Chapter Five

[capt_facepalm]

Author: Capt_Facepalm
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Doctor John H. Watson, Inspector Lestrade, assorted baddies
Summary:  Inspector Lestrade is frustrated with a case and turns to Sherlock Holmes, and his friend, Dr. Watson, for assistance.  And then things go wrong.  In this chapter, the doctor's mission revealed.
Warnings:  Rambling plot development; no slash
Word Count:  1410
Author's Notes:   
 

• First attempt at a multi-chaptered story ~ this is Chapter Five
• Thanks again to long-suffering, and gracious med_cat  who braves my atrocious grammar and inconsistent spelling to provide beta support. 

.oOOo.

“My husband had told me that the real John Watson has a bad shoulder,” Elizabeth Lestrade accused, “Unlike yourself, sir!”

“Madame, that is my other shoulder. You would have permanently crippled me if you had struck me so hard there!” her victim winced as he tried both to scuttle backwards and to raise his arm in an attempt to fend off her next blow.

She glared at the flustered gentleman at her feet. His expression, though certainly anxious, held no subterfuge. No doubt about it; Elizabeth Lestrade had just assaulted an innocent man.

“Oh, Doctor Watson, I am so sorry! It’s just that Giles has been so worried lately. He made me promise to be careful.”

She put aside the poker and helped the doctor to his feet and ushered him to the sofa in the sitting room. A little boy, of perhaps seven years, peeked around the corner, his arms confining a pretty toddler. The boy had the inspector’s colouring, while the little girl more strongly resembled her mother.

“Your husband was attacked this afternoon at a warehouse in the dockyards,” Watson began, once they were all seated.

“How bad is it this time?” Elizabeth asked, slightly piqued. The look on Watson’s face told her all she needed to know.

“He was alive and stable when I left him. I did all I could for him at the time. He needed a hospital, not a medic. I sent him to St. Thomas’s.”

“You’re a doctor. You should have stayed with him!” Elizabeth cried.

“I know! I know,” exclaimed Watson, “But he made me promise to keep you and the children safe. He is afraid someone will come after you. Can you not see that he values his family more than his own life? I have to get you safely out of London.”

Elizabeth said nothing, trying hard to comprehend all the implications of the doctor’s words.

“He made me swear…” added Watson morosely, as if it might help.

“Are you telling me that I cannot go to my husband? My wounded, possibly dying husband?” she said, with her voice raising in pitch.

“I am so sorry. Those are his very instructions. The Inspector sent me to take you safely away and that is what I intend to do.  He said you would understand; that you had discussed this in the past. Please pack some clothes for yourself and the children. I have a cab waiting to take us to Paddington.”

“George, behave yourself, and mind Théa while I’m upstairs,” Elizabeth said as she left the room, leaving the doctor to the scrutiny of distrustful eyes.

“Hello, George,” said Watson, “Do you understand what is happening?”

“Some people hurt my Da, and they may come after my Mum and us,” the boy replied, his arms locked protectively around his wriggling little sister. Watson nodded, and asked him if he had ever been on a train. The boy’s suspicion waned a little as Watson told him about how trains worked, but he never let go of his sister.

Within a few minutes, Elizabeth returned and took the children away to have them change into travelling clothes. Watson sat alone in the sitting room, absently massaging the new bruise on his shoulder. He would have to have a word with Lestrade; friends do not send friends into ambush situations! Then he swore under his breath in the frustration of not knowing whether his friend still lived. Even so, he resolved to remain optimistic, for everyone’s sake.

Once Elizabeth and the children were ready, the doctor helped them into the waiting cab for the ride to Paddington Station. Théa settled in her mother’s lap, while George stood, trying to look out the window. Elizabeth explained that she and Giles planned that in an emergency, she was to take the children to her family near Chester. Watson asked if anyone else at Scotland Yard was aware of these plans and did not like hearing that several of Lestrade’s colleagues were thus informed. A new plan was now required.

Paddington Station was very busy with late afternoon traffic when they arrived. Watson paid a porter to bring their luggage into the station. Freddie was already by the clock, tugging on his collar is if it was choking him, but not seeming out of place in his second-hand school clothes. A small carpet bag sat at his feet.

Watson and the Lestrades approached him.

“Fred, this is Mrs. Lestrade, and her two children, George and Théa.” said Watson, by way of an introduction, “This is Fred, my assistant. He sometimes helps me with the trains.”

“Mummy! Mummy! Look! That man has no legs!” George exclaimed pointing at a beggar in a dusty army uniform. Mortified, Elizabeth hushed her son and apologised to Watson. George gave his mother a questioning look, clearly puzzled by her reaction. In turn, she told him to go and apologise to the beggar. George, now frightened at his mother’s anger, absolutely refused, but Elizabeth was adamant and ordered Watson to take George over to apologise.

The doctor and the reluctant youngster approached the beggar. When it became obvious that George was not going to speak, Watson stepped forward.

“Corporal, I am sorry for how the boy has acted. He is overly excited about our journey and usually has better manners,” he said, hoping that it was truly the case. “George, don’t you have something to say to the Corporal?’

The little boy shuffled his feet while building his courage. He gave Watson an enigmatic look which the doctor could not interpret, but instead of an apology, George blurted out: “How did you lose your legs?”

Medically, Watson knew that people could not die of embarrassment, but he was certainly sure his heart had stopped as it dropped deep into the nether reaches of his stomach. The crippled veteran looked up at the doctor and with a broad smile turned to George and told of how as a cavalry man, his horse was hurt and rolled over on him. The corporal spoke directly to the boy, and without going into details unsuitable for a child’s ears, spoke of his battles in India. He answered George’s questions without reservation. Watson too, listened with interest, and when George was finally satisfied, the doctor dropped some coins into the Corporal’s tin cup with sincere thanks.

“I prefer a child's innocent questions to their parents pretending they don't see me, as if I don't exist,” the veteran shrugged.

Reunited with the rest of his family, George regaled his mother with the stories he had just heard. A short while later, Freddie leaned over and touched Watson’s arm to get his attention.

“Look over by the pasties,” murmured Freddie. Watson casually glanced over at the vendor and saw that Wiggins had arrived with a familiar bundle under his arm. The doctor excused himself from their company and wandered over to where the lad slouched against an advert board.

“Is that the inspector’s missus and kids?” asked Wiggins as the doctor approached him. Watson confirmed their identities and immediately asked about the Lestrade’s condition, only to be frustrated by receiving no new information. Watson emptied the contents of the bundle into his own pockets, relishing the comforting weight of his revolver when it rested once again in his possession. He paused, surprised, when he encountered Lestrade’s bloody notebook, and gave Wiggins a questioning look.

“Mister Holmes sent it when he found out the coppers was searching the hospital for him.”

“Would you please dispose of this coat before Mrs. Lestrade sees the blood on it?” said Watson, including a folded paper note in his handshake. “Thank you, Wiggins, for all your help.”

Wiggins looked down at the unexpected banknote in his hand; his mind in brief turmoil. He blinked. Twice. It was more money than he had seen in his whole life.

“Erm, Doctor Watson, you know you just gave me a fiver?” said Wiggins, grabbing Watson’s sleeve.

“Yes. Sorry, I cannot spare more,” he replied. Wiggins was about to protest that was not what he meant, but Watson held him by the shoulders and continued, “You may need to keep a low profile. Keep out of trouble, and use the money to look after the others.

“Now, please help find us a cab and help us with our luggage. There’s been a change of plan,” the doctor said, heading over to the telegraph office.
 

.oOOo.

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Link to Chapter Six
 

Comments

[baileyhix.livejournal.com]

The story proceeds apace...good luck with the momentum here lately mine has been dying in the home stretch.

eagerly awaiting an update.

Bart

[capt-facepalm.livejournal.com]

Oh, I wasn't going to offer to do a full case fic unless I was willing to see it through to the end. Each chapter has its outline, then it is just a matter of writing it. We're only a couple of chapters away from "The Last Train" chapter now.

Chapter Six is scheduled for release this week, once it's been beta'ed.

Thanks for sticking with me through this!