"Then why should the manuscript have any bearing on this matter?"

"Because the allegations are true. Unlike those which were made today against Sherlock Holmes. Were they to come to light any newspaperman who cared to scratch beneath the surface would only find more material for lurid headlines." I passed a hand over my face. "I can't say I was unhappy that Holmes asked me to withhold it from publication for a time once it was finished."

The reply came after a pause. "If you were glad to withhold it, then you will be gladder to be rid of it."

"Then listen very carefully." The voice at the farther end of the tube was as cold and hollow as a grave. "You wish to walk from the court a free man, and hold as ransom for that freedom a certain manuscript, the very existence of which has not yet been confirmed."

"I wish no more than a fair trial," I said, just as coldly. "And as for the manuscript, it exists. I spent several months composing it."

"And the allegations within it?"

"Are merely allegations," I admitted. "They are not enough to convict any man in a court of law."

A moment's investigation showed that the far end of the tube was in a carriage, parked below the balcony. Whether Moriarty himself were inside, or merely one of his most trusted lieutenants, I could not tell; given the distortions of the speaking tube, I would not be able to identify even so much as the man's voice should we ever meet on another occasion. The very cleverness of it reassured me, despite the hair which stood on the back of my neck. But I was far too nervous to sit. I reached for my end of the tube. "I'm listening."

"I don't know what you think you're going to accomplish," I growled. "There are too many people on the street for you to kidnap me, and I'm not such a fool as to run."

"These gentlemen are here to prevent you from leaving, doctor," the prosecutor said, not quite calmly. "Come. Sit down." He pulled out his cigarette case and offered it to me. "We've a chair all ready for you, see?"

A chair, I saw, and as my eyes were growing accustomed to the dimness I also saw something attached to the balcony railing beside it. A speaking tube.

The night air felt cool and pleasant on my face as I stepped out into the open, though it promised a chill before long. Below us the broad street was busy with carriages and pedestrians – had I the inclination to escape I could have jumped down to join them, for we were barely a storey above the pavement. And I must admit that I was more than a little tempted, for of the two men who awaited us, neither could be the middle-aged and ascetic Professor which Holmes had described to me. Mathematics does not require an excess of muscle.

"I cannot guarantee anything," the prosecutor said. "But there is someone who could, if you would be so kind?" He gestured again towards the balcony.

Oh, how I wished that Holmes were still available for consultation! Or barring that, that Mycroft Holmes were nearby, although I had not felt his absence earlier. Our acquaintance was of the slightest, so he could not testify as to my character, and he had obligations which lay elsewhere today. I had accepted his apologies without hesitation, but that had been before I found myself about to bandy words with the cleverest villain in Europe.

A more dubious offer I could not recall. Certainly, whatever counter-offer to Holmes's bargaining was about to be made would only be to my disadvantage. Yet clearly I could see that the jury would not be allowed to come to any decision without some further concession on my part.

And Wiggins had no idea of the stormclouds which were gathering over us.

With a sinking sensation I realized that Holmes had forgotten to mention the Irregulars when he had bargained for Mary's safety and mine.

"Nothing to do with the boys?" I answered, emphasizing the plural. "Can you guarantee that?"

"I think I'd prefer to return to the courtroom," I said, setting in my heels.

"Me too," Wiggins said, trying to tug free of the bailiff's grip. "You're not going to take the doctor off all alone. Mr. Holmes would go spare!"

"It's nothing to do with the boy," The prosecutor said significantly. "I'd just like to have you step out with me onto that balcony. There are certain points which require clarification with – shall we say – an interested party. You can be back in your seat in a matter of minutes. And surely a cigarette would not go amiss?"

The sun had been gone for some time before the judge allowed that Wiggins and I might take a few minutes to refresh ourselves, and it was no surprise that we were not the only ones to take advantage of the opportunity. But as we were escorted back towards the courtroom we were intercepted by the prosecutor. "Might I have a word with the doctor?" he asked the bailiff at my elbow. "I promise he'll not escape me."

"I don't know, sir," the bailiff said, holding out a hand expectantly. My heart sank as I saw the flash of gold.

In spite of my misgivings, I felt glad of Mary's presence as the evening wore on, despite the loss of the morning's constables as those men returned to their work. They were replaced, but by fewer faces, and Gregson stopped by to tell me that Lestrade was doing well enough, but had become entangled in a disturbance on his own street when he'd gone home to change his clothing. "There's trouble all over London it seems," the Inspector said with a frown. "I'd have to pull the men from here if it weren't that the Commissioner agrees there's trouble brewing."

To my alarm, Holmes acquiesced to my decision almost immediately. He insisted on having young Simpson stay to report the verdict by telegram as soon as possible, but allowed himself to be taken out of the court by Bunter and Anstruther with barely a word of protest.

The boys were harder to convince. If I hadn't struck on telling Alfie that he was to tell our cook to feed the lot of them as soon as she could, I doubt they would have gone. But their stomachs were nearly as empty as my own.

Mary, however, wouldn't concede an inch.

I signalled to Anstruther, who paused for a moment to spread the blanket higher over Holmes's shoulders before coming to me.

"It's time you took him home," I said, coming straight to the point. "The machine will need fresh chemicals soon, and he's done all he can for me here. The boys can help you."

Anstruther frowned. "The jury won't take much longer, surely?"

If Collins were too frightened of Moriarty to concede to Holmes, they might take all night, but I couldn't say that to Anstruther. "I'd rather he were somewhere safe. The crowd may not like the verdict."

The sunlight streaming in the western windows did little to ease my headache. I took a surreptitious look at my watch and realized that part of the misery in my gut was due to hunger. It had been hours since I had shared my luncheon with Wiggins.

Any hope I had for a quick verdict faded as the minutes passed. The chatter of the audience slowed and faded as the wait grew longer. Wiggins gnawed on a fingernail. The other boys played at cat's cradle. Mary and Mrs. Hudson were knitting. Merridew was sulking. And Holmes...

Holmes had fallen asleep.

Between them, Wiggins and Smythe convinced me that I must show my face to the jury before they retired to decide my fate. I could only hope that they could not read my thoughts, as Holmes was wont to do. My head ached with the desire to run, to break free of the constraints which would entrap me, regardless of anything which it was in my power to do. For tuppence I'd have taken them all on, judge, prosecutor, hecklers, even Moriarty himself. Yes, and saved a few blows for Holmes, too, or anyone else who got in my way.

gacked from janeturenne


1. Write down the names of 10 characters.

2. Write a fic of fifteen words or less (a limitation I cheerfully ignored, although I did try to keep them short) for every prompt, using the characters determined by the numbers. DO NOT read the prompts before you do step 1.

( This would have been easier if I'd chosen characters from only one fandom )

Reluctantly, I returned to my seat, and listened with my head in my hands while the ladies were brought back in and Holmes explained to the court why his injuries proved that my reasons for attacking Merridew were urgent enough to justify whatever means had come to my hand. His voice was losing strength, it seemed to me, although only Holmes knew if that impression were deliberate, a ruse to draw Moriarty's fire.

And I was furious at the thought that it might be. How dare he play the martyr, risking the life I had done so much to save?

"Moriarty must have a target," Holmes vouchsafed quietly to me, once the prosecutor and Collins had departed for their places to consider the proposition, and I was left winding the bandages which Anstruther had brought around his thin, damaged chest. "And I'd rather it was me than your good lady wife."

"I can't say I think much of either choice," I growled. "You're not in any condition to stave off a murder attempt."

But Holmes only patted my arm consolingly. "They won't try for me, not yet. The professor will try to find out where I've hidden the manuscript first."

For an interminable interlude Holmes and the prosecutor held a silent battle of wills over my head, and I saw the gleam in my friend's eye when the prosecutor conceded to the terms. But I had taken notice of the omission Holmes had left, and had no doubt it had been done deliberately.

"But Holmes," I protested, once I was sure I could do so quietly. "What about you?"

His grip upon me tightened with a warning. "Once you've left the game, Doctor," he said, sparing me only the mildest glance of condescension, "you cannot expect to set the rules."

"And if that fair judgment goes against you?" the prosecutor asked, which saved me the trouble of asking the same question.

"I have faith in an honest English jury," Holmes said. He was grimacing with pain as I eased him back into a sitting position, but he would not let that stop him. "If Collins has been neglecting the evidence in favor of a pre-determined outcome he need only side with the majority."

"And that's all?"

"It is. Except, of course," Holmes added, with steel in his voice, "that Mrs. Watson and the Doctor shall not be retaliated against, afterwards."

I crumpled the cloth in my hand and returned it to the basin, reaching for a towel. "I'll have to rewrap your chest, Holmes," I said, mechanically, while my mind raced. I needed to keep Collins here, at least until Holmes had struck whatever bargain it was he had in mind. "Make yourself useful, and look in that bag there for fresh bandages."

Collins stumbled to do as I asked, all too glad to have Holmes release his arm. But Holmes's attention had fixed upon the prosecutor. "All I ask," he said, "is that the jury gives a fair judgment."

Cross posted from a recent Watson's Woes challenge



( Retreat )

Holmes's sharp intake of breath was my fault, for in my sudden alarm my hands grew clumsy. Over my shoulder, the prosecutor, whose presence I had almost forgotten, gasped too, albeit for a different reason. But that small exhalation of air proved to me that Holmes's deductions as to the author of my difficulties were most certainly correct. I'd spent six months writing about the Birlstone Manor business and its fatal results, only to set the whole manuscript aside at Holmes's request when I decided to marry. But despite that discretion I'd still managed to fall afoul of Professor Moriarty.

Non-combatant?

I would have cocked an eyebrow at Holmes if he'd done so much as spare me a glance. But I did not dare to interrupt him, for I'd not be able to stall much longer.

"There is a manuscript," Holmes went on, "which would raise questions about the death of John Douglas. Questions I could answer now, if necessary, thanks to Merridew. Remember, a man already in prison has little to fear from a charge of libel, and his trial might uncover many things. The Professor is not the only one who can employ the power of the press."

With a mouse trapped under his paw, and my careful ablutions satisfying his catlike love of cleanliness after a week of having his torso trapped within a suffocating pall of bandaging, Holmes was all but purring. At least so it seemed to me, although Collins might be forgiven for seeing nothing but the claws.

He squirmed in his chair like a schoolboy, but Holmes would not let go. "What are you after?" he hissed, trying to keep his mouth nearly closed.

"A temporary ceasefire," Holmes replied. "To give the noncombatants like the doctor and yourself time to clear the field."

As the cool wet cloth touched his skin, Holmes gave a small shudder, and let his eyes fall nearly shut. "You must agree," he muttered, so softly that I doubt anyone but Collins or I could hear, "that by attempting to avenge himself on the doctor's wife, Merridew has destroyed any chance of this trial turning out in his favor. Even if you manage to deadlock the jury and cause a mistrial, Dr. Watson is sure to be exonerated at the Assizes. And by then, I shall be ready to explain why I began my investigation. And what I found."