Flight

Part II

by "Of Holmes, whom I loved"

As I stepped out into the street, thoughts of what had just occurred raced through my mind. Pacifying Russell was the only reason for my behaviour, yet I felt a distinct emotional reaction build within me. These emotions can be very distracting and they almost prevented me from noticing my follower on the opposite side of the street. Shaking my head at my inattention and a vain attempt to clear my mind from intruding thoughts, I purposefully stopped and turned and began walking in the opposite direction. My follower looked momentarily stunned but quickly regained his composure and waited until I had passed him before he began following me again. Like the journey I took to reach London, I wandered far in the opposite direction I wanted to go. Besides, I was morbidly enjoying playing a game of cat and mouse with this annoying fellow. He did not know where I was going and considering how many turns I took and alleys I slunk down, he must have assumed I did not know where I was going either. Fortunately I did know and I was soon standing in front of a familiar pawnshop. After momentarily considering my options I ducked inside.

The shop was small and dark. Various items were piled against every wall and I had no doubt that the proprietor bought everything that he was offered. The windows looked as if they hadn't seen a cleaner's rag in years, which helped hide my presence from my follower. The light filtered in through the grimy windows aided by a single bulb hanging over the till, which itself appeared to be older than the person who continuously invaded my thoughts. Upon my entrance a little bell jingled over the door and presently a man appeared from a door on the other side of the shop.

He smiled and held out his hand. "Well, bless me, if t'isn't Mr. 'Olmes. 'Ow long's been?"

I graciously accepted his proffered hand. "A long time indeed."

"Aye sir." I retrieved my hand from his welcoming grasp and my mind drifted back to when I had last seen him. He had aged considerably since my days in Baker Street and while he was no longer an official irregular he could still be of invaluable assistance.

"Tell me, do you still have that exit available?"

"For you, Mr. 'Olmes, and fer price, o'course."

"Of course." I smiled as I fished out a half crown from my pocket. "I don't suppose you also have a torch I could borrow?"

"Sure I do somewhere." He disappeared behind the door and I took the opportunity to steal a glance out through a dirty window. My follower was still there and looking distinctly uncomfortable. He was, no doubt, wondering if I would come out of the shop and in what disguise that would be. He shifted from foot to foot in agitation and I reasoned that he was wary of having to tell his mistress that he lost me in a pawnbrokers. It did not matter either way; the watcher on the Diogenes would soon spot me there anyway. Unless I were to find a back way into my brother's club. I was pondering this possibility when my old friend returned .

"'Ere y'are, sir. I'm 'fraid t'isn't very bright."

"That is quite all right, my friend. I was also wondering if you would be willing to purchase this fine set of evening attire in which I present myself. I shall need more appropriate clothes for my mode of transportation and I had hoped that you might have something available."

He smiled as he circled my persona, clicking his teeth and whistling under his breath. It was a habit most distressing as my protégé (I reminded myself) had discovered. He had become that salesman/trader I saw in him when I first chose him to be an irregular. He looked at me and nodded. "I think we can come to an amicable arrangement." He pronounced each word carefully and I was sure that this was his salesman voice. He again disappeared behind the door.

I strolled around the shop avoiding the windows as I browsed mindlessly; my thoughts were elsewhere and disturbed me greatly. I did manage to see that my follower was now seated on the ground and was frowning and no doubt mumbling to himself. At least he was being well paid, I thought, the clothes on his back were not cheap. He was leaning against a shabby building across the street and was obviously not happy about being forced to wait. He shall just have to wait longer.

"I believe these will fit, sir." My friend had returned from his dig and produced a set of clothes that were obviously too small though would have to do.

I took them and retreated into a small back room that he offered to change. I shrugged out of my suit and donned the attire that he presented. The trousers were several inches too short and a single thread held the shirt together. One tug, and it would come apart. Upon stepping out onto the sales floor my friend took in the length of the trousers and became visibly distraught.

"'M very sorry Mr. 'Olmes, I'aven't any trousers longer than them."

"That is quite all right, I don't suppose you have a pair of boots?"

His face brightened and he disappeared for the third time behind the door. He returned momentarily with several pairs of boots in his arms. He dropped them on the cashier's desk and I looked them over.

Reaching for a pair of Wellington's that appeared to be of adequate size and comfort I said, "These will do very nicely." I transferred the contents of my evening trousers into the small pair I had on.

My old friend looked at me sadly. "'Ave ya' 'eard t'all 'bout Wiggins, sir?"

This was a name I haven't heard in ages and I said as much to my friend.

"'E went t'France y'know."

I felt immediately disheartened. "I would wager that he became an officer. He always was a strong leader among the Irregulars."

"Aye, that 'e did, sir. Made t'all way t'cap'n." He sighed sadly and I could feel his loss. "'E was a good man, Mr. 'Olmes."

"Indeed he was." This reflection upon a fallen comrade made me remember the events that just occurred in Lestrade's office. I had to return to Russell. It was not affection that drew me back to her side, but my protective nature. Yet again, these emotions were drawing me from my task. I shrugged into a worn coat that he had also provided as well as a cap that was reminiscent of a small boy playing on the front steps of his house.

I picked up the torch from the desk and my friend ushered me through the now infamous door. To the left was another door that lead to his living quarters and to the right was a staircase that led to a cellar. We gingerly climbed down the rickety stairs and at the bottom I was greeted with more of my friends purchases. Boxes lined the walls from floor to rafters and he led me through a maze that would have put some gardens to shame. The boxes were all labelled with things like "women's clothing," "oil lamps," "books by Shakespeare," and even one that said "gas rings." Upon reaching the end of the maze we found the hole in the floor. My friend stooped down and removed the rather heavy grate that blocked my entrance.

With the grate removed I turned back to my old friend. I extended my hand. "Thank you for your help, I knew I could count on you again, even after all these years."

He grinned rather proudly and took my hand in his. "Anythin' else y'need, jus' let me know, Mr. 'Olmes."

I thanked him again and began to climb into the sewer entrance. I had climbed down a few rungs when a thought struck me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the equivalent of a guinea and handed it to him. He smiled again and slid the grate over my head.

The sewer was dark and the torch provided very little light. It served mainly as a means of preventing me from breaking my leg and avoiding the infestations of vermin that I might come across. However, since the melting snows of the streets above plus the winter rains caused the water to rise to my knees, I was not expecting to see any vermin and soon my boots were filled with dank water. The tunnel twisted and turned and through most of it I was forced to stoop, as the tunnel diameter was only four feet in places. Occasionally I was able to stand erect, and when I did I stretched in a manner reminiscent of Mrs. Hudson's cat. I waded in the direction of Pall Mall and allowed my thoughts to wander over the events of the past twenty-four hours. Russell was shot at. This ... woman wanted my friend dead. She was playing with me and Russell had become the stakes. No, those stakes were too high for me to play. I have known Russell for nearly four years. She has grown before my eyes and become a strong willed creature that I.... That I cared for yes, that is true. "Anything more than the affection of a teacher will not be tolerated." I told myself. While splashing along through the muck and grime of a London sewer I reflected back on that day in 1915.

I had just sent Russell back to her horrible aunt and while passing through the kitchen I noticed that Mrs. Hudson was smiling to herself. I deduced that there was something on her mind and I took the opportunity to question her about it.

"Oh, it's nothing, sir." She continued wiping the plates that we had just used.

After relieving one of the tabbies from a chair, I sat and insisted "I've known you long enough, now what have you to say to me?" The offended, and elderly, cat disappeared into the garden. She will be getting a new kitten soon, I decided, and knowing her penchant it will be another orange tabby cat.

She turned to face me. "She is a lovely girl." She said it flatly, as if she expected no argument. She returned to cleaning the cutlery.

"She is very intelligent and with the proper tutelage, she might make a fine detective someday. She has a quick mind and sharp wit."

"Yes, she is a lovely girl," she repeated.

Why she felt it was necessary to repeat her statement, I did not know. I stood and took my leave of her. Her knowing smile followed me though the door.

I made my way back to the sitting room where my newfound companion had shown a lacklustre interest in my bees. I threaded my way to the chair I usually occupied and sat before a fire that was desperately trying to catch. After an application with the bellows it burned bright and hot and I turned my thoughts elsewhere. Organizing the information gathered on the hillside about the bees I was observing proved more difficult than I had imagined. This pale child with the long blonde plaits had inserted herself into my mind and was stubbornly refusing to leave. Why was my mind so full of thoughts of her? It was true that upon discovering she was a girl....

No, she was only a child, albeit a very bright one. Early on in our discussion I saw that I had been sent this orphaned youth to train and guide. Nothing more than my guidance was needed in our relationship.

Even now, as I splashed through the cramped and cold sewers of London, I had convinced myself of that. She did not want my affection; she did not desire an elderly gentleman pining for her ... love? "NO!" I momentarily stopped as the monosyllable reverberated down the tunnel. Even on that day in 1915 I had kissed her, not intended as an act of affection but as any good Victorian Gentleman would upon meeting a young lady. It was only her hand that I had kissed and I had felt no affection attached to it. Even she seemed taken aback by my act and, upon reflection, I interpreted that as a lack of interest in a romantic relationship. I resumed my wading. Russell does not want me as a lover or husband. Perish the thought. I am her tutor, mentor, and teacher. There will not be anything more! She is a bright young lady, she knows what she wants from life and I am included in that life as a guide on her journey, nothing more. I shall protect her and keep her from harm. I will tutor her and raise her into an incredible woman that any man would love to marry. That man will have my blessing ... and envy. "I shall not let my emotions dictate my actions!" I shouted into the darkness. I shook my head as if to clear my mind. These thoughts were filed in a box clearly marked "Russell, Feelings, Query" and stored in the recesses of my mind, where I hoped to forget them.

I had soon reached my destination and though the torch provided very little light I was able to make out the shadows of the old stairs. I stepped out of the muck and grime of the sewers onto the bottom step where I sat and removed my boots. I proceeded to dump out what seemed like a gallon of foul water from each boot before reluctantly placing them on my feet again and heading up the stairs. Upon reaching the top I shone the torch to where I knew I should find a doorknob. It creaked open and a shaft of light met my eyes, and I shielded them from the brilliance. When my eyes were adjusted to the light I saw a small room with a single table and gas lamp. It was all perspective, after having wandered around in the dark sewers a single gas lamp threw out a lot of light. Sitting on the table was a half-eaten sandwich and a book with the covers missing. On the opposite side of the table sat a young man, no older than Russell, who did not appear in the least bit surprised by my appearance.

"J'a come in frew pawnshop?"

"That is correct."

"Das'a half-crown, den."

I reached into the pocket of my too short trousers and managed to find two shillings and sixpence. I dropped them on the table and the lad grinned.

"Next'un in five," he mumbled as he pocketed the coins and returned to his book.

I crossed to the other side of the room and waited for the familiar rumble and whine of the train. It arrived sooner than my friend said but once I was sure it had stopped and was unloading passengers I made my move. Imbedded in the wall was a latch that I pulled lightly on and a whole section of the wall came away in my hand. I stepped though the small doorway and found myself just inches from the roaring beast of the engine. I pulled the door shut behind me and I could feel the boy latch the door behind me. The whining and groaning of the engine prevented me from hearing anything. I was standing on a ledge that extended in both directions along the tunnel wall. I groped my way up the length of the train and soon found myself on the platform of Charing Cross Station among a throng of passengers. Passage through the crowd was quickened by the fact that I was the unfortunate carrier of sewer stench. I pushed my way to the stairs (much to the consternation to a few young ladies who turned up their noses at the smell) and I soon found myself on the street.

Deciding upon a more circuitous route to the Diogenes, I set out. I crossed north several streets and back a few, then west three and back one, all for the sake of shaking off any potential followers. It was all in vain anyway; when I arrived at one of the servant's entrances to the club I saw a disturbingly familiar face looking at me from the end of the alley. I had no idea who this man was, but I instinctively recognized him.

A scullery maid who actually thought she recognized me greeted my knock on the door. I managed to convince her that I was not this "Sherlock Holmes" of whom she spoke, but upon my insistence to see Mycroft she smiled as if to say: "I knew it."

"It's no good, trying to shake off those people, Sherlock. I have my own personal watcher here, and I am sure he has seen you enter, even if it was via the servants entrance." Mycroft didn't even bother to look up from the papers that were strewn about his person. "Your mode of transportation also leaves much to be desired, as does that stench."

I had left my boots in the servant's hall, and it was very unfortunate that the smell of the sewers should have soaked into my clothes as well. A stop at a bolthole will be necessary when I leave, as this shirt will not last much longer.

"I am sorry it offends, dear brother, but I came to beg a favour."

He looked up at me for the first time since I had entered the room. He gestured toward a chair and I made myself comfortable filling my pipe, one that I had left here purposefully. "If you choose to remove yourselves from the field of combat whilst my scouts assess the enemy's position, you might as well be of some use to His Majesty." I knew he would know of somewhere where we might retreat and I nodded. "There are a few places I believe you may hide for a sufficient amount of time. Both of you could do for a change of scenery." He paused and gave me a look that can only be described as big brotherly. "What about Miss Russell?"

"She will come with me, of course."

"I see." He paused and I was suddenly nervous as to what I knew he was thinking. He is my brother after all. "Of course she will, but you have yet to tell her."

"I am wary of having to tell her, yes. She will protest most strongly and I shall have to convince her that all her appointments have been cleared."

"Which I shall have to take care of."

I studied him closely for a moment. "I would greatly appreciate it, and I know Russell would too. Contact Oxford and convince them that she needs to be away for an extended period. Perhaps they would believe a family emergency has arisen. You will also need to placate her horrible aunt, she will be very ... upset."

"Of course. Now then--" He began sorting through the mess of papers in front of him and took out a blank sheet of paper. He began to write and after a few moments handed the sheet to me. "I believe you will find something in each of these locations to take your mind from your most recent adventures. I have no preference."

I took the list from him and cast my eye over the five countries. "I have no preference either. I believe I shall let Russell decide, though I am sure she will choose Palestine."

"I see."

"That is the second time you have said that brother, what is it that plagues your mind?"

"You ... love her." It was stated as a mere fact and he clearly expected no argument.

"I care about her well-being, yes."

"That is not what I said."

"I know what you said," I snapped. "You should know better." He knew of the Adler woman and what had happened. He knew of my resolution after the dissolution of the relationship. I could not go through that again even if I did love her, which I was still not convinced of. Mycroft was trying to force open the lid of a box that I did not want exposed to my ... heart.

"I believe, dear Sherlock, that it is you who should know better."

I glared at him through the smoke my pipe was emitting. "I should?" I decided to play the innocent. He already knew about my internal struggle with my feelings toward her (She is my student, my protégé.) as witnessed by his statement. I did not wish him to know how serious that internal struggle was.

"Don't be coy, I know you well enough, and I know her. She loves you too."

The bluntness of this statement made my mind reel. "She has not said."

"No. I see it in her face, in the way she cares about you. You would notice it as well, but you are involved."

My mind was cast back to how I nearly cost Watson his life, simply because I was involved. I did not see what was directly in front of me. Thoughts of that day brought up that memory of needing to reach Oxford by dark. I was delirious and it was stupid. A simple telephone call to put her on her guard was all that was needed. Yet I insisted on travelling to Oxford to protect her myself. It was the most unusual reaction to concussion I have ever experienced and I said as much. Yet sitting with Mycroft in the Diogenes, I saw that it was not a reaction, it was.... All because I am involved, Mycroft was claiming, I cannot see the true feelings of Russell and perhaps myself. The box in my mind that contained these difficulties was now completely open to anyone who knew it was there. And Mycroft did. Russell did not, though it would not take her long to discover its existence, and I shuddered internally at what she might think. These thoughts rumbled through my mind and judging by Mycroft's expression, my own countenance grew dark.

"Have your 'scouts' found anything out about our pursuer?" A change of topic was warranted.

His face revealed that he understood that I no longer wished to discuss Russell and he granted my request. "I'm afraid they have not. They are not as able as your irregulars, but they are diligent in their quest. This lady is an unknown. Questions have been asked and people have been arrested. No one will say anything."

"This will simply not do. I must discover more about this ... woman." I spat.

"Collect Miss Russell and flee. Enjoy the change of scenery and atmosphere. Enjoy the company of a bright young lady. Your pursuer shall still be here in London upon your return. Until then, just leave."

I stood to take my leave of him. "Perhaps you are right brother. I shall go and find Captain Jones and ascertain if he is willing to ferry two passengers abroad. Thank you Mycroft."

As I left the room I heard a muffled, "Good luck, Sherlock."

I managed to escape from the servant's hall in the Diogenes without much fuss and I was soon on my way to a nearby bolthole. It was just a few blocks from my brother's club and after a few minutes walk I let myself in to the cramped space. This one was among the smallest. It was no more than a closet being no bigger than six square yards and with the presence of a wing backed chair, end table, and wardrobe there was very little room for anything else.

The chair sat against the far wall and the end table sat next to it. An oil lamp sat upon the table and I put a match to it. The wardrobe took up nearly half the space of the room and was bursting with clothes of every kind. Women's dresses, men's evening suits, workman's clothes, even some lingerie that had come in handy once or twice, and a multi-coloured coat that I knew only one person had the ability to wear and even he looked conspicuous. Why was it on top of a pile of clothes when I hadn't seen it in years? I turned up the wick on the lamp to get a better view of my room and I was shocked to discover that it had been invaded. No, it was my mind playing games on me. I returned the lamp to the table and I could see in the dust on the surface that someone had indeed been in this room since I had left it months ago. The chair, in which I had not sat, had no dust on the seat and there was evidence on the back that someone was sitting there for several minutes. This woman has been in one of my boltholes. One of the places that I consider most private and she has thrust herself into it. Not even the professor went this far.

As I sat, I was suddenly struck with a feeling of urgency. If this woman has penetrated into a bolthole that not even my protégé knows about, she knows too much and we are in more danger than I had first anticipated. Our cab was decimated, Russell was shot at, and now one of my sanctuaries has been violated. My trip to the docks to visit Captain Jones must be very brief, as I must return to Russell immediately. I must protect her. She is at Scotland Yard and quite capable of looking out for herself. I shook my head at that as I changed my shirt. If I followed that line of reasoning, the affection I have for my student would grow beyond its artificial borders. No, as long as I convince myself that I am her guardian my feelings for her can be conveniently shelved in their little box, a box that was rapidly growing too small. Should she no longer require my guardianship.... No, we shall have to cross that bridge soon enough.

I pushed my feet into the sodden boots and pulled the cloth cap over my head. I had to find Captain Jones and return to Russell. I had to be by her side. I stepped out from the old warehouse and was heading down the street. Perhaps my brother was right; I believe that I do indeed love her. How distracting. "I shall not let my emotions dictate my actions." I repeated to myself as I pushed off down the street, the box now spilling out onto the floor of my mind.

Special thanks go to all the bees out there who provided me with information regarding the sewers of London. Thanks specifically go out to "My Lady's Daughter" who helped with wonderful suggestions and excellent editing.