.

Okay, get your head back together, Captain Watson. Reassess, reestablish, and refocus.

He tapped his notebook, hoping inspiration would strike. What would Sherlock ask?

What would Captain John Watson, md ask?

"Right, so you said that Sam was anxious, but what were the tells of that anxiety?"

The vendor frowned. "Tells?

"Clues that told you that Sam was anxious, like how large his pupils were when you first met him, or whether his hands were shaking, or if his voice was higher-pitched than it tended to be later. Does that make sense?"

The man was nodding slowly, his lips pursed in thought. The nod rocked him back and forth a little. After a few moment's thought he drew in a breath. "That seems like even more of a breach to tell you than his travelling method."

Protective to a fault.

Yeah, I've got the fault, Sherlock. I've definitely got the fault!

"Okay, yeah," he tried. "Yes, you make a good point, and I do see where you're coming from. But, the thing is," John's voice instinctively lowered a little, "we don't actually know what happened to them. We know what Frodo says, and - just between you and me it matches pretty well with Sam's story, but that would be impossible. Right?"

"Well, yes!" the man agreed quickly.

"Right. John nodded. "So I, as a doctor, am looking for anything which might indicate what actually landed them in Camden with this bizarre story. I don't care if it's bruises, tremors, repetitions of speech; just, anything. The tells that he showed when you first met him are going to be the best indicators of what was happening to him internally at the time of..'impact' at Camden. No, it's not the most polite thing to tell me, but it will bring Sam the most help."

The vendor sat back and studied him for a minute.

"By internally, do you mean drugs?"

"I have reason to believe that a foreign substance was put into Frodo's body before he was dropped in Camden."

"..A drug, though?"

John looked at him, unimpressed. "Well, I don't mean shards of metal now, do I?" he returned dryly.

The vendor jerked backwards, and then shrugged. "Fair."

"So, as a medical professional who wants to help these blokes both recover and get safely home, could you please tell me what you observed yesterday when you met Sam."

The vendor nodded slowly, apparently thinking again. John waited. He could only hope that he'd finally broken through the man's reticence.

"Alright," the man finally sighed. "When I first saw him he was clearly bewildered, and kept looking at everything and turning around in circles, as if to take it all in. He also called for 'Mr Frodo' a few times and seemed to be breathing quickly. When I first approached him his whole body went stiff, his eyes narrowed, and he was watching me..warily...like he wanted to hit me if I came too close. While I was speaking to him he was very red-faced, and shaking a little, but the minute that I described Frodo both the trembling and the redness lessened. He still looked at everything with narrowed, or maybe squinting eyes, actually; but probably narrowed, because he just had this whole demeanour about him that was like... he was expecting to be attacked at any minute."

"Can.. you describe that?" John asked, jotting down the symptoms as quickly as he could.

"He... I don't know. He just had that..." the man sighed and glanced at his watch, then back up at John with an air of despair.

John grimaced. "Sorry. But he really will hunt you down."

Walitch sighed again. "It was just all of the same things, really. He kept looking sidelong at everything around him, every loud noise or quick movement made him tense again... Periodically during that first hour he would clench his fists a lot, too. I mean, he held his arms rather stiffly against his sides when he was sitting with me, but then he'd suddenly just clench his fists tightly, and after a minute or so relax them. He kept touching the pommel of his sword also. That was more like a quick reflex than a—"

"Hang on, sword?" John interrupted.

"Yes. Mr Gamgee carries a short sword with him at all times," Walitch explained.

John blinked.

"Do you know why?"

"His people —or, well, the people he's been staying with— recently ended a war in which Frodo apparently played a pivotal role, and Sam was a... a sort of bodyguard for him."

John found himself sitting back and just looking at the man. "A bodyguard," he repeated flatly.

"Yes."

John blinked again, digesting this information. A bodyguard. A bodyguard who was probably sworn to protect Frodo no matter who was opposing him or how stupid Frodo was being...

A bodyguard with a sword...

And Sherlock Holmes with his razor-sharp tongue and intent to learn everything about Frodo that there was to know...

He cursed internally.

"Okay," he tried aloud. "Okay! Well, um, did you notice anything else?"

"He was breathing quickly, at least at first. Like..not like he was panting, but more..as if he was scared; very scared, and I think that's why he kept touching his sword too. It seemed to be a way to reassure himself that it was there if he needed it."

The man paused again, and John took the time to jot everything down. When he looked up, Yussef Walitch appeared to be wrestling with whether or not he should mention something. John waited. At last the man said hesitantly, "There is— or, rather, might be one other thing, but I don't really know if it's a 'tell' or not."

"What's that?" John prodded gently.

"Well... It's strange, but he— He's very trusting for a bodyguard."

John frowned a little. "I - thought you just said that he was expecting to be attacked."

"Well, I— Yes, he was, but not by me."

"What do you mean?"

"He was wary, of course, but he wasn't wary enough for a bodyguard. I mean..." the vendor frowned, tapping his fingers together again as he thought. "...When I took him to the information booth he definitely didn't trust me at all on our way there, and that's when I saw a lot of those first tells, but he was too anxious about his master to act on that mistrust. But after they made the announcement and we returned to my own booth—"

Wait, his master?

"—it was like... then he knew he could trust me, and.. I don't think it was a full hour before he did. Completely. And—well, I've never met a bodyguard, but aren't they supposed to remain suspicious of everyone...possibly even if their—charge trusts others?"

John pondered the words. "For the most part, yeah," he agreed. "Sometimes they'll act friendly or as if they've let their guard down to get a person to relax and drop his own guard, but—

Walitch was shaking his head. "This wasn't that," he returned. "He trusted me. He went willingly with me to my home, he ate my food without hesitation, he slept; That is trust, isn't it?"

"..Yes. At least, it sounds like it," John hastily corrected. He wrote the information down as Walitch nodded. Maybe it wasn't a 'tell', but it certainly sounded like something that should be studied more closely.

"Of course, things might have been different if Frodo'd been there," he added as an afterthought.

"True," the vendor agreed, nodding thoughtfully again.

The two men sat quietly for a moment.

"Okay, on that note," John began again, "did you see anything else you'd consider strange or unusual about Sam? I mean, habits, odd marks on his body that might be bruises or some sign of damage, things you would have deemed nervous tics...?" He let the question trail off, hoping that Walitch would instinctively fill in the blanks on his own.

Instead, Yussef Walitch shifted yet again, his mouth pulled into a musing sort of grimace. John noted the action suspiciously. The vendor had shifted himself several times now...

"...Are you sure you're not just digging for gossip?" the man asked sulkily.

"Yeah, thanks, mate," John snapped back.

"I just don't see—" the vendor's mouth snapped shut and he sat there, looking sulky. John waited, trying not to scowl back. After all, he needed this bloke on his side, as irritating as he was. (And, yeah, if John was honest with himself he'd have stopped a conversation like this long ago if it had been someone prying after Sherlock, so he really did understand the vendor's reticence. It was just irritating!)

"He ate more than me at supper," Yussef Walitch finally muttered.

John sat up, a little surprised that the vendor was talking again.

"O-kay..." Not exactly where I hoped we'd be going.

"I mean, he ate more than me. Much more."

The emphasis was odd, and John frowned a little. "How much are we talking?"

"Three, possibly even four helpings?"

The doctor blinked. "That's a lot," he commented mildly, not bothering to hide his surprise.

"Yes!"

John wrote down the information. "Okay," he nodded. "Anything else?"

"Nightmares, I suppose," the other muttered, clearly still uncomfortable with this 'betrayal', but (thankfully!) continuing anyways.

John jotted down. the answer. "Do you know what about?"

"Frodo being hurt."

John paused at that, abruptly faced with the person behind the diagnosis he was trying to make. Sam had worried over his companion, had hoped that he'd be safe, had even had nightmares about Frodo. His reaction to finding Frodo sprang vividly back to John's memory as more pieces seemed to be added to the puzzle. His first words had been 'you're alive', hadn't they? Tears, hugging...

Which, come to think of it, was rather informal behaviour for a bodyguard. Of course, sometimes guard and client do get pretty close...but he would have thought that in a stress situation like this a guard would automatically revert back to default, being his training. He knew that he certainly did. And then too, if Sam was a bodyguard, when did he get assigned to Frodo? Like, was it before or after Frodo ended up with rope scars around his wrists? If it was after, then Sam had an excuse, but if it was before...and Sherlock hadn't mentioned 'bodyguard' either. He'd said 'gardener', and 'cook', and he'd mentioned 'protective'—

"He was sick on the Tube." Walitch's voice interrupted that train of thought and John hastily shelved those thoughts beside the other ones.

"..Sick how?" he tried.

"Motion sick."

"Okay, did he actually lose his lunch, or was it just a sick feeling?"

"A sick feeling. He told me that he'd never been on the Tube before."

Interesting. Frodo had been the same... "Was it every time you were on the Tube, or just—?"

"Yes. Every time."

Very interesting. He jotted that down.

"He doesn't care for bright lights or loud noises, either."

John sat up at that as Frodo's own wide eyes and tense shoulders as they had walked between shops, buses, and the Tube last night sprang back to memory. The hobit had practically shrunk into himself, his head whipping toward every burst of laughter and rev of engine, and once he'd almost jumped backward into John when a car abruptly started up three metres from them...

Very interesting...

"Would you say that it was the normal level of alarm that most people tend to feel at sudden noises, or did it seem to be more intense?"

"...I would say more intense. He would jump every time I got a text, and I kept having to reassure him that the lights in my house weren't magic."

So, both Frodo and Sam probably believe in magic to the extreme that some poor medieval sod actually would if he was thrown into modern culture.

John nodded knowingly. "Yeah, how did you handle the electricity conversation?"

The vendor finally gave him a smile. A rueful one, yeah, but it was still a definite smile. "Not very well," he admitted. "I tried to explain about generators, but it didn't really work. I'm pretty sure that he thinks that they just crank magic into all the houses in London."

The two shared a small chuckle at the failed attempt.

"You?" Walitch then asked.

John was surprised at the other actually initiating conversation, but answered readily enough, "About the same, really. I tried to tell Frodo about harnessing electricity. F-airly certain that he was trying to figure out how a bloke could put a saddle on a bolt of lightning."

Another chuckle was shared.

"They are strange little fellows, aren't they?" Walitch murmured softly, a touch of fondness in his voice. Jon noted that with surprise too.

"Yeah," he agreed, unaware of the same fond tone in his own voice. Yussef Walitch, however, looked at him with something like approval for the first time.

"It's amazing how quickly you can get attached to them," the man added after a moment.

"Yeah," John agreed again, shaking his head a little. "It really is."

The pair were silent for another minute, during which John found himself musing in surprise over the fact that, yes, he had, in less than twenty-four hours, somehow grown attached to this stiff, polite, mysterious little client of theirs. Of course, he'd agreed to be flatmates with Sherlock in less than one night too...

"Not that I think they'd let themselves be seperated again, but do you want Sam to stay here, or do you want me to take him back to my house later tonight?" Walitch asked.

"Well, hopefully Sherlock's got the case solved by then, but, yeah, he can stay here," John nodded.

"You're sure he won't be a bother?"

"No, I don't think so." John frowned a little. "Of course it kind of depends on what Sherlock has to say; I mean, he's the one on the case. And like I said, they might really be home by tonight" (conveniently leaving out Frodo's bargain with Sherlock) "but, no. I don't have any problems with him staying here."

"Good," Walitch murmured, almost thoughtfully, and then quickly, "I'm - glad to hear it."

John nodded. "So, did you notice anything else that you would deem strange?" Then as the vendor looked at him in surprise he added quickly, "I mean, what you have here is great! But was there anything else?"

Walitch thought for a minute and then answered hesitantly, "There was - one other, well, maybe two. Or..." he grimaced, thinking. "I suppose... He didn't see the difference between costumes and regular clothes."

John pursed his lips. "You're..going to have to explain. Did he think that the costumes were normal?"

"No! No, not at all!" Walitch returned quickly. "He didn't realise that any of it was normal! He was gaping as badly at a normal jumper and jeans as the bloke dressed up as Count Dracula!"

"Oh!"

"Yes, he had no concept of what normal dress is. I had to explain about Halloween, and point out the differences between clothes and costumes, and I had to explain at least three times that for women to be wearing trousers in England is perfectly normal—"

"Yes!"

Walitch looked at him in surprise, but with a curious gleam in his dark eyes. "And was Frodo horrified at the length of dresses these days?"

"Oh—!" John groaned. "I think that he was mentally judging half of the woman we passed! And probably the other half also, since I'm sure they still weren't dresssed like the women of his people," he added more thoughtfully.

Walitch nodded. "Sam was the same, I'm sure," he agreed. "He's really a very decent person, but he does not understand modern culture at all."

"Same with Frodo," John nodded back. "Quiet, polite, soft-spoken, would hardly say 'boo' to a fly that was bothering him, but, he has very definite ideas of what proper dress is, and nobody in London fits them."

"He's still polite though?" Walitch quickly asked.

"Oh, yeah! Always nodding or bowing, doesn't say a word about it; it's more the way that his eye lingers briefly on a person with this look of, 'you dare?!'."

"Ouch!" the vendor muttered. "Sam just kept staring. But thankfully, since he was staring at everything else anyways no one really noticed."

"Well, that's good," John muttered. "I don't know if anyone really noticed Frodo either —other than Sherlock, of course. It took me a while to see it, and by then he wasn't doing it as much anymore, but I'm not sure if it's because he was getting used to them, or because it was getting dark outside."

Yussef snorted. "It was probably the dark. Sam was the same way on our way home, and he grew used to my family, but all the way here this morning he was staring again. Poor bloke," he added softly after a moment's pause.

"Yeah," John agreed.

"He's terrified of spiders," Yussef mused. "A few of the booths like to go all out for holidays, no matter what holiday that might be, even if there's another holiday right around the corner, and some of them had skull decor or cobwebs, and he freaked out at the sight of the cobwebs.

"F-reaked out?"

"He yanked me behind a booth, drawn sword in hand, and was on the lookout for that spider with intent to kill. You want tells of anxiety!"

"Really!"

"It was all that I could do to convince him that they were fake! I even had to put my hand in the stuff and take it back out to prove it wasn't sticky. He was still panicking the whole time, too: didn't want me going anywhere near the stuff without a weapon and would I please be careful and I didn't have to touch it!"

John was staring at the other man, pen forgotten in his hand as he gaped. "But, but he didn't really think that there was a spider that big running around Camden, did he?"

The vendor shook his head. "I don't know, mate. You don't exactly use a sword to kill a spider, after all."

"Yeah, that's true..." John tried to picture the scene in his head, but he just couldn't! He couldn't put any sort of true fear on Sam's face; at least, not due to a two foot spider! Not in England!

"Come to think of it, he didn't like any of the Halloween decor, really. We were walking past another booth, before the spider, and they had one of those cheap plastic skulls in the middle of the wares, and when he saw that he sort of froze and grabbed the hilt of his sword as if he was going to draw it that minute. I had to prove it was fake too, and even then he kept giving the proprietors this side-look of horror and wouldn't let go of his sword until we were well past the booth. Then about half a minute later came the spiderweb. After that he kept twitching constantly for the hilt of his sword until we got to the Met. But, I would say that he definitely was more frightened by the webs and the thought of that spider than anything else."

John nodded thoughtfully, jotting the words down.

"And then," Walitch hesitated. "There is one more thing, and I think it's the last, but it's so bizarre —I mean, not as bizarre as the spider, but still!"

"What's that?"

"He, um...he has a..rather strange way of - well, of drinking water."

"Water?"

"Y-es. He... It... It was sort of like...well... It was if it might have been a coping mechanism for disbelief?" Then as John raised a brow Walitch hurriedly explained, "He'd be telling me what happened to him —or at least, what he believed happened to him,"

"Yeah."

"And he'd sort of..work himself into a - a state, saying it couldn't possibly have happened that way, or that there wasn't supposed to be any more magic, or—"

Any more magic.

"—he'd be worrying about Frodo or— Well, not really when he was worried about Frodo, I guess... But he'd just be in a— a state of extreme agitation, almost like a panic attack... and then he'd reach for his waterskin, or the glass of water I gave him later, and he... He'd take a drink, and it was like, as he was taking that drink he would calm himself down— like he used the time in the water to calm himself. I don't know if it's anything, but - you did say anything strange."

Well, as far as John was concerned that definitely counted! But...now that Walitch mentioned it...he had actually seen Frodo do that exact thing! Maybe not the panic attack, but certainly he'd calmed panicked breathing that way. He'd buried his face in a cup when Sherlock got a little too manic or personal too...

John was rapidly accumulating a small bookshelf of mental notes to examine later. He added this information to both it and the paper and then looked at Walitch thoughtfully. "Okay, I know that Sherlock asked you this question yesterday, but you didn't really understand what he meant at the time: did you notice anything suspicious at all? Any shady-looking characters, any normal-looking characters acting weird, any...big cloaks, or sleeping kids being carried around, or...anything?"

"Big cloaks? Near Halloween? Never!" Walitch snickered, but then he sobered at once. "Actually, no, I didn't. And yes, now that I understand what he was asking I have been searching my mind, off and on all day yesterday, last night... I asked Marcus if he might have seen anything... But there's nothing. I'm sorry, Mr Watson, really I am and I wish that I had, but the truth is that it was a perfectly ordinary day... until your detective friend showed up."

John frowned. "Not Frodo?"

"Not really, no," the vendor returned. "I heard him calling for Sam, of course, but to be honest I thought that he was a lost child and didn't even see him before the other detective was already helping him."

"But you saw the costume," John pointed out.

"Well, yeah. Of course," the vendor returned, "but it was after the fact. That's the thing: I don't remember seeing them arrive at all; I mean, I don't think that I even saw anything blue or brown trot past my booth, at least not at that height. I have tried and tried, but I really can not remember anything strange before your detective turned up. Really, I think that the most suspicious thing that I saw all day probably was your detective.

O-kay. Great. Don't tell the Yard about this one, then. Although, Lestrade would probably get a kick out of it. John tapped the paper in front of him in frustration, trying to at least think like Sherlock.

Inspiration!

"Okay, you didn't see anything, but did you hear anything unusual? I mean, other than Frodo calling for Sam, Sam calling for Frodo, of course."

"Hear?" Walitch seemed startled at the idea.

"Yeah, or even smell? Maybe a strange taste on the air?" Now he probably just sounded like he was grasping at straws again. (Which he was!)

Walitch thought for a minute, but was soon shaking his head slowly again.

John sighed a little. It was a long shot anyways, he admitted to himself. So, now what? Now what, indeed. He knew that Sherlock would have other questions for the man if he were the one interviewing Walitch; the problem was that he also knew that these would be very obscure questions which John would never be able to guess what they would be for or why they were important, like, what colour was the dirt on

"Er, this is going to sound really odd, but, did you happen to notice what colour the dirt was on his feet, or on his trousers compared to the dirt of Camden?"

"The— dirt?" Walitch echoed incredulously.

"Just..randomly?" John tried feebly.

"Well, I..I didn't really see any dirt on him, but I was looking more at his - surcoat," the vendor admitted, still eyeing John with what appeared to be a small amount of confusion. John just nodded. It had been a long shot anyway.

Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality? The demand echoed through John's memory.

But, Sherlock, if you've already met Walitch, and you have the witness upstairs, do you really need those things?

The Sherlock in his head was no help at all.

John looked over his list again. Then he looked up at Yussef Walitch. The man was examining his watch anxiously.

"Okay, I think we're good," John offered.

Walitch looked up immediately. "What? Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm sure that once Sherlock looks this over he'll probably have several more questions for you, but, for now, yeah." He smiled at the vendor. "I think we're done."

The man beamed, relief showing through the cracks of his smile. "Thank you."

"Right," John nodded. "So, if I could just get your contact information; maybe I can convince Sherlock to let me call you instead of him doing it."

Walitch nodded vigorously and quickly complied. When the numbers were safely written down John looked up to notice that the man was fidgiting again. John raised a brow at him and the man turned red.

"Would it be acceptable to you if I were to check in on them from time to time? Providing that Mr Holmes doesn't have them back before the end of the day, of course," he added hurriedly.

John felt a little surprised. "Check in — on Sherlock?"

"No, no! I mean..." The poor bloke seemed thoroughly flustered. "I mean..with them; or at least Sam, I don't know, Frodo might not let me talk to him. But, I'd like to check in with Sam from time to time: see how he's doing..."

John thought that he knew where this was going. "As a friend, you mean?" he hedged.

Walitch brightened up again. "Yes! I wouldn't want to impose on your detective, of course, but, just to see how Sam is—"

"Yeah, sure," John nodded. "I don't have a problem with that. I mean, if Sherlock tells you to get out I'd recommend that you go, or at least head downstairs until I can figure out what his problem is," with a roll of his eyes.

"Yeah..." Yussef agreed slowly, his gaze wandering worriedly toward the parlor door. And then a bit anxiously, "Is he always like that?"

"Er, no. No, he— Well, he's thrown out clients before, but he's never invited them back in again, and definitely not within less than two minutes. As for throwing things..." John trailed off. Sherlock did throw things. Frequently. When he was angry. Or upset. Or frustrated. Or bored. Or...

"Are they - safe, do you think?" Walitch asked nervously.

"Safe? The hobits?" At the man's nod John gave a dismissive gesture. "Oh, yeah; they're fine. Sherlock's not going to hurt them, and I'll be there, Mrs H'll be downstairs; honestly, Frodo's pretty savvy himself. I'm sure they'll be fine."

"Your friend was looking at Sam as if he was - a rare steak," Yussef retorted.

"Um, yeah. Tends to get that way when he finds new clues, actually. But, Sam's fine. He's not going to hurt anyone." Not including the emotional trauma that both hobits are probably undergoing right now, but let's not get into that part.

"You're sure?"

John was lying through his teeth as he smiled and said, "Yeah. It's all fine."

Yussef Walitch finally smiled again, seeming reassured. "Then, thank you." He rose to his feet and John did the same. Walitch stretched a little and checked his watch. "Marcus is going to be wondering where I am," he mumbled, and then smiled at John. "Do you mind if I go up and say goodbye before I go, and let Sam know what's going on?"

"Yeah, sure. Not at all."

The pair made their way out, thanking Mrs Hudson for her help on the way.