Shaking myself from my momentary stupor, I lay my pipe aside, and stare at the door in bewilderment. The look in Watson's eyes, coupled with his rambling about humbugs and leeches is rather disconcerting.

 

But more disconcerting is that my first inclination is to disregard my methods, and rush upstairs after him and see to his well-being. While it is not uncommon for me to show concern and feel empathy for him, the impetus that drives me in this situation is confounding. I generally view Watson's moods with clinical detachment, and with the smugness that comes from knowing I am above such things as social standings and obligations, proper behaviour, spurned affections, and the general disdain of society. He is most certainly on edge, and I suppose I cannot fault him, as his world has been upturned, but I am usually not so easily distracted.

 

Perhaps the fact that Watson's honour is tied to this case is what causes me to experience such an atypical response. He is more dear to me than my own brother, and it is as though to allow him one moment of suffering would besmirch my own sense of honour and rightness. I do not wish him to be shunned by society, and I certainly would not have it done because of a conspiracy of fools.

 

"Damn."

 

I wrench the door open, and leap up the stairs, taking them two at a time. At the top of the stairs, I stop, staring at Watson's door with something akin to perplexity. How is it that I am feeling this strongly about Watson's emotional state, knowing that my first responsibility is to the case? I have been off-kilter since the onset of this affair. Quite unlike me. I am usually not so easily swayed by emotion, and I cannot allow such things to dictate my actions. I must follow the steps of analysis and deduction in order salvage Watson's reputation. Then I shall deal with this... thing that distracts me at this most inconvenient moment.

 

My jaw set against this unruly tide of sentiment, I gather myself with a deep breath. One last look at his door, then I go back down the steps, gather up my hat and coat, and head for Scotland Yard, so as not to waste this sense of frustration that boils within me. And who better to unleash it on than Inspector Lestrade?

 

***

 

"Mr. Holmes." Lestrade's sly, half-smile has always irritated me, and today it is practically grating.

 

"Inspector, we meet again." I give him a mocking bow. "Shall we go to your office?"

 

"I haven't time to talk to you now... business, you know. Though I suspect even I can deduce why you are here."

 

"Pray, deduce."

 

"Dr. Watson's, ah, unfortunate circumstance, perhaps?"

 

"Rather how the news of his circumstance has traveled from the confines of the Yard and spread among the masses like typhoid."

 

He lifts his shoulders nonchalantly. "Men of the law are not immune to the lure of idle gossip."

 

"So I see. This is quite out of character, even for you, Lestrade. I should have thought a man of Dr. Watson's social standing and overall morality would warrant more respect and discretion. Were it not for him, many of my dealings with you would surely have failed."

 

"I do not think-"

 

"That much is evident," I cut in, my tone sharp. "You know as well as I that he is not capable of such a heinous crime."

 

He merely smirks and sets his hat atop his head. "The evidence to the contrary is rather strong."

 

"I would like to see this evidence."

 

"You'll see it soon enough."

 

"Even you must realize that there are many elements of this case that do not add up." I step closer to him and lower my voice. "For instance, who summoned your constables? Why were they summoned? If the gathering Dr. Watson and Mrs. Langstrom attended was impromptu, why was it so well prepared? And how did Watson come to be ill? Why did the carriage driver not return, even after Watson had walked a mile to the Oaktree Inn? And where are the constables who roused Watson in such an unruly fashion? Why have you not let me speak to them? Really, Lestrade... one would think you were receiving a stipend based on how badly you handle this case."

 

"You go too far, Mr. Holmes." Though he says this with confidence, I detect a slight tremor in his voice. "We are looking into this incident as thoroughly as we would any other crime."

 

"Then I should prepare myself to visit poor Watson in gaol, if that is the case." I am aware that I am being overly snide and rude, but I have had enough of his sneering for one day. "Listen, Lestrade-"

 

"No, Mr. Holmes, you will listen for a change. We are on opposites sides of this case. Do not expect special treatment, for you shan't receive any. As a courtesy, I've not had Dr. Watson arrested, nor do I have any plans to do so... unless my hand is forced."

 

"Ah, you've drawn your line in the sand, then? So be it."

 

"Defending Watson's honour, eh?" He laughs in his rather annoying manner, and gives me a triumphant look. "As I said, Mr. Detective, opposite sides. Do not expect me to be at your beck and call."

 

"Oh, Lestrade... you do me great dishonor. In my most simple incarnation, I am a non-practising solicitor. And through my, ah, government connections, I would have unlimited resources at my disposal. I warned you yesterday of the consequences of rousing the hive. It would do you well to take my warning to heart. Good day, Inspector." I turn on my heel and take my leave.

 

***

 

Back at Baker Street, I light my pipe, and begin a slow, steady pacing of the sitting room. I cannot fathom the 'why' of this matter. I am quite certain that Mrs. Langstrom is lying about Watson harming her person, (Watson being incapable of such deeds aside) if only for the simple fact that no one, not even Lestrade, has been able to look at her alleged injuries. Her doctor has practically quarantined her, and for some reason, Lestrade has not balked at this. According to the police record, her face was heavily bandaged on Lestrade's first visit, so he is content to believe her doctor's account of his 'findings, and leave the rest to chance. I shall not be so indiscriminate. I will get to the bottom of this thing if I have to disguise myself as a doctor to do so.

 

This, on further thought, is not entirely an unwelcome idea.

 

A discreet knock on the door draws me from my musings. "Yes?"

 

The door opens and Mrs. Hudson sticks her head in the room. "A rather insistent gentleman to see you, Mr. Holmes."

 

"Did he give his name?"

 

"Mr. Phelps-Binghampton. He says you will know who he is, and why he is here."

 

"Indeed, I do." I sit in my chair, and slouch down slightly. "Show him in, Mrs. Hudson. And thank you."

 

A few moments later, the door opens, and a short, rather plump man, in an ill-fitting suit enters the sitting room. He stares at me for a long minute, and then holds out his card. "Sherlock Holmes?"

 

I regard him blandly, and do not deign to rise in greeting, nor accept his card. "Mr. Phelps-Binghampton. How can I assist you?"

 

He puts his card in his pocket with a shake of his head. "I suppose you already have all the information you need regarding me." He stalks over to my chair, in an attempt to loom over me. His short stature puts him at a distinct advantage, but he appears to be oblivious to this fact. "Is Dr. Watson about?"

 

"I'm afraid the good doctor is indisposed at the moment, sir. But if you would do me a great service and kindly take a few steps back? I am extremely sensitive about my person being crowded."

 

"You make light of my visit?" he demands. "I assure you, sir, that I am quite serious."

 

I stand up, and am amused to find that his eyes barely reach the middle of my chest. I take a long puff of my pipe, and blow the smoke across the top of his balding pate. "And I am quite serious about you moving back a few steps."

 

He steps back, and looks up at me. "I intended for Dr. Watson to pay for dishonouring Mrs. Langstrom. I would have the satisfaction of-"

 

"Pistols at dawn?" I finish for him. "How very amusing. Aaron Burr would be proud of you, good sir."

 

His face shows perplexity. "I beg your pardon?"

 

"Not a student of American events, then? How distressing. Do you know that Dr. Watson is a crack shot? Yes, he most certainly is. Once killed an aborigine on choppy seas at nearly a quarter-mile's distance. One shot, dead center of the forehead. Of course this was after the man shot me with a poison dart, but in any event, those are the facts."

 

"I care not of the doctor's previous dealings. You must know that Penelope has no family, save me, and that is only through her marriage to my cousin, Harold Langstrom. Adelaide, er, Miss Beauchamp, my fiancée and Penelope's best friend since childhood, is the only other refuge she has. The aunt who raised her suffered an unfortunate breakdown and was taken away a few years ago, thus leaving her on her own. It was only through her beauty, grace, and charm that she was able to become the wife of the late Lord Langstrom. Had I known that Dr. Watson was a cad, I would never have introduced them."

 

"Ah." I sink back into my chair, suddenly very interested in his tale. "You and Dr. Watson are acquainted? He did not mention this."

 

"Well, I do not know him personally, but I am an avid reader of his writings, and feel rather like an old acquaintance. And there is our mutual club membership. Until today that is," he adds with a sneer. "I made it my business to inform them of his evil behaviour."

 

"Indeed? How chivalrous of you."

 

"You are making a mockery of me, Mr. Holmes, and I do not care for it."

 

"You invite mockery by your very behaviour," I retort.

 

"Is that so? Well, you and your precious Dr. Watson would do me a great honor if you would meet me, Friday dawn-"

 

"Bah! We shall do no such thing," I say firmly. "I have many questions that I would like answered."

 

"I am not obligated to answer your questions, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Suffice it to say that Penelope's honour will be avenged."

 

"No doubt it shall, Mr. Binghampton. But pray, tell me; how is it that your coachman did not return to fetch Dr. Watson? He walked nearly a mile, and your carriage never reappeared. What was the delay?"

 

He frowns. "My coachman informed me that Dr. Watson decided to walk to the inn, so he returned to my estate."

 

"A falsehood if I've ever heard one," I say drolly. "It does not make any sense that Watson should choose to walk to an inn when he had already had food and drink at Miss Beauchamp's gathering. You can certainly do better than that, my good man."

 

"I will not answer another question." He pulls his gloves out of his pocket and raises them. "For Mrs. Langstrom's honour."

 

"Have a care, Mr. Phelps-Binghampton." I lean forward, eyeing him with great nonchalance. "If you strike me, I shall have no recourse other than to give you a solid thrashing. I am certain you are familiar enough with the doctor's writings to know the many ways in which I could accomplish this."

 

His cheeks redden in embarrassment as he looks at his gloves, at my hands, and finally, at me. The look in my eyes is enough to convince him to put away the gloves. "Her honour is at stake."

 

"I agree, as I am certain she will soon be found to be a liar, and will have no honour. But that is a mere trifle. What I would like to know is why you called for the constables? What fiendish plan have you hatched, and why have you chosen Watson as the recipient of your evil-doings ?"

 

"I have no idea of what you're speaking, Mr. Holmes. The facts are clear. Dr. Watson is a brute, a fiend, and a cad. He forced his attentions on my cousin and friend, yet you take up his defence as though he is the victim."

 

I have heard enough. "You will please take your leave now, Mr. Phelps."

 

"Phelps-Binghampton, if you please." His fists clench in frustration, but he simply tosses his card at my feet. "Do make sure you inform Dr. Watson that I called, Mr. Holmes. And I am only leaving as I have pressing business at my solicitor's office."

 

"I hope you are preparing your will."

 

"Oh, mock away. You shall beg my forgiveness in the end."

 

"That pleasure shall most certainly be Dr. Watson's." I point at the door. "Exit, immediately."

 

He gives me another long look, and storms out, slamming the door in his wake.

 

"Hah!" I leap to my feet, and begin pacing again, turning the facts of the case over in my mind.