Barefoot on Baker Street by Charlotte Anne Walters

Author:Charlotte Anne Walters
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sherlock Holmes, mystery, crime, british crime, sherlock holmes novels, sherlock holmes fiction
ISBN: 9781780922546
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2012
Published: 2012-06-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

I noticed Watson first; I saw him run onto the crowded platform just as the train approached in a cloud of steam. By the time Holmes noticed, Moriarty’s men already had a hold of him.

Amid the clamour to get on board, no-one else saw the cold, hard metal pressed into Watson’s neck. Holmes had started to move towards him and had been spotted. I managed to lose myself in the crowd and advance surreptitiously.

Neither of us was armed except for a scalpel I had stolen from a trolley in the hospital.

I stood between two carriages and noticed a small ladder. I climbed it, hoping that in the confusion no-one would notice as I scrambled onto the roof.

I snaked along until I was level with the men trying to drag Watson off the platform. I leapt from the carriage roof and plunged my scalpel between the shoulder blades of the man holding him. He dropped to the ground and I grabbed his weapon.

Holmes punched the other attacker hard enough to knock him unconscious. More men were running towards us now from the other end of the platform and the train was starting to move. I noticed for the first time that Watson’s shirt and hands had blood on them which was curious as he didn’t seem to be wounded.

“Where’s Jude?” I asked, looking about me for my faithful friend. Watson exchanged a look with Holmes and sickness flooded my stomach.

“We have to board the train, it’s about to leave,” Holmes insisted, taking hold of my arm.

I was panicking, my hands started to shake uncontrollably.

“Answer me, damn you! Where is he?” I demanded, grabbing Watson and shaking him. He looked to Holmes for support as the guard blew his whistle and the train doors were slammed shut.

Holmes pulled at my arm.

“I’m sorry Red but we must get on this train.”

The professor’s men were nearly upon us and the train was starting to move away from the platform.

“Come on!” Holmes shouted, pulling harder. Watson took my other arm and they both dragged me towards the train. Holmes managed to open a carriage door and we ran along side it briefly before leaping on, leaving Moriarty’s men stranded on the platform.

We tumbled into an empty compartment. I was demanding answers that I didn’t really want to hear.

“That’s his blood isn’t it? Oh my God, it’s his blood!” I cried, grabbing at Watson’s shirt.

“I am truly sorry, I was too late. There was nothing I could do. I arrived at the Freycinet residence as Moriarty shot him.”

“Just tell me one thing,” I said, looking deep into Watson’s eyes to be sure of the truth. “Did he die alone?”

“I promise you that I stayed with him until the end.” His voice faltered. “He asked me to tell you that he loved you, always will and that you saved him. He made me promise to come straight to the station and get you on this train.”

I felt emotionally overwhelmed and claustrophobic.

“Need to be alone,” I said steadily, my hand on the compartment door.

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