A Distant Port, Part Two

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash Fan Fiction (Sherlock Holmes, Star Trek)

Rating: PG-13

Link to Part One

~

Holmes left our rooms shortly after Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy departed. He was dressed as a common laborer with a sort of careless charm to him. I shook my head at that; his skill with disguises never fails to astonish me. If I had passed him on the street I would not have recognized him. I wanted to ask the purpose of this particular disguise, but I resisted. He would tell me soon enough.

He was dressed in the same fashion when he returned that afternoon. I smiled at him as he wiped some dirt from his face.

“Where have you been, old man?” I asked.

He returned my smile. “At Halliday’s. One of the chambermaids indulged me with the gossip there--including a conversation she overheard between our clients.”

“How did you convince her to be so forthcoming?”

He shrugged. “A bit of flattery, Watson, is surprisingly effective.”

I frowned at that. “You struck up a flirtation?”

“I suppose you could call it that.”

I frowned with distaste. “Really, Holmes, you should not use the poor girl that way.”

But he waved his hand dismissively. “Set your mind at ease, Watson--she viewed my attentions as nothing more than a pleasant distraction from her duties.”

I nodded, but found my frown deepening. I couldn’t say why the thought of Holmes flirting with some hapless chambermaid troubled me--why the devil should I care? As long as the girl was not left pining for him no harm would come of it.

And yet, I found myself wondering just how far Holmes had taken this flirtation. He was ruthlessly single-minded when it came to solving a mystery…

I was worried for the girl, of course. That explained my concern. I could not bear to think of Holmes carelessly leaving a broken heart in his wake. But I was being foolish. A broken heart, I reminded myself, was unlikely to arise from a mere afternoon’s flirtation.

“But my methods are not important,” Holmes was saying. “What she overheard is of much greater interest.”

I forced my mind back to the matter at hand and cocked my head at Holmes expectantly.

“Dr. McCoy has a habit of insulting Mr. Spock--affectionately, from the sounds of it.”

“That’s common between old friends,” I pointed out.

He nodded. “True--but while I can think of a few affectionate insults to hurl your way, my dear fellow, I should not dream of calling you a hobgoblin, an elf or a green-blooded son of a bitch.”

I stared at Holmes for a long moment and then broke into another grin. “Well, those are certainly unusual insults,” I owned. “Good heavens--why green-blooded? If your girl was merely eavesdropping, Holmes, she might have misheard. Perhaps the doctor said `cold-blooded.’ I rather think that would apply to Mr. Spock.”

Holmes slit his eyes at me. “'My girl' did not mishear them, Doctor,” he said, feigning offense at my words. “She has a level head on her shoulders and a knack for imitating voices. She relayed the conversation quite convincingly, I assure you. Really, even if I hadn’t been on a case I would have found Maggie a most entertaining companion.”

“Maggie?” I demanded.

“Maggie,” he confirmed. “Charming name, isn’t it?”

“Shall I wish you joy?” I asked sardonically.

His grey eyes sparkled with mischief. “Fear not, Doctor--I’m not the marrying sort. Now, why would McCoy refer to Spock as an elf, a hobgoblin or green-blooded?”

“I haven’t the slightest notion,” I admitted as I successfully wrested the image of Holmes and ‘his girl’ from my mind. “Mr. Spock doesn’t strike me as particularly elfin. But perhaps these are American expressions?”

Holmes frowned. “Perhaps,” he mused. “But there’s more, Watson. The conversation the girl overheard between the two men must have taken place shortly after they discovered that Mr. Sulu was missing. Dr. McCoy said that Sulu would never have left without his ‘phaser.’ Mr. Spock agreed, and added that neither would he have left without his ‘communicator.’”

I stared at him blankly. “But what is a phaser?” I asked. “And what’s a communicator?”

“I don’t know,” Holmes said as he clasped his hands behind his back, “but I intend to find out.”

“Was he referring to another person? Could a communicator be an American term for a translator?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” he answered. “From what I gathered at the hotel, Mr. Sulu speaks perfectly good English. The servants had no trouble understanding him, at any event. But none of them witnessed him leaving--alone or otherwise.”

He paused for a moment and then began pacing the room. But at length he turned back to me with a shrug. “Perhaps I’ll have a better notion of how to proceed once I see the rooms. I shall make myself presentable and then we’d best be on our way back to Halliday’s.”

~

Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy were sharing a room on the second floor; Mr. Sulu’s was not far down the corridor. I stood back as Holmes examined every inch of it: studying each and every object in his path, climbing on chairs for a better look at the ceiling and all but slithering on his belly for a better look at the floor.

I have witnessed the startled reaction of many clients to my friend’s minute inspections--but neither Spock nor McCoy seemed surprised to see Holmes going to such lengths. On the contrary, they seemed to expect a detailed search of the room from him.

“How long have you been in London?” Holmes asked at one point, as he was crawling on his knees to have a look under a small table.

“Six days, nine hours and thirty-three minutes,” Spock supplied.

I started at his precision--especially as he had not even consulted a watch. McCoy, however, accepted his answer without so much as raising his eyebrows. To my astonishment, so did Holmes.

I couldn’t help but risk a sidelong glance at Mr. Spock as Holmes continued his inspection. He was still wearing a hat, leading me to believe that Holmes had been correct: the poor fellow must indeed be scarred.

Holmes retreated from the table and stood up again. Then he turned to us and sighed. “You are quite correct,” he began, addressing our clients. “There has been no forced entry here and no struggle. I’ll accept your word that nothing was stolen.”

He paused and cocked his head at Dr. McCoy. “That revolver on the table--that belongs to Mr. Sulu? It is the one he customarily carried with him?”

The doctor nodded. “As we said, Sulu left without his weapon.”

“Dr. McCoy, that gun has only recently been loaded. Before that, it lay empty for some time. And it has never been fired. Am I to understand that Mr. Sulu habitually carried an unloaded revolver?”

McCoy gave him a wry grin in response. “Mr. Holmes, I’m not the weapons expert. That would be Sulu.”

“And what of his ‘phaser’ and ‘communicator?’” Holmes demanded. “I do not believe I’ve encountered them among his belongings.”

Dr. McCoy inhaled sharply at that. Even Mr. Spock looked surprised by Holmes’ knowledge--and reluctantly impressed.

“Where did you hear those terms?” the doctor demanded.

“That doesn’t signify,” Holmes said impatiently. “I cannot help you find your friend if you insist on keeping me in the dark.”

McCoy sighed. “A phaser is just a fancy name for a gun,” he explained.

“And a communicator?”

“That is more difficult to explain, Mr. Holmes,” said Spock. “And I’m afraid we are not at liberty to do so.”

Holmes turned his attention to Spock, meeting the man’s unnervingly steady gaze. “Tell me this much, Mr. Spock,” Holmes began. “If I were privy to a list of recent officers in the United States Navy, would your names appear on it?”

“No,” Spock owned, without a trace of chagrin. “But you had guessed that much at our first meeting, had you not? I believe that is, in part, the rationale behind the astronomical fee you demanded.”

“In part,” Holmes granted. “But why hire me, Mr. Spock, only to leave me blind?”

“This regrettable lack of information about ourselves does not, to the best of my knowledge, have any bearing on this case,” Spock answered calmly.

“If you could be sure of that you would not need my services,” Holmes snapped.

McCoy grinned again. “He has you there, Spock.”

“You have an extensive knowledge of London, Mr. Holmes, which we lack,” Spock said, unperturbed. “Moreover, I have read several of your monographs on diverse subjects ranging from the tracing of footsteps to the physical influence of various occupations upon human hands. The logic you display in them is flawless. They have led me to believe that it is safe to rate your skill quite highly.”

Holmes was not immune to this flattery. For a moment, I was afraid that he would be carried away by it and would agree to continue without any further information about our clients. But I underestimated my friend.

“I cannot work in the dark,” he said simply.

McCoy turned to Spock, and again Holmes and I witnessed how an entire conversation could pass between the two men without either speaking a word. At length Mr. Spock turned back to Holmes and removed his hat--as if that would furnish all the explanation we needed.

As, indeed, it did. For Spock was no ordinary man--in fact, as my mouth dropped open, I realized that he was not human at all. He was some creature out of myth. His ears tapered to an elongated and quite elfin point and I could now see plainly that the cast of his features was somehow alien.

Somehow I tore my eyes off of him and turned to Holmes. He was just as flabbergasted, but he recovered more quickly. “You appear to be something out of a fairy tale, Mr. Spock,” he managed.

McCoy smiled at that. “Pointy-eared elf,” he said fondly. “Spock here is half human, Mr. Holmes. The other half’s what we call Vulcan.”

“Your blood?” I couldn’t help but ask. “We have heard that Dr. McCoy referred to you as green-blooded…”

“Indeed,” Spock confirmed. “The doctor has been most incautious.”

“It’s green, alright,” McCoy put in. “I ought to know--God knows I’ve patched him up often enough.” He paused. “Look, let’s all sit down. Spock and I can’t explain everything. There’s a lot we’ll have to leave unsaid. But we’ll tell you enough, I hope, to convince you that this has nothing to do with Sulu’s disappearance.”

Holmes looked doubtful on that score but he managed a nod.

“We will request your discretion on this matter,” Spock said.

“Dr. Watson and I will keep the details of this case in strict confidence,” Holmes promised.

“Thank you,” McCoy said. “Now let’s grab some chairs.”

LINK TO PART THREE