Chapter Twenty-One: Guns Aren’t Toys
It was a stalemate; neither group had the advantage over the other.
Lestrade was running out of options and she was running out of time.
They had already used up an hour, and Holmes was not getting any
better.
The three Irregulars had bunched up in the corner around the newest
addition to the group. In their company, Rowland seemed to calm down a
little as she signed to Tennyson, asking him questions about his
computer and so on.
Wiggins was sitting right beside her, and every now and then she would
turn and look up at him as though she wanted to ask him something but
wouldn’t. After a while he gave her an encouraging nudge and she
signed the question to him.
At which point the first laughter they had heard in two hours erupted
from the tiny knot of children. Apparently Rowland had wanted to know
if his hair grew or not. Even the hardened Yardie couldn’t help but
smile.
Nevertheless, through it all, she could always see Rowland’s eyes, which
that pained look never seemed to entirely leave, dart back to her
dying friend who was lying in the corner on the cold floor, as if she
were afraid that he would give up if she looked away for too long.
Occasionally she would also glance over at Stayword, and in those few
seconds that her eyes would linger on him, that look of pure hate
would return.
Lestrade could almost feel the time passing. Every second seemed to
slip away through her fingers. She turned around again to check on the
kids.
They had all taken rather a liking to their silent acquaintance.
Rowland seemed to know who they all were before they told her;
obviously she and Holmes had done more than talk about Moriarty while
locked up together.
When she looked up, she was surprised to see only Wiggins, Deidre and
Tennyson together; Rowland was gone. Lestrade nearly had a heart
attack when she turned around and found herself face to face with her.
Rowland grabbed her sleeve and made a sign like a sideways ‘L’.
"Sorry, my gun isn’t a toy."
Rowland shook her head, and made the sign again, this time pointing it
toward the siege on the other side of there rather volatile fort, and
then pointed to herself. It took a minute, but Lestrade figured out
what Rowland was trying to suggest.
"You want to pretend to give yourself up? As a distraction?"
She nodded her head
"I don’t think so. You could get killed, and I would shoot myself
before I’d trust Moriarty."
The girl started to mouthe very slowly, and after a few tries Lestrade
managed to decipher yet another sentence.
"You're right, we don’t have much time, or any other plan. But Holmes
wouldn’t want you to do it." Usually Lestrade wouldn’t even consider
using a kid’s idea, yet this was not a ‘usual’ circumstance to be in
even for her.
Rowland just stared.
A plan began to formulate in Lestrade’s mind. She smiled.
"Maybe we could do it, but how about with a twist?"
Chapter Twenty Two: A Plan In Action
Moriarty was getting impatient. Tapping his foot, he continued to glare
at Fenwick who now had a black eye. He was about to open his mouth to
direct an unnecessarily rude comment at his slave when a familiar
voice was heard.
"Okay, Moriarty, you win. Here’s the girl."
"I knew you would see the situation in the proper light sooner or
later, Inspector."
Rowland was pushed out into the light of the hall as she left the
cover of the generator. She had her hand behind her back as she walked
up to Moriarty, looking right at that ugly goateed face of his with a
confidence and hate which the master criminal could not help but find
unnerving.
With a cautious and hungry look in his eyes, he grabbed her by the arm,
intending to remove whatever it was she held in her hand -- just as an
ionizer was pressed to the small of his back.
He watched as she used her free hand to sign something to him very
very slowly. There could be no mistaking her meaning.
"DONT MOVE"
Lestrade poked her head out and when she saw that everything had gone
as planned, began to shout commands.
"Okay, everybody out unless you want our little friend to blow your
boss to smithereens," she threatened the guards. Moriarty opened his
mouth to attempt to gain control of the situation.
"My dear Lestrade-"
"MOVE NOW!"
"I really don’t think that you can blow up a building when you have
your only ionizer aimed at me by an overconfident child."
"Ah but we don’t, you want to stand up for a minute, Wiggins?" Slowly
and carefully Wiggins got to his feet. In his hand he held Watson’s
ionizer, which was aimed directly at the open top panel of the
generator, the most sensitive part of the whole machine.
Lestrade was really enjoying the look on Moriarty’s face, but she could
not afford to dawdle. Watson’s ionizer only had one shot left,
possibly two, and her own was starting to feel drained.
Plus they had Holmes to think about. In fact that was the precise
reason that Wiggins was ‘threatening’ the generator.
Watson was the only person who could carry the detective for a long
period of time (even though he was far from heavy as some people go),
and they needed their friend to stick to that task. They had to move
as fast as they could.
"Get in line, and no funny business. Fenwick in the front, and
Moriarty, you can stay in the back with your charming young friend."
The guards, at their employer’s nod, all got in line, Fenwick in front
and Moriarty in the back. Rowland still had Lestrade’s ionizer aimed
directly at his back. They had given it to her because the Yardie
could at least defend herself with martial arts. Whereas if the kid
was going to keep Moriarty under control, she needed firepower,
Rowland herself didn’t seem to be at all interested in her
surroundings; her eyes never left those of her hostage.
The same thing kept going through her mind. 'This was the man who had
stood by while his cronies had beat up her friend, just stood there
and watched as though it were some kind of entertainment; and this was
the man that had starved them both for two days, and this was the man
that had kidnapped her in the first place.'
She jammed the ionizer deeper into his back. She would never sink to
his level, but she saw no harm in letting him think she would.
One by one, ‘Team Lestrade’ came out from hiding. Watson was the last
to follow. He had picked up Holmes again as gently as he could and was
being very careful not to jostle his friend about.
Wiggins would stay behind until Deidre came back to give him the
signal. They could not risk losing their advantage over Moriarty until
they absolutely had to.
Lestrade had wanted to leave Stayword behind on generator duty,
however. Not only was he now so bruised that he could hardly see, but
no one felt that he could be trusted to wait for the command from his
partner.
He was just too selfish, Deidre had suggested that they leave him
behind, but of course as good an idea as it was, he was still a fellow
inspector. Besides, Lestrade wanted to see the look on his face
when he was put on trial for about fifteen different charges.
"I hope you realize that there is no way you could possibly hold me
for any amount of time."
Moriarty’s words brought Lestrade back down to earth.
"Ya, you think what you want, but you're going to be in prison for a
long time. Holmes and I’ll see to that."
"You also may think what pleases you, my dear Lestrade; howe- oof."
The ‘oof’ was the result of Rowland jamming Lestrade’s ionizer even
further into her charge’s back. That child was turning out to be more
trouble then the master criminal had ever thought possible.
They had reached the demolished trapdoor, and feeling around in the
corners, Lestrade found a ladder. Watson went up first with Holmes, and
then Rowland followed; at which point Moriarty was shoved up next by
Lestrade, to be promptly delivered back to the custody of his former
prisoner.
Lestrade came up last after the two youngest Irregulars.
"How’s that backup coming, Watson?" she asked him. They had tried to
get through to New Scotland Yard before, but for some reason the signal
had kept getting blocked.
"Nothing yet. In all likelihood it is the product of the electric
output created by the generator. That would explain why none of the
guards or Fenwick had wrist communicators; they are quite useless
under such conditions.
"I think we need to be outside in order for the signal to reach it’s
assigned destination. The interference seems to extend over the entire
structure." The compudroid rattled this bit of information off
casually, while tightening his grip on his assigned ‘load’.
"All right, MOVE" Lestrade ordered the herd of evildoers out of the
building in single file, Moriarty still at the back and being pushed
along by his vengeful little sentinel.
Once they were outside the premises of the building, Watson was able
to get his signal through.
"They will be here in about two hours, and are informing the local
police of our situation; they should be here in about twenty-five minutes."
"That’s more like it! Okay, Deidre, you can go get Wiggins in about twenty
minutes -- where is Fenwick?"
Somehow, through all the movement and kerfuffle, Fenwick had managed to
slip away without notice.
Watson scanned the area with his free arm. "I am getting a new life
reading back in the warehouse, but it is hard to separate because of the
interference."
"I’ll go back down to get him. Is there ANY way to let Wiggins know
that Fenwick is on the rampage?"
"No. Do hurry, Inspector. He does not have a weapon but he could still
hurt the boy." He of course meant Fenwick could hurt Wiggins, not the
other preferred way it could be read.
"Don’t worry. And wipe that smirk off your face, clonehead -- no, not you,
Watson, this deadbeat," she said, indicating Moriarty with a wave of
her hand.
The shocked and hurt look which had appeared on Watson’s face for a
moment was quickly replaced by a worried smile. "Do be careful."
And with that, Lestrade made her way back down to the place of evil
from whence she had just come.
Chapter Twenty Three: Down Once More
[Okay, I know the POTO references are getting a bit old, but
I can’t help myself.]
Lestrade made her way cautiously back down into the underground
hallway, being very careful not to catch her uniform on the jagged and
scorched metal that now surrounded the enlarged opening.
She could still hear the hammer of the generator pounding away like
mad. Then another, more foreboding sound caught her ear -- an electric
sounding buzz. She was too late. She ran down the many passages her
steps echoing off the metal walls.
As she got closer and closer to her destination, she could hear the
faint sound of Fenwick’s harsh raspy breathing and the quick
athletic-sounding breaths of Wiggins, barely audible over the constant pulsing
and bashing of equipment.
She could tell they were battling over what must be Watson’s ionizer.
She turned one last corner and came face to face with the jaundiced
visage of the evil Fenwick.
Upon seeing her, he let go of the ionizer, which Wiggins also lost hold
of at the sudden loss of force against his grip. In an attempt to
catch it in midair he accidentally squeezed the trigger.
"NO!" they all shouted at once.
All three watched in horror as the stray beam of energy collided
with the side of the machine, which began to whir in a very menacing
fashion, pounding louder and louder, faster and faster.
Smoke began to billow through the air and Lestrade had to cover her
face with her hand. Grabbing Wiggins before she lost sight of him in
the mounting smog, she ran towards the door, feeling around for the
short thin form of Martin Fenwick.
She hit gold, and dragging the half-suffocated minion back down the
hall, she managed to get him and the oldest Irregular up the ladder in
front of her. Clambering up after them, she leaped onto the floor,
hitting her shins on the hard ground just as an explosion racked the
whole building.
Grabbing Wiggins, she shoved him, face first, to the ground. She didn’t
have time to grab Fenwick, as another explosion rocked the already
rusting ground and the ceiling gave way, burying the tiny group,
After about ten minutes of being buried with hands over faces,
Lestrade reached her hand up and shoved the piece of metal that had
been covering her back, off to the side.
Getting to her feet and wiping the blood away from a fresh cut on her
forehead, she pulled her charge up after her. They were both coughing
and wheezing, but at least they were alive.
After they had had a moment to catch their breaths, Lestrade decided to
voice her rather unenthusiastic-sounding concern.
"Let’s see if we can find Fenwick."
"Ya, I sp’ose we should, even if we do hate his guts."
Lestrade smiled. Yes, even if they did hate his guts they should still
try to find him. Oh well. Duty before the pleasure of seeing him
convicted and thrown in a cell for the next twenty years.
She felt a tap on the shoulder and looked back at the dusty Wiggins.
He had a troubled look on his face.
"Look, I’m sorry about the ionizer. I didn’t mean to squeeze the
trigger. I just kind of-"
"It’s okay. It was an accident and it was Fenwick’s fault, and if
anyone gets blamed it should be Fenwick or Moriarty, but not you. So
don’t feel guilty, okay?"
Wiggins nodded, somewhat relieved of his guilt.
She turned around when she heard a rasping sound, to see a rather blue
looking hand reaching through the debris. Lestrade made her way
through the knee-deep rubble and pulled, Wiggins got his other
side, and together they pulled the dirty bloody Fenwick out into the
half light of dawn.
The physical evidence was now destroyed, but they still had Moriarty,
Fenwick and their bunch of thugs. They could at least make an argument
out of that. They also had Holmes’ condition to back them up; people
just don’t go around punching themselves.
And all those guards wouldn’t be there by coincidence. And as an added
bonus if they could get Rowland to relate her ‘experience’, they would
have the case in the bag. Somehow Lestrade didn’t think it would be
very hard to coax it out of her.
Chapter Twenty Four: Oh, Well
Watson went over to the cruiser, and opening it with his key, laid
Holmes across the back seat. With his arms now free, he aimed his
stunner at the group of criminals. He would have to pay rapt attention
if he was to keep what turned out to be seventeen convicts under
control.
Watson also took out his handcuffs, and securing a grumbling Moriarty
to a convenient metal pipe sticking out of the ground, so that he had
to sit down or bend over, he relieved Rowland of her charge.
Deirdre was standing beside Tennyson, who was hovering about two inches
off the ground looking worried. The older of the two put her rainbow-nailed
hand around his shoulder and hugged him close.
"Don’t worry. Wiggins’ll be all right."
Rowland put her hand on Tennyson’s and squeezed it encouragingly. She
glanced over at Stayword; she hated that man like she had never hated
anyone else.
Deirdre had her coat back. Watson had not needed it when they had
begun to ‘pack up’. It had a few blood stains but they were on the
outside of the coat and it was pretty cold outside so she didn’t care.
Rowland stood there with her bare shoulder, trying to warm herself up
as best she could.
"You want my coat?"
Rowland shook her head.
"’ay, why don’t you go sit in the cruiser? It's way warmer in there."
Rowland shook her head. She didn’t want to cop out, and leave her new
‘friends’ to do all the work.
"It’s all right; I’ll call you when Inspector Lestrade and Wiggins get
back."
Rowland mimed another question. Tennyson was the fastest at
understanding her, so he beeped out the message to Deirdre who answered
the original asker. Rowland still didn’t understand Tennyson’s form of
communication; even back in the warehouse the Irregulars had had to
translate.
"Ya, I don’t know why Fenwick looks like that. Just crazy, I guess."
Rowland shrugged. The first time she had seen that man, about 2 hours
ago she had wanted to scream. He was just plain creepy, and she
couldn’t understand him half the time because of his thick French
accent.
She nodded again and made her way over to the car. She got in the
front passenger seat and shutting the door, turned around to check on
her friend.
Holmes was looking more battered than ever. His breathing was
spasmodic and rasping, and he had extensive bruising. She sure hoped
Lestrade got back soon; they needed to get him to a hospital as soon
as possible.
Suddenly there was a huge BOOM from the direction of the warehouse.
She jumped out and joined the two Irregulars in rushing over to the
scene of the tragedy. Moriarty was still chained up, and the guards
were far enough away that no one got hurt.
But where were Lestrade and Wiggins? Rowland felt her heart plummet
into her stomach, but it came up again just as fast.
"HEY! WATSON COULD YOU PLEASE GET OVER HERE!"
It was Lestrade, with Wiggins walking confidently beside her, holding
the other arm of a slightly scorched-looking Fenwick. Wiggins’s coat was
singed, as was Lestrade’s uniform, but neither seemed to have sustained
any kind of injury.
However, there was nothing left of the warehouse -- nothing but a
scorched patch of ground where it had once stood.
It was then that the sirens were heard, tons of them. The backup had
arrived and was landing on the burnt ground. As they touched down the
personnel started to swarm towards them.
Along with a hefty number of medics and officers, which promptly began
to set up tents with big red crosses on their fronts. Watson, who had
informed them of Holmes's condition, was leading a particularly tired-looking
medic in the direction of the cruiser.
Suddenly another BOOM racked the scene, but this one was closer. In
fact it was directly in front of the presumably empty fuel pipe that
Moriarty had been chained to. The smoke began to lift, revealing a pair
of empty handcuffs without even a smudge of blood -- just as one of the
cruisers that had come with the barrage of medical staff took off.
Fenwick, who was being held by Lestrade and Wiggins, chose this moment
to bite the arm of the former and run for it, grabbing the ladder that
was let down by the stolen cruiser, as evil laughter filled the air.
Chapter Twenty Five: Epilogue
Rowland stared glumly at her shoes. She felt terrible: hungry, tired
and scared, all rolled into one. Inspector Lestrade and Watson had been
gone about an hour now. They had left with a very sullen-looking
doctor that seemed to know them fairly well, because he had said their
names before the two had seen him.
"Inspector Lestrade," he had said, nodding at them both. "Dr. Watson."
"Well, how is he, Sir Evan?" Lestrade’s eyes had been full of worry, and
‘Sir Evan’ had looked back at her with an expression that said very
plainly ‘not here’.
Just those two unspoken words had been enough to reduce Rowland to
tears, which she had quickly hidden with her hand before they could
streak her dirty face; she of all people knew that talking was nothing
to do with sound.
The Irregulars were sitting off in another corner of the waiting room.
They all had troubled expressions on their faces that matched hers
perfectly, although it was hard to tell with Tennyson because of that
bandana that completely covered his mouth and nose.
Perhaps Mr. Holmes never realized how much he meant to so many,
The swinging doors opened again, Lestrade strode into the room; she
went straight to the Irregulars and launched into whispered
conversation. Rowland didn’t understand. Was this it? Was Lestrade
telling them the bad news?
She gripped her seat, looking over at the group again. She saw that
they were all nodding; they seemed to be agreeing on something.
But before Rowland could wonder further, or attempt to ask what was
going on, Lestrade crossed the room with her characteristic long
strides and upon reaching Rowland, bent down on both knees so as to be
at eye level to the girl.
"Rowland, would you like to come with me for a minute?" Her tone was
kind but sounded very tired. Inspector Stayword had been hospitalized
too, so his bruises could be seen to. Maybe they were arresting
Rowland for assaulting him? She didn’t care; the idiot had deserved
it and she wasn’t the least bit sorry.
She got to her feet, and straightening her torn and bloody shirt as best
she could, followed the inspector through the door from which she had
just emerged. There were nurses everywhere. All in uniform, doctors
were swarming the halls as well but in much smaller numbers.
The pair rounded corner after corner until they came right up to
what Rowland assumed could only be Inspector Stayword’s room.
Lestrade opened the door very quietly (‘What was she thinking? Why
should she be quiet for Stayword? She hated him!’) and nudged Rowland
ahead of her through the door.
There, lying propped up in bed on a bunch of pillows, looking almost as
good as new, was Sherlock Holmes.
Rowland felt so happy she thought she could do anything, even talk!
Forgetting all ‘British’ reserve she ran up and flinging her arms
around him gave him a huge hug.
"Oof. Do be careful there, Rowland."
She let go in complete shock.
Holmes had said her name without anyone having told him who it was
that was smothering him in this unladylike manner. Stepping back she
took stock of his whole appearance.
All the bruises on his face were gone, his wrist didn’t have any
bandages, his hair was clean and she could not see any cuts or gashes
on his head or face. No blood anywhere. He was under a blanket so she
could not tell if his leg was healed as well.
She had never quite comprehended the wonders of modern medicine until
now.
But the thing that she noticed above it all, the thing which had
startled her, was that Homes was looking at her, straight at her, with
that mischievous twinkle in his bright intelligent eyes.
He had a smile on his face too, not an all-out grin, but a secretly
humorous expression that said all too plainly that he knew exactly what
she was thinking. He answered accordingly. "Yes, apparently it was quite
easily fixed." He was talking without difficulty and his breathing spoke
of his mended ribs.
Turning around she saw that Watson had joined the inspector at the
doorway. Rowland had to resist the reflex to pick up Holmes’s hand,
and instead signed to him visually.
"GOOD TO SEE U"
"It is good to finally see you, as well. You do not look at all as I
thought you would." He smiled again.
Rowland grinned shyly. At the sound of more footsteps, Holmes looked
up from studying his young friends face and beckoned to his Irregulars
who had just come in the door. Rowland looked up too.
Talking only to them, Holmes posed the question that would change
Rowland’s life forever.
"Are we all agreed?" The group nodded. Even Watson smiled at the ‘in
joke’.
However, all Rowland could do was look confused. Were they arresting
her?
Holmes turned back to his confused companion.
"Rowland, would you like to be one of my Irregulars?"
She stood there in shocked bliss but then began to sign frantically, as
the possible turn of events began to take shape in her mind. With one
of his rare laughs Holmes replied.
"Yes, even though you did have a ‘confrontation’ with Inspector
Stayword, though I could hardly blame you. And of course we are not
about to send you back to your parents; I would sooner trust Moriarty."
She started up again, her hands diving in and out like some systematic
dancing tutorial.
"Yes, he will have a great deal of explaining to do; and no doubt he
has embarrassed British Intelligence enough to warrant a trial, from what
Inspector Lestrade tells me.
"And what your parents don’t know can’t hurt them. We can leave it at
that until such a time as it becomes necessary to dredge up the past.
There will come a time when the truth should come out."
More signing, but this time Inspector Lestrade and Watson took the
liberty of answering.
"It should be easy enough to find you a place to live at a low rent.
All we have to do is find you a job; you could work at a school for
kids with speech difficulty or something, you’d be great at that," said
the inspector.
"Yes, indeed! And until then you can have the spare room at Baker
Street. What do you say?" Watson chipped in enthusiastically.
Rowland looked back at Holmes who nodded, and then back at the
Irregulars, who erupted into enthusiastic exclamations and beeping.
"Ya, cool."
"Sounds good to me, wha’ do you say?"
"Beep beep beep clock whir."
And with that encouragement, Rowland turned again to her friend and
nodded. She would give it a try.
A few minutes later, all four of Holmes’s Irregulars had been led
away by Watson to bring them back to Baker Street for dinner, rest and
a change of clothes for Rowland. (Deirdre had volunteered some of hers
for the use of their newest recruit.)
After all, they had been up for two days straight, not to mention all
that waiting at the hospital ever since they had been dropped off by
Lestrade and the medics directly after Moriarty’s disappearance. So
none of them had eaten for at least seven hours, and in Rowland’s case
even more time had elapsed between meals.
Inspector Lestrade sat looking at her colleague. She had never really
realized until this moment how frantic she had been to find him, how
desperate she had been to get him back, to know that he was safe.
She smiled to herself. Was Sherlock Holmes really ever safe?
"So what are we going to do about Moriarty?" she asked.
"What is there to do, really, Lestrade? Nothing but continue to try and
thwart him."
"Ya, I guess so. It was really sweet of you to take her in like that,"
she hinted with a sly tone in her voice.
"It is no more then she did for me. Besides, it is just until she
learns to live on her own. She would hate to be dependent upon anyone
for too long, I think."
"Did she ever tell you why she doesn’t speak? I mean, you never told
me if she did. And what was all that about her parents?"
"I gave her my word. But I think that if you go to New Scotland Yard
and look up the computer file on ‘Rowlands’, you will have some idea of
how the matter stands."
"And how are you, Holmes? Ego still intact?" she jested.
"Yes, thank you. I believe I shall make a full recovery." That playful
twinkle had returned to his eyes.
"Nice to be able to see again?"
"I must admit that it is something which I shall find very hard to
take for granted in future."
"Thanks, Holmes."
"What for?" he inquired, genuinely curious.
"For holding out so long."
"I had a great deal of help," he replied modestly.
"Still, thanks."
And with one last relieved smile in his direction, Lestrade turned and
went back down the hall. Holmes’s eyes had said what his words could
not.
‘Thank you.’
THE END