AN:

So. I left the fandom a while back after I dropped off the face of the Earth for a while... and needless to say, it took me a long way to get back here. And with this new fic, allow me to re-introduce myself.

Hello, I'm Blue. I might have popped up on your fics as either A Very Holmesian Christmas, Fractals Parade, or something related to The Blue Carbuncle. I will also be popping up to cheerlead on everyone who's writing in this challenge, like I did before. I'm the author with a love for The Adventure of the Dancing Men, ACD Canon, and Gothic Literature.

As for why I'm reposting this... well, the servers decided to eat my fic. And I've been notified by my old friends in this fandom that my fic hasn't been visible, so I've gotten permission to bundle my prompts into a new fic to avoid it being eaten.

For this prompt, I had initially thought of doing something set around the original Jack the Ripper killings, but then I decided to pivot gears a little. I've done quite a bit of research on the Victorian Spiritualist movement for my Master's Program(my area of interest is, in fact, 1890s Gothic Literature), so I've switched gears to around the height of the Spiritualist movement in the 1890s.

Conveniently, the practice was condemned by the Church in 1898, so I have a timeline to work with where this story will be set. I do not have any hard and fast dates, but I'm going off of being post 'The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist' in 1895 but pre 'The Adventure of the Dancing Men' in 1898. Month-wise? Let's go with about May.

Last warning: This chapter involves threats of a public execution, a chase sequence, and, of course, murder and torture.

This will also be Part 1 of a two-parter arc, much like it was with Chapters 8 and 9 in the Adventure of December Story-Telling. It aligned rather perfectly.

And with that… on with the show.

From JackofCats: Holmes should really keep his mouth shut, especially when his neighbours are pitchfork-toting torch-wielding witch-hunters who do not appreciate his deductions. (inspired by Watson's comment "My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too much. You would certainly have been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago-" in A Scandal in Bohemia)

A Witchhunt on Wednesday

In my adventures with Sherlock Holmes, I could not remember a case with more bizarre features than that of our case of investigating the death of a Spiritualist, Louis Abbott, who'd come back from holiday in France, only to end up dead in the Whitechapel district of London.

Lestrade and Scotland Yard had called in Holmes due to the singular nature of Abbott's death, and I could certainly see why my friend would be interested. He'd once proclaimed that I have seen all matter of death and murder, Friend Watson; there is nothing truly new here!

So, when Lestrade suggested something new, an unusual burning that Scotland Yard had not seen before, Holmes had all but dragged me along to chronicle the case.

Of course, I was happy to oblige. While I could never say no to Holmes, the man had been deep in a black mood after his clients dried up for a while following the abduction of Miss Violet Smith, and I wanted to aid him in getting to a case before he ended up using the blasted seven percent solution again.

I will not see you sit there and wither away from your reliance on that bottle, Holmes! I had said before this case came to us, doing all I could to peel him away from the arm-chair in 221B and from his black mood. While even he admitted that my company was often a good solution, it was only temporary until something to stimulate his mind came along.

I will have to thank Lestrade later for this.

As we three entered the alleyway in which the body had been found, the vilest smell fouled up the area, that of sweetness to an overpowering degree, mingling with the nearby stench of waste that had been dumped and left behind to rot away in the noon sun.

If I hadn't taken up the profession of a Doctor, I would be joining the younger Inspectors in relieving themselves of their breakfast behind us. Even Lestrade, who had once prided himself on a relatively strong stomach, had gone slightly pale as the body came into view, nose wrinkling. "He was found about two hours prior, Holmes, by a nearby beggar who thought that he was passed out from the drink until he found that he wasn't breathing." Lestrade had explained before we entered the alleyway with him. "And as much as I'm loathe to admit, I am at a loss as to what happened here beyond cursory details."

The body was a grotesque sight, indeed. While I knew typically burning victims were often charred, burnt beyond any form of recognition, this was quite different. Only parts of Abbott's body bore any sign of burns: his hands, his bare feet, and, most concerningly enough, his neck and lower half of his face until the underside of his nose.

Holmes, however, was acting as though this were some everyday occurrence back on Baker Street, already on his hands and knees as he examined the scene around the burnt body, cheerfully muttering under his breath. "Watson, do come over here, and see what you make of this!" He called suddenly, jumping to his feet.

My attention snapped away from my rumination as I glanced back at Holmes. "My dear Holmes, by the body?" I asked as he chuckled, passing the magnifying glass over to me.

"You are a medical professional, my dear Watson, and a follower of my observational methods. Think of it as a chance to make up for your mistakes with Miss Smith's case, hm?" Said he. If Holmes were any other person, I'd have thought that they spoke with malice. Hidden mirth danced behind his words as I lowered myself to my hands and knees beside the body.

The closer I got, the sickly smell increased, as if something else was present that I could not quite detect yet. That was always possible whenever I followed Holmes.

"Do hush, my dear fellow," I retorted with equal mirth before examining the body on my own to distract myself from focusing on the stench.
At this distance, the burns that I'd identified as unusual became even more distinctive. It seemed as though they'd come from—

"Torches?" Said I, moving into a more favorable sitting position. I've seen torch burns before on palms and arms, but never like this. It's as if they stuck the torch under this fellow's nose. The skin that had been burnt was circular and raised, especially across his neck in a succession of three gaping holes.

"Indeed, and capital observation, friend Watson!" Cried Holmes as the excited grin on his face grew. "As you and I can see now, he was burned with torches across his hands, feet, and neck before he was killed. Oh, it is a most wicked thing indeed, as torture so often is."

Torture? Lestrade and I froze at that word, with the Inspector's frown increasing to Holmes's grin.

"Torture? Holmes, how do you know? And whatever was he tortured for?" Said he as Holmes straightened up, offering me a hand as I shuffled to my feet to steady myself.
"That last part, I do not quite know, and that is what intrigues me. I know it is torture, given that there are burns across some of the most vulnerable parts of Abbott's body, including under his nose and his hands and feet. He most likely knew who his killer was, and it did not give him time to react to either the torture or what killed him." Holmes said before producing a curious silver object between his fingers.

"And this was part of what killed him. He had enough wits about him to fight back and snapped part of it off before it could be plunged into his neck." He added, depositing it in Lestrade's hands.

"A prong? Truly, no one would resort back to that in this age?" I said, recognizing the object that Lestrade was studying. "The Witch trials ended a while ago, did they not?"
"One would hope not, Watson. But this is shaping to be murky waters, and our villains do not care what age they're in from the murder. And, from the number of Spiritualists flocking to Whitechapel, they will strike again." He said. "Do take your revolvers, gentlemen, as it's a great argument against prong-wielding assassins."

Holmes's warning rang through our ears as we moved out of the alleyway and into the greater Whitechapel area on the search for where the Spiritualists would be assembling.

"One of them had to have seen their fellow or heard something," I said after our silence, keeping my voice low, keeping in between Holmes and Lestrade.

Lestrade shook his head, sighing. "I do think we learned our lesson from the Jack the Ripper case, gentlemen. The people here might have seen or heard something, but knowing what occurred would be nothing short of a coincidence."

Holmes looked back at Lestrade, his grin never wavering at this new challenge being laid before him. "You are on the right path, Lestrade. I do not doubt you're correct about the likelihood of the murder being witnessed." Said he before turning back round to face forward at the Spiritualists flocking to one area in particular.
Lestrade seemed to preen at that as Holmes snorted. "I never did say you were a fool, Lestrade; you are among the few competent in Scotland Yard. You have no need to preen."

"Do you have eyes in the back of your head, Holmes?" I asked, snorting at the sudden and accurate deduction.

"No, but I've seen Lestrade receive praise enough to recognize when he's preening, but—hist! Look!" He raised his hand in a fist, signaling us to drop behind him as we ducked behind a nearby wall to see what was happening.

In the center of the throng was a young woman, her eyes fixed onto something we could not see, her long blonde hair loose and rather wild behind her. "I see it!" she gasped, rocking on her feet on a raised platform. I see their lost spirits, wandering and asking for aid."

"Spirits?" Lestrade whispered as I realized what the lady was going on about. "Holmes, she's a trance medium!" I said as Holmes gave a low chuckle.
"To her, she is friend Watson. But what concerns me is that they do not know that they're inviting the villains to them by going on about spirits."

Sure enough, while the Spiritualists were mentioning something about trying to conduct a seance for the spirits of the killed in Whitechapel, marching footsteps, like those in a procession, greeted them as figures dressed in rather shabby interpretations of witch hunter clothing, wielding prongs and unlit torches marched into the scene.

"You there, Mabel Bennett! I thought we told you by the order of our group not to gather here again?" Said the lead figure. Despite his cloaked stature, complete with a golden mask fixed on his face, his voice was somewhat hoarse, as if he'd just gotten over a bout with an illness.

It was quite the contradiction.

"The spirits don't rest, Witch Hunter, and deserve to be heard like anyone else. You have no right." Said the woman, as the Spiritualists around her crowed their agreement, huddling together.

"And you have no right, Bennett, to practice such vile acts. It spits in the name of God for you to trespass on where so many have been cruelly slain!" Spat the 'Witch Hunter' as his group glared at the Spiritualists behind her.
"They'll rip each other apart," Lestrade said as his hand went to his revolver. However, Holmes had other ideas, striding into the middle of the crowd.

"What are you doing, man?" I hissed at him as he strode onto the raised platform that Mabel was standing on.
"If you could all lend me your ears, there will be no more violence here!" My friend called, as Lestrade and I made our way to join him.

I hope he knows where he's going with this!

"Sir, you are interrupting our righteous work here; what are you doing?" Said a second Witch Hunter, by the first's elbow.
"What am I doing? I am gathering more information that will form the links in the chain that surround the death of Louis Abbott in the alleyway behind us. Where he had been burned and tortured before being stabbed to death with a prong." Said Holmes as both crowds grew restless.

"And you are suggesting we didn't have the right?" The Lead Witch Hunter strode closer to where Holmes could loom over him.

"Murder is never a right, no matter which way you disguise it," Holmes said, his voice taking a barely disguised disdain that he often used with our villains. "And I have reason to believe you were involved in it. Some part of all of you."

"That is preposterous!" Cried the crowd of Witch Hunters, while the Spiritualists, to the other side of us, looked equally as slighted as the Witch Hunters.
"And what do you mean by that, Mister?" Mabel asked, glaring at Holmes.

"I can tell you that the Witch Hunters did not act alone in the murder of Louis Abbott. He was tortured for something he could not give, and there was also the underlying smell of sage and burnt wood, like those used in a Spiritualist ritual." Came the response as the Witch Hunters crowded closer.

Lestrade and I edged closer to Holmes with the press of the crowd as the Inspector kept his hand over his service weapon.
"And how do you know that with certainty? One might take you to have psychic abilities to deduce such a thing." Called someone from the back of the Witch Hunter crowd.

Despite their faces being hidden under masks, the shift in the air was palpable as their furious intent toward the Spiritualists turned on us.
"Holmes, you are correct, but they don't like where you're going," I said in his ear as Holmes, ever the cryptic man, laughed loudly.

"I have them where I do want them. Perhaps they don't know they're tracking waste into this meeting from the alleyway where Abbott was found." The last part was louder than what he whispered in my ear as he turned to face the crowds.
"And they do not know that their storming in here is truly not a good cover for the fact they are all from London rather than Whitechapel proper. Gentlemen, if you wanted to hide who you were, remove your boots and find better tailors."

That whipped the crowd into a frenzy as shouts and threats rang out. "Holmes, Doctor Watson, we have to go!" Lestrade called as the little Inspector managed to find a gap in the crowd to squeeze out from. While pistols were a good argument for assassins, they were not for mobs.
"Lestrade is right, Watson; we have a mob to run from!" Holmes immediately leaped off the platform, and I followed after.

"Behind you, Holmes!" I called as we three sprinted off from the gathering.

"I should string you lot up in the square and light you alive like the heathens you are! Leave you up like candles in the night! After them!" Bellowed the lead Witch Hunter.

"I told you during the case with The Woman that if you were back a few centuries ago, you'd have been burned, Holmes, but I truly do not mean it now!" I called as we ran through the streets of Whitechapel, the smell of torch fire and thundering footsteps at our heels. "I didn't think it possible to be running from a witch-hunting mob!"

"Nor I!" Lestrade called, leaping over a fallen pile of waste. "I think we've heard of them too, at least the group that calls themselves the New Witch Hunters. They started appearing across London wherever the Spiritualists were, but none of them have resorted to violence like this. Only riots and demonstrations!"

Holmes swiftly dodged an approaching lady with her basket of washing, picking up speed as he did so.
"This group is different, that's why!" Called Holmes, as I offered apologies to the woman we barreled past. "There's the group Scotland Yard knows about, but this one split off of them because they were not adherent enough."

If they're a counter-movement to the Spiritualists in only riots and demonstrations, then this lot wanted to take things back to when the Witch Trials resulted in death!
"Then they aim to murder anyone who they think is a Spiritualist or a heathen, on what they think either of those are!" I said as we ran past the streets where we'd first come into Whitechapel.
"Indeed, Watson! And now this singular murder has evolved two-fold, as when we solve the murder—" Said Holmes, pausing to dive beneath a fallen piece of wood.

"We have to disrupt their group!" Lestrade finished as we followed Holmes in diving underneath.

Indeed, it was easier said than done!

And that's it for this chapter. I had some fun referring back to my research on the Spiritualist movement(And admittedly, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's hand at the peak of the movement), though most of the plotline is mine with the prompt I was given. The New Witch Hunters, as such, are a fictional creation of mine for the sake of the plot. The Spiritualist movement peaked in the 1890s, as most Victorians were fascinated by the idea of their deceased loved ones returning to communicate with them. However, they had their fair share of skeptics and detractors(notably Harry Houdini and Frederick Douglass). Hence, they are seen as a sort of "New Witches" in this plot.
So, JackofCats, if you're reading this, this was an intricate prompt to think of something to write for. I appreciate the chance to write a dramatic plot, though I can't imagine this is what you thought of when you came up with it. (Seriously, though, the number of times I had to look up what burned flesh smelled like is concerning, lol.)
As always, my references are as follows: 'The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist,' 'The Adventure of the Speckled Band,' 'A Study in Scarlet,' 'The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter,' 'On Wins and Losses,' and 'Without the Pulse.'
I used Lestrade because I figured something like this would be an instance where Scotland Yard might be a bit out of their depth in investigating. Plus, I like Lestrade, hence his involvement in this little mini-arc of the fic.
Next chapter: Who killed Abbott is revealed, why Holmes stoked the mob is brought to light, and things… aren't always as they seem.

Good luck to all participating this year as well!
Cheers,
Blue