Tempest in a Teapot

Chapter 1: Discombobulation

Shadowy figures danced along the walls, fueled by the blazing fire in the stone fireplace. The heat it put off did little to warm the two shell shocked individuals lumbering in the high backed chairs facing the fire. The only sounds to be heard were the crackling of the logs, the soft ticking of an antique clock residing on the shelf of a nearby wooden bookcase, and the occasional tapping of a raindrop against the window pane. The rain outside had mostly ended, leaving in its wake a gathering fog that would soon envelope London in its cool embrace.

A chair creaked as one of the men reached over to set down his empty glass of brandy and exhaled a deep breath. His companion threw him a glance, finished the rest of his brandy and followed suit.

"This is not how I thought we'd meet again," one commented, finally turning his focus to the tall man seated to his right. He once again took in the bizarre dark clothing and unfamiliar bald head.

The face, half in shadow, had a sinister aura to it and the voice that emanated from it was cool and detached. "You expected to find me laying dead in a ditch somewhere?" There was a pause. "Or perhaps we'd run into each other down some darkened alley? Me, preoccupied with some female and you with a drawn sword?" A tiny muscle pulled at the left corner of his mouth as though he was half amused by the idea. He always did enjoy the chase, though this was not the person he preferred as the hunter.

It should be several years before Watson and Druitt were to be reunited, when the Prime Minister would call upon The Five for help with an extermination problem. Yet here they were, sitting facing a warm fire and trying to digest the fact that they should not be here together.

"Either of those scenarios would be more plausible than what actually occurred tonight," the other replied as he reached over to the glass decanter and poured himself another drink. "Tonight was like being Alice and falling through the rabbit hole." He thought for a moment and added, "I'm not sure whether I was Alice or the harried rabbit." He glared over to the other, "I do know who the Mad Hatter was and who was the Cheshire Cat."

This elicited a small chuckle from the other who finally turned to look over at his old friend. He held up his empty glass for a refill as he teased, "Perhaps you've been chasing the dragon and all of this is merely a bad reaction?"

"I haven't chased the dragon in years," Watson sniffed in a clipped tone as he filled the glass.

"Oh, that's right, you're respectable. No bad habits for you," Druitt volleyed back and took a slow, long drink from his glass. The strong scent of the liquor filled his nostrils and added to the soothing dullness that was sinking into his being. To say it had been a trying day was an understatement of epic proportions.

"I have always been respectable, unlike someone I know," James reminded him. He swirled the liquid in his glass, staring at the deep color glowing in the firelight.

John waived his hand in the air absently. "Respectability is overrated. It just means you are a bore who always follows the rules."

"Right, because injecting myself with the Source Blood is following the rules," James said, lifting his glass in a mock salute and taking a deep gulp.

That brought a soft laugh from his companion who then downed the remainder of his glass and held it up for a third refill. "We injected ourselves with the Source Blood because we were young and stupid" Druitt said, mentally adding "And in love" to himself.

Watson poured a bit more Brandy into John's glass and lightly banged the decanter down onto the small table that rested between their chairs. "Are we going to discuss what happened tonight or not?" He had absorbed the chaotic events and was now ready to analyze them.

"No, that would defeat the purpose."

"Which would be?" Watson roughly prompted.

"At this moment? To get lightly inebriated and forget this whole thing happened." John frowned. "I'd rather not recall the fact that we may have all died tonight, nor the fact that I'm stuck here in one of the worst times of my life with no way to get home." He finished his drink and placed the glass down onto the table, then clenched his fist in agitation.

"I'm not too thrilled with you being here at this time either, you know," James intoned dryly and also placed his glass down onto the table. The two glared at one another.

"I am hardly enthused about the prospect myself!" A distressed woman's voice called from behind them. "John, what in God's name are you doing here?"

Both men stiffed. Watson turned half way around to look towards the doorway and quickly jumped up from his seat in alarm. John remained in his seat, facing the fire.

"You're supposed to be in bed resting," John grumbled in irritation. Honestly, the woman never listened to a thing he told her. Druitt made to stand up, stopping short as James' hand shot out and clamped down onto his shoulder. He looked up in surprise and received a warning glance from James, whose hand remained on John's shoulder.

Helen ignored Druitt's rude comment and took two defiant steps into the room. "I asked you what you were doing here, John!" she commanded angrily and glanced between the two men. She found it odd that they would be sitting together here, in Watson's library, and sharing libations.

Watson clamped down harder on John's shoulder and gave him another warning look. His jaw was clenched so tightly the veins seemed to bulge at the top of his throat and his eyes were wide. In that split second, Druitt realized what was wrong and took in a sharp breath. "Oh, damn," he softly swore.

"Answer me, one of you," Helen insisted and took a few more steps towards them. "What is going on here?"

"John was just here to…" James wavered and glanced down at John before returning his gaze back to her. "To apologize for the other night" he answered, deliberately not looking down to see the frown cross Druitt's face. The other night? What happened the other night Druitt wondered?

"Why is he apologizing to you? I was the one he attacked!" she hissed and threw down her gloves in a fit of anger and placed her hands on her hips.

Attacked her? John's mind raced to recall what she was talking about and his eyes fairly bulged out of his head as he realized what that incident was. Oh crap! he thought. He again looked up to Watson and received a barely visible shake of the head telling him to keep quiet.

"Well," she demanded and moved even closer. She was now near the center of the room and within three strides of their chairs. She was regretting the fact that she was unarmed but then she hadn't expected to need a fire arm when she decided to stop by for a visit. This was the last place she would have expected to find her ex.

John gave out a harsh breath and James was in the next second pitching forward to the left into the chair Druitt had now teleported out of. Watson grabbed hold of the back of the chair to stop his fall and caught his breath. "Damn," he swore softly.

Helen rushed forward to assist. "I hate it when he does that!" she fussed and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright? Did he threaten you?" she asked worriedly.

He straightened himself up and ran his hands over his person to smooth out his clothing. "No, as I said, John came by to apologize for his ungentlemanly behavior the other night." He turned to find her face near his and brought her hand down into both of his. "Helen, what are you doing here at this hour? Is something wrong?"

"I was restless and couldn't sleep. The hour isn't too late and I knew you would be awake and in your study." Her grey-blue eyes bore into his. She had the most remarkable blue eyes that seemed to change intensity depending on what she was wearing. It was her eyes that he was often drawn back to when he thought about her. Right now he preferred to avoid her sharp gaze and looked away.

"It's a bit of a nasty night to go visiting, darling," he stated and moved away to pour more Brandy into his abandoned glass. "Would you like a drink?" he inquired and moved to pour her one before she could answer.

"James, what's going on? What exactly did John say to you? Did he admit to the latest killings?" she asked in quick succession and sat down in the chair Druitt had abandoned. "I want to know everything he said to you," she chided as she pulled back the hood of her silver-blue cloak.

Handing her the glass, Watson took in her porcelain complexion, flushed cheeks and golden locks arranged ever so carefully around her face. Her angelic beauty struck him hard and caused him to sigh deeply. Oh, Helen, what have you done to yourself, he morosely wondered, thinking of dark haired, wounded angel recuperating upstairs in his guest bedroom.