Fic for tinzelda: The Case of the Misplaced Barrow

[methylviolet10b]

Title: The Case of the Misplaced Barrow
Recipient: tinzelda
Author:  thesmallhobbit
Rating: PG
Characters: Mr Sherlock Holmes; Dr John Watson
Warnings: None
Summary: Another case where something apparently trivial turns out to have important consequences.
Author’s Notes: With thanks to my beta rabidsamfan

“Holmes, did you go to bed at all last night?” I asked when I came down to breakfast one morning.

He looked up, apparently surprised at my question. “It would appear not. But I have been busy.”

“A new case, I see.”

“You have only just come downstairs. What has led you to that conclusion?”

“Despite the fact that breakfast has been here for some little while, there is plenty left, which means that you have a case. You were adamant yesterday that you finish the case you were working on so that you could attend the opera in the evening; which you did to great satisfaction of your client. Therefore this case is new.”

“Bravo, Watson. My methods are beginning to rub off on you at last.”

“Unfortunately, that is all I can deduce. Would you care to enlighten me?”

“Indeed. As you were aware I had decided to perform one of two little experiments upon our return from the opera.”

“Yes, because I had said I was going to bed before you produced any obnoxious gases.”

Holmes chuckled. “The results were not quite as I had anticipated, so I proceeded to conduct some additional experiments and admit to having lost track of the time.”

“How unusual.”

“Which was a good thing, because glancing out of the window I happened to notice one of the porters from Billingsgate Market standing outside, clearly debating whether he should knock on the door. By going downstairs I was able to forestall him and we held our discussion in the open air, which I am quite certain will please Mrs Hudson.”

This last fact I am sure was the case. Our landlady frequently has cause to bemoan the smells that emanate from our rooms when Holmes is experimenting; she would not have appreciated a client who smelt strongly of fish in the early hours of the morning.

Holmes continued, “The porter explained to me that it was not unusual for small things to go missing at the market or for items such as hats to be found there, but that for the last three days a barrow has disappeared each day.”

“Someone with a shop who wishes to stock up without paying for the produce?”

“No, these are unladen barrows. What is more peculiar is that the missing barrow is returned the following day and another barrow is taken.”

“There is no question that they are different barrows?”

“There are markings on the barrows that identify which trader they belong to. Apparently two of the porters nearly came to blows yesterday, with one accusing the other of deliberately changing the markings. So this morning when the same thing had happened again, they agreed to ask me if I would be able to look into the matter ‘as it was the sort of fing what that Doctor Watson says yer like to do’. How could I refuse?”

“In which case I am surprised that you are still here.”

“There was no point in going whilst the market was trading. I need to inspect the barrows and I can hardly do that when I am in danger of being covered in herring. However, once you have eaten your breakfast it should be time for us to depart.”

In vain I suggested that Holmes join me; he merely shook his head and returned to scouring the newspapers from the previous few days.

We were about to leave when I happened to glance at Holmes. To my surprise he had not shaved; whilst he may ignore the need to eat when engaged with a case, he maintains his appearance unless under the most extreme of pressures. “Holmes, you appear to have forgotten to shave this morning.”

It sounded like a growl had emanated from his throat.

“Holmes?”

“Mrs Hudson has moved my shaving brush.”

“I hesitate to believe that. Wait, the badger hair brush with the silver handle?”

Holmes nodded.

I returned to our sitting room and re-appeared thirty seconds later with the brush in my hand. “You put it behind the skull after Lestrade called round yesterday morning. You had used it to demonstrate the differences that could be detected when a variety of brushes were employed. I shall return Mrs Hudson’s pastry brush to her on our way downstairs.”

Holmes accepted the shaving brush with a slight movement of his lips. This was all the acknowledgement I would receive, but he appreciated the humour of the situation. I must admit that my main reason for remembering the location was that I had been concerned that if Holmes had Mrs Hudson’s pastry brush we would not be having a meat pie for a while.

When we reached Billingsgate I was despatched to find out what I could with regards to the running of the market, which would give Holmes a better idea of the timing of the operation, for it was clear that much planning had gone into the activities we had heard about. Holmes meanwhile would examine the barrows thoroughly.

When I returned my first thought was that Holmes had disappeared, my second thought was that the two large gentlemen now standing where I had last seen Holmes looked rather menacing. I approached quietly; there was no point in drawing attention to myself if Holmes was no longer there.

I was rapidly disabused of the last thought when I heard one of the ruffians say, “Sticking yer nose in are yer Mr ‘Olmes? I think me and Billy ‘ere need to show you what we finks of that.”

Holmes was underneath the barrow, not, I hasten to add, with any thought of avoiding these men; he must have found something of interest underneath the barrow.

I looked around for a suitable weapon. Being unable to find a heavy stick I pushed hard at a nearby barrel, hoping to at least create a diversion. The barrel fell to the floor, knocking the lid open and releasing a good number of crabs. The first man took one look at the crabs and ran shrieking from the area. The second looked up, distracted both by the sound of the barrel’s fall and his companions screams. Holmes rolled out from under the barrow. When the second ruffian saw that he now had two opponents to contend with by himself he too took to his heels.

Holmes laughed as he brushed himself down. “That was very instructive. You may recall rumours of a consignment of gold being sent to our noble queen. Its arrival is expected within the next week. I believe that what we have uncovered is an attempt to prevent her imperial majesty from receiving her present.”

He showed me what he had written in his notebook. He had carefully recorded the chalk messages that had been written on the undersides of the barrows. Each began with a stick man followed by two letters and thereafter there were further letters and numbers. My initial thought was that these were messages written in code, but since none of them contained more than twelve characters, this seemed unlikely.

“I presume this makes sense to you,” I said.

“I would not claim to have a complete solution yet,” Holmes replied. “However, I believe I have understood the basics. Each message is for a different person; hence the stick man and letters.”

“His initials?”

“Correct. I think that each man is given separate instructions as to where to be and when. For example GW could be Gun Wharf.”

“And WHS Wapping High Street?”

“You have it, Watson.”

“Do you intend to solve the messages?”

“No, I shall pass the details to Lestrade. I would expect that our villains will have to amend their plans, for no other reason than I have obliterated the messages. I am sure that our police force is quite capable of forming their own plan on this occasion. And now, dear fellow, it is time we found ourselves a late luncheon. I trust you will not object if I say I do not fancy fish today.”

A week later I read in my newspaper that the queen’s gold had safely arrived, although it appeared that the ship bearing the treasure had been forced to dock elsewhere due to the inclement tide.