Author's Notes: Steve Moffat the creator of Sherlock also updated another Victorian Era work of fiction in the short lived series Jekyll. I watched it and liked some of the elements even if the actor playing the two main parts left me a bit cold to be honest, so I thought why not combine the two.
So enjoy it and the manip I included on my profile near the bottom. I was pretty proud of it, two different Martin Freeman photos seemed to be perfectly aligned back to back and the attitude and wardrobe said it all.
After a long winter were my muse took his nasty cigars, a collection of eye bleeding silk touristy flower print shirts and his cut off jeans, and a tackle box full of my story ideas south...it is a wonderful feeling to finally finish this...now if I can get that goofy I-had-too-good-of-a-time-to-possibly-be-legal grin off his face maybe I can finish up Resurrected Flatmate. Thanks for your patience!
THIS STORY IS COMPLETED AND THE REST WILL BE POSTED IN THE NEXT FEW DAYS SO DON'T WORRY ABOUT NOT GETTING AN ENDING!
Dedicated to Robert Louis Stevenson and Conan Doyle and Steve Moffat...whose shoe laces I am unworthy to unloose! You da man sirs!
The Strange Case of Doctor Watson and Mister Ives
Part One: Messages in Blood
The extraordinarily tall man shambled through the shadows. Upon occasion he would come upon a hapless street person and they would flinch and fade into the shadows in terror.
He did not mind, for he was Golem and fear was his stock in trade.
One maintained the reputation he enjoyed by instilling terror in those he was sent to kill, as well as anyone else who got in the way. However, his latest endeavour had created more attention than he was comfortable with and now he was attempting to slip out of London on a freighter provided by his employer's people.
"Hello there, Lovely," said an insouciant voice from the alleyway to his left.
He turned to see a well dressed gentleman, who had no business being in this part of town, leaning against the clotted black brick fascia; he was smoking a cigarette which he flicked away with the same casualness that marked the rest of his mannerisms.
The face was rugged and rough hewn but still somehow handsome and the hair was gelled in a fashionably mussed manner, but the dark eyes were empty of any real emotion or restraint.
The eyes of a predator, like the ones he saw in the mirror whenever he bothered to use one.
Golem tensed as the other man strolled toward him with effortless ease, and with a huge sledge hammer blow the larger man swung a tree trunk arm down to his combatant expecting the other man to crumble as had so many in the past.
His arm was caught and he had only a moment to register his shock when it was brutally broken at the elbow, and his near leg was kicked so hard his knee snapped sideways causing him to go down on one knee left, his aborted cry of pain was caught by a powerful hand over his lower face.
He stared into those dark eyes with no shred of humanity and the man spoke. "I have to say I prefer your method of murder, it does muffle the screams, and before I'm done, dear boy, you're going to be doing a lot of screaming."
What followed was a long interminable time, and he was begging for death in his native tongue long before it found him.
She sat in the opulent salon waiting for her table clicking away at her Blackberry.
She knew she was garnering attention from the men and looks of hatred from the women but she paid them all no mind.
The texts she was sending were all classified and with a send she was changing governments and altering the courses of thousands but it was all in a day's work for her.
"Hello there, Lovely."
She gave the owner of the voice an irritated glare ready to send him on his way, but something about the man intrigued her upon first glance.
He blithely lit a cigarette with a flip of expensive silver. "What are you drinking, Sweetness?" He inquired nodding toward her cocktail.
"Glenlivet on the rocks, and there is no smoking here," she informed with an arched eyebrow.
He grinned, and it was a mixture of imp, shy boy, and mischievousness, and he tilted his head to show the most dimple which set off the rugged planes of his face creating a sense of good will, she was around enough politicians to know it was a very good smile indeed. "Well since I have no intention of putting out my fag, want to keep me company while I smoke the remainder?"
With those words he began to walk away, he paused and offered an arm to her.
She had no idea why she accepted but soon she was strolling out by his side feeling the muscles under his coat. Besides if push came to shove she was VERY well qualified to come out on top.
They approached the crime scene tape; Donovan was the first to see them as usual.
"Freaks here!" she called out.
Sherlock gave her the arrogant simper she was expecting as he ducked under the tape holding it up for his flatmate and colleague.
She had her usual smile for Doctor Watson.
"Hullo John, still haven't acquired a hobby, eh?" she called out as he straightened back up, he gave her a tired smile.
"Hi, Sally, no time for hobbies, I'm afraid," he replied.
She could see rings under his eyes and he looked as if he had lost weight, after the near miss at the swimming pool she had no doubt that he probably was dealing with flashbacks and other side effects from his brush with death. Freak did not have the emotional depth to realize his mortality but John did, she reached out and gently grasped his arm before he could get too far by.
"You look like ten miles of bad pavement, John, you sure you shouldn't see someone?" she inquired just loud enough for his ears.
"No, thank you, Sally, but I'm alright," he quietly insisted patting her hand.
"You coming, John?" Sherlock called out impatiently.
"Yes, keep your prissy lil' scarf on," John called out in irritation as he gave her one last fleeting glance and carried on his way.
"It's not my fault the Hoi Polloi has no concept of personal fashion," Sherlock replied with an offended sniff, "Wearing a scarf is not prissy."
John exchanged a wry grin with Sally silently asking for back up.
"Yes it is," she confirmed with a wink.
She was awarded with one of those genuine John Watson smiles; the man did have devastating dimples.
As John followed his now stiffly offended partner toward the alley mouth and the waiting Chief Inspector, but she noticed that he missed a footfall, it was just barely a shuffle but it was there.
She tried to relax; if he was feeling well enough to bicker with Freak then he must not be too bad off.
However, she had seen the haunted eyes, and the bone tired weariness he was disguising with good will and she made a note to watch him in the near future. John was more than just Freak's keeper to the Yarders, they had all become quite fond of the man, he was one of most likeable persons that Sally had ever encountered, and he definitely had the patience of a saint to put up with the tall irritating idiot he was keeping company.
However, judging by the company he kept and the shenanigans they got up to, John Watson obviously did not have a sense of self-preservation, so those who cared about him needed to call him on it.
She sighed turning back to the approach. Lestrade knew how much she hated cordon duty, but anything was better than dealing with Freak.
John followed Sherlock past a grim faced Lestrade. As always Lestrade had told them very little about what he already knew, so they had fresh eyes once they arrived.
He did not realize that Sherlock had stopped until he ran into the back of the man.
"Sherlock, what the bloody hell?" he grumbled rubbing the spot on his forehead that had collided with a bony shoulder blade.
"John...Look!" Sherlock replied in a solemn tone that caused John to hurry around.
There, lying like a crumpled doll was a large hideous man; it looked as though someone had broken his limbs and tied him into a knot, using the ends of his coat to complete the bow as his head was slipped through his own legs.
"Sherlock, what tha...," Watson mumbled, "That's the Golem."
"Or what remains of him," Sherlock responded. His voice taking on that peculiar machine like tone as his hard drive mind booted up.
"Who could do something like this?" Lestrade inquired. He was rubbing his forearm probably trying to get an extra jolt out of the nicotine patch there, much healthier in John's opinion than the four that he knew Sherlock had adhered to his person.
"That's what I would like to know, Sherlock and I tussled with this monster, and we barely made it out with our lives," John replied, because he knew Sherlock was not even listening.
"So, that was the bloke that Sherlock wrote about in the report. I don't understand, he was supposed to be massively strong, and deceptively fast. Somebody's manhandled him into a pretzel," Lestrade commented crossing his arms and rubbing his chin in a familiar gesture.
"Well, more like a Granny knot," Sherlock corrected as he stood.
"Whatever...So...gimme." Lestrade replied.
Sherlock's eyes swept the alley. "This was a message killing, and he has been bled for some purpose, I can see the droplets trailing away."
John's gaze swept the immediate side of the building, he felt like he was in a haze. "Sherlock," he said in a quiet tone quit unlike any his flatmate had ever heard him use before.
Holmes followed his line of sight. "Yes definitely a message, but not for us."
On the wall, was written these words.
Say hello to Jimmy for me!
"Could it be for Moriarty?" John inquired before he caught himself, wincing at the expected reply.
"A known associate of Moriarty's is tied into a bow, with a message for a Jim written in the man's blood, whom else could it be for, John?" Sherlock replied in a pedantic tone.
To Sherlock and Lestrade's surprise the usually mild mannered man exploded. "Why don't you shove it up yer arrogant arse, Sherlock!" He snapped.
He walked away heading toward the street.
Sherlock watched him go with narrowing eyes. "That was not like him."
Lestrade smirked. "Really? Because I never get tired of being patronized, Sherlock, I personally find it invigorating to be told what an idiot I am forty different ways before tea."
Sherlock gave him the glare he deserved. "There's blood on the body that doesn't belong to the Golem, it was dripped on purpose, and do you think Anderson can collect the sample without degrading it? It would be a shame for someone to leave us a calling card only to have it wasted. Oh and Interpol might want to be informed that one of their most wanted has been gift wrapped for them. You might want to check the wire and see if this is another killer's M.O. could be someone wanting to cut down on the competition. This would be a distinctive style that would show up in the files if he has ever done this before."
"Who am I looking for?" Lestrade inquired with his pad at the ready.
Sherlock's eyes swept over the body once again. "Someone inordinately strong, of course, but still flexible with quick reflexes, as a matter of fact I think they would be on the high end, he was also shorter than you or I, he broke Golem's leg first to bring the man down to his level, and he moved that crate over there to write in the blood, then slid it back to disguise his height, even after covering his tracks he forgot the clean patch behind the crate that is barely exposed now, he had to go back several times to complete his message, so the message was the point not the killing. This was an extremely vicious attack by someone who enjoys inflicting pain; Golem was alive nearly till the end when his neck was snapped to fit his head through the eye of the knot."
"Someone is after Moriarty?" Lestrade finished. "Maybe we should just let the bloke be, he could do our job for us."
Sherlock gave him a wry smile and swept off in the direction of his angry colleague.
Lestrade finished his notes. "Alright, maybe not, Anderson, stop lurking and get your bum over here! Sherlock's gone now."
John was waiting at the curb; he had not even attempted to flag a cab yet. His posture and body language told Sherlock that he was upset, whether it was with Sherlock or with himself had yet to be determined.
"These outbursts are increasing in frequency, you're useless to me like this, are you sure you don't need to call your therapist?" Sherlock asked conversationally, trying to avoid another argument by using a less aggressive tone.
"Sorry, Sherlock, just caught me the wrong way this morning, is all," John murmured his voice tinged with embarrassment.
"I take it my Sarcasm was not appropriate?" Sherlock inquired in a way of making peace, he had noticed an increase of temper in his otherwise easy going flatmate as of late.
John gave him a tired smile. "Oh no, you're right it was a ridiculous thing to say, I guess I was just caught up in the moment of actually finding a clue before you."
Sherlock had to sigh.
"You already saw it," John concluded with a clenched jaw.
"As soon as we walked into the alleyway I had the entire scene catalogued, however your instincts are getting better, you are already far beyond everyone on the other side of that tape and have been from the first day."
John rewarded him with a dubious glance but his lips had a hint of a smile and his ears turned the tiniest bit red at the offhanded compliment.
"I think our ride has arrived," Sherlock responded with a sudden growl of irritation.
The unmarked black sedan purred up to the curb and the window slid down showing a familiar face.
"Get in," Mycroft ordered. There was a flush to his cheeks and his eyes were cold.
"And if I refuse," Sherlock replied with his usual snotty tone.
Mycroft nodded toward the man standing with Sherlock, "John, I need you more than I need his pretentious posturing, would you mind accompanying me?"
John rolled his eyes at the familiar silent battle of wills between the brothers.
"What do you need me for that Sherlock can't do better?"
Mycroft's eyes turned solemn. "My assistant was attacked late last night, as a message to me, I was told to back off, of what I am not entirely sure, but she is in need of first rate medical advice, and since you are never far from Sherlock, who I felt needed to be consulted if he can stop being petulant long enough, I opined to take care of two needs with one move."
Sherlock was intrigued in spite of himself.
John stepped by Sherlock and leaned in. "Is she alright?"
Mycroft's face was grim. "She is as fine as anyone can be expected to be with a message carved into her flesh."
This work is completed, but I am waiting two days between parts so each chapter gets it's due. See ya next time!
PART 02-Project: Jekyll