John Watson nervously limped up and down the living room of 221b, waiting for the arrival of Greg Lestrade.
Ten days ago he and Holmes had tried to interview the parents of Avery Portmann. There was nothing ominous about that meeting at first. Only the mother was home and she was very close-lipped, which is why Holmes decided to come back later to see both parents together.
Back at the carriage, things turned odd. The carriage and the horse were there, but their driver had disappeared. At first they thought he might have wandered of to relieve himself or smoke, but when he didn't return after a couple of minutes they started looking for him. The moment they passed a high hedge they were ambushed by five men who tried to grab and incapacitate them by using chloroform.
Holmes managed to wind out of their grip before the substance had a chance to knock him out but his escape was short-lived; one of the perpetrators knocked him over the head. Watson witnessed him go down while he struggled to free himself. Although he fought like mad, he had no change against three bulky and well trained men. This was the last time Watson had seen his friend.
He later woke in a moist and rat infested cellar. Bound, blindfolded, and alone. Whoever had separated him from his friend had also taken his coat, everything he might use as a weapon or tool, and his wallet. The following hours were dire. Watson's worries for the well-being of Holmes kept him in an anxious and nervous state.
Roughly twenty four hours later, the men came back. Without a word, they gagged him and threw him onto what must have been the back of a wagon, which promptly started moving. Watson was not clothed properly and stiff from the time in the cellar.
At some point, someone just rolled his bound body off the moving wagon. The impact on the ground was so hard, it knocked the air out of his lungs. Catching his breath with the gag in place was difficult, and at first he was afraid he might black out. Without the use of his hands, it took him quite some time to wind out of the blindfold, but the gag was impossible to shift. He found himself alone in the dark in the middle of nowhere. Mercifully, the almost full moon allowed him to see the rural countryside surrounding him. Getting up was equally difficult due to his injuries, probably a sprained ankle and a fair amount of bruises on his right side.
The moment he was on his feet, he started to walk - hobble, if he was honest with himself. He was well aware that he needed to find shelter before hypothermia set in. Their assailants had obviously chosen to dump him somewhere remote so that his return to London would take as long as possible. Apparently it was not their aim to kill him directly, though exposure might do the job for them.
He staggered down a dark unpaved road and hoped to find a farmhouse sooner or later.
The injury made walking a slow and painful endeavour. It took him over three hours until he reached a farmhouse and he scared the young couple half to death by kicking their door to make himself known.
At first they hadn't dared to open the door but when they understood he was gagged they finally let him in and helped him. Watson hoped they would be able to bring him back to London with a cart or something, but he found out it was almost two o'clock and London was more than five hours away by carriage. Worried about Holmes but not able to walk properly, he could do nothing else but accept their hospitality and stay the night. They promised the farm hand would bring him to the nearest station first thing in the morning.
In the end, Watson stayed another night, because it occurred to him that Holmes's fate might be similar to his own. He searched the woods and countryside for his friend. The farmhand and the maid helped in the search but they found not even a hint that Holmes might have been there.
The morning after, the farmer himself brought Watson to the nearest train station after a hearty breakfast. He promised to keep his eyes and ears open about Holmes and send a note if he heard something.
Several hours later Watson reached Baker Street, wet, dirty and barely able to walk. He had to use the doorbell because the perpetrators had not only taken his wallet but also his keys. Mrs Hudson was on him the moment she opened the front door. She was quite agitated about them both missing for two nights. Watson's hopes that Holmes had made it home were dashed immediately. Even before he changed into fresh clothes he sent for Lestrade to come see him.
The director arrived an hour later and was equally worried when he learned what had happened. By then, Watson had washed, dressed in dry and warm clothes and had some hot tea. But even warm socks, a hot water bottle and some soup failed to chase away the cold he still felt.
.
Four days after his return Watson was exasperated and out of ideas as to where to look for his friend. The revelations Holmes had made a few days prior to their kidnapping - about being abstinent from cocaine - worried the doctor additionally. It meant Holmes' ailing health could endanger him profoundly, even if the criminals didn't. Even neglect could become a serious matter, not to mention being abandoned in the woods somewhere. Somehow he hoped Holmes had been set free somewhere, made it to London and had spent the past nights in an opium den, falling back into old habits.
Lestrade and Watson had spent every day since Watson's return checking all the cases he and Holmes had worked on in the past months. They tried to make sure none of the perpetrators were out again or had revenge-seeking relatives. Every clue they followed ended in a dead end.
Watson was close to desperation after days of fruitless research. Without the brilliant mind of his companion he felt the insights to be long in coming. Then he realised that maybe that was the point. Maybe someone had kidnapped Holmes to prevent him from solving one of their current cases. The thing was, they weren't anywhere close to a solution in any of them.
The one with the maid was still uncertain, the other two were dormant for weeks, and the Avery case was still in its beginnings. Also, there were probably a few boring cases Holmes never bothered to mention but had solved in the background. Unfortunately, Holmes hadn't told Watson the theories he had and therefore the leads were very thin.
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March 28th, 1867 - Thursday
Two weeks after the kidnapping, Mrs Hudson stormed into the living room, a letter in her hand. It was addressed to her and clearly written in Sherlock Holmes' handwriting. It was signed with William, though.
At first, Watson couldn't believe his friend was incarcerated in an insane asylum. It all made no sense. Nevertheless, the relief to know that Holmes was still alive made Watson's knees weak. The past days without news had been torture in their own way. He immediately called for Lestrade and after that tried to find out where exactly the asylum was located.
When discussing the letter, Watson, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson realised that it contained a lot more than just the short notice. Something was off – way off. The fact that Holmes had started his letter with 'Dear Martha', was the first hint that something was wrong. The second one was obvious: the simple fact that it was not addressed to John. And the third, that Sherlock did not use his real name but signed it with William and left out his last name. This would make finding someone under a false name difficult, especially in an institution with hundreds of inmates. All those oddities pointed towards proceeding with caution.
Frantically, they tried to figure out how to carefully gather intel. In the end, Watson remembered a man he had befriended during his early semesters. He was a record-keeper with the name 'White' whom Watson thought had mentioned that he had sought employment in some remote asylum in the country after graduation. Of course, Watson didn't know if he had actually got the job. Although they had lost contact years ago, Watson deemed him a reliable source if they wanted to poke around a bit without raising suspicions.
Watson and Lestrade headed to White's last known address and found the man's parents still lived there. The only person present was the family's maid. Although Lestrade explained it was a police matter, the only thing she felt comfortable revealing was White's current address. John immediately sent White a telegram and asked him where he worked nowadays and if a meeting about a delicate matter was possible.
When White answered in the early evening, Watson couldn't believe his luck. White was apparently employed by the very same asylum Holmes was incarcerated in. White's message pointed out that since it was a long journey to London, a personal meeting needed to be carefully planned.
John kept the details to himself when White asked what it was all about, but explained it was urgent. In his answer Watson then expressed his hopes to come the next day for a visit. The next morning he received a positive answer. He and Lestrade immediately packed small suitcases and headed to the station to catch the next train.
Upon their arrival, they met White for lunch. At first, Watson hesitated to inform White about the fact that he was Holmes' acquaintance and that the detective was missing. The circumstances were too unclear. Watson feared the man might feel obliged to report to his superior what they told him, so they kept it vague, told him they were looking for a criminal in hiding. When asked to keep it quiet, White seemed to have no problem with it since his loyalty to the institution's superintendent was dwindling , and he was already in the process of applying for another job.
"The superintendent somehow seems not happy about my work," White explained during the meal they shared. It was a soul-baring comment full of sorrow, not lightly shared with an old friend he hadn't seen in over a decade. This showed how much he still trusted Watson.
While Watson and White wallowed in memories of their youth, Lestrade excused himself and headed to the local police station. He knew they needed support if they wanted to find out more inside the asylum, let alone be able to leave with one of their patients.
.
Shortly after lunchtime they regrouped with Lestrade at the gates of the asylum, who had brought a policeman and another detective named Johnson for support as well as an official carriage.
Only an hour later Watson, Lestrade and White were in White's office, looking through the lists of patients the asylum currently contained. Lestrade had brought official papers that enabled him to look through the records.
"This is the list of patients that arrived here during the time span your suspect went missing. As you can see, there is no one by the name of William on that list."
"I need to see every one of those patients," Lestrade declared.
"It's not that easy. We need to ask Superintendent Portman first. He is out. We need to wait for him to return," White explained.
"Portmann?" Watson repeated and his eyes widened. Until now, he had heard several people refer to the superintendent, but never by name.
Lestrade knew the name, too. Watson had told him about the current case Holmes had been working on when he went missing.
"This just turned into a crime investigation, perhaps even murder. Who is Portman's deputy?" Watson asked and stood up. They were very lucky he was out, it gave them a wider scope of action if the man wasn't there. Watson was afraid Portman might recognise him, which would give their rescue mission away.
.
Twenty minutes later, they were escorted through the wards. It was a lengthy process to see every single patient that had been admitted in the days after the 14th of March. They were also in a hurry to find Holmes before Portman returned.
They had already seen about sixteen men when they were led to the closed ward's quiet room.
"This one is dangerous, therefore he is in a quiet room. His behaviour was unacceptable and we needed to intervene for his own safety. He is refusing to eat and if he goes on with it we will have to force feed him soon," head attendant Hughes informed them.
Watson's breath froze in his chest when the door was unlocked and revealed his best friend lying on the floor of the padded cell.
Holmes was restrained by a strait jacket and didn't react to their presence, not even when Watson examined him superficially and tried to rouse him. It took all John had to hide his excitement and his horror and pretend he was just inspecting a wanted criminal. Holmes seemed heavily drugged and not even half-conscious. Although he now and then opened his eyes a bit, there was no awareness or recognition.
"Why is he in this state?" Watson asked the carer.
"He was violent and we gave him belladonna – among other things – to keep him from hurting himself," Hughes explained in an indifferent tone.
"We have to take him to the nearest police station and book him," Lestrade explained. "He not only fits the description of our wanted criminal, the likeness of the pictures we saw is undeniable. We are quite certain this is the man we are looking for. Greenberg is probably not even his real name," Lestrade further informed the head attendant. The man started to explain that he couldn't allow that without permission from the superintendent. Watson and Lestrade had agreed that until Holmes was safe they would not reveal to anyone but the local police who he really was and that they would not leave without him. The detective and the policeman from the local station had agreed to that.
Hughes tried to convince them to wait until his boss was there but when they insisted, he became less friendly by the minute. "He is suffering from acute mania, he needs to be locked away to protect the public and himself."
"We will take care of that," the local detective reassured him.
"I will inform Dr Rubenstein." The man stormed off, clearly agitated.
Watson once more checked on Holmes, but he remained unresponsive.
Hughes came back with a doctor a few moments later.
"You can't just come in here and take a patient," Rubenstein barked instead of an introduction.
"Actually we can," Lestrade held up the paperwork. "We are looking for a dangerous criminal, clearly you don't want to endanger your other patients or your staff," Lestrade lied without blinking.
While the inspector explained in detail how to proceed to the personnel to keep them occupied, Watson sat his friend up and tried to rouse him.
"Hey?" he asked in a low voice and brushed back the greasy hair. "Can you hear me? If you can, please look at me. I am here to bring you home."
Holmes head lolled a bit towards Watson and his eyelids fluttered, but although his eyes stayed open for a few seconds, there was still no sign of recognition.
The doctor understood that as long as Holmes was unable to walk transporting him would be very difficult, and the staff could argue that they needed to wait until he was aware of proceedings.
When Greg stepped in to see what was going on, Watson whispered, "We need to get him out of here. Now! Before that Portman character comes back and all hell breaks lose!"
Lestrade took a closer look at Holmes and understood immediately. He returned to a fuming Rubenstein and boomed, "If you don't want to risk getting charged with abetment I suggest you prepare the papers to dismiss him now! He probably fooled you to get into this institution to hide from prosecution. You really want to be accused of helping a criminal?"
It took the staff twenty minutes until they gave in and Rubenstein signed the papers. They prepared to move Holmes. It was a fair amount of work to get him into a half decent standing position. Watson was supporting Sherlock on one side, the police man at the other. They had to leave the strait jacket on for now to keep up appearances. The movement seemed to have at least activated Holmes's reflexes. He was trying to walk, though not very successfully.
Lestrade was finalising the paperwork at the entrance desk when they caught up with him. Their doings had brought attention to their little group, and the carer's and Rubenstein's agitation was drawing even more. They were accompanied by two guards and two other carers by the time they reached the main hall.
Unfortunately, that was the moment when Holmes finally managed to regain some of his senses. Watson was so surprised, he couldn't stop him from breaking free of their hold.
Holmes barely made it three steps towards the door when the guard roughly grabbed him by the buckles and shoved him back into the policeman's arms. The other guard was on him a moment later, holding Holmes in place. It was clear that not hurting their patient was not one of their main concerns, and Watson hurt for his disoriented, panicked friend. Unable to interfere, he urged them to get their charge into the police cab.
The guards and the detective dragged and heaved Holmes into the waiting carriage. They then urged Johnson to chain him down, who informed them he would take care of it and that they were no longer needed. The moment they were gone, Watson climbed in and sat next to his friend.
"Holmes? Can you hear me? We got you out. You're safe now."
When Sherlock sagged forward and threatened to fall off the seat, Watson grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back so his spine leaned against the backrest. He then gently tilted Holmes head back and lifted his eyelids to inspect his pupils.
Holmes grunted in protest but his eyes still weren't focussing.
"Hey, Holmes, look at me," Watson ordered.
But the other man didn't, he just stared into empty space.
"Ready to go?" Lestrade asked and John could feel the carriage rocking; clearly, the constable and Lestrade were climbing into the box seat.
Johnson joined Watson and knocked against the roof to signal them they were ready to go. The growler started to move.
The asylum grounds were huge. So huge in fact that it took them almost fifteen minutes to reach the main gate, which was at the end of a long, slightly bent road lined by high walls on each side. It left Watson a bit claustrophobic. The architecture reminded him more of a prison than a hospital. Clearly those long blank walls were a way to remind people how futile it was to try to escape. The corridor was easy to overlook; everyone on foot would be spotted immediately.
"Alright, the moment we are out of the gate, we need to get him out of those dreadful restraints," Watson addressed Johnson and sighed.
Then it dawned on him that maybe what he needed was not the wisest option. Trying to remove it might cause another episode they weren't able to handle. Holmes' abilities to fight in a closed space could wreak havoc.
"Holmes? Look at me?"
To his amazement, Sherlock's eyes opened slightly and for the first time, his eyes found his face. But instead of a word of relief, Holmes' face started to slowly contort.
"Are you in pain?" Watson asked.
Helplessly, he watched as his friend's eyes filled with liquid.
"Holmes, please say something. You are safe. We will bring you home. It's alright now."
His friend blinked and frowned, still looking tormented.
They briefly stopped when they were out of sight from the gate keeper's hut and Johnson changed places with Lestrade. Apparently he thought that this was a matter that didn't need a stranger as a witness.
"My dear friend, you are in no danger. We rescued you from this dire place," Lestrade addressed Holmes in a gentle tone, resisting his urge to place a reassuring hand on Holmes' shoulder.
Holmes tilted his head back and leaned it against the rear wall. He closed his eyes, but he did not relax. He seemed to be using sheer force of will to keep it together. He made no sound but Watson saw a drop of liquid run down his temple into the hair.
"For god's sake Holmes, talk to me," Watson urged in a low voice, alarmed by what he was witnessing.
When Watson gripped his upper arms to gently shake some sense into him, show him he was real, Holmes reaction was unexpectedly rough. He tried to kick and keep Watson at a distance, shrunk further into the corner.
"Holmes, its me, just me. You' re safe."
Holmes madly shook his head like a cornered animal, out of his mind from the drugs. It was unlikely that any amount of talking would bring him around enough to have a sensible interaction.
"Alright, okay. Just relax and regain your senses."
Holmes struggled to focus, understand what was happening around him, that much was clear. He was tense, but exhaustion soon let him slouch in the corner. Now and then, another drop of liquid made its way down his face. Watson was sure his friend wasn't even aware that his emotional torment was on display. Never before had he seen Holmes this emotionally derailed. It was a horrible sight, the great mind shattered to pieces.
"We will get that jacket off you as soon as possible," Watson reassured him.
"I can't do anything for him in here," Watson then addressed Lestrade , who still seemed shocked about Holmes' state.
"We need to find a place to stay the night. We can't transport him like this. He needs rest. Any Inn or a hotel nearby?"
"I asked them to bring us to a nice inn at the edge of town, at the lake. Relatives stay there visiting their loved ones at the asylum. We will drop Johnson off at the station first. The ride is almost an hour."
Watson nodded grimly.