Evil Sherlock Holmes: The World's Greatest Killer

Chapter 4

The life of a Police Surgeon quickly fell into a predictable routine for Watson. He'd arrive at his office in the morning, check his mail from the day before, then head downstairs to the morgue to clean his instruments and lay them out for the day's use. Police Inspectors would bring their bodies down and give him the details of their case as he made his examinations. He'd then share his findings with the Detective, make his notes, and finally copy them into the casefiles in the evening before setting them in the mail for the clerk's office so they could be copied and sent out to the Coroners.

Though he'd only been working for about a week, he was already behind. His backlog was getting longer and his paperwork was getting more burdensome. Already he was wondering when additional full time Police Surgeons were going to be brought on.

His duties did give him a chance to meet the other Inspectors in the CID, however. Thus far, of the 21 detectives in the unit, he'd worked with the quiet Inspector Mason, the boisterous Inspector MacDonald, Inspectors Althelney Jones and Peter Jones (no relation), the short and stout Inspector Hopkins, the surly Inspector Brown, and the rather pompous Inspector Gregson. Then, of course, there was Inspector Lestrade.

After Watson's first day on the job, Lestrade had appeared to avoid him. He'd heard from the other Inspectors that Lestrade had been busy tracking down a rapist in the East End of the city. Though Watson did his best to try and corner Lestrade so that he could attempt to mend fences, his efforts always seemed to prove futile. At least until one day Watson was returning from lunch and saw a battered Lestrade pull up in the paddy wagon and haul an even more battered hooligan from it, marching him into the station to the applause of the officers that were there in attendance. 

"What's going on?" Watson asked the Sergeant of the Watch.

"Lestrade finally caught him," the man said proudly. "The East End rapist. Heard he cornered him in a grain factory and had a right good brawl. Wish I could get a few licks in myself before he's hanged, piece of trash."

Watson watched as the officers gave Lestrade pats on the back as he pushed the rapist toward the stairs leading down to the holding cells. The East End rapist had been terrorizing women in the slums for months, beating them close to death after having used them in the worst way possible. It had taken a lot of guts and guile to track him down and capture him, of that, Watson was certain. At that point he knew he'd been wrong about the good Inspector.

Lestrade was recounting details of the arrest to the rest of his colleagues when Watson entered the large, open bullpen of the CID offices. It was a sizeable room where each Inspector had their own desk, the only real office being that of Sherrinford's. The other detectives were standing around as Lestrade regaled them with his re-enacted fight with the rapist, to much hooting and hollering from the audience.

Despite his jovial and animated appearance, Lestrade's eye was swollen from being hit, and his hands were battered and bloody. As soon as he'd had his moment in the spotlight and the crowd had drifted away, Watson stepped forward, his doctor's satchel in hand. "Inspector Lestrade," he said with a smile. "Congratulations. That was good work."

Lestrade glanced at him. "What is it you want?" he mumbled, his mood looking to have soured.

Ignoring him, Watson put his satchel on Lestrade's desk. "I am a doctor. I'm here to have a look at you after your ordeal."

"I'm fine."

"Regardless, we should clean you up," Watson said. "I can ensure the swelling on your eye doesn't get too bad and clean the cuts on your hands. It won't take long, I promise."