Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Seventh Safeguard

Chapter 8 ~ Diagon Alley and Queen Anne Street

Mary woke me very late in the morning.

"Sherlock's at the door, John. What should I tell him?"

"Unh? Oh. Tell him I'll be right there."

Mary must have coaxed Sherlock to come in, for when I came into the kitchen I found him at the table with her and little Shirley. He was even persuaded to accept her offer of breakfast. I thought he looked more haggard than when I saw him last. I had myself been getting most irregular and fitful sleep over the past couple of days, but the hollowness of my friend's eyes spoke of wakefulness that taxed even his iron constitution, and troubles mere sleep couldn't remedy. It looked as though the experimenting of the night before had not been very satisfactory. If it had, then he would be filled with the thrill of discovery, and would probably have forgotten he was tired.

"How late were you out last night?" I asked.

"Quarter after six or so." said Sherlock.

Mary shook her head.

"In the morning?"

"Well, it wasn't in the evening."

"Did you get any sleep?" I asked.

"I believe so."

Mary and I exchanged a glance.

"Any luck?" I thought that an innocuous enough question to get an idea of what had happened without giving away secrets.

"No." said Sherlock, looking listlessly at his scrambled eggs. "We found nothing very helpful."

I thought about what that meant. Sherlock Holmes had spent at least five hours in a laboratory with a little gold trinket, looking for some way to destroy it. A little gold trinket! He had at his disposal all number of destructive substances and equipment. Even if nothing had been sufficient to destroy it, surely something would have had a great enough effect upon it to be very helpful in figuring out what would destroy it. And yet he had found 'nothing very helpful'?

I put down my fork with a clatter.

"How can that possibly be?!"

"There are still a few things which might work. But it seems more practical at this point to just use the same method as before."

"So," said Mary after a minute of searching our faces, "where are you two off to here?"

Sherlock turned and looked her in the face.

"Trust me, you don't want in. Not this time."

"Yes I do."

"Believe her, she does."

"No. Believe me. But if we live through it I'll make sure you're allowed to hear at least a part of the story."

I rolled my eyes. "Sherlock." I turned to Mary. "We're fine. He was just ... up too late last night."

"Or morning rather." she agreed.

"Mm." said Sherlock. "Is it really nicer to pretend there's no danger, John?"

"Well there's always danger of some sort."

"Yes. There is. But don't worry, Mrs. Watson. I'm sure everything will be fine. ... Is that what you wanted me to say, John? Because it won't all be fine, you know?"

"What has gotten into you this morning?"

He dropped his eyes. "Well – we'd better be going! Thank-you for breakfast, Mary."

It was a fine bright hot day, a little hazy, as hot days often are.

"Where are we off to, then?" I asked when we had gone a ways.