"The Curious Case of the Prestidigitator's Python" by Westron Wynde (PG-13)

[periwinkle27.livejournal.com]

Fandom: SHERLOCK HOLMES
Pairing: Gen
Length: 32,659 words
Author on LJ:  unknown
Author Website: archived on fanfiction.net

Why this must be read:
I enjoy Westron Wynde's writing. It's usually a little tongue-in-cheek but faithful to the canon.

This case is based on one of those hints Watson so tantalizingly throws out in his stories, although he does actually appear in this tale as it is one of Sherlock's first times using his talents for money.

An old school friend has asked Holmes to determine why his fellow musical hall performers are perishing at an alarmingly high rate - and all from apparent accidents from their act. The knife thrower has been hit with a knife; the magician is found with his pet snake wrapped around him, and so forth. Holmes only agrees to help as he needs money; he has no intent of becoming a detective at this point. Then Lestrade is sent to investigate one death and Holmes realizes that he either has to solve the crime or be charged with it.

It is curious to think now, looking back over a long and, for the most part successful career, that there was a time when my future as a consulting detective was seriously in doubt. The need that drove my friend and biographer, Dr Watson, into the army to practice his art had a similarly disheartening effect on myself, for a biting winter’s day in January 1878 found me not in the comfort of my Montague Street rooms, but standing outside on the slush-covered pavement, wondering what I was to do in the novel event of my now being homeless.

I have spoken before – and Watson has been kind enough to relate – that in the period before the peculiar events concerning the Musgrave Ritual, which set me on the path towards the position I hold now, my time was marked by months of inaction interspersed with several few and far between cases, mostly brought to me by old fellow students. In my abundant leisure time, I pursued a furtherance of my studies in certain branches of science, but as interesting as they proved to be, they were hardly lucrative.

When one’s attention is turned to higher matters, small things, like the coins in one’s pocket, tend to slip the mind. Having lived beyond my means, in all its opulent frugality, I found myself unable to pay the rent for the third week running. Thus, I returned one afternoon to find the door barred against me and the landlady asserting that she had no intention of admitting me until she saw some money. She gave me a week to make good on my debt or, as she described in graphic detail, I could expect to find my belongings cast out onto the street.

It was an unhappy situation in which to find oneself. By this time, I had had one serious case to my name and that I had undertaken largely for the challenge rather than for any pecuniary interest. The fee I had received was desultory beside the satisfaction of a successful conclusion; however, one’s priorities tend to change when finding oneself homeless with darkening clouds overhead and the promise of more snow in the air.

The only option left to me was to throw myself on my brother’s purse and mercy. It was a step that gave me some pause; not that he had any strong objections to my choosing to pursue my inclination, but I knew that my need would give him good reason to resurrect his old diatribe about my finding an occupation that paid enough to keep a roof over my head. Considering my present predicament, even I had to admit that he had a point.

Providence stepped in at that moment, in one of those happy coincidences that with hindsight seem quite unbelievable, to persuade me that my talents had a valid and profitable application after all. I had set my face against the wind and my soul buttressed against despondency, when a cheery voice hallooed my name over the noise of the passing traffic.

I turned to find a red-faced, clean-shaven, portly young man bounding towards me, waving his hand with such vigour that I thought he must be on the verge of apoplexy.

“By Jove,” said he; “I thought it was you. Sherlock Holmes, my old friend, you will never know how glad I am to see you!”
[...]
“As it happens,” he went on, “I must confess that this meeting isn’t entirely by chance. I had set out in the hope of finding you. Spotty Matthews told me you had moved down to London and he gave me your address, although the landlady was most unhelpful. Anyway,” said he, waving these unnecessary details aside; “I find I am in need of your assistance.”

“Indeed? How so?”

“Well, I was impressed by the way you resolved that case of theft when we were at college – you remember, where you proved a thieving magpie was the culprit?”

I nodded. The deduction had been elementary, given the nature of the items stolen, the presence of the tree and the students’ habit of leaving their trinkets on the table by the open window.

The Curious Case of the Prestidigitator's Python