MY FRIEND and COLLEAGUE - Chapter One - Midnight Sleuthing

Sherlock Holmes
MY FRIEND and COLLEAGUE
THE EXTRAORDINARY FINAL PROBLEM
by
Dr. John H. Watson
and
L. Guy Campbell
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Chapter One
Midnight Sleuthing
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    Mr. Sherlock Holmes and I had walked the irregular, cobblestone alleyways and back streets of London’s West End since the last bells of midnight stopped echoing.  Never before had I witnessed such urgency in his manner.  The fog was so thick that the dim yellow light from the gas-lamps afforded little help, yet Holmes was unyielding in his determination to search out the one criminal mind that has escaped him for so many years.  Holmes seemed frail, yet driven with an intensity that belied his physical condition.  I longed for our rooms at 221B, a warm fire, and some much needed rest for myself.  But I feared even more so for Holmes.  I also feared, in fact, that the night would be very long, indeed. 

    Holmes dauntlessly paced, with great speed, through the cobblestone alleyways in silence.  Only  occasionally would he emit one of his signature squeals that told me he’d discovered something of interest, though he shared not a word.  Otherwise, we traveled in silence with the exception of the lonesome echoes of our footsteps.  My friend’s agility at avoiding obstacles along our pathway in the poor light was astonishing.  Around rubbish bins and rubble in the narrow streets and alleys we sped.  Men and women, awash with drink and filled with lust and lechery barely noticed us as we passed them by during their passion filled grunting and groaning.  The fog had become so dense as to be a light rain, making us both damp and cold, yet our hearts were pumping wildly at the pace with which we wove our way through the night.

    Without warning, Holmes suddenly stopped in his tracks.  I nearly stumbled into him in the foggy mist.  Instinct and years of companionship caused me to remain silent beside my dear friend despite my inclination to ask the many questions I had.  He crouched low and motioned me to nestle closed to him in a large doorway on our left.  Both of us held our breath and tried to calm our rapidly beating hearts in the stillness.  A piercing silence penetrated the darkness with a feeling of evil.  For minutes that felt like hours, we crouched in the night, awaiting something that only Holmes might know.  I started to fall asleep in the doorway, I was so exhausted.

Whether Holmes heard the approaching carriage and the clip-clop of the horses footsteps before I, or had anticipated it’s arrival, I had no idea, but he seemed not surprised.  Holmes undoubtedly had led us easily to this location, though the maze of streets and alleys left me at a loss to know where we were.  I recognised nothing in the fog-laden dim of night, but was now sure it was shortly before dawn, noticing the early morning light penetrating through the fog.  The carriage stopped across the avenue from our hiding place and three figures descended quickly, then down a stairwell into an open doorway from which amber light shone out of the basement windows.  The carriage left as hastily as it arrived, leaving Holmes and myself in the grey silence.  My friend’s face, barely visible in the light, looked pale and hollow.  Yet in his eyes there burned an unmistakable excitement.  It was apparent that Holmes was satisfied with what we’d witnessed, though a certain resignation seem to lay about him.  It was clear to me now  that our evening’s labours were at an end, as Holmes turned heel to leave without so much as a glance backward, and little apparent care about being recognised.   

    However much an indecipherable maze our journey there had been, Holmes, in the ever increasing light of dawn, took a far more direct path back to our rooms.  Familiar streets and landmarks now recognisable to me were comforting as Holmes led us homeward with great haste.  Ever graceful, Holmes’s pace was fast, yet to the casual observer, unhurried.  Holmes had not spoken so much as a word in explanation to me in regards to our night’s journey, though I hoped that I’d not have to wait long upon our return home for an explanation.

    We arrived at Baker Street just in time to find Mrs. Hudson setting the table for our breakfast with delicious, and much needed, sustenance.  Eggs and bacon accompanied scones and ample portions of creamy butter.  A hot teapot brimming with steam called to my ravenous, and exhausted appetite, but Holmes would have nothing to do with our meal.  Even Mrs. Hudson’s pleading for Holmes, who looked ever so pale and gaunt around the cheekbones, to break bread was of no use!  I set about having my breakfast, patiently awaiting my dear friend’s next move.

    Pacing between the drawn blinds of the windows looking out on Baker Street, Holmes peered out to catch a glance of anyone who may have followed us on our retreat from the West End location from whence we came.  Satisfied that we’d arrived without detection, Holmes relaxed into his chair and heaved a great sigh.  His eyes closed and head resting on the back of his chair, Holmes sat silently for some minutes before lighting a pipe from the embers still aglow in the fireplace, and began to mutter out loud.  It was some time before I realised that Homes was indeed speaking to me, and so began taking notes.

©L. Guy Campbell 2013