Posted by Bowen Cates on 3/7/2008, 2:19 pm, in reply to "Chapter four part two"
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Chapter 5: Which Is Rather Distressing
Theodore trudged down Threadneedle Street supporting an old and very dirty looking Man with his good arm. The man hobbled along slowly beside him. Coughing occasionally, and humming under his breath. Suddenly he stumbled on a protruding coble stone and catching himself, slowly made his way over to a particularly dilapidated bench outside the lower window of a very disreputable looking hat shop. With a large sign, hanging in front of it that read ‘Matilda’s Finest’ in faded grey letters.
“We stop here,” said the man in an upper class British accent, which had a decidedly eager edge to it.
Theodore nodded and Holmes bent down to retie the greasy remains of his shoe and look behind him while at the same time indicating the door of the shop in front of which they were sitting.
“Be sure to wait for me just outside the door, making certain I am able see you at all times, I wish to be able to reach you at a moments notice,” He explained in an almost inaudible whisper.
“Yes sir” Theodore himself was dressed in a set of rags very much like the ones his companion was sporting, albeit baggy to a rather comical degree. He was not wearing any make-up except a touch of blackout to give his face and hands a grimy look, where as Holmes had on a long haired wig which might once have been red, bushy eyebrows, and a tangled beard both of the same undecided colour as the wig.
Theodore had tried to wrest from Holmes exactly what they were doing walking around London braving the scowls and contempt of well-dressed passers by, and being almost flattened by horse drawn carriages. But his interrogation had come to an abrupt end when the detective had given him a look (no doubt the one that countless criminals have cowered under) that said quite plainly ‘Mr. Trent, you are treading on rapidly thinning ice’
And so, not wishing to push his luck beyond all hope of retrieval, he had remained silent and at rapt attention for the last hour; only speaking when spoken to, or absolutely necessary.
The two disgraceful figures went around to the back entrance of the shop, keeping hunched so as not be seen through the windows by anyone chancing to look down. Holmes was just opening the door when he stopped and put his hand out to signal that Theodore should do the same.
Such a change had come over him, all attention, eagerness and iron will. He was no longer the weak old man that had emerged from Holmes’ bedroom,
He was Sherlock Holmes in his most formidable attitude.
All at once, Theodore heard what had startled his companion; voices were coming from the room just above the doorway of the hat shop. The window had been imperfectly closed, and the smallest amount of sound was escaping to freedom in the street.
It was amazing the detective had heard it at all, even now with both of them breathing as quietly as possible; the sound was barley audible over the clip-clop of horse’s hooves and the cat calling of street merchants.
He couldn’t make out what they were saying, Holmes however seemed to be hanging on every inaudible word. The voice sounded furious, riding over the other person in the room. Getting louder and louder, until finally it rose just enough for Theodore to make out.
“What did I tell you, about loyalty Mr. Hughes?”
Theodore knew that voice. Desperately he tugged on Holmes’ sleeve.
“Mr. Holmes!” he whispered urgently
“Be quiet boy.” Holmes cautioned him.
“But Sir, it’s him!”
Holmes turned and put his mouth by Theodore’s ear.
“The tall man under the tree?” He whispered back.
“Yes sir, I’m sure it’s him”
“Do you know who that is?” Holmes asked turning back to the window.
“No Sir.”
“Moriarty.”
“But…how?”
“We must leave that question for another time. Come, it is time to go, it is no longer safe for you my young friend,”
They turned quietly to leave.
“Hey, wait a mo’ gov’nor.” A man with a revolver peered around the doorway Theodore could feel his skin turn white with fear. From the look of that gun and his eyes, that man had been watching them unseen, form an angle in the doorway, the entire time they had been listening. He was big and ugly, and smelled as if he hadn’t bathed for months.
It was obvious that there was no pretending; Theodore could almost hear Holmes curse within the catacombs of his great intellect. That great hulk of a man advanced toward them.
“Run boy!”
“But Sir!”
“RUN!”
Theodore turned, just as the air rang with a well-aimed gunshot at his back. He kept running, ready at any moment to feel the bullet hit him.
But it didn’t.
He kept running, as fast as he could, round block after block, corner after corner, street after street.
Swerving around another corner, he stopped to catch his breath and to wait for Holmes.
But he didn’t come.
He waited another minute exactly, counting each second as it past. The detective was still nowhere to be seen. Collecting the pieces of his shattered courage, Theodore slowly left the safety of his brick barricade and started cautiously back toward the shop.
He knew he shouldn’t, after all Holmes had told him to run, and Theodore had promised to do everything he said. But he couldn’t just leave him there. Watson’s face kept swimming in front of his vision, his eyes filled with an unfathomable regret.
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