Chapter Six ~ Expanded & Revised
Dec. 2nd, 2010 03:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
capt_facepalmAuthor: 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 leaves London.
Warnings: Rambling plot development; no slash
Word Count: 1375 1675
Author's Notes:
- First attempt at a multi-chaptered story ~ this is Chapter Six
- Thanks again to long-suffering, and gracious
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med_cat who braves my atrocious grammar and inconsistent spelling to provide beta support.
.oOOo.
Another cab deposited Watson, Freddie, and the Lestrades in front of Waterloo station. There Doctor Watson informed Elizabeth that their destination was Southampton, where he knew someone who might be able to help the Lestrades find a secure hiding place where they could remain for the time being.
Judging the situation to be too dangerous to include Freddie, Watson finally told the boy his decision to leave him behind in London.
“Aw. I promise to be good. And I can help. I can!” the boy proclaimed.
Watson tried to explain that if it were not for the danger, he would gladly take the boy along. Freddie countered that he could just follow them on his own accord, since he still had the money the doctor had given him earlier that afternoon. As much as he admired the youngster’s ingenuity and tenacity, Watson gave him a stern, disappointed look.
“You would go against my express wishes?” he asked.
“No,” Freddie wailed in despair, “But I even washed my face and everything!”
Watson sighed. This was more difficult than he had expected.
“I just want to be useful,” the boy added morosely, not knowing that his words echoed the doctor’s own miserable sentiments of only a few years ago. Watson looked away to rid himself of the memory, then informed Elizabeth that he decided to bring Freddie after all. If she questioned his rationale, she said not a word.
A pushcart vendor selling sweets and sundries caught George’s eye. He spotted a mounted cavalry officer among the selection of tin soldiers, and begged his mother to buy it for him. Watson spotted a map of London and asked the pedlar if he had, by chance, an Ordnance Survey map of Hampshire and the Isle of Wight, and added that to his purchase of a small bag of sweets and the pasties Elizabeth recommended. It would be well past the children’s dinnertime once their three-hour journey to Southampton was completed, and they would be less fussy with full bellies.
George still acted warily around Watson, but found Freddie to be fascinating. The older boy was dutifully indulging the younger one’s attempts to play, but was far more interested in examining the doctor’s map.
Two hours into the journey, Elizabeth thrust Théa into the doctor’s arms, and left their compartment. Watson, who had been all but asleep, now found himself under attack. Although her hands were small, her grip was mighty. Théa squealed in delight and the doctor stifled a howl when she grabbed his moustache. This explained why the inspector had switched to being clean-shaven last month. Watson sighed; it seemed that all the Lestrade women were out to get him.
Registered in the hotel under the name of "Boswell & family", Watson’s party was shown to a small suite consisting of a bedroom and a sitting room. Elizabeth and her children would sleep in the bedroom, leaving the larger room to Freddie and the doctor. Watson urged Freddie to take the settee as he would be remaining awake, keeping watch through the night. If they were followed, and anything were to happen, it would likely occur then.
Elizabeth woke early, with the sunrise, her children still asleep; Théa on the bed, and George on the cot. When she opened the door to the sitting room, she beheld the doctor slouched in an armchair. As she approached, Freddie looked up from his perch on the settee and raised a finger to his lips. To keep them from becoming wrinkled, Watson had lain out his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt for the night. The doctor had fallen asleep in just his singlet and his trousers, in an uncomfortable-looking postition.
Watson's sleeveless undershirt could cover neither the old angry scar that marred his left shoulder, nor the darkened bruise that matched it on his right. Elizabeth felt renewed mortification at her previous actions. Even in repose, the doctor appeared weary; fleeting small movements betrayed his restlessness, his breathing was shallow and uneven, punctuated by occasional light snoring.
Elizabeth whispered to Freddie that she was going downstairs to make arrangements for breakfast to be brought up. The boy brightened at the thought of food, but suggested she ask the doctor first. However, she was not going to seek permission from this man who, although well-meaning, was barely more than a stranger.
They had been in such a hurry last night that she did not get to see much of the hotel’s main floor. She crossed the lobby and peered into the dining room where a few early-risers were breaking their fast. At the front desk, Elizabeth placed a request for breakfast to be sent to their room in an hour’s time. The lounge opposite the dining room was essentially an enlarged section of the lobby with many tall, wing-backed armchairs situated around small, low tables, some with ashtrays. It was deserted now but last night it had been occupied by gentlemen, enjoying their after-dinner tobacco. One chair, with its back to her, was occupied after all. Freddie’s trousers and shoes were visible from where she stood. She was being spied upon.
“What do you think you’re doing, young man?” she asked, confronting the boy.
Freddie apologised, explaining that he was obliged to wake the doctor when she left, and that Watson had sent him to watch over her. She grabbed Freddie and returned to the room in haste, determined to set a few ground rules for the good doctor. She had been gone not more than ten minutes altogether, yet when she returned, John Watson had washed, shaved, and dressed. And now, he was pacing in agitation.
“Please, do not do that again,” he implored, the obvious concern in his eyes suddenly dispelled her need to put him in his place.
Elizabeth let the little ones sleep as long as she could. Breakfast was brought to the room and everyone tucked in. Elizabeth fed small portions to Théa, and insisted that George eat some eggs. Freddie finished before everyone else and gave George’s uneaten portions a covetous look. Watson, who had uncharacteristically only picked away at his meal, slid the better half of his own breakfast over to the grateful boy. He glanced at his pocket watch and announced he was going down to the lounge to meet a friend and implored them all to please stay in the room.
The lounge was sparsely occupied by a few travellers and Watson was dismayed to find the most recent London newspapers were from the previous day. He chose a chair with a good view of the front entrance, accepted a cup of coffee, and glanced absently at yesterday’s headlines as he watched the door. His vigilance was soon rewarded when a gentleman with a military bearing entered. Watson stood and the newcomer smiled in recognition.
“Stevens, it’s good to see you! Thank you for coming,” Watson said with relief.
“How could I resist, considering your enigmatic telegram?” his companion replied. “If you’re in trouble, I’m here to help. You know that.”
Watson was unwilling to divulge any details until they were in the privacy of the hotel room. Once there, Freddie and the Lestrades were introduced to Michael Stevens, who had served as an orderly under the same command as Watson in Afghanistan. He had been similarly pensioned out of active service, and now worked at the Royal Victoria Military Hospital in nearby Netley.
When he was apprised of the whole situation, Stevens suggested their first course of action was to settle the hotel bill and relocate to his house. From there, other arrangements could be made.
Emily Stevens welcomed her husband’s guests with genuine warmth, despite their unexpected arrival. The children were quickly exiled to the backyard to play, and women withdrew to the kitchen before joining the men in study where they had removed themselves to strategise.
Michael Stevens had always been a good man to have around during a crisis, whether it be medical or otherwise. He was also one of only a handful of Watson’s army comrades who the doctor remained in touch with in the last few years. They discussed the Lestrades’ situation, and by early afternoon they had come up with a plan.
.oOOo.
The plan was simple enough: the Lestrades would seek refuge with Emily Stevens’ parents on their small farm near Weymouth. If trouble were to follow them there, they could flee to the Channel Islands, or on to France. Freddie would return to London and the Irregulars. Should Holmes try to contact them, he was to tell the detective to watch the agony columns for Watson’s messages.
Before dispatching Freddie back to London, Watson took the boy into Southampton to browse the second-hand shops. The boy was outgrowing his current attire and required larger sizes in both clothing and shoes. Watson picked out a rustic tweed jacket and a matching flat cap for himself, and the respectable suit that fit Freddie very well. Trades and purchases were negotiated, and the two returned to the Stevens’ home, sporting the their new acquisitions.
By evening, the London newspapers arrived in Southampton. The warehouse fire in Riverside was covered in great detail. At least one body was found amongst the rubble and the names and descriptions of two suspects were included: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. There was no mention of Inspector Lestrade.
“It all comes down to this,” Watson said, handing Stevens the inspector’s encrypted notes, “And I can make neither head nor tail of it.”
Stevens examined the enigmatic scribbles, but he too, had never come across anything like it in his experience. He paused when his eyes fell on the circular diagram, and raised a questioning look towards Watson.
“Yes,” the doctor replied, “It seems vaguely familiar, and if it does to you as well, then it must have some connection to Afghanistan. But in what regard, I cannot say.”
As the hour was late, the two finished their brandies and retired for the night, leaving the puzzle of the notebook unsolved.
.oOOo.
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no subject
Date: 2011-01-21 01:49 pm (UTC):-)
I think you do a really good job of adding cute stuff without becoming unbearably cutesy.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-21 03:14 pm (UTC)As for the little details, they are by far the most important. I try to include everyday things that could occur, in an attempt to create the illusion of realism.
Then I add some more whump!
no subject
Date: 2011-01-22 04:31 am (UTC)It's nice to imagine that men have to dramatically change their hairstyles too, when their wives have children.
:-P
no subject
Date: 2011-01-23 04:36 am (UTC)Good chapter, I liked that he had kept Freddie in the end, I've got the feeling he's going to be very useful in the future! Update soon please!!
no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 02:26 pm (UTC)Thanks for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2011-01-23 06:10 am (UTC)Favorite line:
"Although her hands were small, her grip was mighty."
I do believe Lestrade is raising a super heroine! The world's greatest defender of a clean upper lip! The scourge of cartoon villains everywhere!
And Burt Reynolds.I'd tell Snidely to look out if I were you. :D
no subject
Date: 2011-01-28 02:12 pm (UTC)Four words of win: (hyphenate as necessary)
Partially. Clad. Sleeping. Watson.
Thanks for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2011-03-03 09:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-11 02:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-08 08:12 am (UTC)Your exposition is great too, but sometimes I've felt like we're skimming along at a great pace without necessarily checking in with the characters to see how events are affecting them. For example, of course Watson helps George apologize to the veteran in the station, and *of course* he addresses him by his rank. But what's Watson actually thinking during the course of all this? Has he had experience doctoring the destitute of London and so is fairly comfortable? Does he have any "there-but-for-the-grace-of-God" feelings? Similarly, I think you could really flesh out Elizabeth if we actually heard her ordering Watson around or taking Freddie to task or speaking with her children. You're working with a lot of plot and information, so I understand your need to keep things moving, but you might want to play with where you describe conversations and where you actually show them. I think dialogue is one of your strengths--you might as well flaunt it!
Sorry, this has turned into an absolute monster of a comment (I've been typing forever, feels like!), I hope you don't mind! I can't wait to see what you have coming next. :)
no subject
Date: 2011-03-11 02:18 pm (UTC)You have given me a lot to think about in future efforts. This case fic is turning into a monster. Most of my stories so far have been small vignettes and I admit I am not used to trying to sustain momentum and interest over a long work. I am still working through the problem of how to balance textual description and dialogue and yet keep the plot moving forward. The whole story has been plotted out and each chapter ranges from 1000 to 2000 words.
Chapter Seven has just been posted, but it and three subsequent chapters were completed before receiving your comments.
So thank you very much for sticking with me through this story, and many thanks again for your comment!
no subject
Date: 2011-03-10 12:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-11 02:23 pm (UTC)I'm glad to hear you are enjoying it!
Chapter Seven has just been posted, and Watson and Holmes reunite, but danger is lurking close at hand...
Thank you for your comment!