Commonplace Crime (2 of 7)
Dec. 1st, 2011 11:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
capt_facepalmAuthor: ![[info]](https://capt-facepalm.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=1)
capt_facepalm
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Gaslight)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dr John H. Watson
Summary: Ambulance chasing, Victorian style!
Warnings: adult themes, off camera violence
Word Count: This chapter: 1260 (6914 total)
Author's Notes: MiniWriMo
capt_facepalmRating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Gaslight)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dr John H. Watson
Summary: Ambulance chasing, Victorian style!
Warnings: adult themes, off camera violence
Word Count: This chapter: 1260 (6914 total)
Author's Notes: MiniWriMo
Inspector Tobias Gregson was a large man and used his size and his bluster to his advantage. Although brawn served him well, it was rather upon his intellect and his solid record of solved cases that he made his reputation. His men jumped at his commands, eager to do his bidding.
‘I’m in charge here!’ Inspector Gregson bellowed, ‘Constable, move this rabble back. Official personnel only!’
‘Inspector, does that include Mr Holmes?’
‘Sherlock Holmes? Is he here? This is my investigation and I do not need his interference! Remove him at once!’
Young Constable Deakons advanced on the line of spectators at the fringe of the grisly scene.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Holmes, but you heard the Inspector: official police only.’
‘Thank you Constable. I heard, as did half of Whitechapel. I think I shall wait here in case he has a change of heart.’
PC Deakons gave a furtive glance over at the Inspector then shook his head.
‘As you wish, Sir, but I doubt... which is to say, it’s a cold night to be standing around, and it feels like rain...’
Holmes shrugged off these concerns and moved a little closer. ‘Deakons, your Inspector may yet see reason, but if not, it would not be amiss to examine the victim’s boots now, especially with rain on the way.’
‘I will. Thank you, Mr Holmes!’ he whispered before returning to aid his Inspector.
Sherlock Holmes used the opportunity to edge closer still, trying to make what observations he could and being frustrated by the dimness of the light. The mews itself was wide enough but the walls were lined with old crates and rubbish; a virtual midden from the adjacent public house. It was impassable by horse and carriage, he concluded. Several alleys, perhaps as many as four lead out to main thoroughfares. The inspector was not having them searched, but instead he was concentrating his forces on the victim’s body and crowd control. Holmes snarled in dismay as Gregson ordered some of the rubbish cleared away. Disgusted by the destruction of potential evidence, he turned back in frustration, searching the crowd for someone.
Standing among the second row of onlookers, leaning heavily on his cane and using his free hand to clutch his coat collar against the cold, Dr Watson was perhaps the only crowd member not eager to gawk at the gruesome spectacle. Seeing Holmes’ disgruntled expression, he made his way to the consulting detective’s side. Although he said nothing aloud, his features expressed his unease.
‘Bumbling, bungling oafs!’ Holmes exclaimed. ‘At this rate they will destroy the very evidence they require to catch their man! Keep your eye on the Inspector, will you? I need to examine that alleyway.’
‘Very well, but why that one?’
‘Can you not deduce it for yourself?’ his voice was tinged with exasperation.
Watson considered the situation, seeking the explanation Holmes hoped he would find, but once again he failed to keep up with the mental gymnastics of Holmes’ agile mind.
‘Sorry Holmes, I’m not in top form tonight. I fail to follow your line of thinking.’
Holmes huffed an irritated sigh and then re-examined his colleague.
‘Forgive me, Watson. You are tired and this damp is doing you no favours. It is sheer loutishness on my behalf to take out my frustrations on you. The alley in question is the only one which has direct lines of sight to where the body now lies. If any witnesses are to be found, that alley is the most likely place.’
Looking high and low, Dr Watson briefly examined the mews again.
‘The rooftops are too steep, but perhaps one of the windows...?’
‘Excellent reasoning, and fully in line with your military training! The high ground offers strategic advantages but surely the police investigation would keep any curious witnesses engaged, yet all the windows are dark and vacant. No, Doctor, it’s the alleyways or nothing! Watch Gregson. Warn me if he heads my way.’
With those instructions, Holmes darted over to the nearest constable, exchanged a few words, and then slipped away into the night, leaving the doctor to wonder exactly how he was supposed to send a warning. Watson kept his distance and watched Gregson and the others examine the body. Perhaps he would be able to observe something that Holmes might find useful. Eventually, the police met an impasse.
‘Does anyone know what’s keeping the Police Surgeon?’ Gregson bellowed to his men, but none could provide him an explanation. ‘Damn that man! It’s starting to rain. All the evidence will be washed away! Constable Rhoads, bring the canvas! We’ll have to keep the immediate area dry until Dr Langer graces us with his presence.’
Constable Deakons approached his Inspector with a suggestion. Gregson pivoted and glared at Watson.
‘Absolutely not!’ he roared as he closed his distance with the doctor, ‘Neither Sherlock Holmes nor this man have any place on my investigation. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Inspector, I do not mean to...,’ Watson began, the inspector’s incensed presence forcing him to take a step back.
‘Mr Watson, one word out of you and I will have you arrested for interfering! I don’t put up with Sherlock Holmes and I’ll be damned if I put up with his lackeys! Now get out of my sight! Go home!’
‘I cannot leave without Mr Holmes. He is has a carriage.’
‘That interfering busybody is your problem; not mine. I suggest you start walking.’
Watson cast a brief, involuntary glance down at his cane.
‘Can’t walk, eh?’ Gregson sneered. ‘Well, they claim you were something of a soldier… so march! Or crawl! I don’t care just as long as you leave!’
Watson felt his ears flush with embarrassment as he turned on his heel and made his way through the dwindling crowd. At least the increasing rainfall discouraged all but the most enthralled. Everyone had heard the Inspector’s bellicose remarks. While some of the idlers were appalled, a few took Gregson’s dismissal as licence to add jeers of their own. Someone stuck out a foot in an attempt to trip him. An unexpected nudge nearly cost him his balance. Watson’s angry countenance hid his racing heart, but the onlookers quickly lost interest when an argument flared up between the inspector and two of his constables.
‘You shouldn’t ‘ave sent ‘im away. What if Langer never shows up?’
‘Constable Staker, one more word out of you and you’re finished. I will not have my orders questioned!’
There was a well-shadowed spot, well away from Gregson’s toils, which still held a view of the alleyway egress. Watson retreated there and stood in melancholy contemplation of civilians’ morbid fascination. Some poor bloke lay dead and his misfortune was being used as evening entertainment for those barely scratching a living of their own. Watson leaned back against the wall, which provided little relief against the now steady downpour, but kept him well out of the circles of light cast by the policemen’s lanterns.
Watson shivered as he stood watching the alleyway for Holmes’ return. There was no way to estimate how long Holmes might take. If the detective found nothing, he might remain longer and intensify his search. If he found something, he might be off like a bloodhound and be gone for hours. Watson could no longer stop his teeth from chattering. He opened his pocket-watch but it was too dark to see the time. Striking a match would be futile. His were now soaked through, along with the rest of the contents of his pockets.
‘I’m in charge here!’ Inspector Gregson bellowed, ‘Constable, move this rabble back. Official personnel only!’
‘Inspector, does that include Mr Holmes?’
‘Sherlock Holmes? Is he here? This is my investigation and I do not need his interference! Remove him at once!’
Young Constable Deakons advanced on the line of spectators at the fringe of the grisly scene.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Holmes, but you heard the Inspector: official police only.’
‘Thank you Constable. I heard, as did half of Whitechapel. I think I shall wait here in case he has a change of heart.’
PC Deakons gave a furtive glance over at the Inspector then shook his head.
‘As you wish, Sir, but I doubt... which is to say, it’s a cold night to be standing around, and it feels like rain...’
Holmes shrugged off these concerns and moved a little closer. ‘Deakons, your Inspector may yet see reason, but if not, it would not be amiss to examine the victim’s boots now, especially with rain on the way.’
‘I will. Thank you, Mr Holmes!’ he whispered before returning to aid his Inspector.
Sherlock Holmes used the opportunity to edge closer still, trying to make what observations he could and being frustrated by the dimness of the light. The mews itself was wide enough but the walls were lined with old crates and rubbish; a virtual midden from the adjacent public house. It was impassable by horse and carriage, he concluded. Several alleys, perhaps as many as four lead out to main thoroughfares. The inspector was not having them searched, but instead he was concentrating his forces on the victim’s body and crowd control. Holmes snarled in dismay as Gregson ordered some of the rubbish cleared away. Disgusted by the destruction of potential evidence, he turned back in frustration, searching the crowd for someone.
Standing among the second row of onlookers, leaning heavily on his cane and using his free hand to clutch his coat collar against the cold, Dr Watson was perhaps the only crowd member not eager to gawk at the gruesome spectacle. Seeing Holmes’ disgruntled expression, he made his way to the consulting detective’s side. Although he said nothing aloud, his features expressed his unease.
‘Bumbling, bungling oafs!’ Holmes exclaimed. ‘At this rate they will destroy the very evidence they require to catch their man! Keep your eye on the Inspector, will you? I need to examine that alleyway.’
‘Very well, but why that one?’
‘Can you not deduce it for yourself?’ his voice was tinged with exasperation.
Watson considered the situation, seeking the explanation Holmes hoped he would find, but once again he failed to keep up with the mental gymnastics of Holmes’ agile mind.
‘Sorry Holmes, I’m not in top form tonight. I fail to follow your line of thinking.’
Holmes huffed an irritated sigh and then re-examined his colleague.
‘Forgive me, Watson. You are tired and this damp is doing you no favours. It is sheer loutishness on my behalf to take out my frustrations on you. The alley in question is the only one which has direct lines of sight to where the body now lies. If any witnesses are to be found, that alley is the most likely place.’
Looking high and low, Dr Watson briefly examined the mews again.
‘The rooftops are too steep, but perhaps one of the windows...?’
‘Excellent reasoning, and fully in line with your military training! The high ground offers strategic advantages but surely the police investigation would keep any curious witnesses engaged, yet all the windows are dark and vacant. No, Doctor, it’s the alleyways or nothing! Watch Gregson. Warn me if he heads my way.’
With those instructions, Holmes darted over to the nearest constable, exchanged a few words, and then slipped away into the night, leaving the doctor to wonder exactly how he was supposed to send a warning. Watson kept his distance and watched Gregson and the others examine the body. Perhaps he would be able to observe something that Holmes might find useful. Eventually, the police met an impasse.
‘Does anyone know what’s keeping the Police Surgeon?’ Gregson bellowed to his men, but none could provide him an explanation. ‘Damn that man! It’s starting to rain. All the evidence will be washed away! Constable Rhoads, bring the canvas! We’ll have to keep the immediate area dry until Dr Langer graces us with his presence.’
Constable Deakons approached his Inspector with a suggestion. Gregson pivoted and glared at Watson.
‘Absolutely not!’ he roared as he closed his distance with the doctor, ‘Neither Sherlock Holmes nor this man have any place on my investigation. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Inspector, I do not mean to...,’ Watson began, the inspector’s incensed presence forcing him to take a step back.
‘Mr Watson, one word out of you and I will have you arrested for interfering! I don’t put up with Sherlock Holmes and I’ll be damned if I put up with his lackeys! Now get out of my sight! Go home!’
‘I cannot leave without Mr Holmes. He is has a carriage.’
‘That interfering busybody is your problem; not mine. I suggest you start walking.’
Watson cast a brief, involuntary glance down at his cane.
‘Can’t walk, eh?’ Gregson sneered. ‘Well, they claim you were something of a soldier… so march! Or crawl! I don’t care just as long as you leave!’
Watson felt his ears flush with embarrassment as he turned on his heel and made his way through the dwindling crowd. At least the increasing rainfall discouraged all but the most enthralled. Everyone had heard the Inspector’s bellicose remarks. While some of the idlers were appalled, a few took Gregson’s dismissal as licence to add jeers of their own. Someone stuck out a foot in an attempt to trip him. An unexpected nudge nearly cost him his balance. Watson’s angry countenance hid his racing heart, but the onlookers quickly lost interest when an argument flared up between the inspector and two of his constables.
‘You shouldn’t ‘ave sent ‘im away. What if Langer never shows up?’
‘Constable Staker, one more word out of you and you’re finished. I will not have my orders questioned!’
There was a well-shadowed spot, well away from Gregson’s toils, which still held a view of the alleyway egress. Watson retreated there and stood in melancholy contemplation of civilians’ morbid fascination. Some poor bloke lay dead and his misfortune was being used as evening entertainment for those barely scratching a living of their own. Watson leaned back against the wall, which provided little relief against the now steady downpour, but kept him well out of the circles of light cast by the policemen’s lanterns.
Watson shivered as he stood watching the alleyway for Holmes’ return. There was no way to estimate how long Holmes might take. If the detective found nothing, he might remain longer and intensify his search. If he found something, he might be off like a bloodhound and be gone for hours. Watson could no longer stop his teeth from chattering. He opened his pocket-watch but it was too dark to see the time. Striking a match would be futile. His were now soaked through, along with the rest of the contents of his pockets.
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Date: 2011-12-14 07:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-14 09:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-19 07:53 pm (UTC)I'm really enjoying the style of this.
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Date: 2011-12-19 09:01 pm (UTC)