Thirty Days of Sherlock Drabble – No.7

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Brawl

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As Molly worried about what to do next, the chair across the table screeched against the floor and a large body plopped down.

"Hello little darling."

Molly looked up and faced a half drunk lout with a pot belly.

"I see yer friends have gone off and left ya. Never mind, I can entertain ya," he belched and leered at her.

"You have got to be kidding me," Molly mumbled. "Excuse me." She stood up and took a step away only to be restrained as the lout's meaty hand shot out and grabbed her arm.

"Aw, don't leave. Sit right here and have a couple of drinks. We can have some fun gettin' to know each other. My name is Jaaack." The man strung out the vowel in his name as if it were important.

"Let go of my arm," Molly said.

The man tightened his grip, leaned in and said in a drink sodden tone, "Now don't go all hissy on me." He tipped backward in his chair and pointed back over his shoulder. "The lads I'm with have a bet goin' on. They say I can't get you to join us for a drink. Be a good sport and come along with me. You won't regret it."

"Thank you, but no. I am leaving," Molly said not unkindly.

"Aw, honey, don't make it hard on yerself," Jack's voice turned surly and his grip tightened. He yanked on her arm causing Molly to stumble sideways. "Now sit down," he demanded.

"I said, Let go of me!" Molly was angry and more than a little frightened. Jack pulled at her arm again. Molly reacted by making a fist with her free hand and punching the drunk in the nose. It was more a combination of surprise and unbalance that worked in her favor. Her opponent fell sideways and crashed into the next table of customers. Jack let go of Molly as he fell, but his momentum caused her to tumble forward and roll under an empty table.

When she got to her feet, she was appalled at the result of her confrontation. The toughs at the table that Jack fell into objected to his presence. Jack's mates flew to his defense. It was like a scene from a silly cartoon bar fight. Legs, arms and furniture were all part of a milling mess. Molly briefly recognized Jack at the bottom of the flailing heap. She stared paralyzed in horror. Someone was going to get hurt and it was her fault!

"I suggest you follow me if you don't wish to spend the night in a drunk-tank," a voice behind her shouted.

Molly turned and stared at the familiar face.

"Professor Holmes!" she shouted back over the noise of the fight, "what are you doing here?"

"No time now. Follow me," he shouted back and lead her to the door and out in the night air. "Hurry," he growled. He pulled her along the street and darted into a dark alleyway as police sirens blared in the night.