That Which is Hidden

Part One

My brother surprised me by making an unannounced visit to my flat on Baker Street that quiet afternoon. He had a commission for me, and thought it important enough for him to actually come to me instead of sending a summons as was his usual custom. It wasn't the sort of commission he'd occasionally given me in the past. It didn't require intelligence, perception or the ability to reason deductively; in fact, all it really required was a certain amount of nerve and a willingness to travel to the continent at a moment's notice.

He had been given the responsibility of seeing that a very important letter was delivered in a discreet manner, though from what he told me, it seemed that true discretion was a lost cause. Knowledge of the letter's existence had apparently already spread beyond close diplomatic circles. In fact, several likely couriers had recently been waylaid and searched while on similar missions and speculation was that this particular letter was what was being sought. As a precautionary measure, Mycroft felt it would be wise to seek a messenger outside the customary circle, someone who would be a bit more resourceful than those usually at his disposal. Naturally he came to me.

Ordinarily, I wouldn't have been terribly interested. Acting as a courier wasn't my usual line and held little attraction for me, and he, to his credit, acknowledged that quite readily. However, he also admitted to being rather desperate, a somewhat novel experience for him, and I could hardly refuse under the circumstances. He was my brother, after all, and I was as patriotic a person as he. Not to mention that the idea of getting away from London for awhile was quite appealing at that particular moment.

Once I'd accepted the commission, I expected him to take his leave so that I could make my preparations to be gone. I had a long journey ahead of me, and he seemed to feel that speed was of the essence, but for some reason he decided to linger. I wasn't long in the dark as to his purpose, however, when he broached the subject of my personal life. A subject, I might add, that I had no desire to discuss with him in any detail, however concerned he professed to be about my happiness. Though dissuading my brother from discussing anything he is determined to discuss can be a difficult prospect, even for me.

"That great brain of yours has failed you this time, Mycroft," I asserted firmly in hopes of cutting the conversation off. "You are wrong. Watson is my friend and colleague, nothing more."

"Really? You surprise me, Sherlock. I do, after all, know you and your proclivities rather well, and your attitude, indeed, your entire demeanour, as it relates to the doctor, has always indicated a very deep attachment between the two of you." Mycroft's voice held a tone of surety that I did not enjoy hearing. It meant he was unlikely to be easily persuaded that he was wrong, but I had to try.

While I mentally debated what approach to take, I roamed the confines of the sitting room, picking up items at random and replacing them a moment later as I organized my thoughts. "I am glad to hear that I retain the ability to surprise you now and again. Being wrong from time to time keeps one from becoming quite detestably smug, at least that is what I have been told, and I imagine it would apply to you equally as well. At any rate, Watson has announced his intention to marry at the end of the month. So you see, this time, you have made an error in your assumptions."

The chair creaked as Mycroft shifted his not inconsiderable weight, and I momentarily wondered if allowing him to sit in my basket chair had been a wise move on my part. "Oh, I am sorry..."

I shrugged and lit a cigarette. Dissuading him had been easier than I expected. I decided to be generous. "It's of no matter. Even the smartest man in London makes mistakes occasionally, it appears."

"You misunderstand me. I was not apologising for making an error, since I do not believe I have done so. My regret was for the damage done to your feelings by Dr Watson's actions."

Taking a deep drag on my cigarette, I turned and faced my brother, gesturing impatiently. "Then you apologise for nothing. I will admit to some slight annoyance at the loss of Watson's ready aid in my cases, but in no other way will his marriage incommode me. I am sufficiently established in my profession not to need his ridiculous, fantasy ridden attempts at publicity any longer, if I ever did. I am not convinced that such highly fictional accounts of my exploits didn't do more harm to my reputation than good in the first place. I am doing quite well enough financially to afford the Baker Street flat entirely on my own now. In some ways it will be a relief to have the total freedom of the place, never having to worry about accommodating anyone other than myself. His defection is of little consequence. Indeed, perhaps the sooner he moves out the better."

"Really, Sherlock, have you forgotten to whom you speak? Oh, I'll admit you give a lovely speech, and it might very well fool others who do not know you as I do, but it does not deceive me in the least. You have been emotionally attached, if not deeply in love, with Dr Watson for some time now, and I always believed that he felt the same way. All the signs seemed to be present whenever I saw the two of you together.

"However, I will admit that I might have been mistaken about the depth of the doctor's feelings. I do not know him well, after all, and I have only observed the two of you together a handful of times, the last well over six months ago. Perhaps things have changed since then. I am willing to be persuaded in the matter of the doctor's feelings, but not, my dear brother, in regards to your own.

"His engagement has upset you deeply. There is no doubt about this, and there is no need on your part to attempt to hide it from me."

I stared at my brother intently for a moment before giving in. Clearly Mycroft was not to be deterred from pursuing the subject of my personal life. Perhaps if I simply bowed to the inevitable, he would tire of it sooner and move on to something a bit easier to bear.

I sighed and gestured vaguely with my cigarette before taking a deep drag and throwing myself into a chair to stare silently into the empty fireplace. When I spoke again, it was in a far more muted tone. "I will admit to feeling a bit at a loss."

"Have you considered simply telling the doctor how you feel?" he asked quietly.

"What good would that do? The man is a dedicated admirer of womankind. If it was not this woman, eventually it would be another. Sooner or later his loss to one of them was unavoidable."

"You are quite certain of that? Because that is not the impression I have always had from seeing the two of you together."

I held up a hand in emphasis as I declared without reservation, "No, in this I am confident you are wrong. Perhaps you could see my regard more plainly than I intended, but whatever you saw from Watson, it was friendship only; strong, true and loyal, yes, but friendship nevertheless. He has no deeper feelings for me."

After a brief silence during which he appeared to be considering my words carefully, Mycroft shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I've reviewed my data, and I stand by my conclusions. Your Dr Watson does have feelings for you that go much deeper than simple friendship."

I opened my mouth to protest further, but my brother forestalled me.

"I do not doubt your assertion that he has become engaged. I do not even doubt that he has feelings for his fiancée as he is not a man to trifle with a lady's affections intentionally. However, that does not mean that he does not have deep feelings for you. Perhaps, for obvious reasons, he believes that he cannot act on those feelings, and thus has set them aside as untenable just as you have done.

"After all, if you have not in any way given him a glimpse into your own deep regard for him, then he no doubt believes that you do not have any feelings on the matter. You have always been rather vocal in your distain for displays of love and affection. Although a bright and personable man, the doctor is not as adept an observer of human behaviour and motivation as you are, and he is used to believing what you tell him.

"I do think in this particular matter, however, you have allowed your fear to cloud your judgement. Doctor Watson does care for you, my dear Sherlock, and you would be a fool to let him marry another without first expressing your own regard and giving him a clear choice in the matter."

"He will turn me down." The words were out of my mouth before I could call them back, though it hardly mattered. To continue to deny my feelings to my brother would have been pointless. The man knew me too well. It was foolish of me to have attempted to deceive him in the first place.

"You won't know that unless you try, and if he does, you are no worse off."

"How can you say that?" I jumped to my feet and began to repeatedly pace out the length of the fireplace. "Of course I would be worse off if I tell him of my feelings and he is repelled by them. I could lose his presence in my life entirely. I would lose his friendship, his companionship and his regard all at once. Do you really think I would find that preferable to simply losing domestic intimacy and some time in his company? If he were to shun me entirely, I... I don't know what I would do."

"There is a chance, I will concede, but I believe it to be an exceedingly small one and well worth taking the gamble on."

I snorted shortly and shook my head. "Perhaps for you it would be worth gambling on, but this is my life we are discussing here. Mine. I cannot take such a risk. I won't."

"Then you must live with the consequences of your refusal to act."

"I know and I am resigned to doing so. Besides..." I shrugged and attempted a smile. "You cannot deny that, given the current legal climate, it is far safer for both of us if we remain nothing more to each other than what we currently are."

My brother frowned darkly. "That abominable law. It's nothing more than an invitation to blackmail." He paused and sighed before continuing. "So you would trade happiness for safety, then? I will admit your attitude in this matter surprises me. You have always been a risk taker."

"I do not believe I am in a position to make such a trade as you suggest, but even if I was, I would not trade Watson's safety and happiness for anything in the world. He deserves both, and he shall have them. There are certain things that are not worth risking. My decision in this matter stands, and I would thank you if we could speak no more of this."

Since it was rather obvious that I had reached the end of my tolerance for personal probing, and since my brother had brought the subject up only out of concern for me, which is the sole reason I allowed him to get away with it in the first place, he let the matter drop, and we brought our conversation to a swift conclusion.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Once Mycroft left, I wasted no time in slipping the precious letter between the back and the frame of the mirror on my mantelpiece, long a successful, if temporary, hiding place. Although I fully intended to be packed and gone in a few hours time, considering its history, I felt it was worth taking the extra precaution of not having it about my person until I had no other choice in the matter.

I'd barely turned away and headed for my room when I heard Watson's step on the staircase. My pulse quickened instantly at the familiar sound, and I made a conscious effort to calm it. He was home somewhat earlier than usual. I held no hope that I was any part of his reason for being so, however. No doubt he had plans for an early dinner with the inestimable Miss Morstan and wished to change before meeting her.

"Was that Mycroft I saw leaving just now?" Watson strode into the sitting room with a questioning smile on his handsome face, and I had to consciously force myself not to smile in return. My strong attraction to the doctor was an affliction of long duration and living with him for all this time had often tested my control to the limits. As difficult as it has been to hide my growing feelings from him, I would not have missed living with him for anything, and I knew I would miss him dreadfully when his marriage forced us to part company.

I casually waved my cigarette in the direction of the window, took a final drag on it and tossed the butt onto the empty hearth.

"Yes. He had a job for me to do. Nothing you need concern yourself over. However, it will require my absence from Baker Street for awhile. I'm afraid I may have to miss your wedding, dear boy. It can't be helped...a matter of some importance to the government. I hope you understand."

A cloud crossed Watson's face and his eyes looked slightly troubled as he gazed at me. "I'm sorry to hear that, Holmes, though I'm afraid the wedding may have to be postponed at any rate."

I gave him my full attention. Could I be getting a reprieve? "Why, my dear fellow? Are you having doubts?"

"No, no, it's not that." He dashed my hopes with a casual shake of his head. "We simply cannot find anywhere suitable to live after the wedding."

"Why ever not?" I found this to be a rather astonishing and unlikely excuse for a delay. "There are thousands of flats for rent in London in all price ranges, all the time."

"Yes," Watson acknowledged my statement with a nod of his head and a sigh. "And I'm beginning to feel as if we have looked at every one of them recently."

"Is Miss Morstan being difficult to please? I would not have thought her to be overly demanding. She does not come from a wealthy background and certainly appeared to be quite practical and certain of her desires." She was quick enough to see the value in you, after all, I conceded to myself. Not that it wasn't blindingly obvious, of course, I was certainly well aware of Watson's immense value within days of first meeting him.

"Oh, no. Mary has exhibited the patience of a saint through all of this. I'm afraid that I'm the one who's being hard to please." Watson hesitated and I could feel my pulse beginning to quicken. "You see I have become very fond of our rooms here in Baker Street and I would really like to find something that feels as comfortable, but nothing I've seen so far comes close. Mary is becoming quite vexed with me, I'm afraid."

This sudden intractability struck me as quite unlike my usually amiable and accommodating friend, and I wondered momentarily whether he was telling me the truth about why he was having such a hard time finding suitable accommodations. Perhaps he didn't realise himself exactly why he was having such difficulty. Perhaps...

No. I dismissed that train of thought as soon as it occurred to me. Allowing myself to think that I might have anything to do with his apparent reluctance to leave Baker Street would only lead to painful disillusionment. Watson wanted to leave. Change, even greatly desired change, was often quite unsettling and finding the perfect flat could be, at times, a difficult task. They would work it out in the end. He was not about to let such a small thing come between him and wedded bliss. I was quite certain of that.

"Well, I'm sure you will find something soon," I said quickly, having abruptly realised that I'd let my thoughts run away with me and had been silent for several moments too long.

He frowned at me and concern shadowed his eyes. "I hope so. Are you all right, Holmes? You seem a bit distracted. Is it this job of Mycroft's? Would you like to talk about it? I'm supposed to be meeting Mary for an early dinner, but I can always spare you some time if I can be of assistance."

Was that a faint note of eagerness I heard in his voice? "Oh, no, there's nothing you need to concern yourself about. Perhaps I am somewhat distracted by planning for my trip, but it's nothing that should keep you from your rendezvous."

"Oh." For the briefest of moments he appeared disappointed at my refusal to discuss my commission, but the expression passed from his face in an instant. "Well, can you tell me how long you're likely to be gone then? As I said, if we can't find suitable lodgings then we might push the wedding date back a few days. If I know when you plan to return, we could certainly hold off until you can make it."

"Oh, no, I couldn't ask you to do that!" I was filled with horror at the very thought. After Mycroft handed me such a perfect excuse to miss the happy event, the last thing I wanted Watson to do was try to find a way around it. "I could be away for weeks...months even. No, my dear Watson, you should go through with your wedding as planned. I'm sure suitable lodgings will present themselves soon. Please, on no account should you alter your plans for me."

"All right, if you say so, Holmes. I will miss having you there, though," Watson said, disappointment clearly marking his features this time.

"As I will miss being there," I lied as smoothly as I could, "but it can't be helped."

Watson nodded and a vaguely uncomfortable silence settled between us.

Finally Watson pulled himself together and smiled at me. I will miss being the recipient of his smiles, they are always wonderful to behold. "Well, I should go and change. Will you be here when I get home or do you plan to leave this evening?"

"I hope to be gone as soon as I can pack my bags and persuade Mrs Hudson to provide me with something to eat."

Watson nodded solemnly. "I see. Then I guess I should say good-bye. I'll leave word with Mrs Hudson where you can reach me, if you aren't back before..."

"Yes, yes, that will be fine," I exclaimed quickly and extended my hand.

He stared at it for a brief moment then reached forward, but instead of simply shaking my hand as I'd intended, he grasped it tightly and drew me close. I closed my eyes and let him enfold me in his arms, allowing my own to come up around him and complete the embrace. I was briefly overcome with the impulse to cling to him and beg him not to marry but to remain in Baker Street with me, but I firmly controlled myself and remained silent. However, I knew that the feeling of having his body pressed so tightly against me that I could feel his heart beating against my chest would linger in my mind for a very long time.

When I pulled away, I gave him a fleeting smile. "You need to change, and I have much to do before my trip."

"Yes, of course," he agreed almost absently as he turned and headed slowly for the staircase. He paused at the foot of it and turned back to me with the most peculiar expression on his face, as if he was determined to say something important but wasn't exactly sure how. "Holmes, this isn't... I don't want..." He stopped and stood silent for a moment.

Unaccountably, my heart began to beat faster as I finally prompted him gently. "Yes?"

But as he stood and looked at me, a change seemed to settle over him and whatever he had been planning to say, remained unsaid. Instead he shook his head, smiled a slightly strained smile, and said, "It's not important. Have a safe trip, old boy."

"I will," I replied, wondering what was really going through his mind, but before I could say anything more, he quickly turned away and headed up to his room. I watched him go until his feet disappeared around the curve of the stair, then I went into my room and closed the door, making sure to stay safely within until I heard him leave for dinner a short time later.

ooooooooooooooooooo

Mrs Hudson produced a light meal at my request, but I found, once I finally sat down to eat it, that I had no appetite for food. My mind insisted on dwelling fixedly on my final conversation with Watson, analysing his every nuance of speech, his every expression, and most particularly speculating madly on what he thought better of saying to me. I don't want... What didn't he want? To get married? To leave me? To have steak for dinner? The possibilities were endless which, of course, made speculating about them not only frustrating but utterly pointless.

I threw down my napkin in disgust and rose from the table giving up the thought of eating anything. Moving swiftly to the fireplace, I lit a cigarette and tossed the spent match onto the hearth. Even though such speculation was pointless, I could not seem to stop myself from doing it. Although Watson was often convinced I could read his mind, I knew in this case that I hadn't a clue as to what he was currently thinking and feeling.

My own feelings were getting in the way of my making any sort of accurate assessment of his. The fact that I now had absolute, tangible, and very personal proof that emotional involvement clouded reason and judgement and prevented the making of accurate deductions was of absolutely no comfort at all. My feelings for John Watson, never inconsiderable, had been getting stronger for months. I knew that I could no more stop loving him than I could stop the sun from rising in the eastern sky. However I also knew that he would never be mine. I currently had as much of him as I would ever have and somehow I needed to convince myself that was enough.

As I blew out a long stream of smoke, I stared thoughtfully at the mirror on the mantle. What I needed to do was put aside all thoughts of Watson and his upcoming marriage. I had a mission to perform and a train to catch. To continue to dwell on this relationship that could never be what I wished it to be was nothing but a waste of my time. Angrily, I took a final drag from my cigarette before pitching it, too, onto the hearth. My bags were packed. It was past time that I left.

When I returned, Watson would be a married man, and I would have Baker Street to myself. That was my reality. It was time to stop this useless speculating and move on with my life as he was moving on with his.

I raised my hand to the mirror to retrieve the letter from its hiding place and paused at the sudden sound of loud and unfamiliar voices in the hall below. As the scream of my landlady, sharply cut off, and the distinctive sounds of a scuffle reached my ears, I turned quickly away from the fireplace and ran across the room, crying out Mrs Hudson's name. I wrenched open the door to the sitting room, intending to throw myself through it, only to find my way blocked by a man holding a pistol aimed squarely at my face.

Astonished, I fell back a step, and the man quickly moved forward. "Mr Sherlock Holmes, I presume," he said with a smirk.

I nodded. "You have the advantage of me," I said, although it wasn't quite true. His wild blond hair combined with the jagged scar that ran down the left side of his thin face was as good as a calling card. I had little doubt but that he was a well-educated but brutal thug for hire named Peter Grimes. I'd never had any personal dealings with Grimes, but his name had come to my attention more than once during my many forays into the less than savoury areas of London. He had quite the reputation as someone with few moral scruples, who would do pretty much whatever was asked of him if the price was right. Finding such a man standing in my sitting room doorway and pointing a gun at my head was both completely unexpected and immensely appalling.

"Good! I intend to keep that advantage," sneered Grimes as he placed a hand in the centre of my chest and shoved me back toward the settee.

"What have you done to Mrs Hudson?" I demanded angrily. I still heard the odd thump from downstairs, but the screaming had stopped.

"Don't worry, Mr Holmes. The old lady is fine. I don't make a practice of hurting women unless I have no choice. My associate is simply seeing that she can't interfere while we have a little chat. Of course, if the conversation doesn't go the way I want it to, that could change."

"What do you want?" I asked, though there really wasn't any need. What could he want other than the sealed envelope that currently resided inside the mirror on my mantelpiece? I wasn't involved in any other cases at the moment, and none of my recently completed endeavours could have prompted this sort of invasion of my home. No, Mycroft's letter was the only logical reason for this intrusion.

Grimes smiled and immediately confirmed my conclusion. "I want the letter, of course."

"What letter?" I cocked an eyebrow and spread my hands.

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You know very well what letter I mean. The one your fat brother gave to you this afternoon. I'm going to save you a long trip to the continent, Mr Holmes. Give the letter to me, and neither you nor your landlady will be hurt."

I shook my head. "Sorry. I can't do that." Clearly my brother was being watched. He'd be aghast if he knew. He always prided himself on moving virtually unknown through the circles of power, keeping most people ignorant of his true importance.

"He said you'd be difficult," said Grimes with a twist of his thin lips.

"Who said?" I asked sharply. Grimes was never one to act on his own. Someone was always holding his leash.

Grimes smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know? Ah well, I didn't want things to go this way, but I suppose it was inevitable considering your reputation." He tilted his head back, while never removing his eyes from me and yelled, "Jamie! Get up here."

Loud footsteps clambered up the stairs and a large man with heavy features and a thatch of coarse black hair lumbered through the doorway.

"Everything taken care of downstairs?" asked Grimes.

"The old lady's in the pantry with the door shut. I tied her up good and tight. She'll keep."

"Excellent. Mr Holmes here isn't being very cooperative."

"You want me to persuade him for you?" A slow smile crept across Jamie's face. His thick lips resembled nothing so much as a pair of wriggling worms, and he flexed meaty fingers in a manner that was no doubt intended to be threatening. I found neither the expression nor the gesture particularly intimidating. Jamie was nothing but brawn without brain and could be dealt with rather swiftly if given the opportunity. Only his much shrewder partner and his rather large gun stood in my way.

"Not yet. I think we'll do a bit of looking around first, but you can start by searching our host."

I took an involuntary step back when Jamie approached me, but before I had the chance to resist, Grimes held his gun closer to my head and sneered, "If you want to remain conscious, I'd cooperate if I were you."

I stared back at him calmly and shrugged. "If you shoot me, you'll never find what you're looking for."

"We'll see," said Grimes as he glanced briefly at Jamie and jerked his head in my direction

I held my position and deliberately spread my arms. I needed to choose my battles and there really wasn't any reason not to submit to the search. After all, I did not have the letter on me. I expected the gargantuan Jamie to simply pat at my clothing and perhaps remove the contents of my pockets, but instead, he ripped my jacket completely off and rifled through it before stripping me of my waistcoat as well. Then he grabbed roughly at the pockets of my trousers, tearing one open. In a very short time, I was thoroughly dishevelled, and everything I had stored on me was strewn about the floor at my feet.

Once he was done defiling my person, Jamie looked to his boss and stated the obvious. "He doesn't have it on him."

Grimes nodded and shrugged. "I didn't really expect that he would, but we needed to be sure." He pointed to the luggage that stood by the door, awaiting my departure. "You can begin by checking his bags. If it isn't there then tear the place apart. We need the letter and I don't want to be all night about getting it."

Jamie nodded and headed for my luggage.

Grimes motioned for me to step back and sit down on the settee, so I did, watching as Jamie began to tear apart the bags I'd so carefully packed just a short time earlier.

"As you can see for yourself, Jamie isn't a particularly gentle person. You can save a lot of wear and tear on your possessions by simply giving me what I want."

I watched as Jamie tore the lining out of one of my better jackets, examined both pieces thoroughly, and then threw the remains on the floor before rummaging around for another garment.

Turning back to Grimes, I forced a smile. "It was time to update my wardrobe anyway."

I could see that my attitude annoyed Grimes, which wasn't a bad thing up to a point. As long as he didn't become so annoyed that he simply shot me in frustration, he was much more likely to give me an opportunity to disarm him if he remained mildly annoyed and distracted by his search.

"Once he's through with your bags, he's going to subject the rest of your belongings to the same treatment," Grimes exclaimed heatedly. "If you don't want to have to "update" everything in this damned flat, I'd suggest you start cooperating. Where is the letter?"

"Who are you working for?" I asked sharply, hoping to surprise an answer out of him.

"Give me the letter and perhaps I'll tell you," he shot back.

"Tell me and I'll consider giving you the letter," I answered in return.

"I guess we'll be doing this the hard way then," Grimes snarled with a glare.

I sat on the settee for the next hour with Grimes pacing before me and watched as the thuggish Jamie tore the flat apart in an enthusiastic, but not terrible systematic fashion. Not that it really ended up looking very much worse in the end than it ever did when I myself sought for something amongst my books and papers, but it is one thing to rifle carelessly through my own belongings and quite another to watch someone else do so. I particularly regretted the loss of so much useful glassware when he upended my chemistry table in a fit of pique, but that was hardly the worst of it.

It was particularly difficult to watch him toss Watson's belongings around, and I hoped that the good doctor would forgive me for allowing this brute to treat his possessions so shabbily, but I really had no choice in the matter. Protesting would have availed me nothing, and no matter how big a mess they made of things, I couldn't just hand the letter over to them. I'd given my word, and Mycroft had been quite specific as to its importance. I will admit to a rising curiosity as to its contents, however.

At one point during his search, Jamie swept everything off the mantle. It took a great deal of effort on my part to continue to appear unconcerned as the mirror fell to the floor in front of the hearth. I knew if it shattered, the letter would undoubtedly be exposed, but luck was with me on this small point at least. By some miracle, the mirror bounced but did not break, and afterwards, it lay there reflecting the wreckage of my sitting room while both intruders ignored it and continued to look elsewhere for their prize.

I knew that my time was running out, but though I was watching closely for an opening that I could turn to my advantage, it never came. If I could have got my hand on my riding crop, or the fireplace poker, I might have been able to knock the gun from Grimes's hand, but as it was, the man never came within my reach, and I could do nothing but sit and watch, and brood over what was to come. For if nothing happened to change the current course of events, I had little doubt how this evening would end.

Finally Grimes seemed to lose his patience and, without warning, he stepped forward and struck me a severe blow with his pistol. I fell back against the settee and could feel the blood trickling down the side of my face as I struggled to sit upright again.

"Where is the letter, Mr Holmes! We've wasted too much time on this already."

I wiped the blood from my face with the back of my hand and shook my pulsing head as gently as I could manage. "You're the one in a hurry, not me. Since it does not appear that I will be able to make my train, my evening is perfectly free."

Grimes narrowed his eyes and aimed the gun at my head once more. "If I don't get that letter right now, this will be the last evening you ever see."

I could tell that he meant it, but it changed nothing. I couldn't give him the letter, nor could I possibly overpower him before he shot me. As frustrating as it was to admit, it appeared that we had reached an impasse that even I could not breach. What an abysmal way to end my career, shot to death on the settee in my own sitting room by a pair of thugs with too little patience and only one brain between them.

I straightened up to face Grimes, but before I could open my mouth to respond, I heard the distant sound of the front door as it opened and closed, followed by a familiar step on the stairs. Sudden cold horror flooded through my breast, and the defiant words I'd intended to utter froze on my lips.

Watson was home early.