Star Crossed Lovers
Jan. 7th, 2010 03:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dirigoLess than an hour later, he returned, looking peeved. His jacket got thrown in the corner and his stick ended up in the fireplace. "Tomorrow. Their ship leaves tomorrow." Holmes flopped himself down in an overstuffed chair. "What am I meant to do until then?"
"I don't know," Watson drawled. "Perhaps you can contemplate the meaning of the universe." He went back to reading his newspaper.
Holmes sent him a sharp look. "What is this really about?" he asked, instead of indulging the sullen silence.
"What is what really about, Holmes?" Watson shook out his newsprint before he turned the page.
"Why are you..." he made a noise of frustration and pushed to his feet again, "why do you care?"
"Why do I care about what, Holmes? For someone who prides himself on being so precise ... " Watson lowered the newspaper to peer over it. "You are being alarmingly vague. Are you ill?"
"Why do you care if Regina and..and.." he dug into his pocket for the receipt, "George have their happily ever after?" He waved his hand dismissively.
Watson looked up at Holmes, eyes alarmingly expressive before he tore his gaze away. "Someone should." And that was all he said. He folded the paper and rose. "I expect you'll wish me to accompany you tomorrow?"
"Yes," he said gruffly, appropriately alarmed by that alarming expression. He coughed once before going to pour himself a glass of scotch, "best. Just in case, I suppose. Not expecting any trouble. This chimney sweep is just a boy, although I suppose they might be on the look out." Holmes paused, the usual cadence of his voice returning as his mind settled back into the matter of the case - here was the Holmes Watson knew, precise and focused. "She took what was practical. Yet she left her jewels. A girl who knows enough not to bring silk to travel in would most likely know the use of jewels in starting a new life." He frowned, setting his glass down without taking a sip. "Where are they getting their money?"
"I would say that she was caught up in the moment, but as you note, practicality seems to be the rule of the day and she would know she could sell those. Unless she's found another way to access her father's money?" Watson asked as he pulled on his coat.
"Stolen something?" he asked himself, "black mail? Perhaps this is why Bath didn't want to go to the police, yet is still chasing her. She took something of great value to him, but not something he wants anyone to know he possesses. Stolen property. Documents that are worth money to his enemies."
"Either way, we'll know in the morning." As he opens the door to leave, Watson turned back, just once, to glance at Holmes. He said no more, but disappeared into the hallway and Holmes could hear the door slam a moment later.
Holmes watched him go and was still for another long minute after the slam of that door before bouncing to his feet. Once again he dived into the piles of papers, bottomless trunks and stuffed cabinets that made up his living quarters. He wouldn't sleep. He still had more work to do.
His lack of sleep was apparent around his eyes when Watson arrived the next morning. It was on the tip of his tongue to chide him about as they dressed to make their way to the shipyard, except that at the door, they met with an anxious looking man who wrung his hat in his hands. "'re you the Sherlock Holmes?" He asked, voice quiet and tight.
Holmes had shied back from the young man a bit at his sudden appearance, but after fifteen seconds of suspicious appraisal, he nodded once. "Yes." One short nod. "If you are here for my assistance you will have to wait. We are just out the door, but if you leave your name with...whatsername. The landlady, I will contact you."
"Mrs. Hudson," Watson supplied, barely holding back from rolling his eyes before he frowned at the boy. "Why do you ask."
"I know things," the young man replied. "About Bath. I know things. I know he hired you, and I know why. Please, won't you listen to me?" He implored of Holmes.
He froze, hand on the door sill. That was intriguing. Holmes half turned to look back at him, one eyebrow arched artfully.
"He ... " the young man cleared his throat. "Bath is a bad man. He ... he does bad things."
"What kind of bad things?" Watson asked, taking a step closer.
"The kind that would have him arrested, if you catch my meanin'," the boy answered. "I've seen 'im and I know. And I wanted ... " For a moment, his face twisted, then he went on. "I ... Regina is better away."
Turning, Watson met Holmes' eyes, one of his own eyebrows arched.
Holmes rolled his eyes and turned fully, setting one hand on his hip, the other setting the cane fully on the ground. "Well, now you've gone and done it, haven't you? He'll be saying I told you so for weeks." He strode back across the room to eye the young man intently, leaning as though he'd find some secret in the lines of the boy's face. "What bad things boy? Fraud? Embezzlement? Murder? If I'm to be convinced, I'll need to be convinced."
The boy's face turned a bright shade of scarlet and he cleared his throat. "It isn't proper to say in public, sir. If I may ... whisper it to you?"
"Whisper it-" Holmes looked positively delighted, glancing at Watson, "Well, then...if you must." He turned, leaning his ear toward their visitor as Watson looked on, amused, until he saw the tell-tale shift in Holmes' eyes.
Watson then asked, head cocked. " ... Holmes?"
A change, familiar to Watson, but certainly startling to this boy, had come over the man. He straightened, expression managing to be even and murderous at the same time. "Watson, you'd best get the pair of derringer pistols I've left on the mantel. We'll fetch the girl and her man, but then I do believe we'll have business to attend to." He looked to the boy and gave him a short nod. "I believe you. Thank you for the information."
"You'll protect her, then? Regina?" the boy asked, unable to look away from the expression on Holmes' face, even as Watson went to get the pistols without question.
"I'll protect her." Holmes extended his hand for the pistol that Watson gave him and slipped it into his pocket, "right now we must catch them before they get on that ship. If my guess is right, there will be men waiting for them in their quarters and that would be most unfortunate." He swept toward the door, mouth pulled into a grim line.
Watson caught up to him and asked under his breath as they hurried toward a carriage. "Would it be of value to tell me what the boy said that had you thinking it was best we bear arms?"
"It seems Lord Bath has certain...proclivities that make him rather untrustworthy around his young daughter." Holmes paused to send Watson a dark look before pulling himself up into the carriage.
Watson said nothing, shocked, as he climbed in after and they were away, across the streets of London.
~~
The Yard would take care of the rest. Holmes had no interest in making the papers, especially not in connection with this man. He'd known Lord Bath to be corrupt, of course, but this...it was something else entirely. The girl and her future husband were off on their ship to America by this point. Watson and Holmes had seen them off, with Holmes pointedly avoiding Watson's gaze. He preferred not to see the smirk that he was certain he would find. Instead he stood, hands in pockets, watching the column of smoke disappear into the distance. Fairy tale ending indeed. He felt like scowling, but his expression remained neutral.
"I won't say I told you so, if that's what you're worried about," Watson told him, watching the ship as well. "There was no way to know of the ... unpleasantness."
"No, certainly not." Holmes huffed and twisted his stick against the cobblestone. "Was your need to see them get their happily ever after fulfilled, Watson?"
"Under less that stellar circumstances, but yes, Holmes. It was. Perhaps you didn't notice how they looked at each other. It was, after all," Watson answered, "Irrational."
"I don't know that I ever said I believe love to be irrational," he said, voice tight with any number of things for which their conversation was a poor mask, "I insist on reason, not rationality. In this case, the girl's escape from her father had everything to do with reason. My decision to assist in their getaway had nothing to do with love."
"For you it didn't. For them it did." Watson turned away from the water to begin the walk back to the city proper. "Tell me, Holmes. Do you ever get lonely?"
"What a foolish question," he said quickly, his laugh more of a scoff and his refute coming just a shade too fast. "Lonely. Lonely for what?"
"For ... " Before he went on, though, Watson cut himself of. "Never mind. It was a foolish question. Even if you did, you would never admit it. Your ego wouldn't allow you to."
"Excuse me?" Holmes turned away from the view, facing his friend, "Watson, if you've something to say, you should say it." Ego? Ego?
Watson stutter-stepped once, never looking over. "No, Holmes," he finally said. "I have nothing to say. Except that I'll take a separate carriage. I've appointments today."
Something twisted in his chest, but he was a bit too dumbfounded at this reaction to stop Watson. He watched him go, brow furrowed and expression unusually telling. Watson wasn't playing the game as readily as he used to and Holmes was having trouble parsing this one out. If there was one person he'd always had difficulty deciphering, it was Dr. John Watson.
"I don't know," Watson drawled. "Perhaps you can contemplate the meaning of the universe." He went back to reading his newspaper.
Holmes sent him a sharp look. "What is this really about?" he asked, instead of indulging the sullen silence.
"What is what really about, Holmes?" Watson shook out his newsprint before he turned the page.
"Why are you..." he made a noise of frustration and pushed to his feet again, "why do you care?"
"Why do I care about what, Holmes? For someone who prides himself on being so precise ... " Watson lowered the newspaper to peer over it. "You are being alarmingly vague. Are you ill?"
"Why do you care if Regina and..and.." he dug into his pocket for the receipt, "George have their happily ever after?" He waved his hand dismissively.
Watson looked up at Holmes, eyes alarmingly expressive before he tore his gaze away. "Someone should." And that was all he said. He folded the paper and rose. "I expect you'll wish me to accompany you tomorrow?"
"Yes," he said gruffly, appropriately alarmed by that alarming expression. He coughed once before going to pour himself a glass of scotch, "best. Just in case, I suppose. Not expecting any trouble. This chimney sweep is just a boy, although I suppose they might be on the look out." Holmes paused, the usual cadence of his voice returning as his mind settled back into the matter of the case - here was the Holmes Watson knew, precise and focused. "She took what was practical. Yet she left her jewels. A girl who knows enough not to bring silk to travel in would most likely know the use of jewels in starting a new life." He frowned, setting his glass down without taking a sip. "Where are they getting their money?"
"I would say that she was caught up in the moment, but as you note, practicality seems to be the rule of the day and she would know she could sell those. Unless she's found another way to access her father's money?" Watson asked as he pulled on his coat.
"Stolen something?" he asked himself, "black mail? Perhaps this is why Bath didn't want to go to the police, yet is still chasing her. She took something of great value to him, but not something he wants anyone to know he possesses. Stolen property. Documents that are worth money to his enemies."
"Either way, we'll know in the morning." As he opens the door to leave, Watson turned back, just once, to glance at Holmes. He said no more, but disappeared into the hallway and Holmes could hear the door slam a moment later.
Holmes watched him go and was still for another long minute after the slam of that door before bouncing to his feet. Once again he dived into the piles of papers, bottomless trunks and stuffed cabinets that made up his living quarters. He wouldn't sleep. He still had more work to do.
His lack of sleep was apparent around his eyes when Watson arrived the next morning. It was on the tip of his tongue to chide him about as they dressed to make their way to the shipyard, except that at the door, they met with an anxious looking man who wrung his hat in his hands. "'re you the Sherlock Holmes?" He asked, voice quiet and tight.
Holmes had shied back from the young man a bit at his sudden appearance, but after fifteen seconds of suspicious appraisal, he nodded once. "Yes." One short nod. "If you are here for my assistance you will have to wait. We are just out the door, but if you leave your name with...whatsername. The landlady, I will contact you."
"Mrs. Hudson," Watson supplied, barely holding back from rolling his eyes before he frowned at the boy. "Why do you ask."
"I know things," the young man replied. "About Bath. I know things. I know he hired you, and I know why. Please, won't you listen to me?" He implored of Holmes.
He froze, hand on the door sill. That was intriguing. Holmes half turned to look back at him, one eyebrow arched artfully.
"He ... " the young man cleared his throat. "Bath is a bad man. He ... he does bad things."
"What kind of bad things?" Watson asked, taking a step closer.
"The kind that would have him arrested, if you catch my meanin'," the boy answered. "I've seen 'im and I know. And I wanted ... " For a moment, his face twisted, then he went on. "I ... Regina is better away."
Turning, Watson met Holmes' eyes, one of his own eyebrows arched.
Holmes rolled his eyes and turned fully, setting one hand on his hip, the other setting the cane fully on the ground. "Well, now you've gone and done it, haven't you? He'll be saying I told you so for weeks." He strode back across the room to eye the young man intently, leaning as though he'd find some secret in the lines of the boy's face. "What bad things boy? Fraud? Embezzlement? Murder? If I'm to be convinced, I'll need to be convinced."
The boy's face turned a bright shade of scarlet and he cleared his throat. "It isn't proper to say in public, sir. If I may ... whisper it to you?"
"Whisper it-" Holmes looked positively delighted, glancing at Watson, "Well, then...if you must." He turned, leaning his ear toward their visitor as Watson looked on, amused, until he saw the tell-tale shift in Holmes' eyes.
Watson then asked, head cocked. " ... Holmes?"
A change, familiar to Watson, but certainly startling to this boy, had come over the man. He straightened, expression managing to be even and murderous at the same time. "Watson, you'd best get the pair of derringer pistols I've left on the mantel. We'll fetch the girl and her man, but then I do believe we'll have business to attend to." He looked to the boy and gave him a short nod. "I believe you. Thank you for the information."
"You'll protect her, then? Regina?" the boy asked, unable to look away from the expression on Holmes' face, even as Watson went to get the pistols without question.
"I'll protect her." Holmes extended his hand for the pistol that Watson gave him and slipped it into his pocket, "right now we must catch them before they get on that ship. If my guess is right, there will be men waiting for them in their quarters and that would be most unfortunate." He swept toward the door, mouth pulled into a grim line.
Watson caught up to him and asked under his breath as they hurried toward a carriage. "Would it be of value to tell me what the boy said that had you thinking it was best we bear arms?"
"It seems Lord Bath has certain...proclivities that make him rather untrustworthy around his young daughter." Holmes paused to send Watson a dark look before pulling himself up into the carriage.
Watson said nothing, shocked, as he climbed in after and they were away, across the streets of London.
~~
The Yard would take care of the rest. Holmes had no interest in making the papers, especially not in connection with this man. He'd known Lord Bath to be corrupt, of course, but this...it was something else entirely. The girl and her future husband were off on their ship to America by this point. Watson and Holmes had seen them off, with Holmes pointedly avoiding Watson's gaze. He preferred not to see the smirk that he was certain he would find. Instead he stood, hands in pockets, watching the column of smoke disappear into the distance. Fairy tale ending indeed. He felt like scowling, but his expression remained neutral.
"I won't say I told you so, if that's what you're worried about," Watson told him, watching the ship as well. "There was no way to know of the ... unpleasantness."
"No, certainly not." Holmes huffed and twisted his stick against the cobblestone. "Was your need to see them get their happily ever after fulfilled, Watson?"
"Under less that stellar circumstances, but yes, Holmes. It was. Perhaps you didn't notice how they looked at each other. It was, after all," Watson answered, "Irrational."
"I don't know that I ever said I believe love to be irrational," he said, voice tight with any number of things for which their conversation was a poor mask, "I insist on reason, not rationality. In this case, the girl's escape from her father had everything to do with reason. My decision to assist in their getaway had nothing to do with love."
"For you it didn't. For them it did." Watson turned away from the water to begin the walk back to the city proper. "Tell me, Holmes. Do you ever get lonely?"
"What a foolish question," he said quickly, his laugh more of a scoff and his refute coming just a shade too fast. "Lonely. Lonely for what?"
"For ... " Before he went on, though, Watson cut himself of. "Never mind. It was a foolish question. Even if you did, you would never admit it. Your ego wouldn't allow you to."
"Excuse me?" Holmes turned away from the view, facing his friend, "Watson, if you've something to say, you should say it." Ego? Ego?
Watson stutter-stepped once, never looking over. "No, Holmes," he finally said. "I have nothing to say. Except that I'll take a separate carriage. I've appointments today."
Something twisted in his chest, but he was a bit too dumbfounded at this reaction to stop Watson. He watched him go, brow furrowed and expression unusually telling. Watson wasn't playing the game as readily as he used to and Holmes was having trouble parsing this one out. If there was one person he'd always had difficulty deciphering, it was Dr. John Watson.
