The Lazarus Machine

Chapter 28

John had never shaken so many hands in his life, and not even the entirety of the Holmes family had attended the short ceremony.  There had been so many well wishes from unfamiliar faces, but Harry had yet to even offer a 'congratulations,' much less a 'thank you."  John hoped Harry was jealous of his brother's welcoming family, of his new husband.  It was an ungracious thought, but John couldn't help it.

"Lord Sherrinford," John said as soon as the carriages started filling to take people back to the house.

"Yes, Captain Watson?"

"I don't know how to ask this, but I was wondering…"

It turned out he didn't have to ask.

"I sent a messenger with monies for the household servants at your brother's estate this morning.  I made sure everyone was well compensated for their loyal service at such a happy time, and perhaps to make up for the leaner times in the past."

"Thank you, Lord Sherrinford.  I didn't really trust my brother to think of it, or to manage it if he did."

"I hope you know, Captain Watson, I am here to be of assistance to you.  Whatever you need, you must only ask."

John wasn't so sure he wanted to depend so readily on the man, for he had proven to be the manipulative sort, but he did seem to be reliable.  But he now pressed a small cloth pouch into John's hand and it clinked with small coin.

"Do redistribute these on this happy occasion."

Lord Sherrinford walked off, leaving John to find Sherlock in the crowd at the door.

"Why is my brother talking to Lestrade?" Sherlock asked as soon as John approached.

"Is he?  He wasn't a second ago."  John turned his head in the direction Sherlock had pointed his chin.  There were the two men, colluding for the second time that day.  Lestrade appeared slightly less jovial than he had mere hours ago and Lord Sherrinford's expression was pained.

"Shall we find out?"  Sherlock quite eagerly grasped John's elbow and drew him along.  "Lestrade, is there news?"

"I apologize for disturbing your wedding day, Holmes, but this really couldn’t wait.  I've promised Lord Sherrinford not to keep you more than an hour.  Just a detour, really."  Lestrade glanced at Lord Sherrinford with meek apology in his eyes.

"I have agreed you may go, but you must return to the house within the hour.  I will not have you ensconced in the morgue the entirety of your wedding day.  And do not muss your clothing, if you please."

Sherlock waved at his brother impatiently, whether to agree or to hurry everything along.  "What is it?"  The way Sherlock's eyes gleamed, he clearly couldn't have received a better wedding gift than a mystery or a piece to a puzzle.

"One of the mudlarks was found in the last hour with several crushed ribs and a punctured lung.  I was hoping you could identify him so we could notify his family, if he has one."

"Of course.  Coming, John?"  Sherlock's eyes kept none of their gleam, as if a solid oak door had slammed behind his eyes and none of his light could escape through the cracks.  He proceeded to their wedding coach in silence, allowing John to toss the coins in his hand to the well-wishers who gathered at any wedding, cheering and applauding for the lucky coins strewn to the crowd.  Their joyful cries sounded like the sobs of professional mourners, just a bit.

Lestrade joined them in the coach in spite of the strangeness of it, to answer Sherlock's questions.

"Where was he found?"

"In that little alley behind Lorstan Street, near Vechney.  Anderson thinks he was struck by a carriage."

"And then, what, dragged himself down that alley to die of a punctured lung?"  Sherlock's tone reverted back to his annoyed-with-stupidity normalcy.  "How was the body arranged?"

"Curled up in a ball, behind a crate.  He was next to an alley door a merchant used for deliveries or he might not yet have been found."

"Did anyone actually see him get struck by a wagon or carriage?"

"No one has come forward as a witness, no.  I still have a few men asking around."

Sherlock huffed.

"I shall have to examine the body.  I will be quick about it," he added, peremptorily defensive.  Neither John nor Lestrade offered any sort of fight.