Archive of Our Own ^beta

The task of tracking down his man had not been any great challenge to Sherlock Holmes. He had run his quarry to earth, as he had expected, at the local inn.

"Doctor," he said, seating himself across the table from the white-haired old man. "I shall come straight to the point. We need to discuss the recent death of Sir Jonas Brooks."

"Really?" The Doctor gave him a sharp look. "And why would that be? I understood that the case was solved. Hasn't Inspector Forrester already arrested a man?"

"Young Pettigrew, yes. And, so far as it goes, I agree with the Inspector's reasoning."

"Then if the culprit is behind bars, I fail to see what possible benefit you can derive from this conversation." The Doctor pushed his chair back.

"Doctor, you would be well advised to listen to me. Otherwise I shall have no choice but to tell the good Inspector what I know."

The Doctor, who'd been on the point of rising from his chair, sat down and turned all his attention on the detective.

"And just what do you know, sir?" he asked.

"I know that on the morning of the murder, you left this inn alone, having previously send your two travelling companions away on an errand. Avoiding the main road, you walked briskly through the woods to Cooper's Mill. Either you were present at the confrontation between Pettigrew and Sir Jonas, or you arrived shortly after. You approached Sir Jonas's body, and bent over him..."

"This is all nothing but supposition."

"On the contrary, Doctor. From your footmarks I was able to reconstruct the scene as if I had been there myself."

"And what makes you so sure these footmarks are mine?"

"The soles of your boots are very distinctive. I had no difficulty distinguishing them from the products of the local cobbler. Further, I examined them last night, before they were cleaned. The red mud in the instep was a perfect match for that in the vicinity of the Mill."

"And many other places, no doubt." The Doctor chuckled. "You're a very clever young man, you know, yes, very clever. And no doubt you can explain why I should have done all these things, hmm?"

"Undoubtedly you searched his body. I can think of a number of plausible explanations. I believe the most likely one is that he was blackmailing you, and you hoped to recover some piece of evidence he held."

"Well, well, how very interesting. Why, from the tale you tell, I might have shot Sir Jonas myself, while this other man just stood and watched. And yet, instead of telling the Inspector what you know, you come here and confront me in person, making sure we are alone. Now why would this be?" He held up a hand as Holmes began to speak. "I think you must have decided that I didn't kill this Sir Jonas; that the other man, Patterson—"

"Pettigrew."

"That he is responsible. And therefore I am no threat to you."

Holmes nodded. "Quite correct, Doctor. But your presence adds a complicating factor. And you are connected with this affair in some way; if you were just an innocent passer-by who happened upon the body, you would have called the police. Now, unless you tell me exactly what you were doing there, and why, I shall have no choice to lay my information before Inspector Forrester."

"Dear me." The Doctor sighed. "This is very vexing, you know. As it happens, I did set out that morning to find Sir Jonas."

"Why?"

"Because I believed him to be dangerous."

"The people of the village have spoken of him as a bully, certainly. But why would he be more dangerous today than any other day?"

The Doctor leaned forward, his voice surprisingly serious. "Young man, I am not speaking of danger to a handful of villagers or tradesmen. Sir Jonas was in possession of a weapon which he should not have had — which nobody in this age should have had. If he had realised its potential, the whole pattern of history could have been changed. I could not allow that to happen. When I found him and recovered the device, he was dead. I saw nobody else."

"Then why not call the police?"

"I was far too busy removing the weapon and making it safe. Besides, I could not have let them know of its existence. The repercussions would have been
immense."

"A pretty tale, Doctor, but one I cannot believe without evidence. Have you any?"

The Doctor sat silently for a few moments, drumming the tips of his fingers together.

"Come with me," he said eventually.

Side by side, Holmes and the Doctor looked down at the remains of the Dalek gun.

"It's quite harmless now," the Doctor said. "But you can see that it does not belong to this world, or this time period."

Holmes picked up the half-melted fragments of the weapon's power coupling and turned them over in his hands.

"Yes," he said. "That much is clear."

The Doctor gave him a surprised look. "You have an open mind, sir."

"I have trained myself to accept the truth, however improbable." Holmes carefully replaced the fragments on the table. "I believe our business tonight is at an end. We are agreed that there is no need for me to speak to Inspector Forrester on this matter."

He held out his hand. After a momentary hesitation, the Doctor shook it.

"And do you promise not to tell anybody else of this?" the Doctor asked.

"You have my word, Doctor," Holmes said. "Since everything else you have said has proved true, I accept that this" — he gestured at the gun on the table — "is something best kept secret."

He walked to the door, and turned.

"Besides," he added, "since you are obviously a fugitive from justice, it would be in your interest that as few people know of your involvement as possible. Otherwise, you might come to the notice of whoever is pursuing you."

And before the Doctor could reply, he was gone.