The Curious Case of Dr. Watson
by Lyrical Soul

Chapter Two

Scotland Yard

The small room I was invited to "wait in" holds no comfort for me. It is cold, dingy, and uninviting, to say the least, and smells strongly of stale bodily fluids. While I am extremely grateful not to be in a cell with all the Saturday night drunkards and felons, I'd much rather not be here at all.

The circumstances as to how I ended up here in Scotland Yard at half-past six in the morning are not clear to me. The rather brusque gentlemen of the law who accosted me at the Oaktree Inn were not forthcoming with any details, other than the fact that I was being detained for questioning regarding a heinous crime. I was unceremoniously handcuffed and thrown in the back of the four-wheeler and brought to this room, where I was relieved of my possessions, and left unattended for the past two hours.

I have been searching my memory, thinking back over any of the cases I've had with Holmes that might have landed me in this situation, but can come up with none. Nothing that would warrant the term "heinous", though the affair of the studded collar comes close. But all the parties in that affair have scurried to different parts of the Continent, and are well aware that bringing up the details of the case would be more embarrassing for them than myself or Holmes.

The rattle of keys interrupts my train of thought, and I turn toward the door. It swings open and Inspector Lestrade enters, looking as haggard as I feel. "Dr. Watson-"

Holmes brushes past him, nearly knocking him over in his haste. He kneels beside the chair in which I'm sitting, his sharp eyes assessing my condition. "Are you injured?"

I hold up my hands. "My wrists are a bit sore from the yanking of the cuffs, and I fear I hurt my shoulder when I was unceremoniously tossed in the police cab. A minor complaint, considering."

He whirls and glares at Lestrade. "Hot water and cloths at once, Inspector. And the names of your constables who have dared to treat Dr. Watson in such a fashion."

A deep blush stains Lestrade's cheeks. "Right away." He turns on his heel and stalks from the room as a man on a mission.

"Holmes... what has happened?"

He motions me to silence and surveys the room. The floor, the ceiling, the walls – his sharp gaze misses nothing. "Say no more," he whispers close to my ear, "as I am certain the walls can hear everything."

I nod and let out a shuddering sigh.

"I shall get you tended to," he says, his voice back to its regular tone, "and then we'll take our leave. You haven't eaten, nor been offered anything to drink?"

"Nothing. I have no idea as to why I am here at all."

"Their disrespect for you is appalling." He takes my hands in his and with a surprisingly gentle touch, examines my wrists, careful not to inflame the red bruises that have formed. "Public humiliation and roughness. Very unlike men under Lestrade's command. New men, perhaps?" He purses his lips as he thinks. "Something is amiss, Watson. I do not like that you are in the middle of some sort of villainy."

"Nor do I. Especially given the fact I have no idea what said villainy could possibly entail."

Lestrade comes back with a holding a bowl of hot water and fresh cloths. "I wasn't sure if you needed antiseptic or brandy..."

Holmes takes the items and favors Lestrade with another glare. "I'll tend to him."

The Inspector moves a chair closer so Holmes can sit. "Dr. Watson, I-"

"No more words, Inspector," Holmes says coldly. "Do not make me repeat myself."

"Holmes..." I look at him and see the barely suppressed anger simmering underneath his façade of indifference. "I'm fine."

"I do not doubt that you are, Watson," he says, wringing out the cloth and pressing it to my wrist. "You will, of course, allow me to be certain in my own way?"

"Yes, of course." I try not to dwell on that fact that my cold, calculating machine is tending to me as gently as a nurse would.

***

Back in the comfort and warmth of Baker Street, I allow Holmes to help me upstairs and into my chair in the sitting room. He yells something down to Mrs. Hudson, and then stokes the fire to a roaring blaze. He tucks a rug around my shoulders, and hands me a snifter of brandy. "Are you all right? Answer me honestly, Watson."

His gentle tone surprises me. For all his intellectualism, real emotions are simply not his forte. I have known him to try on occasion, and am heartened to hear his caring tone, and see his solicitous manner at such a time as this. "I'm fine, Holmes. Though I am curious as to how I came to be taken into custody for a heinous crime of which I have no knowledge."

Lighting his pipe, he takes a few puffs, then sits down opposite me. "It seems that Mrs. Langstrom is accusing you of gross indecency, carnal knowledge, and unlawful seduction. That after you forced your person upon hers, you beat her bloody, and left her bound and gagged in a hayloft, fifteen miles north of Barham, in Rexford."

The snifter falls to the floor as I leap to my feet. "What the devil? Holmes... this cannot be true! Tell me it isn't so! I must go to her, and get to the heart of this matter!" I begin a frantic search for my gloves and hat, but I cannot seem to get my shaking legs to move. "I..." I collapse back into my chair with an ungraceful thud. "Good lord."

"Quite so," Holmes sighs, smoothing the rug back around my shoulders. "You mustn't get yourself agitated, Watson."

"How can I not be agitated?" I cry. "The very notion of her accusations is absurd. I must go to her and straighten out this misunderstanding."

"That, as you well know, will be impossible." He pours another snifter of brandy and presses it into my trembling hands. "Drink, dear friend, and tell me of your evening with Mrs. Langstrom."

I take a hearty swallow of the amber liquid, and welcome the pleasant warmth as it travels down my throat. "I called on her at half-past five. The butler, Stevens, let me in, and escorted me to the sitting room. Her Aunt Iselda... you remember her from the symphony the other night...  sat with me for a bit, chatting about the latest story in The Strand – The Silver Palate case – and we talked of news and idle gossip. At a quarter 'til six, Penelope came in, and we enjoyed a light supper of tea, sandwiches, and pastries. Aunt Iselda retired to the sewing room after supper. Penelope played the piano for a while and then we went for a walk through the park. We spoke with several of her acquaintances –"

"My dear Watson, I do wish you would be more thorough in your recollection of the events. Which acquaintances did you happen upon in the park?"

"Percy Phelps-Binghampton, Dr. Charles Parker and his wife, Anne, and Penelope's best friend, Adelaide Beauchamp. There were others we spoke to in passing, but I cannot recall who they were."

"All right." He blows out a blue stream of smoke. "Go on."

"After talking with Mr. Phelps-Binghampton and Miss Beauchamp for a short while, we were invited to attend an impromptu gathering at the home of Miss Beauchamp. I escorted Penelope to the Beauchamp estate in the carriage of Mr. Phelps-Binghampton. There was a large assortment of guests in attendance, and we socialized for about two hours. When Penelope was ready to leave, we rode back to her home in Mr. Phelps-Binghampton's carriage."

"How did you come to be at the Oaktree Inn?"

"Mr. Phelps-Binghampton offered the use of his carriage so that I could return home. On the way, the carriage broke a wheel, and the driver was dispatched back to the estate to fetch another. He informed me that the Oaktree Inn was a short distance up the road, so I walked there. The landlord offered a half-pint of his locale ale for my troubles. I drank the ale, and sat about, waiting for the driver to return. As I waited, I began to feel a tad dizzy, so I asked the landlord if I could lie down until the driver returned. He showed me to a small room in the rear of the tavern, and I lay down. The next thing I knew, the two constables were dragging me out of the inn in handcuffs."

Holmes sets his snifter aside and practically leaps from the chair. He paces the length of the room a few times, one hand behind his back, the other in a tight fist at his side. "Did they ask your name?"

I frown at him. "My name? Yes, I suppose they did. I seem to recall the taller of the two saying 'Dr. John H. Watson?' before he yanked me off of the cot and handcuffed me."

"And they identified themselves as constables from Scotland Yard?"

"Yes." I take another swallow of brandy. "They did seem angry, and were quite rough in their handling. I attempted to speak, but was rewarded with a cuff across my neck for my troubles."

He turns toward me, eyes narrowed, taking in my face and neck. "You did not mention this initially, Watson. Are you in need of hot cloths?"

"No, no. It is incidental."

He favors me with a brief smile. "How was the ale?"

"The ale? I don't recall the taste. Unremarkable, were I pressed to give a review."

"How soon after you drank it did you become dizzy?"

"Ten minutes, but I cannot swear to it. Why do you ask?"

"I do believe the landlord served you tainted ale."

"But to what purpose, Holmes?" I ask, setting my snifter aside and watching him as he paces back and forth in front of the fireplace.

"That is what I am trying to ascertain," he says sharply. "What had you to eat and drink at the home of Miss Beauchamp?"

"I don't recall to the letter, Holmes." At his exasperated sigh, I close my eyes and try to remember. "There were canapés, of course, and various and sundry other types of food that one would have at such a thing."

"Yet you said this was an impromptu gathering?" He shakes his head. "There are many things about this case that do not add up."

"Case? Holmes, you cannot possibly think that..." I trail off, as I do not dare put a voice to my suspicion.

"Indeed, dear friend." He abruptly ceases pacing and whirls to face me. "Someone has set out to discredit you, and to hurt you. You think I will just stand idly by and allow it to happen? I think not. The accusations of Mrs. Penelope Langstrom are practically a death sentence. I will not allow anyone to besmirch your character, nor throw you into gaol."

"Surely you have other matters more pressing...?"

"Most certainly," he says in his familiar, cavalier way. "But if you are serving a life sentence of hard labor, or go to the gallows, I will have to find another chronicler, and though I am certain there are many others who would love to fill your shoes, I've grown accustomed to your romanticism, and your willingness to follow me amongst the rocky bluffs. It would be too much trouble to find a replacement who would exhibit such loyalty. Not to mention one with so steady a gun hand."

"I am certain were I to dissect your words, I would find a small nugget of a compliment." I look at him and smile. "Thank you."

"Unnecessary." He opens the door to the light tapping of Mrs. Hudson. "Do come in, Mrs. Hudson. Our dear Watson is overcome with hunger, and there seems to be a rather large brandy stain on the rug!"

"Good heavens!" Mrs. Hudson gives Holmes the tray she was carrying, and comes over and pats my hand fondly. "Your eggs are just the way you like them, Dr. Watson."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," I reply, heaving myself out of the armchair and making my way over to the table. "Thank you for preparing such a generous meal."

"She knows of your fondness for her cooking," Holmes says, giving me another searching look. "Oh, and Mrs. Hudson... I'm going to need hot water and cloths for Dr. Watson's neck."

"Of course," she says, closing the door behind her.

"Won't you have something to eat, Holmes?" I ask.

"I am thinking, Watson. You know I cannot waste energy on digestion when I am thinking."

"Of course." I help myself to the perfectly fried eggs and a rasher of bacon.

As I watch him pace about the room, thinking and smoking his pipe, it did not escape my notice that he never did ask if I'd done any of the things Mrs. Langstrom was accusing me of.

I ponder this intently as I eat.

 
Chapter Three