It seems there is a long-standing tradition in this fandom for those involved to… "Whump Watson," as it were, particularly in the month of July. However, I'd like to flip this tradition on its head, slightly.
Timelines… I'd like to say that this will be set after The Empty House, when Holmes has returned, but a little bit later, so let's work with 1896 instead of my usual 1898 or otherwise. This will be set just after 'The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter,' as the dates are proposed to be December 8-10th, 1896.
Warnings this time include: Consumption(as per the canonical case), thievery, hurt, angst(slight!), injury… and so on. But this is par for the course with Sherlock Holmes, no?
Come with me now, it's on with the show.

From YoughaltheJust: Something gets stolen from Baker Street

Something Stolen, Something True


In my years of association with Sherlock Holmes, I had long suspected, but not expected, that someone would attempt to break into 221B Baker Street.

He had an assortment of treasures from his work as a detective, from at one point, The Blue Carbuncle to the portrait of The Woman, Irene Adler, to treasures from the King of Bohemia during our adventure with the Woman.

And yet, two days after our adventure in finding Godfrey Staunton, and closing up my practice for the night, I came back to Baker Street to find it awry.

Holmes's side of the room had been trashed, with the drawer that once contained the self-same Blue Carbuncle pried open.

Even worse? I saw no sight of Holmes or Hudson. He did say that he would be on a case… but what if he comes home to said mess?
As I stooped over to examine the mess, I noticed in particular, that the portrait of Irene Adler had been stolen, alongside the cigar case that had been given to him(which might be worth a lot, given that it was gold and had an amethyst atop it), but…

Something tells me that that's not it.

"Well. I didn't expect to see the Doctor here so soon." A cold voice sounded from behind me, clapping a pistol to my neck.

"Who are you?" My ire grew at this intrusion and the audacity that this man had at trying to take me unawares and this man's audacity to make me a victim. Not in the least!

"I was looking for Holmes, but I had to make do with that photograph… do you think that the Detective will go running after it, or you?" He asked.

The nerve!

"Where is Holmes?" I grit out as the man holding the gun chuckled. "Oh, he's on a chase, given how many of us are so interested in keeping him busy while we look for what we came for… and you're going to be quite the incentive."

"Likely story." I muttered as he jabbed the pistol deeper into my neck. He's shaking. Does he really fancy himself a kidnapper while he's shaking?

Then again, there are times I do worry that I might not be of aid to Holmes when he's like this… oh, I do hope he can deduce what I am trying to do!

With practiced ease, from what I saw of others that Holmes and I helped to rescue throughout the years, I made my shoulders go limp as he chivvied me out the door.


221B Baker Street had been broken into. Once Sherlock Holmes had returned, Scotland Yard crawled onto the scene with a very annoyed Mrs. Hudson in tow.

"We have reason to believe he was after items of monetary value." Inspector Gregson was dispatched to the scene, and Holmes immediately threw himself to the floor, grabbing his measure from his pocket to examine the footprints there.

"My door-who got in here?" Mrs. Hudson cried, though not of fear, more of exasperation and anger, born of long since offering her rooms to Sherlock Holmes.

"The self-same people that attempted to send me on a chase through London, as they'd stolen from one of the Irregulars earlier, but this one wasn't alone." Said he, as he pointed to the tracks. "The thief had more angular toes… and—" Here, he paused, a strange look of untold, cold rage burning in his eyes.

"The second set of footprints belong to someone with square-toed footwear and a limp," Holmes muttered, though it was more of a venomous hiss at this point.

"You don't mean…?" Inspector Gregson caught on, as Mrs. Hudson sighed, in both parts fondness and worry for her lodgers. "Go get him, Mr. Holmes."

"The second set of footprints are Watson's Inspector Gregson! Stay there, and pray I am not too late!" Holmes bellowed, sprinting out of 221B Baker Street.


Rage was not an emotion I tried to experience often. That was reserved for Mycroft, who, in his intimate position in the British government, felt and showed rage quite often. It was one that saved or ruined careers, which showed his rage was not exaggerated.

However, it clouded judgement, made minds weaker; mine included.

I felt rage at Moriarty, for daring to wrap Watson into our confrontations, promising in icy, silken tones that he'd have his comrades find and hunt Watson, like a dog. At myself, frequently, for not being better, doing better.

Especially for Watson. The long-buried rage that I tried to hide was burning now, pounding through my veins as I ran through London, and following the tracks that led out of Baker Street.

You fool, you could have been here to stop them! It is December, Watson's injuries will make him viable to be taken!

And I will need to fix my grievous blunder. Oh, I would be better, and have Watson back at Baker Street in one piece, safe and sound, before supper.

They do not know who and what they dare take. I just pray that I am not too late!


"You know, for a criminal, you really aren't an effective kidnapper." I said to my would-be-hostage taker, as I was chivvied along the streets of London, on foot, no less.

If he were efficient, I'd have been spirited away into a hansom cab, and off to some other part of England, but no. Here we were, passing through London.

Of course, he had some brain in him to keep his gun not trained on my neck, but at the small of my back, unseen by most, yet there, if you were to go looking for it.
"I'm the one with the gun, Doctor." He sneered as we seemed to be heading towards a crumbling, abandoned charity house by the end of a winding road in the city.

"And you're the one who decided to not at least take me to some part of England that would make it harder for anyone looking for me. You chose the one place where, your… quarry happens to know every inch of." I retorted.

This much was true. It'd often been a goal of Holmes to memorize every detail, every street of London, and he'd accomplished that before he'd gone to Switzerland.

And he thinks he can hide in London, from Sherlock Holmes? This has gone from annoying to rather amusing.

"Get in there." We'd arrived inside the charity house, as he shoved me toward a door that seemed to be an abandoned closet.

Remember, Watson, you're using them to let Holmes come to them. I'm sure I saw the photo sticking out of his pocket.

So, with feigned fear, I shambled into the closet, with the door slamming shut behind me.


An abandoned charity house?

I had not let up on pursuing the tracks, turning down a twisting road in London after them as I felt my heart in my ears. There was some benefit to this, in that they would not be able to escape with Watson, not without my knowing.

So, I ended up in front of the charity house, testing the door—as it simply creaked open given my grip applied to it.

"I have always been considerably strong in the fingers…"

And that much was true, here. Nevertheless, it afforded an advantage, and time, as I burst into the charity house, coming face to face with both the man who had broken into Baker Street, and—

The man who kidnapped Watson.

"If he is not unharmed, you will not make it out of here unscathed," I warned, fingers moving toward my cane.

"Oh, you come for him, and not the things I've taken? Has the detective grown soft?" The villain asked, as I grit my teeth.

"Not soft, sensible." I said, as he chuckled, as was given that he thought he were on the high ground. "Oh, and you know I have Watson, right? He was the only one of you two to understand that I hold the power here."

"You hold no power here, Richard." I said simply, as our villain froze at being named.

"How did you…?" He asked, before shaking his head. "Nevermind. Come on, man, let's not do this all day."

Before I could reach out, however, the closet door he was standing in front of slammed open, taking him with it, as Watson stepped out of it, glaring down at Richard Julian, notorious thief who had taken an interest in what I held in my drawers at 221B Baker Street. "Again, with your theatrics." He tutted, as I stepped around his fallen form, making my way to Watson.

"Are you quite alright, my dear fellow?" I asked, grabbing his elbows to look him over for injuries.

"Quite fine, I was wondering when you'd find me, I went on purpose so you could reclaim your treasures." Said he, though he winced, rotating his shoulder. "Though I do suppose this December air is not the best for my injuries."

I sighed, quite glad that Watson was alright and shame-faced that my rage had blinded me to what Watson was planning.

Of course, he can take care of himself! Even still, I made sure to take his arm as he pressed his weight into mine.

"Holmes?" Watson leaned over. "It is alright, my dear fellow. Something and someone were stolen from Baker Street, and, understandably, you wanted to get them back. Rage is normal."

And he insists he isn't the detective between the two of us?

Either way, I relented, leaning down to grab the picture, and the snuff box that had been stolen. I had everything taken from me, back where they belonged.

"I must say, my dear Watson, I might have to use your method of taking out our villains with doors sooner rather than later." I mused, as Watson chuckled.

"I will tell you over dinner, Holmes. Shall we head off to Simpson's? I'm unsure if Inspector Gregson will finish his investigation before we're back." He asked.

"Indeed! It will be my treat to-night, considering you were the one who ended up in a closet." I said as we both headed out the door and into the slowly approaching London dusk.


And that's it for this chapter. Bit of a simple one, because I was struggling with what might have gotten stolen from Baker Street, then I came up with this. I wanted to have some fun with Watson being tough under pressure, and helping Holmes recover his things from the break-in. As for who these people are… well, consider them over-zealous "fans" of Sherlock Holmes, that wanted their hands on his things.

For references we have: 'The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter,' 'The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet,' 'The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter,' 'The Adventure of the Bruce-Parington Plans,' 'A Scandal in Bohemia,' 'The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle,' 'The Adventure of the Red-Headed League,' 'The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist,' and, finally, 'The Things that Go Bump in the Night.'

Next chapter? It's the very last one! What might have thawed Holmes's heart out to Christmas?

Cheers,
Blue