Chapter II

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The Blunder of a Lifetime

* Pentonville Prison by George du Maurier
There were few times throughout the long career of Sherlock Holmes when his deductions proved to be in error.  One such uncommon occurrence was the case of one Arthur Allsop, convicted murderer and petty thief.

How well I remember that morning.  It had started off like many an ordinary Monday morning and, prior to attending my surgery, I had gone to visit our good barber for a shave and haircut, leaving Holmes with his head buried in the morning papers.  When I returned to 221B and entered the sitting room I came upon a scene of utter chaos.

Holmes was down on his hands and knees searching through a mountain of papers that now littered the sitting room floor.  He began to scatter them everywhere in his quest for the one he wanted, picking up paper after paper then discarding it in his frantic search for the one item that was seemingly eluding him.

Finally I could stand no more of this hive of evidently fruitless activity and demanded to know just what it was that he was searching for.  However, not for one moment did he cease his frenzied pursuit.

"Allsop, Arthur, gaoled 1879 for robbery and murder.  He killed two old ladies in the process of snatching their few valuables.  You remember.  I'm sure I had the papers amongst this pile so it should be here, but I can not seem to find it."

It occurred to me at that moment, and not for the first time, that in spite of our proper filing system, when it came to a sensible method of searching for one item of paper, Holmes deductive faculties seemed to completely desert him.  Fortunately, I was usually on the scene to help him before total bedlam ensued and he once more earned the ire of our good Mrs. Hudson, a not infrequent occurrence anyway.

"Holmes, we have already filed away many items from 1879," I pointed out reasonably.  "Have you looked through ‘A' in your index of biographies?"

He pointed to the settee where already half the contents of the filing cabinet were scattered.

Shaking my head in dismay I began to put the indicated items back in order when I came across the 1879 folder.  Seeing the letter ‘A' I flipped through the contents until I found Allsop, Arthur.  He was listed as a convicted robber and murderer.  A charming fellow no doubt.

Holmes, in the meantime had continued with his chaotic rummaging, scattering papers all over the sitting room floor.  I took the file over to him.

"Watson!"  Excitedly, he grasped it.  "That is him!  That is the man we want!" he crowed pointing to a sketch of Allsop from a newspaper clipping dated 4th April, 1879.

"We do?" I inquired, noting that the man had been convicted and sent to Pentonville with a life sentence for murder.  "But isn't he in gaol?" I inquired reasonably.

"Not according to this morning's Times.  He escaped from Pentonville yesterday afternoon.  Half the police force of London is searching for him, but they don't know where to find him!"

"I see.  And I suppose you do?" I inquired.

"But of course, my dear fellow!"

Holmes had that look about him that caused me to be on my guard.  "And just where might that be, Holmes?"

"Why right here, Watson!" he crowed gleefully, indicating the floor at our feet.

"Here?" I inquired in some alarm.  "You mean here in 221B?"

"Oh, indeed!" he answered, head buried in the information on Allsop and his trial.

"And just why should the man come here, Holmes?"

"Because, my dear Watson, I was largely responsible for putting the blackguard in gaol in the first place."

"I recall your telling me something about the case..."

"Oh, I forgot it was before your time."

"And how did you manage to catch this Allsop?"

"Oh, catching him was child's play.  That's not important now. What is important is that my testimony at the man's trial was largely responsible for his being convicted."

He jumped up and handed me The Times, commanding me to, "Read, my dear chap!"

As I perused the indicated article I was appalled to see that one Arthur Allsop, convicted criminal, had escaped from Pentonville at approximately two in the a.m. last night and was thought to be in hiding in this great city.

"He is bound to come after me," Holmes announced carelessly.

"Then you must leave Baker Street.  It is not safe!" I realised in some alarm.

"Leave Baker Street?  Never!  But you must go.  I will not have your life endangered by an old enemy of mine," he blithely announced.

Holmes's protective sentiments on my behalf were admirable, however, he had not taken into account my very deep love for him, and it was that very same emotion that had me disobey him now for the first time.

It was not often that I went against his wishes but I was about to do just that.  No doubt he would not be pleased.

I swallowed hard before declaring, "No, Holmes, I will not go."

It was as if he had not heard me for he was still reading the old newspaper clippings on Allsop.  "You must go to the country for a few days.  A week at most.  By that time I have no doubt that he will once more be at the tender mercies of the guards at Pentonville."

"Holmes, I won't go!  I will not leave you," I proclaimed.

Still he was not listening.

"Now you must pack, my good chap.  There is a train at twenty past nine from Euston which will take you to Kent."

"Kent?" I interjected.

He continued as if there had been no interruption to his narrative.

"I will not have your life endangered by an escaped felon of the likes of Allsop.  However, he will find me a much more formidable enemy than the old women he has preyed on in the past."

"Holmes, I will not go.  I will not leave you," I proclaimed with considerable conviction.

He turned to me in sheer astonishment, as though hearing my protestations for the first time.

"Now, Watson, do not be obstinate.  Of course you are going.  Now go and pack, there's a good fellow."

His patronising attitude galled me.  Standing before him, I forced him to look at me.  "Holmes, listen to me.  I will not leave you.  Do you understand?  I said I won't leave you and I mean it.  I will not leave you and that is that.  Should Allsop come here, then we shall face him together."

His reaction was predictable.  "Watson, this is absurd!  There is no point in your staying here.  Allsop is not after you.  Now go and pack, there's a good chap."

Still he was not listening, and my determination to stay with him no matter the consequences was now one of steel.

"Holmes, I am staying with you and I am quite adamant on that point.  I will not leave you, especially at such a time as this when your life may very well be in danger.  Do you understand?"

He stared at me, as though finally comprehending the meaning of my words.  "Watson, this is not like you!" he chided somewhat petulantly.  "I have never known you to be this unco-operative.  What has come over you?"

Stepping closer, I rested my hands on his thin shoulders.  "My dearest Holmes, do you not yet realise that as your lover I now have certain rights?  When we became lovers a lot more changed than just our sleeping arrangements.  As far as I am concerned, I have the right to stay with you - against your orders if need be - should your life be in danger.  Holmes, be reasonable," I implored.  "How could I possibly leave you at such a time?"

He gazed at me in honest puzzlement.  "Watson, whatever do you mean?"

"Holmes, surely you realise that I would do anything to protect you.  Besides, you have said yourself that I am a crack shot, not to mention handy to have around."  I smiled at him, appealing to his softer side.  "If I was the one in danger, could you leave me?"

"Watson, that is most unfair!"  He shook his head.  "You know very well that I would not leave you, but none the less, I would much prefer that you were far away from here where I would not have to concern myself with your safety."

"Holmes, you need not concern yourself over my safety in the least.  I am quite able to look after myself, as you very well know."

"Never the less..." he began.

"I am staying!" I proclaimed, grasping his jaw in both hands and claiming his mouth in a kiss that bespoke my commitment and my very great affection for him.

At first he was unresponsive to my intrepid gesture and froze, his body rigid against mine.  However, within moments he capitulated, thank God, his lips softening wonderfully as his long, supple body pressed fervently against the length of my own.

When the kiss ended he smiled briefly and gazed into my eyes in most earnest manner.  "My dearest Watson, I have never known you to disobey my orders before.  What has got into you?"

"Holmes, do you really need me to answer that?" I chided gently, the memory of last night fresh in my mind.

To my satisfaction, Sherlock Holmes gazed at me in utter stupefaction before blushing for one of the few times in his life, his pale cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.  However, to his credit, he made amends straight away.

"A thousand apologies, my dearest Watson.  I...  I should have realised..." he stumbled, before I took pity on him.

"Shh."  I placed my finger on his lips.  "That was before, my friend.  This is now, and I am now your lover, not just a mere colleague or even a friend and, of course, not withstanding that I am a medical man."

It was with the greatest delight that I accepted his contrite kiss, returning it with enthusiasm.

"Ah, Watson, I can refuse you nothing!" he complained, but his voice was soft with affection and his dark eyes seemed to see into the depths of my soul.

"Please, Holmes, don't ever ask me to leave you, especially at such a time as this when your life is in danger.  Do you think that I could live with myself if anything happened to you and I was not by your side?  If you were injured and I was not there to help you, to protect you?  Please, Holmes, promise me you will never again ask that of me," I pleaded.

His expression was most remorseful.  "Forgive me, dear friend.  Sometimes I forget."  His fine fingers ran playfully along my jaw.  "It is only that I could not bear it if... if..."

Lovers for almost six months now, it was often still difficult for Holmes to express his feelings in words, although he had grown much more free with physical gestures of affection for he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the feeling was mutual.  Knowing full well what he could not bring himself to say, I kissed him once more, our bodies pressed fervently together as our tongues met in a familiar dance of illicit pleasure.

After long delicious moments he tore his mouth from mine though he continued to hold me close, pressing his cheek to my own.

"My dearest, you are far too desirable," he whispered, his breathing considerably elevated.

"And you never cease to tempt me, my sweet," I whispered, my own voice far from steady, knowing that his burgeoning desire was a perfect match for my own, not withstanding our pleasures of the previous night.  "But..."

"Indeed," he sighed with regret.  "Your patients await and I shall be preoccupied with the recapture of Allsop."

Although there was nothing I would have liked more than to make love with him right there and then, I knew that the time was not right - for either of us.  It was therefore with considerable reluctance that I took a deep breath to steady myself before releasing him.

He also took a couple of deep breaths before striding over to the mantelpiece to pick up his old clay pipe and fill it.

"How shall we catch this Allsop?" I inquired.

He lit his pipe and inhaled deeply.  "We shall set a trap for him!" he duly proclaimed.

Not for the first time I marvelled at the contrast between Sherlock Holmes, ardent lover, and Sherlock Holmes, unofficial consulting detective.

"What sort of a trap?"

"We shall see, my dear Watson," he pronounced thoughtfully yet with such slyness of tone that I could not help but feel sorry for one Arthur Allsop, convicted murderer and escaped felon, for the man had no chance against the formidable talents of Holmes.

"Holmes, what about Mrs. Hudson?  Will she be in any danger?"

"Oh, indeed.  She will have to stay elsewhere."

"But this is her home and she will not wish to leave it," I pointed out reasonably.  "Besides, you know of her fond regard for us."

"Indeed, never the less she will have to leave.  Watson, be a good chap and tell her, will you?"

Being assigned this onerous task, I have to admit, did nothing to engender confidence.

"Holmes, how long do you estimate she will she have to stay away for?"

"Oh, not more than a week I should say," he carelessly announced.

Inwardly I groaned, knowing that the dear lady would be outraged at the very notion of arbitrarily having to leave her home for a whole week and stay with relatives.  She would no doubt be highly suspicious of my motives in requesting her co-operation in this matter.

As it turned out, my misgivings were justified.

"Why, Doctor Watson, what on earth has come over you?  Leave Baker Street?  Of course not!  Why the very idea!"

"But it's only for a week, Mrs. Hudson."

"A week is seven days too long, Doctor.  Why who would look after you and Mr. Holmes?  No, it's simply out of the question and I shall not go."

The lady was perfectly outraged at being ordered out of her own home and, much though I could sympathise with her, for her own safety she had to leave.

It was at that moment, as I stood there wondering what I could possibly say that would change her mind, that inspiration struck.

"Mrs. Hudson, Mr. Holmes has asked me to inform you that we will put you up, all expenses paid, at the Langham."

She ceased her dusting and turned to me in astonishment.  "The Langham?  Why whatever could have come over Mr. Holmes?"  Her expression became somewhat shrewd.  "He's not in any danger, is he, Doctor Watson?"

After debating whether it would be better to tell her a lie, which she would be unlikely to believe, or tell the truth, in the end I settled for a modified version of the truth.

"Mr. Holmes assures me that the so-called danger, such as it is, is entirely minimal but, no matter how inconsequential, he insists that you leave and leave now, Mrs. Hudson.  Do you need help to pack?"

"Leave right now?  Why the very notion!  I'll have you know I was planning a steak and kidney pie for tonight!"

The poor lady was indignant at the very idea and I could not blame her in the least.

"None the less, Mrs. Hudson, Mr. Holmes is most insistent and you know how he is."

"I do indeed, Doctor.  I do indeed."  She appeared to have second thoughts.  "The Langham you say?"  I nodded.  "Well, I shall certainly have to wear my Sunday best.  And how long am I to stay at the Langham?"

"A week at most.  Probably less."

"All expenses paid?"

"Oh, indeed and I can assure you that their cuisine is excellent.  Think of it as a holiday," I suggested hopefully.

"A holiday?  My, my but I could do with a holiday!"  She made up her mind.  "I shall pack a few belongings."

I sighed.  That was one task over with.  Now I had to inform Holmes that we would have to foot the bill for Mrs. Hudson's stay at the prestigious Langham.

Holmes stared at me aghast.  "You told her what?"

"That she could stay at the Langham," I muttered.

"All expenses paid!" he protested in disbelief.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," I defended.  "After all, why should Mrs. Hudson be incommoded by an old enemy of yours?"

"Touché, my dear Watson," he capitulated.  "Well, you're certainly in a generous frame of mind!  I hope you realise just what this sudden whim of yours is going to cost," he complained.

"Probably more than we can afford," I had to admit in all honesty.  "But after all, Holmes, the dear lady does much to look after us.  Most people in rented lodgings are not looked after nearly as well as we are.  Besides, she hardly ever has a holiday."

"Mrs. Hudson is a tower of womanhood and stands tall amongst her peers.  Very well then we shall indulge her," he conceded.  "Mind you, for the sake of your bank account, let us hope that Lestrade, for once in his bungling life, is successful in recapturing Allsop."

"My bank account?" I queried, outraged, for Holmes well knew how little I had in the bank, although I expected my circumstances to improve now that my practice was picking up.

"Well, after all, Watson, it was your idea to pack Mrs. Hudson off to the Langham, not mine."  His look was most reproachful and this only made me madder.

"And just what would your solution have been, Holmes?"

"Why a return ticket to Northamptonshire to see her relatives whom she has not seen for over a year."

"I see.  Well I happen to believe that the Langham was a much simpler solution to the problem of where to send the lady, not to mention far closer to her home than Northamptonshire and..."

"...and no doubt five times as expensive!" he interjected.

"No doubt!" I muttered, forced to agree with his logical argument, but still smarting from his comment about my bank account.  "However, she was most upset and..."

"Watson, I am disappointed," he blithely continued.  "I understood that you knew how to handle the fairer sex."

"Not when they are irate at being ejected from their own home in most high-handed manner!" I retorted.

"Hah!  Perhaps I should handle it myself should this situation arise again."

"Please do!" I proclaimed loudly, incensed at his imperious manner.

He turned to look at me and there was about him a look of honest puzzlement.

"You're not upset with me, are you, Watson?"

I sighed to myself.  There were times when the man was impossible, but I could never stay angry with him for long, especially now that we were lovers.

Holmes must have read my thoughts, as he so often did, for his expression softened as he gazed at me.

"Never fear, my dear fellow, I shall pay my share.  No doubt you did what you thought best," he capitulated.

In this fashion we were reconciled once more.

Shortly thereafter I hailed a cab and escorted an excited Mrs. Hudson, suitably attired in her Sunday best, to the Langham.  After dutifully informing the desk clerk that she would be staying for a few days, I once again assured the good lady that Mr. Holmes was in little or no danger and that I would look after him.  I left her there in an ornately furnished room where her every whim would be catered to.

As I returned to Baker Street I realised that I was now conscious of the many loafers and idlers that hung about the busy thoroughfare and even found myself eyeing them suspiciously as I stopped to purchase a paper, wondering if this Allsop might disguise himself.

"Any news?" I inquired as I entered the sitting room.

He shook his head.  "I just had a telegram from Lestrade.  They traced Allsop to Charing Cross and lost him."

Too close for comfort, I thought, and inquired if Allsop had ever used disguises.

"Oh, indeed!  That is how he managed to rob so many little old ladies.  He is a gaunt, runty little chap and he would disguise himself as one of them.  Once they had taken him into their confidence he would rob them blind."

"And the two he killed?"

"Oh, it appeared they fought back.  Tried to strike him with their walking sticks.  He didn't care for that and in a fit of rage he killed both of them."

It was time for me to head for my surgery, loathe though I was to leave Holmes at this time when his life, so precious to me now, might very well be in danger.

With my medical bag in hand I was about to head down the stairs, but when I turned and saw him bent over papers and maps, as so often happened, my heart went out to this man who had long ago won my own.

"Holmes, be careful," I cautioned.

"Don't worry about me, I shall be fine.  Now you run along, my dear chap."

As I once more stepped out onto busy Baker Street I found my eyes scanning everyone I met but saw no sign of anyone fitting Allsop's description.

Two hours later in the midst of an uneventful morning I found that, for some unknown reason, I was growing apprehensive.  I began to fidget considerably and during a break found myself examining my reasons thereof.

Far from the numerous complaints of my patients, the only thing that concerned me was Holmes's safety.  Holmes was alone at 221B, but surely he was quite safe there.  Besides, the man was well able to defend himself as I myself had many times testified to from first hand knowledge.  The rear door had also recently been reinforced and we had had a second lock put on.  Also, the lower rear windows now had bars on them.  It was extremely doubtful that anyone could break into the place.  Why therefore did I feel this growing sense of unease?  And why did I have this irrational wish to leave my surgery and return to Baker Street right this minute?  I knew not.

At a quarter to eleven and after ascertaining from Ivy that there were no more patients in the waiting room I grabbed my medical bag and left, chiding myself the while for my overly anxious nature.  Holmes would no doubt upbraid me for my wholly unnecessary concern for his well being, but there was no fighting the urge to see him and make sure that he was in no danger, so I left my surgery.

I have often wondered why there is seldom a cabbie to be found when one really needs one, and my current circumstances were a case in point.  I therefore began to walk in the direction of Baker Street, normally a brisk ten minute walk.  However, in my current distressed state I strode most energetically.  By the time I reached Regent Street and turned the corner into Baker Street I was running and had covered the distance in just five minutes.

When I reached 221B all seemed normal.  I fumbled for my keys and finally entered the door.  As I closed it behind me, shutting out the noise of the street, I became aware of the quietness within.  Other than muffled sounds from the outside which filtered through the door, there seemed to be no sound at all.

Reprimanding myself for the umpteenth time about how foolish I was being, I tried to calm my racing heart as I swiftly climbed the stairs.  The door to the living room was open and I know that I had closed it when I left.  There was no sign of Holmes and I wondered if he had gone out.

As I circumnavigated the sitting room I glanced into Holmes's bedroom to see if perhaps he had fallen asleep on his bed, but no, the room was empty.  I passed by the fireplace and headed over to the window and it was then that I saw a singular anomaly - the drawer of my desk was lying open and my revolver appeared to be missing.

What would Holmes want with my revolver? I wondered.  To defend himself?  Against whom?  Allsop?  But there was no sign of a struggle or blood on the floor.  And why take my revolver and not his own?  Not that I minded him borrowing my gun, but it was extraordinary that he should wish to.  He was not here, that was certain.  I wondered if he had received word from Scotland Yard that they had caught Allsop, but there was no sign of any discarded messages or telegrams lying around and I checked the fireplace as well knowing Holmes's habit of tossing unwanted bits of paper into the fire, but the weather was humid today and the fire had not been lit this morning so that the grate merely contained yesterday's ashes.

Disappointed, I sighed and wondered where Holmes might have gone, once more upbraiding myself for my unnecessary concern for the man.  I trudged upstairs to my room but there was nothing out of the ordinary to be seen there.  Upon examining my bed, which had been neatly made by Mrs. Hudson before we had packed her off to the comfort of the Langham, I pondered briefly on how we now spent almost every night in this bed together enjoying each other's company, so to speak. However, right this minute my heart felt heavy and I hoped that I would hear Holmes enter from the street and come bounding up the stairs as was his wont.

On returning to the sitting room I took a last look around, my gaze once more drawn to the open drawer of my desk and again I wondered why Holmes would take my revolver and not his own which he normally kept in his own desk drawer.  What if he had been in a hurry?  Which gun was easiest to reach?  The answer to that question was simple: My own, for I did not keep the drawer containing my revolver locked as Holmes did.  But what I could not understand was why he would have needed a gun so urgently that he could not take the time to open his own drawer.  I had no answers, only a nagging apprehension that would not leave me alone.  With great reluctance I decided that it was time to return to my patients.

With heavy heart I picked up my bag and descended the stairs.  It was as I reached the vestibule that I heard it.  I stopped and listened and the sound came again.  I could only describe it as that of a soft moan.  It appeared to come from the rear of the building where Mrs. Hudson had her own rooms.

Frantic with worry, I opened the door of her sitting room, but it proved empty.  Next came the bathroom and it, too, proved uneventful. It was as I pushed open the door of the kitchen that my heart nearly stopped.

There on the floor of Mrs. Hudson's kitchen lay Holmes, unconscious and moaning softly in his delirium.  Absently I noted that there was no sign of my revolver.

Quickly I checked his pupils, pulse and respiration and realised that he was coming out of it.  I immediately went to Mrs. Hudson's sitting room and found some brandy.  Pouring a small amount I returned to the kitchen and lifted Holmes, holding him gently.  It was as I lifted him that I felt the large lump on the occipital area of his skull and realised that someone had given him quite a crack on the head.  He began to toss his head and I patted his face gently and called his name.

"Holmes!  Holmes, come out of it!" I called softly.  I held the brandy under his nose and he opened his eyes and for a moment gazed anxiously around.

"Watson!  Watson, what are you doing here?"

"Shh.  Stay still and drink this."

"Allsop?" he queried.

"I have seen no one.  Drink!"

Obediently he drank before falling back in my arms once more - and how glad I was to comfort him, holding him against me and rocking him a little.

"My dear, dear friend, tell me what happened," I coaxed anxiously, continuing to hold him gently but firmly.

He shook his head.  "Oh, John, it was my own stupidity!" he castigated himself.  "I was working at my chemicals and heard a sound downstairs.  Well I knew that you were at your surgery and Mrs. Hudson is now living the life of Reilly at the Langham so naturally I grabbed for the most convenient weapon - your revolver.  Oh, and do forgive me for taking it without your permission," he added.

"Think nothing of it."  I held the brandy to his lips once more. "What happened then?"

"Well I naturally went downstairs to investigate.  I decided the kitchen, being closest to the back door, was the most likely to harbour someone of criminal intent, so I checked it first.  As I entered the room all seemed quiet.  It was as I went to search the pantry that I was hit from behind without even having a chance to fire.  Oh, Watson, I feel like such a fool!"

"Shh, it's all right," I soothed.  "You are safe now, thank heaven!  But how did the intruder get in?  Everything was locked when I left the house."

"How indeed!"  He sounded most indignant.  "Now that I have had a chance to consider the possibilities I am of the firm belief that the man got in yesterday."

"Yesterday?  But that would mean..."

"Precisely!  He has been hiding right here in 221B since yesterday.  It is quite possible that he gained entry when Mrs. Hudson was taking out the rubbish yesterday evening when she would have been in and out of the yard."

"Good Lord!"  I did not like the implications of this in the least. "Do you mean to say that this man was here for most of twelve hours?"

"Quite possibly."

"Then we were all in danger, especially Mrs. Hudson," I realised in alarm.

"Indeed.  It is as well that we packed her off this morning and the good lady is now out of harm's way."

"Holmes, did you get a look at your attacker?"

"Unfortunately no, but I am convinced it was Allsop."

At that moment the inherent danger of our personal situation hit me like a thunderclap.

"Holmes, do you suppose that he came upstairs last night?"

He gave a sardonical smile.  "My dear fellow, you have hit the nail on the head!"

The very notion of our privacy being invaded like that was enough to make me feel nauseous.  The idea of some malignant stranger listening at the door of my bedroom whilst Holmes and I lay in bed together making love was just too hideous to contemplate.  However, at that moment something else occurred to me.

"But, Holmes, if Allsop did come upstairs last night surely he would have searched the sitting room as we slept and we would have seen the evidence this morning, would we not?  That is, assuming he was looking for something and not just revenge on you."

"Precisely, my dear Watson, and we saw nothing.  He therefore did not search the sitting room."

"But why pass up the opportunity if he was already inside?" I wondered aloud.

"Perhaps he had no opportunity.  We can not even be certain that he was searching for anything.  John, let me up, my dear.  I believe I can stand now."

Rising, I gently lifted him to his feet.  "All right?"

He momentarily swayed.  "I think so."

"I would advise you to take it very easy.  That crack on the head was pretty nasty.  You are most fortunate you don't have a concussion, but I see no sign of one at present."

He nodded.  "Good.  Now, my dear, let us see where this cunning devil has been hiding."

We searched the pantry and Holmes found evidence that the man had stolen some food.  It was when we went outside to check the laundry that most of our fears were allayed.  There, in the large laundry basket was all the evidence we needed for the garments had been flattened down and badly creased where a body had lain on them for quite some time.

"Hah!  Now we know why he did not search the sitting room last night; he was not inside the house last night but out here in the laundry!  He no doubt gained entry through the back door this morning when Mrs. Hudson went out to do the washing.  While she was otherwise occupied he could have easily crept inside the back door and successfully hidden downstairs.  He must have thought his prayers had been answered when you packed the good lady off to the Langham."

I shook my head.  "Well no doubt he is gone now."

"Long gone.  By the by, did you go upstairs before you found me here?"

"Yes, but I saw no one."

"Yes, but did you check every room?"

"Well no," I admitted.  "After all I was looking for you, not someone who might be hiding."

"Hmm..."

"But what did he want?" I wondered out loud.  "And if it really was Allsop, then why did he pass up the opportunity to take his revenge on you right there and then?  Assuming, as you say, that he truly is out for revenge.  I mean no offence, Holmes, but you were unconscious and at his mercy."

"An excellent question, my dear Watson, to which I do not at present have an answer but I am formulating a theory.  By the by, how came you back to Baker Street when you should have been at your surgery?"

How could I explain the anxiety that had held me in its grip for half the morning?  "I... was concerned for you."

He smiled at me and I knew that he would not chastise me for my nature.

"Then I can only be grateful for your concern."

It was at that moment that we heard a sound from upstairs - the creak of a floor board.  We both froze, staring at each other.  So the intruder had not left after all it seemed but had merely been hiding, probably in the storage room on the top floor where Holmes kept many of the souvenirs of his old cases as well as a collection of mouldering newspapers.

As quietly as possible we tiptoed out of the kitchen and into the vestibule, our eyes glued to the stairs in case the intruder should choose that moment to descend.  Quietly, two steps at a time we ascended.  Halfway to the top I noticed that the sitting room door was ajar, and I knew that I had closed it when I thought to leave and return to my surgery prior to my discovering Holmes unconscious in the kitchen.

Leaning close, I whispered this information into Holmes's ear.  He smiled a most predatory smile at me and nodded.

"Go into the sitting room but be careful," he whispered.  "I believe our elusive friend will exit via the bedroom door.  I shall wait here and surprise him."  He picked up a sturdy cane.  "Oh, and don't forget that he is now armed with your revolver," he cautioned.

Slowly and stealthily, my senses alert for the tiniest sound or movement, I made my way into the sitting room.  As I entered the room I glanced toward the windows but saw nothing. However, as I rounded the door and glanced toward the rear of the room and the bedroom door, I noticed that the door was now open a bare crack, whereas before it had been wide open.  Quickly I tiptoed over to the door, my heart in my mouth.  Listening keenly, I heard a sound from within, realising immediately that it was the sound of a door knob being turned and I realised that Allsop, for presumably it was he, was trying to escape through the connecting doorway to the landing as Holmes had anticipated.

In Holmes's current frail condition I did not wish to place undue strain on his health and there was always the possibility that the intruder was armed.  I therefore decided to confront the man there and then before he could possibly injure my gallant Holmes any further.  Thereupon I burst into the room, kicking the door wide and holding my cane in a most threatening manner.  Alas I was too late and the person had already exited.  I heard the sounds of a heavy thud, followed by a scuffle emanating from the landing and quickly made my way around the bed and over to the far door.

"Hold it right there!" I ordered, taking in the scene at a glance.

Holmes, holding his cane over his shoulder, looked somewhat the worse for wear owing to his previous injury.  The intruder, however, was an entirely different matter.  Instead of a dangerous escaped felon there stood a small, frail and elderly lady, her wisps of white hair protruding from under an old rust-coloured bonnet, the faded cotton gown on her thin frame and her walking stick all proclaiming her age and her fragility.

"Ah, Watson, allow me to introduce you to one Arthur Allsop, formerly of Pulteney Street but more recently of Pentonville Prison."

Allsop, for indeed it must be he, stared uncertainly from one of us to the other.

"Aye, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I'm at your mercy," he admitted.

"Come, let us adjourn to the sitting room and conduct ourselves in a more civilised manner," Holmes announced.

So saying, he picked up my revolver, which he must have knocked from the man's hand and kept it trained on the man as we entered the sitting room.

"Here, take my chair," Holmes offered.

Allsop, a trifle disconcerted by Holmes's seeming magnanimity, sat down in the indicated chair.

I could not blame Allsop for feeling unsure of himself in the circumstances.  Holmes, when in this particular frame of mind, was akin to a tiger stalking its prey, at any moment ready to strike a killing blow.

"And now, Mr. Arthur Allsop, what brings you here to 221B Baker Street when half the police force of London is looking for you?" he inquired mildly.

"Evidence, Mr. Holmes.  Evidence what might clear my name," the man declared with some vehemence.

Holmes, quite naturally, seemed rather taken aback by the man's statement for he had been convinced that Allsop would come looking for him for revenge for his conviction and subsequent gaol sentence.

"Evidence?  What evidence?  I have no evidence on your case, Mr. Allsop.  You were lawfully tried and convicted and duly incarcerated. You were extremely fortunate that you were spared the gallows or the Colonies!"

"But I didn't do it, Mr. Holmes.  I never did kill them old ladies. Honest!  I swear I didn't!  But it was you what lagged me for it."

  Far from vengeful, the man sounded bitter.

"I recall at the time of your arrest that you confessed to the murders, and you now have the gall to sit there and declare your innocence?  Hah!  This is priceless, Watson!"

"Aye, Mr. Holmes, innocent I be.  That's why I done come to see you. To plead with you to prove it; to prove as how I'm innocent; to prove I never touched a hair on them old ladies' heads, but I got lagged for it just the same and done an eight doss I have."

"To plead with me?" Holmes queried in astonishment before cackling rather rudely.  "You broke out of Pentonville to plead with me to prove your innocence?"

"Aye, to plead with you for mercy.  I'm a sick man, Mr. Holmes.  The doctors have told me I'll not see another year, so I escaped to ask for your help."

The expression of utter incredulity on Holmes's face was a rare sight indeed.

"You hit me on the head with your walking stick sufficiently hard to knock me unconscious and you have the gall to ask me for mercy!  Give me one good reason why I should be merciful to the likes of you who deserve none," Holmes proclaimed with utter contempt.

"‘Tis powerful sorry I am, Mr. Holmes.  I swear I never meant to hurt you.  Honest, I didn't.  It's... I just... panicked.  I was afraid that if I called out to you and told you who I was you might just shoot me, and if I didn't say anything you might shoot me anyway.  I hit you harder than I meant to and I can only say I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to hurt you.  Honest, Mr. Holmes.  All I wanted was some evidence you might have lied at my trial."

Holmes shook his head thoughtfully and offered Allsop a cigarette which the man took gratefully.

"I lie for no man, Mr. Allsop.  What makes you think I lied at your trial?  And why should I even lift a finger to help a convicted felon escape from justice?" he inquired.

"Because I was unfairly lagged for doing in them old ladies and I never did, I swear!"

"Hah!  You gave no thought to robbing them blind - as indeed you did with many other old and helpless women - but these two you attacked in a most brutal fashion, striking them both so hard that they never regained consciousness.  You killed without mercy and yet you have the unmitigated gall to come to me and beg for it?  Why should I show mercy to one who has never shown any to his victims?" Holmes accused scornfully.

"Mr. Holmes, I never!  I swear I never did kill them ladies!"

Holmes gazed at the man with keen scrutiny for his words, indeed his whole demeanour appeared to be that of a man who was telling the truth.

"You will admit that you robbed them?"

"Not them.  Others, yes, God help me, but not them.  I admit that I was going to, but I never did, I swear.  I'm a changed man, Mr. Holmes.  I've seen the light and found God."

"Huh!" Holmes muttered in disbelief, as though he had heard those sentiments before, and no doubt he had.

"I don't blame you if you don't believe me, Mr. Holmes," Allsop continued.  "‘Tis burdened with guilt I am for my sins, but I swear before God I never murdered them ladies in Blackfriars Lane.  I've done my time for all them robberies I done but because I got lagged for murder, I'll rot in gaol.  Last week I got told that I was not long for this world and I knew I had to see you because you're the one person could prove I didn't kill them old ladies.  You know that I never killed no one I ever robbed, Mr. Holmes, so why should I have killed them ladies?" he pleaded.

Holmes studied the man.  "I readily admit that it was not in character for you to commit murder, Mr. Allsop, however, there was concise evidence that those particular victims fought back."

"Not with me they didn't, Mr. Holmes.  Them two I never even robbed. It's God's own truth, Mr. Holmes, I swear it.  I didn't murder them."

"But they were found dead less than a half hour after they were seen speaking with you."

"Yeah, and I know who done it, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes eyed the man in his most stern manner.  "Mr. Allsop, if I understand you correctly, you are now saying that you know who really murdered those women."  Allsop nodded.  "You knew this at the time you confessed to the murders?"  Again Allsop nodded.  "Then tell me why, Mr. Allsop!  Tell me why you confessed to the murders of two helpless old women, knowing that you would most likely hang for your misdeeds. If you did not kill those ladies, then who did?" he demanded.

"Me brother," Allsop muttered under his breath, staring at the toes of his rough boots which were sticking out from under the old cotton gown.

"Speak up, man!" Holmes demanded.  "Your brother you say?"

"Aye, me own brother.  Me younger brother.  At the time he lived in Turner Street just around the corner from where them ladies was found.  The police never found out about him but you see he was blackmailing me.  He knew about my... uh... occupation you see and he was always threatening to turn me in.  I had to give him a half share of everything.  That day, the day them old ladies died, he was with me, pretending to be my son.  It was as you said and the women fought back.  They tried to strike him with their walking sticks.  He hadn't expected that and he went wild.  He swung his cane and began to strike them with it, hit ‘em so hard they collapsed.  Knocked ‘em senseless he did.  I was shocked I was and he searched ‘em for their money and jewellery and he abused me because I didn't have the stomach to touch ‘em you see.  I wouldn't help him.  I never even noticed what he did with my stick.  Then later the police found it."

"Hm, that would explain why, when the police searched your home, they found nothing belonging to those particular ladies."

"Aye, Mr. Holmes, for me brother had taken it all.  He gambled you see and he was in debt.  He said it were better to leave no witnesses. What can I do, Mr. Holmes?  How can I prove that me own brother really killed them ladies?"

Holmes blew a long trail of smoke from his mouth.  "A pretty problem, Mr. Allsop, but I am still not entirely convinced that your brother is guilty as you say.  You have been in gaol for eight years, why have you not spoken up before now?"

Shamefaced, the man hung his head once more.  "Because of Eileen."

"Eileen?" Holmes queried.

"Aye, Eileen and the kids.  Me brother's wife," Allsop explained. "Heaven knows she don't have much of a life with Frank, but I knew if he were lagged she'd be on the streets and she might lose the kids and God knows she loves them kids."

Holmes gazed at this small runt of a man dressed in the clothing of an old lady and drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the arm of the chair.

It was astonishing to contemplate that this man who had preyed on the old and the fragile, would yet suffer in gaol for eight long years for a crime he had not committed simply for love of his sister-in-law.

Glancing at Holmes, I knew that we were of one mind.

"Yet you are now willing to implicate your brother in murder," Holmes declared sternly.

"Aye, Mr. Holmes.  It's time to set the record straight.  The kids are older now and Eileen's a seamstress and could support herself and the kids.  Oh, she says nothing but I hear tales of how me brother mistreats her, of how he has a mistress and Eileen says as how she wants rid of him."

"I see."

"Mr. Holmes, I know I done wrong but me brother, he's an evil man.  I came to you to clear my name once and for all.  I know the coppers are on my trail, I only hope they didn't follow me here."

"Where does your brother live?"

"22 Eltham Road."

At that moment we were all distracted by sounds from the street.  Holmes went to the window and peered below.

"Ah, yes, here comes Lestrade now!" he announced.

We heard the knock on the front door.

As I rose to admit the police I heard Allsop exclaim, "Coppers!  Don't let them take me, Mr. Holmes!  Don't let them take me!" and Holmes's matter-of-fact reply, "Mr. Allsop, surely you realise that I have no choice.  However, since I was instrumental in your conviction, your case interests me sufficiently that I will undertake to investigate your brother's circumstances and if there is any truth to your story the police will hear of it.  You have my word."

Shortly thereafter a satisfied Inspector Lestrade led away a handcuffed Allsop to be incarcerated once more.

Holmes had taken to his armchair with a pipe and I knew well not to disturb him when he was thus preoccupied at the start of a case.  Some half an hour later he abruptly rose and strode into his bedroom to frantically rummage through the drawers of his wardrobe.  Emerging a short time later, his appearance had been transformed.  He now bore the appearance of a rough looking labourer, his hair untidy and falling onto his forehead beneath a worn cap, his clothing old, rumpled and unfashionable.

As I gazed at his transformation he announced that he was going out for a few hours and would see me later.  However, he hugged me for a moment before bounding down the stairs.

Some five and a half hours later he returned to once more transform himself into Sherlock Holmes.  In the absence of our good landlady, of whom we had mutually agreed by comparison of our bank accounts that she may as well stay for one night at the Langham, we dined out.

It was over an excellent meal that Holmes told me of his adventures of that day.  By frequenting the public houses in the Eltham Road area he had amassed a considerable amount of information about one Mr. Frank Allsop.  It appears that the man had acquired a vile reputation.  Over the years there had been a string of violent robberies in the area but no one had ever been arrested.  Rumour had it that one Frank Allsop was behind the robberies - many of the victims of which were elderly ladies - but no one could prove it.

"I tell you, Watson, people are scared of the man, most too scared to speak out against him.  One man even whispered that he thought the younger Allsop brother was a murderer too.  When I queried him about this he informed me that he had known both the Allsop brothers for many years, practically grew up with them, and insisted that the wrong one had been sent to gaol.  He said that the murders of Sadie Russell and Anne Porter in ‘79 were not the style of Arthur Allsop; that Arthur only ever robbed, not murdered, and that he would never attack old ladies like that, whereas at the time of the murders Frank already had a reputation for brutality."

Holmes had also been able to ascertain the current whereabouts of Frank Allsop as well as his movements during the day.

"You know, Watson, I am forced to admit that in this particular instance I may have helped the police to convict the wrong man eight years ago."

Holmes sounded so disheartened that I reached out to cover his hand with my own.

"Holmes, none of us is perfect, not even you with all your powers of deduction.  You must face facts, and the evidence all pointed to Arthur Allsop, not Frank.  The bloodied walking stick found at the scene was Arthur's; he was the one seen in the company of the old ladies and there were no actual witnesses to the murders.  There was absolutely nothing to suggest that a second person might have been involved."

"Except for the fact that Arthur Allsop had never murdered."

Seldom had I heard Holmes sound so defeated.

"Holmes, you, yourself, have said that there is always a first time for everything," I pointed out, "and the evidence all pointed to Allsop panicking and attacking the old ladies because they tried to defend themselves.  There was also the fact that the blows to their skulls matched that of Allsop's walking stick because they were made by Allsop's stick."  I squeezed his hand.  "My dear Holmes, it was not your fault," I emphasised, gazing into this troubled eyes.  "After all, if we are to believe Allsop's story, he practically convicted himself by admitting to a crime that he now professes not to have committed."

"Touché, my dear Watson."  He shook his head.  "None the less I was blind as a mole and I was as easily duped as those bumbling Scotland Yarders."

Knowing Sherlock Holmes as I did, I knew how hard it must be for him to admit that he had made a mistake all those years ago; that he might have been instrumental in the wrong person being convicted, no matter that that person had committed perjury.  I therefore decided that the sooner we were home again the better so that I might be able to utilise more persuasive means of communication and hopefully jar him from his lethargy and melancholia.

As we left the restaurant and made our way back to Baker Street my companion's mood remained sombre.  Not surprisingly, as we ascended the stairs to the sitting room he announced that he would sleep in his own bed that night.  However, this I would not permit.

"No.  Come to bed with me, my dear Holmes."

He sighed.  "No, John, not tonight.  My thoughts are troubled.  I fear that I would only keep you awake with my tossing and turning.  It is best that I sleep alone tonight."

Boldly, I turned him to face me and rested my hands on his shoulders.

"Sherlock Holmes, I know you and you will not sleep tonight.  Far from it, you will pace the sitting room and smoke.  So come to bed for I desire very much to hold you."

"Alas, my dear, I fear that that is all that I would be good for - holding."

"Excellent!"  I leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "I love to hold you.  Come to bed!"

Shortly thereafter he lay stiffly in bed beside me, not moving a muscle.  I shook my head at this display of stubbornness and took him in my arms.  To my relief, he sighed gratefully and buried his face in my neck as I pulled the shawl and bedclothes around him and petted him with firm, comforting strokes.

We stayed that way for some time, absorbing the closeness and quiet, neither of us uttering a word as my dear one rested in my arms.  Gradually, I felt the loosening of his muscles but I continued to stroke him, though lightly now, his body relaxed and pliant.

After a while he murmured in most despondent manner, "My dear heart, I shall never live this down.  I have made the blunder of a lifetime.  My reputation is ruined."

"Shh," I whispered, leaning over to press my lips to his own soft ones.  "You are not the Almighty, my dearest.  Everyone is entitled to make mistakes, even you."

"That is all very well, but..."

In order to silence him I kissed him again and this time he returned my kiss, though with something less then his usual enthusiasm.

"Is that your answer for everything, my dear?" he queried, now running playful fingers through my hair.

"It was merely a kiss," I defended, pressing my lips to his once more.

"And if I should find that I now wish for more than ‘merely a kiss'?" he queried, his expression half dejected, half expectant.

"Then your wish is my command, my love."

"Oh, Watson!"  He pulled me closer, embracing me fiercely, his mouth claiming mine in most possessive fashion as I welcomed his tongue and sucked greedily on it.

Warm lips covered my cheeks in kisses and he murmured my name over and over as his hands caressed my shoulders and back.  With his leg he now pushed my own legs further apart whilst his mouth claimed my neck and shoulders and his swelling groin pressed hard against my hip.

For a man who had wanted to sleep alone tonight he was most needful and when his hand lifted my night-shirt to take possession of my manhood he found that I was ready for him in every way.

Eagerly, he slid lower to take me into his mouth, but this was not the gentle loving that was our normal habit.  Instead he immediately took me deeply, sucking so hard that I was brought precipitously close to the brink in no time whilst with two fingers he entered me, stretching me in readiness for his possession.

Oh, how I wanted him!  His actions tonight had about them the nature of an animal passion and I was as caught up in its thrall as was my dear Holmes.  Heretofore I had never witnessed in Holmes such sheer carnality for his normal preference was for care and tenderness rather than crude or rough behaviour - and I was finding this tumultuous encounter a most heady experience indeed.

His tongue swiped powerfully at the tip of my member, delving hard into the slit as I tossed and turned, at the mercy of my partner's unbridled lust.  I groaned aloud as he nibbled the edge of the crown with his smooth teeth - teeth that I knew could injure me severely if he was of a mind to, but I was not afraid.  In fact, the implied hint of danger that remained present - though unvoiced - seemed only to add spice to the proceedings.  However, my trust in Holmes was steadfast and I knew that he would never deliberately harm me.

His fingers within me were not gentle but stroked rapidly, demanding that I acquiesce to his needs.  My excitement at fever pitch, he straddled me, commanding me to wet him.  However, as I went to reach for our usual jar of scented oil, he stopped me.

"No!  Use your mouth!" he demanded, moving higher until his fervent erection was poised above me and almost touching my lips, begging admittance in most lewd and wanton manner.

Licking my lips, I bade it enter, already yearning for its richness of texture, taste and warmth.

Now I, too, was caught up in the wildness that seemed to possess my partner and as I took his heavy member deeply into my throat I engulfed it completely, sucking with a savage ferocity that far surpassed my usual enthusiasm.  Grasping his rear, I pressed my nails into his flesh in order to pull him even closer whilst with my other hand I kneaded his balls, deliberately stimulating him further by letting him feel my own primitive desires.

Craving only to hold his dear member in my mouth and taste his salt-musk essence as it poured down my throat, I held him even tighter as he attempted to pull back.  For a short time we grappled as Holmes, now desperate to withdraw before he lost all control, pushed hard against me, demanding that I release him at once.  It was with sheer tenacity that I managed to hold on for a short time, exhilarated at matching my strength against his, his efforts to withdraw only inflaming my already-overpowering need.  Finally, forced to let him go, I yet surprised him by lightly raking his length with my teeth, thereby causing him to gasp in shock.

Placing a pillow under my hips, for a moment he paused, dark, hooded eyes gazing down at me, drinking in my gasps of breath and the hardness of my arousal before settling on me, the tip of his hugely swollen prick probing and pushing at my entrance.

Thank God I was ready for him as he pushed with inexorable strength into me until within moments the full length of his rigid member was buried to the hilt in my own needful flesh.

It is beyond words for me to describe the power and the majesty of those extra-ordinary moments as my dearest Holmes gazed upon me, dark eyes smouldering with unrepressed lust.  However, I was not deterred by the fire in their depths for we were well-matched, he and I, and I returned his gaze measure for measure.

"Ah, Watson!" he proclaimed, reaching to fondle my own craven hardness.  "My dear partner, I see that unbridled lust does not frighten you," he remarked, his gasps for breath and the tiny beads of perspiration on his brow belying his casual manner.  "Indeed from my observations, it would seem to be quite the opposite."

"May I point out, my darling Holmes, that unbridled lust does not frighten me in the least.  I might go so far as to say that it simply brings out the beast in me!"

"Hah!  Watson!" he crowed joyfully, bringing our lips together once again so that his tongue might thrust its insolent way into my mouth thereby echoing his possession of my body.  To demonstrate my hearty approval of his strategy, I pushed up to meet him, his prick huge and throbbing within me.

Without further ado my lusty partner began to thrust with utter intentness of purpose.  It occurred to me later that, had I been a virgin, I would most likely have been injured by his demanding and imperious manner.  Even as it was, there was some small amount of pain, although I have to admit that in this instance it seemed only to add to the heat of the moment.

Holmes continued to thrust powerfully, making no attempt to satisfy me.  Desperate for release myself, I grasped my member but he pushed my hands away, denying me self-satisfaction, thereby causing me to groan with acute frustration.

As his thrusts came harder and faster I could do little but meet him and hope that the consummation he craved would come soon for I knew that I would be sore after tonight, saliva being a less-than-adequate substitute for our usual oil.

When finally his vigorous thrusting reached a crescendo, I watched the expressions of bliss on his countenance; his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his mouth open, his cheeks pink with his exertions; and I was glad for him.  When the throbbing of his manhood eventually ceased he collapsed on top of me, his head resting gently on my breast, his breath coming in uncontrollable gasps.

As he quieted I literally felt the sudden stillness in his body before he jerked back to stare at me.

"Watson!" he gasped.  "My darling, what have I done?  My God, I took you without thought to your pleasure.  I have been completely, totally selfish!  Oh, my dear, have I hurt you?  Say I have not hurt you!" he implored.

Though I hastened to assure him that I was uninjured, his remorse was now uncontrollable.

"Oh, Lord, I could have injured you, my sweet!  You - the one person that I swore I would never hurt for the world!  Oh, my dearest, how could I have done that?  A thousand apologies, my dearest Watson.  I don't know what came over me.  I..."

"Shh, my love.  You did not injure me.  I am quite all right," I reassured him in earnest.

"But are you?  Let me see," he insisted, grasping a candle from the bedside table and peering closely at my somewhat abused rear to check for blood.  To my dismay, he found a tiny amount.

"Watson, I have hurt you!" he cried in utter remorse.  "Oh, my darling, I shall never forgive myself!  Here, let me cleanse you."

He went to get up to fetch soap and water, however, I was in no pain and was for having none of that for my own thwarted passion was now asserting itself with a vengeance.  I therefore took his hand and placed it on my heavy and most frustrated member, letting him feel the distension there.

"Later, my dear," I whispered.  "First..."

"Oh, my dear, dear boy, your state is most grievous!" he murmured penitently.  "Allow me, my love!"

Without further ado he leaned over, took me deeply into his mouth and began to suck in most voracious manner.  However, since my current state of stimulation was one bordering on delirium, I found that I was quite unable to prolong these euphoric proceedings and, before I knew it, had toppled from the ecstatic peak of desire to fall blissfully into delicious torpor in my dear one's embrace.

As I recall, I managed to rouse myself enough to bring our lips together as we shared the taste of my desire strong on his tongue.  As we kissed my dear one stroked my face most tenderly, the fierceness of his earlier need so completely absent that it was as if it had never been.

"Forgive me," he murmured.  "Forgive me, my love.  I used you without a thought to your comfort or your needs.  I...  I am not sure what came over me.  I...  All I recall is that I needed you so desperately that I literally had to have you.  It is most disconcerting to realise that I could use you in so callous a manner with no regard to your welfare.  It was brutal of me and..."

This breast-beating had gone on long enough.

"Holmes!" I interrupted.

"Yes, chastise me, my dear, for I deserve only your ire and..."

In order to quiet him once and for all I was forced to kiss him again - such a pleasant task! - before sending him to fetch soap and water. After he left the room I had a chance to ponder the uncommon events of this night and the reasons for my lover's unprecedented behaviour.

When he once more lay in bed beside me and we were warm and cosy together he gazed at me earnestly and murmured, "My dear, truly I am at a loss to explain my heartless treatment of you and... and I do not know what to say except to beg your forgiveness and..."

"Holmes, listen to me.  You have been in a state of melancholia and remorse ever since Allsop was here.  Even if his story about his brother being the real murderer should turn out to be true, and I am not entirely convinced of it, you will grant that the man is no saint, nor is he Robin Hood who at least robbed the rich and gave to the poor.  This man preyed on the old and helpless, taking their few pennies without thought to their welfare or the hardship he caused by his callous actions.  By all accounts he got away with his cruelty for many years and for that he is only to be despised whether or not he committed murder."

"But..." he commenced to protest.

"Allow me to finish, my dear.  I am of the opinion that ever since this morning when you realised that you, Sherlock Holmes, may have made a mistake all those years ago, you have felt that your life was no longer under your control; that you were at the mercy of the capricious whims of chance and circumstance.  I am of the firm belief that this was your way of once more taking control of your life.  By asserting your will in so forceful a manner..." he actually winced and looked away from me, "...you were literally taking control of your life once more.  This was necessary in order for you to regain your pride and self-respect, both of which were sorely wounded by the events of this morning."

Holmes turned to gaze at me once more with large, troubled eyes.

"Think about it, my love," I continued as gently as I could.  "This weasel of a man, a convicted criminal who preyed on those unable to defend themselves, not only succeeded in getting inside the house, he then proceeded to knock you unconscious and take my revolver.  If that was not bad enough, he had the gall to inform you that you made a mistake all those years ago.  Whether or not you did is unimportant now.  What mattered to you tonight, though you probably did not even realise it, was that you regained your dignity."

Holmes gazed at me in complete astonishment.  "You are saying that, in order to regain my dignity, I used you?  Humiliated you?  That is unthinkable!  I would never wish to humiliate you or hurt you in any way, my Watson."

"Yes, Holmes, I realise that.  However, I am inclined to believe that this had nothing to do with your good intentions and everything to do with your needs - and what you desperately needed was to regain your self-esteem which, you will admit, had been severely damaged.  Your method of doing so was to assert control over both of us in so forceful a manner as I have not encountered before."  I stroked his cheeks very gently, sensing his need for reassurance.  "My love, you did not injure me and I still love you dearly."

"Oh, Watson!  Oh, my dearest!"  He squeezed his eyes tight shut and buried his face in my neck as I embraced him firmly, rocking him a little and pulling the shawl up around his shoulders.  "How wise you are, my dear one!  How wise!" he murmured.  He pulled back for a moment and gazed up at me, his dark eyes huge with regret, reminding me very much of a little boy who has been very naughty but is willing to take his punishment.  "And you still love me?" he whispered.

His very insecurity only endeared him to me more as I shook my head at this foolishness.  "Of course I still love you!  And now you should sleep, my darling Holmes, and I will be here when you wake."

"Kiss me good-night," he demanded, gazing up at me expectantly. With pleasure, I obeyed his command, kissing him gently and with utmost affection.

"Oh, Watson, dear heart, I feel so at peace with you," he murmured sleepily.

"As it should be, my dearest Holmes."

My darling Holmes rested peacefully in my embrace, his head on my shoulder, content to let me hold him while he slept.

*   *   *

In the morning he announced that we were going to visit one Miss May Russell, daughter of the late Sadie Russell.

The woman was tall and thin with large, sad blue eyes and hair that once would have been pure black but was now streaked with grey.  She was puzzled by the nature of our visit but Holmes explained that he simply needed descriptions of some of the items of jewellery owned by her late mother and which had never been recovered by the police.

One interesting item that May Russell described was a large silver charm bracelet with a thick band and more than a dozen charms hanging from it.  She was able to describe in detail many of the charms as she, herself, had given several of them to her mother and her mother had always worn it.  It was, she stated, her mother's favourite piece of jewellery.  She was saddened that the police had had no luck in tracing it.

As we left the house of Miss Russell Holmes leapt down the steps and I could see that he was in a most excited state, but when I asked him the nature of his thoughts, he would only smile secretively at me.

When we returned to Baker Street Holmes once more transformed himself into the scruffy labourer and left me to speculate about the silver charm bracelet.

When he returned some two hours later his smile was positively triumphant.  From his pocket he removed a large silver bracelet with many charms dangling from it and handed it to me to examine.

Excited, I asked him whence he had obtained it.

"Yesterday as I lingered in the Rose and Thistle I beheld a woman wearing a large silver charm bracelet.  Now I had read the description given to the police by Miss Russell of her mother's bracelet but I wished to speak to her myself in order to obtain a more detailed description.  When I returned to the public house this morning I struck up a conversation with the same woman that I had seen yesterday and she was wearing the bracelet again today.  Her name is Lottie Thompson and she is one of the regulars there.  She seemed to be quite taken with me and told me about how her man had given her this bracelet some three years ago, but was now demanding it back.  When I asked her why he wanted it back she said that he had a vile temper and she was scared of him now that he seemed to no longer care about her and she announced that she would like to sell the bracelet and was going to pawn it so that he could not steal it from her.  I offered to buy it from her, and the result is in your hands."

Gazing at the bracelet, I noted that it was indeed a pretty object.  Also, I observed many of the same charms that Miss Russell had described to us only yesterday.

"Have you shown this to Miss Russell?"

"Oh, indeed.  She became most excited and is positive that this is indeed her late mother's bracelet."

"But who gave it to Lottie Thompson?" I asked.

"Hah!  I thought you might ask that, my dear.  She was most reluctant to impart the giver's identity for I believe she is living in fear of him, but I paid her a handsome price for the bracelet and finally she whispered his name it in my ear."

"And it was?" I asked eagerly.

"One Mr. Frank Allsop!" he crowed.

"Excellent!  But will Lestrade believe it?"

"Of course not, but we shall convince him.  To Scotland Yard, my dear!"

It took all of Holmes's persuasive powers to convince Inspector Lestrade that he should reopen the case of Arthur Allsop and arrest one Frank Allsop with regard to the deaths of Mrs. Sadie Russell and Mrs. Anne Porter back in ‘79.  It took some six weeks for Lestrade to complete his investigations - as he pointed out, eight-year old cases where a miscarriage of justice might have occurred were not exactly a priority.  However, the case was virtually sealed when Holmes was instrumental in discovering a hideaway belonging to Frank Allsop which Allsop's wife knew nothing of and which contained many stolen items.

Some three months after these events we received word from Lestrade that Frank Allsop had finally confessed to the murders.  His subsequent trial at the Old Bailey, at which Holmes was again called to testify, caused a minor sensation, and he was duly sentenced to be hanged.  His elder brother, Arthur, was freed from Pentonville on compassionate grounds due to the state of his health and also because he had been convicted for ten years for robbery and had served most of his sentence.  He died of consumption only three months later.  His sister-in-law, for whom he cared dearly, is by all accounts, managing well on her own.

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