I know that it's been ages since I posted anything on this site but I lost my password to this account (and everything else) when my old computer died last year.

Anyway, this is my first Sherlock Holmes fanfic that starts out slowly and then will jump into the slash, angst, and what-not in later chapters. If slash is not your thing, please do not read further.

Meet me at the wharf.

Come alone.


~ Holmes

Watson clenched the badly scrawled note in his left hand, crumpling it as he shoved it into the deep pocket of his dark grey overcoat. Urgent indeed! It was more likely that this was another ploy to draw his attention away from Mary. Ever since that fateful dinner, where Watson had made the dreadful mistake of introducing Holmes to Mary, his best friend (and on-again, off-again partner) had been trying to throw a wrench in his wedding plans.

Pausing to gaze up at the sky overhead, and noting how cloudy and bleak the afternoon sky was, Watson debated over his options. He could act like the chivalrous gentleman that he was and arrive a few polite minutes early for his engagement with Mary. Or, he could chase after Holmes to see what kind of trouble the idiot had gotten into this time.

Surely, it would start to rain by the time he reached the wharf. Watson disliked the rain… but Holmes had a tendency to catch a cold whenever exposed to the chilly air and damp atmosphere.

A little bit of inner nudging had Watson taking a step in the direction of the wharf. The least he could do was show up to talk his friend out of whatever senseless scheme he had his mind set on this time, preferably before the rain came down. And come down it would, if the thick purplish dark clouds were any indication. In buckets no less.

Sighing inwardly, Watson's stride became more measured and purposeful as he headed off towards the wharf. He was going to have to give Holmes a very stern lecture about how his crazy antics were becoming boorish and were no longer appropriate considering his current status – as a doctor, nothing more.

By the time Watson reached the wharf, the clouds had begun to gather like an unsightly dark bulbous disease, and a bit of lightning could be seen in the distance. Aside from the faint glow of lanterns being carried by fisherman down by the warehouse, far to Watson's right, there was little to be seen in such poor lighting.

And there was no sign of Holmes.

Not wishing to waste any unnecessary time, Watson tapped the end of his elegant walking stick on the ground, resulting in a metallic twang. It was fairly heavy for a walking stick, probably due to the fact that it concealed a very sharp sword inside. Leaning forward onto the stick, Watson shouted, "Holmes! Where are you, old boy!?!"

Receiving no answer, Watson impatiently ground his walking stick into the wooden planks of the wharf. He narrowed his eyes at the angry waves of the sea that were beginning to creep closer to land.

"Holmes! I haven't got all day!"

Watson set his face into a scowl, hardening his features against Holmes' bemused expression for he'd been with the man too long to not expect such a reaction. And yet… there was still no sign of Holmes. Perhaps the noise of the waves crashing against the pillars, beneath the wharf, was making it too difficult to hear anything. Holmes might have wandered off in the direction of the warehouse, just to amuse himself.

"Blasted lunatic," Watson muttered, turning on his heel to stalk back the way he'd come. And then he heard it, a sound so faint that any regular man would have been unable to recognize it for what it was – the muffled cries of a man. And they were coming from beneath the wharf! "HOLMES!"

Dropping down onto his hands and knees, Watson peered over the edge of the wharf, searching desperately for some sign of… Holmes? He'd expected to find Holmes treading water around the pillars, having fallen into the drink due to his own careless stupidity. He was not prepared to find his friend bound and gagged, trussed up to one of the pillars like a helpless animal. Worse yet, Holmes was pretty far down, and the tide was rising. It was already crashing around Holmes' knees as it came in, leaving the detective's pant legs soaked as it drew away, only to return a moment later – a centimeter higher.

"HOLMES!" Watson shouted, his grayish-blue eyes revealing the horror that his face refused to express.

Holmes reacted to Watson's voice, struggling to look up but the thick ropes that suspended him to the pillar would not give an inch. They coiled around his waist, criss-crossed over his chest and shoulders, looped violently around his throat, and then angled down to his wrists that were secured behind the pillar. If he attempted to loosen his wrists, he'd succeed in choking himself. A separate length of rope wrapped numerous times around his legs and ankles. Watson could see a cloth-like white fabric knotted behind Holmes' head. No doubt the rest of it was serving as a gag to prevent Holmes from crying for help.


Watson frantically scoured the wharf for anything that he could use to lower himself down to Holmes. And even as he did so, he was more than a bit mildly alarmed when a few water drops struck him on the cheek, nose, and the back of one ear. At nearly the same moment, he looked down to check on Holmes, only to discover that the waves were now striking Holmes at thigh level.

To be continued…