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Watson edged sideways into a flung open door, its doorway gaped open like a huge set of jaws, dark and inviting, ready to consume any who entered and churn them into dark chunks of hellish matter and God forsaken detritus.
“I know you’re in there.”
“Do you now?”
Watson’s lips tightened as he considered his next move. “I’ve no intention of harming you.”
“Oh, but I...I intend to harm you in the worst possible ways.”
“Who are you?”
“A nightmare.”
“From what?”
“A woman you let die. My mother!”
Watson felt a cold chill rush up and down his spine. “I’ve never let anyone die!”
“Liar!”
“I’m a doctor. I save lives, not give them up!”
“You gave hers up!”
Watson felt a cold fist clench at his guts. The man was obviously insane.
The man inside chuckled. “To kill or not to kill, aye, that is the question. And I am not insane. Far from it. I am a man of reason. Of purpose.”
“Shakespeare had better intent than you.”
“Shakespeare’s my brother.”
Another and larger cold chill seized Watson.
“Impossible! He has no living brother.”
“Who said I was alive?”
The voice sounded distant and moving.
Watson turned fully into the doorway and stepped inside.
Something large tumbled towards him.
He felt something slam into his legs, carrying him free of the falling ladder, which had been laden with hundreds of pounds of brick and mortal for the work on the morrow.
It smashed into the floor, spilling dry mortar and bricks across the floor, tumbling end over end until friction finally stopped their deadly dance.
The sound of a groan.
“Holmes.”
“More or less. Maybe less than more at the moment since several of those bricks struck my back.”
“You all right?” Watson asked, carefully moving away from the bricks that had struck him.
Holmes rose slowly, shoving himself to his knees. “I’ve been better. You?”
“My scones have wet my pants.”
“That’s a terrible thing to have to live with,” Holmes replied with a warm chuckle.
“Indeed. But to all else it will seem I have wet my pants.”
“Small price to pay.”
A hand grappled along Watson’s leg, and then Holmes sat up next to him. “I leave you alone for just a moment and the whole house comes falling down on us.”
Watson chuckled. “It does have a habit of doing that, doesn’t it?”
“Far too often than either of us prefer.”
“With that I whole heartedly agree.”
“I heard the conversation.”
“The man’s surely gone by now.”
“I agree. We’re done here.”
“I thought you wanted to explore the secret room.”
“I do. But I fear that whatever secret it held will be held for a time longer. We have larger fish to fry now.”
“What do you mean?”
“William.”
“We should be able to catch him tonight no problem. Harry’s performing. He likes his late shows. Gives him more time to sleep in the morning of.”
Holmes chuckled.
They gave each other a hand as they rose, brushed off their pants, coat and shirts, and then headed for the doorway.
“What about Manley?”
“We’ll send a constable back to him once we’re out of here.”
“Poor soul. And I thought for certain he was part of the problem.”
Holmes shrugged. “Maybe he was.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not all debris rises to the surface of a flood all at once.”
With those final words Holmes hurried down the corridor with a puzzled Watson hurrying to catch up, not only walking wise, but to the meaning of Holmes words.
