Bedlam! Mystery of the Deluded Detective Pt 1

Bedlam! The Mystery
of the Deluded Detective

A Sherlock Hound (Meitantei Holmes) Pastiche
by E. Grimes

Adapted from The Dying Detective by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
(both Canonical and Granada Television version)
Inspired by "The Deranged Detective" (TV's Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century)

Special thanks to Hound of Baker Street for the background graphics used in this story.

(Author's Note: The main character is called 'Sherlock Hound' in the subtitle to avoid confusion
with the Canonical Sherlock Holmes. However, the name Holmes is used in the story thereafter.)

"We all go a little mad sometimes."
~Norman Bates, Psycho

Part I

THERE WERE many times when I felt sorry for our young landlady, Mrs. Mary Hudson. Besides having
been widowed so early in her marriage, she had the many worries and hardships that my friend Sherlock
Holmes and I must surely have caused her. Though I felt that Holmes was the greater culprit---his odd
little habits, his coming and going at all hours, and his curious (and often ill-smelling) experiments would
have strained the nerves of even the hardiest person. The perils that his profession attracted, not to mention
the strange and often unsavory characters that showed up at our doorstep, must have seemed even more
harrowing to our poor housekeeper.

Our neighbours often said that Holmes must be the worst tenant in all of London; but surprisingly, Mrs.
Hudson never complained. On the contrary, she was deeply devoted to him and his work, and seemed
genuinely happy to have us both sharing her home. Perhaps my friend himself worried about trying Mrs.
Hudson's patience, since he paid her handsomely for his lodgings---and could long since have owned the
property during the time I lived with him.

On my part, I was most fond of the dear young lady; her pretty face and sweet smile were as great a joy
in my life as the splendid meals she prepared. Naturally I felt a deep sense of chivalry towards her, and
would have done anything to please her.

However, Holmes' behaviour toward Mrs. Hudson was quite mystifying. Certainly he was gracious to her,
but was typically so with any female---young or old. He had never married; whether he had ever loved at
all was a mystery even to me. Moreover, he showed no outward sign of affection for Mrs. Hudson (at least,
none that I could notice). Yet he had the good sense to enjoy her excellent cooking, and at times even insisted
that she join us at table. And for all his seeming indifference to her, Holmes was staunchly protective of our
attractive housekeeper. He was certainly as concerned for her as I was when she was once abducted by our
enemy, Professor James Moriarty. Though Moriarty never harmed her and even released her, it was an
unpleasant business that we would long remember.

There were times, however, when I suspected that Holmes' feelings toward Mrs. Hudson were of the finer
sort, though he would have stoutly denied it. For I had become aware of certain mannerisms of his in regard
to our landlady: discreet glances in her direction, that suddenly shifted when she turned to him; extra little
shows of kindness; and a singular possessiveness that hinted at jealousy when any other man paid attention
to her. I was no exception, as I would unhappily discover. Often, if I tried to help Mrs. Hudson in her kitchen
or her garden, then Holmes---whom I had thought was occupied elsewhere---would suddenly make his presence
known and abruptly interrupt.

It was most strange that my friend would behave so with the young woman, while paying her little attention
otherwise. The only conclusion I could draw was since he had lived with Mrs. Hudson first, he felt that in a
sense she belonged to him alone---if only to ignore.

It was but another part of the great mystery that was Sherlock Holmes. Yet for all its complications, I was
grateful for our friendship and felt most fortunate to be working at my partner's side---and though he only
rarely said so, I knew that he felt the same about me.

But one day, a peculiar and frightful incident came to Baker Street that would sorely try both Mrs. Hudson
and myself. It all began with an equally strange occurence: a case involving a young man named Victor Savage...

~~~~~~~

It was in the beginning of November 1904, on a morning that at first promised to be uneventful. Holmes and I
were sitting at the table, I with THE LONDON TIMES and Holmes with his pipe. As usual, Mrs. Hudson had
prepared a marvelous breakfast, and I was happily full and at peace with the world.

"You shouldn't have gone to such trouble, my dear," I told her kindly as she poured more coffee.

"But you and Mr. Holmes get so hungry in the winter time," she replied, smiling. "And besides, I enjoy
cooking for you two. I know how much you boys appreciate it."

"Most assuredly!" I replied, giving her my most charming smile and a defiant glance at Holmes, who was
eyeing me dubiously.

We had scarce finished our coffee when the doorbell rang downstairs. Holmes of course was hoping it would
be another case, though I would not have minded spending the day lounging about with my newspaper. But I
cast that small concern to the winds when Mrs. Hudson came to our door with an anxious face.

"Mr. Holmes?" she said softly. "A Mrs. Savage wishes to speak to you...she's most upset."

Holmes raised his eyebrows in surprise, but nodded. "Show her in, please, Mrs. Hudson."

In walked an attractive young woman with chestnut hair, and handsomely dressed. With her were her two
small children, a boy and a girl. Obviously the woman had been crying; her son and daugher were sad and
bewildered, yet their faces lit up when they recognised Mr. Holmes and myself.

"Mr. Holmes," said their mother, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief, "I believe you remember
me? I am Mrs. Victor Savage. I came here because I desperately need your help."

Mr. Savage was a wealthy young merchant who owned a modest estate out in the countryside. We
knew him to be a pleasant sort, as were his wife and children; we had, in fact, recently attended a
dinner party at his residence. However, he had not been seen around London for some days, and
Holmes had often voiced his suspicions about the young man's sudden absence.

"You've come to the right place, Mrs. Savage," he said pleasantly. "Mrs. Hudson, might I trouble you
to bring our guest some tea? And I think, with their mother's kind permission, it would be best to take
the children downstairs with you...perhaps they'd enjoy some of your cocoa?" he finished, smiling at
our housekeeper.

Mrs. Hudson understood the situation. "Of course, Mr. Holmes."

"That would be very nice, Mrs. Hudson...thank you. Go with the nice lady, children," Mrs. Savage said
to them gently. "Mummy will be back down shortly..."

"Mummy," the little girl asked, "what's wrong with Daddy? Why can't he come home now?"

Mrs. Savage bit her lip. "Daddy is very sick, Therese," she explained gently. "Run along, now..."

The minute she was alone with us, the young woman gazed at us in despair. "And now you know," she
said, her voice halting. "Poor Victor has been strangely ill these past few days! He's in the hospital..."

Holmes frowned. "But why didn't you tell us before now, Mrs. Savage?"

The merchant's wife shook her head in misery. "I saw no reason to trouble you two about it...that is, until now."
With a glance toward the door, she continued in a low, but anguished voice: "It was well that you sent Robby
and Therese downstairs. I'd rather they didn't hear this---they've been through enough already.

"It all started when Victor received a visit last month from Mr. Colverton Smith, his uncle. You might
remember, Mr. Holmes---you and Dr. Watson met him a fortnight ago, at our dinner party?"

Holmes and I both nodded. "Though we only made a brief acquaintance," my friend replied. "Your uncle
seemed rather intent on keeping to himself."

"He was often that way around strangers," explained Mrs. Savage. "But he seemed a nice enough fellow,
though I thought it odd that he decided out of the blue to come stay with us---after no word from him
for years.

"But as the days passed, Uncle Colverton began spending more time alone than usual. He professes to
be a botany expert...he has been studying a good deal on tropical plants, and often did experiments with
them in his room..."

"In what manner, Mrs. Savage?"

"I wasn't sure exactly, but he said it had to do with plant extracts, and their properties. He didn't discuss
his work much..."

"Quite odd, indeed," I observed.

The woman took a sip of tea, then resumed her story. "In spite of Uncle's strange behaviour, Mr.Holmes,
I had no unfriendly thoughts or feelings toward him---until just three days ago...

"That day, my husband had some business matters to attend to in the city. Uncle was most insistent upon
going with him; I was surprised, for he seldom involved himself in Victor's business matters. But Victor
seemed to think nothing of it---he was even grateful to have his uncle's company.

"They were out until late that evening, however, and it worried me a great deal. When they finally returned,
along half-past seven, Uncle Colverton explained that he and Victor had stopped at a tavern to have a glass
of wine. I was very annoyed at him for keeping my husband out so late, but Uncle apologised so graciously
that I quickly forgave him. Then we had our dinner, and I thought no more of the matter until later that
night---"

Here, Mrs. Savage's voice broke, and fresh tears streamed down her face. Obviously, the rest of her
story would be most agonising to tell.

"Are you all right, my dear?" I asked her kindly, taking her hand.

She did not reply, but the look of anguish in her eyes gave us the answer. Holmes leaned forward until his
eyes met hers.

"I know this won't be easy," he said in a low voice, "but if we are to help you in any way, you must
tell us everything."

His kindly gaze seemed to have a calming effect on Mrs. Savage. She nodded weakly, then wiped her eyes
and continued.

"Shortly after we had retired---about ten o'clock---my husband awoke me with his screams. He was holding
his head and crying with terrible pain. Nothing I did for him seemed to help, and the children and I were quite
frightened. Finally, I called Dr. Hollingsworth---" she gave me an apologetic glance---"he lives just up the way
from us, Dr. Watson, otherwise I would surely have called you."

I smiled gently and told her to think nothing of it. "Did he find out the trouble?"

"No, he didn't," she replied, as yet bewildered. "He had no idea what was wrong with Victor. But suddenly,
the strange pains went away, as mysteriously as they came. Victor calmed down, and we hoped that was the
end of it.

"But it was only the beginning, Mr. Holmes," she explained to my friend, her voice quavering. "By morning,
Victor had changed for the worse---and we put him in..." Mrs. Savage paused and stared down at the
floor. "We---put him in...a hospital..."

Holmes lifted his eyebrow, taking note of the woman's hesitancy and embarrassed expression. "He's in an
asylum, isn't he, Mrs. Savage?" he said quietly. "You musn't be ashamed to tell us---we are your friends."

Mrs. Savage nodded painfully. "Yes...yes! My poor husband---he'd gone mad, Mr. Holmes! He had fits
of laughing and crying, and seemed afraid of everything. He wouldn't eat or drink a thing. Then the pains
in his head came back, worse than ever--and he would hold his head and fall to the floor, crying that it hurt.
We finally had to call the asylum---" she stared up at us in agonized disbelief---"Mr. Holmes, they dragged
poor Victor out to their carriage, in a strait jacket!"

The memory of her husband's final humiliation was the crowning blow for the unfortunate woman. She
collapsed onto the cushions of the settee and sobbed, while we consoled her as best we could. I gave
her a glass of brandy, as Holmes said to her gently:

"Good lady, we understand what an ordeal you've been through. But for your husband's sake and that of
your children, please try to bear up."

Mrs. Savage finally collected herself, and sat back up, sniffling and wiping her eyes. "I'll try, Mr. Holmes,"
she whispered.

"Mrs. Savage," Holmes continued, "you said that you harboured no ill feelings toward Mr. Smith up
until that time. Might I ask where he was when all this occured?"

"He was still in the house," she stammered, "at first."

My friend nodded gravely. "And why do you now suspect him?"

"Because of the way he behaved," Mrs. Savage answered darkly. "He seemed concerned enough when Victor
first had his head pains; but when Dr. Hollingsworth came, Uncle Colverton looked quite worried---frightened,
in fact---and he went off to his room. The next morning, when Victor's sickness became worse, Uncle didn't
answer when I rapped at his door. When the maid went to clean his room, he was gone. His bed hadn't even
been slept in---he must have left during the night. I've neither seen nor heard from him since."

"And so you've come to us on this matter," I added. "Your uncle's actions sound odd, indeed. But how could
this explain Victor's sickness?"

Mrs. Savage shut her eyes and shook her head wearily. "I don't know. But I can't put Uncle's behaviour out
of my mind. Dr. Watson, he's done something to Victor, he must have! I can't say how I know...yet somehow
everything points to him. But why?? Why in Heaven's name would he harm his own nephew?"

Holmes listened quietly, puffing at his pipe; but his hard stare at the floor told me that the wheels of suspicion
had begun to turn in his own mind as well.

"That, and more, is what we intend to find out," Holmes answered firmly. "There is much work to be done
at present; but I can promise you, Mrs. Savage, that we will do our best to help you and your family."

"We shall indeed," I added.

The young woman gave a weak but grateful smile as she arose. "Then for the first time in days, I feel
that there's hope," she said brokenly. "Thank you both, sirs...for your help, and your kindness. And
thank Mrs. Hudson also..."

After Mrs. Savage's coach had departed, Holmes paced around the sitting room, deep in thought.

"Do you agree with Mrs. Savage, Holmes---that Mr. Smith might be at fault for this somehow?" I
asked as I watched him.

"I can't say as yet," he replied, putting on his cape and deerstalker. "Meanwhile, we shall pay a visit
to the unfortunate Mr. Savage."

But as I followed him out to the Benz and we drove off, the grim and determined look on Holmes' face
gave me the answer.

End Part I

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