Title: Not in This Life - Part Five
Verse: Bookverse, first person Watson-POV
Rating: Teen
Genre: Angst/Drama/Adventure
Summary: Post-The Final Problem, alternate timeline. Holmes picks up the pen and sends that letter to Watson.

0o0o

Our trip to Prague was taken under the most auspicious circumstances. The weather was clear and beautiful and we took no precautions at all when hiring our transportation to the great city as it was our hope to be followed, eventually. Still, I couldn't help but nervously scan the hilltops for signs of a marksman, knowing full well that we were taking our lives into our hands with every mile covered.

Holmes was lost deep in thought for most of our journey. Long experience told me to be still and let him think. This was the key to success, although I was burning with curiosity as to how he would manage to lure Moran into a trap of our making. It was only when we reached the outer limits of Prague proper that he sprung to life, grabbing my arm and bodily pulling me from the carriage, ducking us both into an alley behind what appeared to be a closed factory.

"But Holmes ..." I stammered, watching our carriage ride off, the driver oblivious to the loss of his passengers.

"Now you know why I insisted you pay him at the start of our ride," Holmes replied. "No need to tempt Moran any more than we already have. We now have to shake him by melting within a sea of humanity. Remember, we are drawing him to us by letting him think he is on the hunt. I have no doubt he'll take this opportunity to refurbish his coffers."

Faithfully, I followed him through the city which he moved easily through, seeming to have an almost clairvoyant sense of direction. He tried to explain to me why most Western cities were planned in certain ways, why various shops ended up in certain areas and so on, but I was too distracted by the sights and sounds of this lovely place to pay complete attention.

We soon found ourselves standing in the tiniest tailor shop I'd ever seen. It was barely bigger than a water closet, but the gentleman running it was savvy, with keen little eyes that took in both our general measurements within seconds.

Holmes spoke to him in the native tongue with surprising ease. I could sense them haggling, but in the end the tailor nodded, pulling out from some corner an already-made evening suit, one that had probably been produced but not paid for by another customer. I nearly laughed aloud - how like Holmes to make his desires appear out of thin air when he felt so inclined.

"He can have it ready by tomorrow evening. It's wonderfully inexpensive, being that he'd planned to take a loss on it."

"You'll be wearing it?" I asked, already growing nervous at what his plan might be.

"Yes. Your lack of German and, forgive me, Watson, poor gambling skills will work at cross-purposes for the endgame, but will serve us very well for a start. I'm sorry to ask you to pay for all this, Watson ..."

"Whatever I have is yours, Holmes, as long as we can eventually escape this nightmare," I told him firmly. "Besides, I see you got us a bargain."

"The rest of our week won't be quite as cheap. But hopefully not as dear as Moran would want. Now, let us find lodgings in the center of town and inquire about the gambling clubs. I'm afraid I'll be making a dangerous request of you this evening."

He spoke with such concern, his gray eyes meeting mine so humbly I couldn't help but smile reassuringly at him. "A man doesn't shave off his mustache without certain expectations of intrigue and danger," I explained with a grin. "I should be very disappointed otherwise."

"You jest, Watson and while it does little to comfort me I can't find it in my heart to correct you," he sighed. "I have much to make up to you once this business is done, my friend."

"Once this business is done, I shall be content in all things. Now, perhaps we can fortify ourselves and you will explain to me your entire plan. No keeping me in the dark for this one, Holmes."

"No, not for this one. Or any other," Holmes agreed, taking my arm and together we searched for a quiet place to sup.

0o0o0o

Holmes plan was an interesting one, insomuch that it depended on more variables than I would have liked, but he seemed convinced it would work.

I would set the bait for the trap with an evening spent at a well-known card den where I'd present myself as a foolish, but wealthy foreigner, taking as large a loss as my pocket could handle for the night. News of such a prodigious pigeon in town would attract Moran who would sense an opportunity, drawing him to the club.

Once he arrived, Holmes, in disguise, would secure a seat at the table and take things from there.

He didn't elaborate further than that, even when I protested vehemently that such a ruse was far too dangerous. What if Moran saw through his disguise? What if he weren't alone? What if he were guarded by a sniper? What if ...

"All these are good questions, but none of them are deterrent enough to abandon the plan. Moran would hardly be fool enough to ruin himself in such a public manner. The crowded and smokey club will make it nearly impossible for a sniper to gain a clear aim, absolutely necessary with such a weapon. Besides, you haven't seen my disguise yet." He patted my arm and held up a recently purchased bottle from which emanated such a strong smell, I couldn't help but wince.

"Hydrogen peroxide," Holmes said. "We may thank Doctor Wolffenstein for its newfound stability."

"What are you going do with that?" I asked, nervous as always when Holmes decided to play mad scientist with strange chemicals.

"It has a most interesting cosmetic use, Watson," he said, grabbing a flannel from the pile left to us by the maid. "I'll need the water closet for my experimentations for the next few hours while you prepare for your unhappy evening at the club."

"What shall I wear?"

"Your coat and shirtsleeves will be enough. You are an English reprobate tonight, careless in every way. They will be drawn to you like moths to a flame. Just be sure to take only what monies you wish to lose and leave the rest with me. Two hundred pounds should suffice."

I nearly choked on the amount, but understood his reasoning. It would have to be outrageous enough to draw Moran in, but not so terrible as to impoverish us. It was with a nervous hand I prepared that evening, counting out the money pound by pound, putting aside the amount we were to part with, dressing as carelessly as I could manage. A slick of pomade in my hair turned me into enough of a rake to pass, not that the other gamblers would give a second glance to my appearance once I started laying my bets down.

"You are to lose naturally, Watson," Holmes called out to me, still ensconced as he was in the water closet. "Play as you normally would."

"What if I win?"

His laughter at that suggestion made me sigh, but he was right. I was an abysmal card player.

"Now, are you ready for my transformation?"

"How frightened will I be?" I asked sarcastically, not at all prepared for what I was about to see. At the sight of him, I stumbled back in shock at his drastically altered appearance. "My God. Holmes!"

"Yah?" he asked, in a guttural German accent which perfectly matched his blonde, close-cropped hair. Even his eyebrows were lightened to a perfect shade of Nordic gold and his salt-pale complexion did not suffer for the transformation, but was enhanced by it. With the tailored evening clothes and a monocle, he would be unrecognizable as anything but a high-born German national.

"I believe you owe me a promise now, Holmes," I said when I was sufficiently composed to speak. "You will return to your natural coloring once we are returned safe to England."

He laughed. "We shall have a contest to see who returns to his former self first. I dare say you have a very good chance of winning though. Devilish disguise this was. I hope I've done no permanent damage."

"I hope so too." I handed him the rest of money minus my gambling pool. "Wish me luck. Or should that be bad luck?"

"Don't you dare start winning now, Watson," he warned, with only a hint of humor. "Be as close to yourself as you can be."

"Whoever that is these days," I sighed. Reaching out, I took Holmes' hand to shake. "To the game, once again."

Holmes' eyes shadowed for a moment and in a burst of uncharacteristic emotion, he reeled me in closely for an embrace. "Be safe. For without you ..." Suddenly embarrassed, he let me go. He straightened his cuffs and nodded imperiously at me. "I will be waiting up to hear all your observations."

I nodded back at him and took a deep breath before heading out into the cool evening air.

0o0o0o

The club was as close and smokey as Holmes had warned. I worked my way through the tables easily enough; I'd been to places like this more times in my life than I'd like to admit. I took the offered drinks with a smile and pretended to quaff them while pouring most of them out in secret - a trick Holmes himself taught me.

I looked around for a serious table. The one where men stared at their cards with hooded eyes, their fingers never leaving their chips. I found one far away from the door, placed there probably on purpose, to discourage those who might try to run out on their losses.

With a carefree grin, I called over a server and ordered drinks for the entire group, throwing a five pound note on his tray when he arrived. "Keep the rest, my good man," I cried cheerfully. "Plenty more where that came from."

That was more than enough to gain me a seat at the table where I proceeded to play normally, losing at slow but steady pace. I feigned mild consternation but made vague allusions to the fact that there was no current limit to my funds. The other players were extremely friendly - of course, they would be - and loathe to leave the table for a moment, but one of them finally rose, claiming that his marriage wouldn't survive another moment of game play.

We made much merriment out of that and I have to say, I was not having all that bad of a time, playing hands and laughing with the other players, the universal language of gaming making us easy comrades. As long as I was losing and content to do so, all was well.

How foolish it was of me to allow such distractions, to let my guard down thus. For when the seat was taken again by a new player, I barely bothered to look up, merely dealing him in with a grin.

A grin that faded, replaced by stone cold dread as across from me sat the unmistakable and terrible visage of Colonel Sebastian Moran.

0o0o0o

to be continued ...

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