Commonplace Crime (3 of 7)
Dec. 5th, 2011 11:20 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: 1530 (6914 total)
Author's Notes: MiniWriMo
Watson could not grip his coat any tighter. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other despite the pain it caused. If he did not move around a little more, he risked having his muscles seize and cramp. While the doctor waited in the shadows, Gregson swore many foul oaths and sent another man to search for the still absent police surgeon.
Most of the crowd’s curiosity had dissolved when the rain became a deluge. Only a dedicated handful remained. Watson turned when the smallest of sounds reached his ear. Not far from his vantage point he could discern the outline of a young woman. She clung to a slim recess in the wall. He moved closer. By the dim light he could barely make out her pale features, her cheap face paint running down her face. Her wide-eyed stare, spellbound with horror, stood out despite the dim and fleeting light.
‘Miss? Miss, are you unwell?’
The young lady might be a simpleton or a deaf-mute for her lack of acknowledgment. She continued to stare toward the canvas covered corpse. People’s reaction to death varied. Watson had seen this effect many times in war, but never before in London.
‘Miss, please come away. This is no place for you!’ the doctor implored, offering his hand which went ignored.
More commotion from Gregson caught Watson’s attention. Holmes had returned and was once again facing the Inspector’s ire. Since the young lady showed no signs of moving on her own, Watson left her to rejoin his flatmate.
Holmes’ entreaties were again rebuked and he gesticulated in frustration before stomping off in defeat. Gregson bellowed threats to his back as he joined Dr Watson at the sidelines.
‘Must you continue to antagonise the Inspector? His case is ruined. The police surgeon still has not appeared. His men are cold, wet and miserable...’
‘Truly? Dr Langer failed to show up? How wonderfully fortuitous! Watson, you must volunteer your services! There may still be a chance to find evidence on the body...’
‘No, Holmes! Gregson won’t have it. As far as he’s concerned, we are both personae non gratae around here. He made his thoughts on this subject abundantly clear, and I’m no longer sure that I would be willing to assist him anyhow.’
‘Pride, my good man, is the worst of the deadly sins!’
Watson glared at the detective as he wiped away the rain dripping from the end of his nose with the sodden coat sleeve.
‘Very well. We may have enough to solve this without the body. I was right. There were two people in the alleyway: a man and a woman. We are looking for a young woman; specifically a prostitute... but young, and inexperienced... perhaps new to London. Having no other suitable place of her own, she plies her trade in the streets and alleyways and was with a customer when something disturbed their commerce. The signs were clear...’
‘What signs?’
‘Really, Doctor, are you such a naïf?’
‘No, but I don’t... Oh. Oh!’ The doctor’s blush was obscured by the darkness. ‘Wait, what about the man, her client?’
‘I can deduce little about him, other than he’s a dockworker, red-headed, short and stocky, likes cheap gin, and does not live in this area. His footsteps clearly indicate he fled the other way to the main street in a state of panic. Chivalry is dead, my friend, he abandoned her in quite a state. She failed to gather up all of her belongings, including her fee. I lost her trail to the rain, but we may be able to trace her by this handkerchief.’
‘Surely the man would have been of equal interest? In fact, wouldn’t his flight prove him a better witness?’
‘Not if you think about it.’
‘I’m soaked to the skin and not in the mood for your riddles…’
‘You will never develop your skills if I have to give you all the answers. Very well,’ Holmes relented, ‘I’ll guide you through it, but the reasoning is simple and it will embarrass you to not reach my conclusions on your own. Think about the nature of prostitution. Who are the players, and how is the game played?’
‘Sexual favours are traded for money… or other goods in lieu?’
‘And where does this occur?’
‘Brothels, surely… perhaps hotels, and if you are correct, dingy alleyways in slums…’
‘If I am correct?!? This is going nowhere! Let me try a different tack. If you were in the market for gratification, would you shop close to home?’
Watson frowned in concentration as he set his mind to the task. It was not enough to answer the questions Holmes posed. He also had to try to fathom the detective’s purpose behind those questions. Holmes waited with impatient expectation.
‘…So, you’re implying that the ginger docksman is not from Whitechapel, but his lady consort was? That doesn’t make him any less of a witness! It just means she might be easier to find!’
‘Exactly! Inquiries in Whitechapel tonight for the girl I described should prove more effective than searching all of London’s dockyards tomorrow for some red-headed dock worker. Since that foolish Gregson has refused to hear my insights, I must now pursue my own inquiries.’
Another row between the inspector and his men erupted. Apparently word had arrived of Dr Langer’s refusal to attend. Whether it was the late hour, the miserable weather, an aversion to the slums, or a combination of any of these reasons, it mattered not. Gregson was in a bind: either the corpse had to be left in situ until morning, or removed to the morgue without proper examination. Holmes grinned but Watson found no joy in the inspector’s dilemma.
‘Well, Holmes, if you are finished baiting the inspector, I have found someone I think you should meet.’
Watson motioned for the lantern and led Holmes to his former location by the wall. Holmes raised the hood enough to illuminate the path before them. He started in surprise when his beam caught the figure of the young woman clinging to the alcove. His quick brain instantly recorded the details of her age, her cheap makeup, her hair askew, and her shoddy attire. He reached for her but she cringed and was about to scream. Holmes immediately backed away.
‘She matches your description but she is traumatised.’ Watson murmured.
‘Yes, I see that. We need her to come with us. She’s terrified of me. Watson, please try your luck, unless you think your bedside manner is too rusty.’
Watson ignored the jibe and stepped forth speaking in calm, concerned tones.
‘Miss? It’s me, again. Have you been hurt?’ I’m a doctor. My friend and I want to help you.’
Slowly he reached for her hand. It was cold and it trembled as he held it loosely in his only slightly warmer hand. When she did not scream he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and implored her to speak to him. Ignoring Holmes’ impatient snorting, Watson focused only on the girl. Eventually his kind words paid off and she turned to look at him. He smiled.
‘There, Miss! It’s all right. Nobody wants to harm you. What is your name?’
‘Lilly… Lilly Sheppard.’
‘Pleased to meet you Lilly, now let us get you away from this horrible place.’
With those words, he released her hand and shrugged out of his overcoat. He placed it gently over her shoulders and bundled her in it; its length falling below her knees. With Holmes lighting the way, the trio picked their way back to Sid and the carriage waiting for them in the High Street.
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: 1530 (6914 total)
Author's Notes: MiniWriMo
Holmes moved through the alley focusing his lantern’s beam in a methodical sweep. A few startled rats scurried into deeper shadows among the detritus. The rain was falling harder now and the constricted alley did not protect the detective from the downpour. This was not turning out the way he had hoped. He wanted Watson by his side to learn how to read evidence on the ground; instead, the doctor had to waste his valuable time keeping ignorant inspectors from interrupting his investigation. This would have been an excellent opportunity, he acknowledged when he spotted the vestiges of recent footprints. Allowing a brief smile of self-vindication, Holmes resumed his examination of the tracks. This work needed to be done quickly, before the rain rendered them unusable. Fortunately, he was very good at this.
There were two sets of footprints; a man’s and a young woman’s. They had entered together from the High Street. Having no light, they stumbled a little in the darkened alleyway and stopped near an alcove formed by a bricked-in doorway. There, scattered about, Holmes found some coins, a comb, and a woman’s handkerchief, soiled first with traces indicating an amorous encounter, and then with grime from the ground. The man’s footprints returned to the High Street on the run. The woman’s were lost to the rain.
Holmes puzzled these observations in his mind, collected the scattered evidence, then drew his conclusions and planned his next action: Cherchez la femme!
There were two sets of footprints; a man’s and a young woman’s. They had entered together from the High Street. Having no light, they stumbled a little in the darkened alleyway and stopped near an alcove formed by a bricked-in doorway. There, scattered about, Holmes found some coins, a comb, and a woman’s handkerchief, soiled first with traces indicating an amorous encounter, and then with grime from the ground. The man’s footprints returned to the High Street on the run. The woman’s were lost to the rain.
Holmes puzzled these observations in his mind, collected the scattered evidence, then drew his conclusions and planned his next action: Cherchez la femme!
.oOOo.
Watson could not grip his coat any tighter. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other despite the pain it caused. If he did not move around a little more, he risked having his muscles seize and cramp. While the doctor waited in the shadows, Gregson swore many foul oaths and sent another man to search for the still absent police surgeon.
Most of the crowd’s curiosity had dissolved when the rain became a deluge. Only a dedicated handful remained. Watson turned when the smallest of sounds reached his ear. Not far from his vantage point he could discern the outline of a young woman. She clung to a slim recess in the wall. He moved closer. By the dim light he could barely make out her pale features, her cheap face paint running down her face. Her wide-eyed stare, spellbound with horror, stood out despite the dim and fleeting light.
‘Miss? Miss, are you unwell?’
The young lady might be a simpleton or a deaf-mute for her lack of acknowledgment. She continued to stare toward the canvas covered corpse. People’s reaction to death varied. Watson had seen this effect many times in war, but never before in London.
‘Miss, please come away. This is no place for you!’ the doctor implored, offering his hand which went ignored.
More commotion from Gregson caught Watson’s attention. Holmes had returned and was once again facing the Inspector’s ire. Since the young lady showed no signs of moving on her own, Watson left her to rejoin his flatmate.
.oOOo.
Holmes’ entreaties were again rebuked and he gesticulated in frustration before stomping off in defeat. Gregson bellowed threats to his back as he joined Dr Watson at the sidelines.
‘Must you continue to antagonise the Inspector? His case is ruined. The police surgeon still has not appeared. His men are cold, wet and miserable...’
‘Truly? Dr Langer failed to show up? How wonderfully fortuitous! Watson, you must volunteer your services! There may still be a chance to find evidence on the body...’
‘No, Holmes! Gregson won’t have it. As far as he’s concerned, we are both personae non gratae around here. He made his thoughts on this subject abundantly clear, and I’m no longer sure that I would be willing to assist him anyhow.’
‘Pride, my good man, is the worst of the deadly sins!’
Watson glared at the detective as he wiped away the rain dripping from the end of his nose with the sodden coat sleeve.
‘Very well. We may have enough to solve this without the body. I was right. There were two people in the alleyway: a man and a woman. We are looking for a young woman; specifically a prostitute... but young, and inexperienced... perhaps new to London. Having no other suitable place of her own, she plies her trade in the streets and alleyways and was with a customer when something disturbed their commerce. The signs were clear...’
‘What signs?’
‘Really, Doctor, are you such a naïf?’
‘No, but I don’t... Oh. Oh!’ The doctor’s blush was obscured by the darkness. ‘Wait, what about the man, her client?’
‘I can deduce little about him, other than he’s a dockworker, red-headed, short and stocky, likes cheap gin, and does not live in this area. His footsteps clearly indicate he fled the other way to the main street in a state of panic. Chivalry is dead, my friend, he abandoned her in quite a state. She failed to gather up all of her belongings, including her fee. I lost her trail to the rain, but we may be able to trace her by this handkerchief.’
‘Surely the man would have been of equal interest? In fact, wouldn’t his flight prove him a better witness?’
‘Not if you think about it.’
‘I’m soaked to the skin and not in the mood for your riddles…’
‘You will never develop your skills if I have to give you all the answers. Very well,’ Holmes relented, ‘I’ll guide you through it, but the reasoning is simple and it will embarrass you to not reach my conclusions on your own. Think about the nature of prostitution. Who are the players, and how is the game played?’
‘Sexual favours are traded for money… or other goods in lieu?’
‘And where does this occur?’
‘Brothels, surely… perhaps hotels, and if you are correct, dingy alleyways in slums…’
‘If I am correct?!? This is going nowhere! Let me try a different tack. If you were in the market for gratification, would you shop close to home?’
Watson frowned in concentration as he set his mind to the task. It was not enough to answer the questions Holmes posed. He also had to try to fathom the detective’s purpose behind those questions. Holmes waited with impatient expectation.
‘…So, you’re implying that the ginger docksman is not from Whitechapel, but his lady consort was? That doesn’t make him any less of a witness! It just means she might be easier to find!’
‘Exactly! Inquiries in Whitechapel tonight for the girl I described should prove more effective than searching all of London’s dockyards tomorrow for some red-headed dock worker. Since that foolish Gregson has refused to hear my insights, I must now pursue my own inquiries.’
Another row between the inspector and his men erupted. Apparently word had arrived of Dr Langer’s refusal to attend. Whether it was the late hour, the miserable weather, an aversion to the slums, or a combination of any of these reasons, it mattered not. Gregson was in a bind: either the corpse had to be left in situ until morning, or removed to the morgue without proper examination. Holmes grinned but Watson found no joy in the inspector’s dilemma.
‘Well, Holmes, if you are finished baiting the inspector, I have found someone I think you should meet.’
.oOOo.
Watson motioned for the lantern and led Holmes to his former location by the wall. Holmes raised the hood enough to illuminate the path before them. He started in surprise when his beam caught the figure of the young woman clinging to the alcove. His quick brain instantly recorded the details of her age, her cheap makeup, her hair askew, and her shoddy attire. He reached for her but she cringed and was about to scream. Holmes immediately backed away.
‘She matches your description but she is traumatised.’ Watson murmured.
‘Yes, I see that. We need her to come with us. She’s terrified of me. Watson, please try your luck, unless you think your bedside manner is too rusty.’
Watson ignored the jibe and stepped forth speaking in calm, concerned tones.
‘Miss? It’s me, again. Have you been hurt?’ I’m a doctor. My friend and I want to help you.’
Slowly he reached for her hand. It was cold and it trembled as he held it loosely in his only slightly warmer hand. When she did not scream he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and implored her to speak to him. Ignoring Holmes’ impatient snorting, Watson focused only on the girl. Eventually his kind words paid off and she turned to look at him. He smiled.
‘There, Miss! It’s all right. Nobody wants to harm you. What is your name?’
‘Lilly… Lilly Sheppard.’
‘Pleased to meet you Lilly, now let us get you away from this horrible place.’
With those words, he released her hand and shrugged out of his overcoat. He placed it gently over her shoulders and bundled her in it; its length falling below her knees. With Holmes lighting the way, the trio picked their way back to Sid and the carriage waiting for them in the High Street.
