“Your tea Mr. Holmes.” Mr. Hudson said politely as he placed the tray onto the small serving table that he’d brought down into the basement and had situated several feet from the work bench that held a variety of tools. At that very moment it also held a few of my more intimidating looking weapons; primarily for visual coercion of course.

“Thank you Mr. Hudson. If you’ve also brought down the bucket of water that I asked for then that’ll be all for the evening.”

“It’s right here sir.” he said pointing to the wooden pail near the bottom of the stairs.

“Excellent. We shall endeavor to keep the noise to a minimum Mr. Hudson, but as you well know this sort of business can become quite raucous at times.”

The landlord waved a dismissive hand at me as he ascended the stairs. The previous winter I had installed sound dampening materials into the basement, dually for the consideration of Mr. Hudson but also to prevent any passersby from hearing sounds not meant for their ears. Still, it was not perfect and someone on the first floor of the building might be disturbed should things get overly out of hand. Make no mistake, I was not in the habit of torture. I found it, especially in protracted form, to be repugnant. I did, however, occasionally have little choice in the matter. If it came down to forcibly extracting information from a beast of the night in order to save the lives of many ordinary people then I would not think twice about it. In this case there seemed to be even more at stake; a plot of royal assassination, one that could very likely lead to a war in which many innocents would lose their lives. Though I’d not admit it to the doctor, lest he attempt to psychoanalyze me, I genuinely hoped on this night that I could reign in the intense power of my darker nature and not let my emotions move me to actions I would normally abstain from. It was a rare occurrence for me, still it frightened me no less when it did occur.

Watson, hands in his pockets, leaning against the work table, watched as I walked over and scooped up the pail of water by the handle and stepped across the concrete floor to where our bound and gagged constable was tied to a sturdy chair.

“Time to rouse yourself Constable!” I bellowed as I splashed the man down with the entire contents of the bucket.

He jumped with a start, shook his head and squinted his eyes in apparent pain, then looked up at me. Gingerly I leaned in and grabbed the rag that served as his gag.

“I am going to remove this sir, and when I do you will answer some questions for me. There shall be no screaming, lest it be repaid in pain.” I gestured toward the table and the sharp implements that lay upon it. “Likewise there shall be complete cooperation, or there shall be pain. Am I understood?”

Groggily he shook his head in the affirmative. I removed the gag, awaiting a cry for help, but the man was apparently not bold enough to call my bluff. He was silent, and much to my chagrin, remained that way.

“Who is the minotaur?”

“Who are you working for?”

“Who is going to attempt an assassination of the prince?”

“What sort of beast are you?”

All of these questions and many more I asked of him. All answered with determined silence. Only when I went for the table, a pretense to threaten him with bodily harm if he failed to speak, did he finally utter a few words.

“You may cut me to ribbons sir, but I cannot answer your questions.”

I picked up my blade, the silver one, and rushed to a crouching position beside him. With wild eyes I pulled his head back, exposing his neck, and with a deliberate motion raked it across the flesh, cutting him ever so slightly. No reaction to silver, interesting. It was far from a certainty that it should work but it was the closest thing to an Achilles’ heel that I’d ever discovered amongst were-creatures.

“Constable...” I read from his badge, “...Lewis, I know that you are aware of who I am, for you uttered my name when you came upon me back at Scotland Yard. I can then only presume that you are aware of my exploits as a consultant to the yard but have no knowledge of my career since that time, otherwise you would not have made the mistake of warning me of your presence before your assault.” I leaned in even closer, “Or did the motivation lie elsewhere? Did you think you could apprehend Sherlock Holmes and ingratiate yourself with the beast that is no doubt your master?”

The thought had occurred to me before, that I’d possibly made enemies amongst the community of monsters residing in England and that one day they may conspire to capture me for the purpose of exacting revenge for their fallen brothers and sisters.

“Oh I know who you are Mr. Holmes.” the man gasped, blade pressed into his neck. He did not turn his head of course, but did the best he could to force his eyes to meet mine. “I know you’re supposed to be some kind of vigilante but that the yard can never pin anything on you.”

I withdrew the blade and holstered it in my coat, confident that he would now at least speak with me, even if he would not answer the questions I truly wished to have answered.

“Then why my good man would you risk your life? Why not simply smash me over the head with your billy club the moment you came upon me and be done with it?”

“I knew you didn’t have your weapons with you.” he lowered his head, spat on the floor, then his expression turned to one of shame, “I thought I could apprehend you the proper way Mr. Holmes. Bring you up on charges for trespassing on police property. It’s evident by my current situation, however, that I was quite wrong.”

“Wrong indeed Constable Lewis.” I spoke the words in the heavy posh accent that I’d not used in some time, making sure to roll the R in wrong. “As you have learned I do not need weapons to be a formidable opponent.”

The man scoffed. “And now you’re going to kill me is that it Mr. Holmes?”

Something was very peculiar. He seemed resigned to his fate. What I had first mistaken for a resolve to defy me I now perceived as despair on his part. A notion struck me. I crouched down to his level once again, withdrew the knife. The man watched nervously and I even caught a glimpse of Watson flinching as I brought it around to the chap’s back. With a deft flick of the wrist I used the razor sharp blade to cut the rope that held his hands bound behind him and in turn to the chair. Its sections fell to the wet basement floor.

“Sir?” the constable asked of me.

I stood and turned my back to the man. I dropped the blade into a special scabbard that had been built into my coat, specifically for the silver knife, and it produced a metallic ring that echoed in the barren space as gravity slid it into place. Watson, standing to my left, could still see my face which was partially lit by the lantern resting on the work table which he was leaning upon. I could see him as well and though it was with my peripheral vision I detected a queer expression.

“Holmes what are you doing?”

There was a nervous quality to the doctor’s voice. I knew precisely what he was thinking. Did I intend to release the man or had I simply freed his bonds so that I could take his life without feeling the guilt of cowardice?

“Mr. Lewis,” I spoke, my back still to him. “for the last hour I believed you to be avoiding my questions...some sense of allegiance to a dark master who could care not whether you lived or died...but I now believe that to have been an error on my part.”

I pivoted on the ball of my left foot to face him.

“Sir?” he asked anxiously, taking a moment to wipe the blood from his neck with a handkerchief.

“In the hallway at Scotland Yard, when we grappled...” I stepped closer, “I detected a very brief moment of surprise in your face as we passed through the moonlight. Tell me, you’ve never seen someone like me before have you?”

“Like you sir?”

“A Versieht!”

“I...I don’t know what you mean sir, I swear it!”

“Of course you don’t.” I stated as a matter of fact.

“Holmes?” Watson queried but I lifted a hand to stay him. I peered into the constable’s eyes, scouring them for hints at underlying emotion. What they revealed confirmed my suspicion. Spending the most recent years as a hunter of all things wicked my pure deductive powers had indeed begun to fade. Five years ago I would never have missed the signs. That is not to say that I was still not a force to be reckoned with, for my skills were still many orders of magnitude greater than the average fellow, but they had apparently become something less than what they had once been.

“You do not know of any plot to assassinate the crown prince do you?”

The waifish man shook his head.

“Nor of a mastermind manipulating proceedings at Scotland Yard?”

Again, he shook his head.

“You do not even know what you are...do you?”

I watched as he passed a hand through the chestnut brown hair that adorned his head, attempting to straighten it, then paused at the bump on his temple where I had struck him with the billy club.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“N...no sir. I don’t.”

I looked over to Watson who was watching in amazement.

“Wait,” he protested, “do you mean...?”

“Precisely Watson. This man did see something he could not explain as we passed through the moonlight. Vibrant light of a green tint emanating from my eyes. Tell me constable is that not what you witnessed?”

“Why, yes.” the man replied meekly.

“But you, of course, have no understanding of the significance do you?”

“Not at all sir.”

I turned to face Watson fully.

“That is because, my dear Doctor, the constable here may very well be a prime example of your homo-monstrum but he himself knows not what that means.”

“Homo...?”

I spun, waved a finger and shook my head to suppress the man.

“You were raised in an orphanage yes?”

“Why...yes Mr. Holmes. However could you know such a thing?”

“Because if you had been reared by your own parents you would not suffer from such an identity crisis. You do, after all, know that you are different from others, correct?”

“Y...yes.” he admitted sheepishly. I caught his eyes darting over to the doctor.

“Oh, how very rude of me Constable. This is my esteemed colleague Doctor John Watson.”

The man took a step toward Watson and reached out to shake his hand. The good doctor accepted it but gave me a look that said “Are you sure it’s wise to be announcing my name to this fellow?”

“Constable, I’d like you to take a seat.” I smiled, “This time of your own volition of course.”

“Oh...very well Mr. Holmes.” and he did as instructed.

In the relative darkness of the basement I made out the shape of a large soap crate under one of the shelves near the work table. I pulled it out, dusted it briefly with the palm of my hand, then placed it near the chair that Constable Lewis was sitting in and rested myself upon it.

“What you saw as we wrestled in the hallway of the yard was a part of who I am Mr. Lewis. My friend Doctor Watson, of whom I’ve only known for a short time but implicitly trust, tells me that I am a Versieht...a man capable of seeing through to the true nature of those we call were-creatures, or simply weres.”

“Were-creatures?”

My eyes remained fixed with that of the constable.

“Show him Watson.”

“Excuse me?”

“Go ahead Watson it’s all right.”

“It’s not a bloody parlor trick Holmes.”

Finally I broke my stare and looked over at the doctor, though I placed a reassuring hand lightly onto the constable’s knee.

Watson sighed and rolled his eyes, but in the end agreed to comply.

“Now, Constable do you remember, during the scuffle, that you sank claws into my wrists?”

He looked down at my wrists, the same ones that were now haphazardly bound in remnants of my handkerchief.

“I...it’s hard to remember.”

“Constable, this has happened before has it not? You do know that you are different, I sense that you do.”

“Yes.” he admitted, then hung his head so that I could not look him in the eye. In the meager lighting I thought that I could see the beginning of tears welling up. “When I was a lad...in the orphanage...I hurt some other boys who were picking on me.” he looked up, “Pretty bad too. No one ever believed them though because it looked like they’d been torn up by an animal. Then again, much later in life, when my no good harlot of a wife left me...I woke up near the docks covered in blood...I...to this day I don’t know what happened but a constable friend of mine named Charlie Suggins helped me through it.”

I listened intently, trying to radiate kindness. I then gave a slight gesture to the doctor.

“I want you to look at my friend. He is going to show you something but I do not want to you be afraid. Do you understand?”

He looked immensely confused but nodded in agreement.

“Swear it to me.”

“I swear it sir!” he blurted at a level that was nearly a shout.

I inhaled, as did the constable, and it felt as if all of the air in the room was drawn into our lungs as our attention shifted to the doctor, who’d already begun the process of metamorphosing into his badger-like state. I would have not thought it possible but the officer still managed a gasp. John Watson’s form truly was something to behold. Not a terrifying monster that could instantly chill the essence of even the most hot blooded man but instead a thing that seemed simply to be out of place, impossible.

The constable stared for a few moments, none of us speaking, until finally he turned to me with the questioning gaze of a child.

“How?” was all that he said.

“My poor fellow.” I said, placing my hand onto his shoulder. “You truly do not know do you?”

“No sir, I truly do not, I swear to you.”

I waved at Watson who promptly shifted back into human form.

“Well then, that presents us with a problem.” then to the doctor, “Doctor have you, in your large amount of experience, ever encountered such a soul as this?”

“I’m afraid not Holmes.” he said as he approached, hands back in his pockets, I presumed so as not to appear threatening. “Now that I think of it there must be cases such as his, where a child is separated from his parents before he can learn exactly what he is...but I’ve never seen one myself. May I ask sir, how old were you when your parents passed away?”

“Oh...I think about a year or so.”

“How dreadful. And no uncles, aunts, or grandparents that could have taken you in?”

“They told me at the orphanage sir that I was simply found wondering the forest near a farm in Kent. They said I was about a year old at the time, possibly a little more.”

I watched as the doctor freed one of his hands and stroked his moustache in thought.

“Remarkable.” I mused, “Then I will presume that if I were to ask you to change right now, at this very moment, that you’d have no idea how to do so?”

“Like you Doctor?” the man asked, bewildered. “You think I’m like you?”

“We know you are like him Constable.” I interjected. “As do you...” I smiled.

He looked at me, as puzzled as ever.

“Well...not exactly like him, but you are certainly something unnatural.”

“Holmes I do really wish that you’d stop phrasing it like that.” Watson objected.

“Oh come now Doctor, we both now know that I am every bit as much of a freak of nature as you and our new friend the constable here.”

Watson’s scowl did not improve but I let him keep it, he’d not get any further concessions from me. If I could label myself a freak then he’d simply have to deal with my attitude on the subject.

Turning his attention back to the officer, “My colleague,” Watson began, “told me that during your altercation the moonlight revealed you to be some form of feline. Are you certain that you do not possess the capability to show us? Speaking for myself I would be most intrigued to study you.”

The man simply shook his head, he had no words that could satisfy either myself or the doctor.

“Watson!” I ejaculated, “I have a brilliant idea. Just wait right here.”

And with that I flew up two flights of stairs. I returned not more than a minute later carrying in my hands a syringe. To say that both of the men were taken by surprise by what I’d retrieved would have been a gross understatement.

“Close your mouths gentlemen you look like puppies.” I laughed.

“What...what’s that for?” Lewis retreated a couple of steps from me.

“Oh, my good man, let me explain. When my friend Doctor Watson and I first met I too had no clue as to how to harness the abilities that I was born...”

“Now wait just a minute Holmes.” Watson protested, “That’s not what I think it is, is it?”

“Why of course.” I smiled laughingly, “It’s cocaine!”

“Cocaine?” the constable challenged.

“Ah, yes, an explanation is in order. You see the doctor found that my abilities had lain dormant but that a powerful stimulant could assist me in bringing them forward.”

“That,” Watson demanded, “was because you’d spent years dulling yourself with opiates Holmes! Now I’m not an expert on the development of...whatever form of were-creature it is that Mr. Lewis happens to be, but even without parental guidance he mostly certainly would have discovered how to transform all on his own by now! Are you absolutely sure that you saw what you claim to have seen in the moonlight?”

I raised my hands into the air.

“Do you believe these claw marks to have been a figment of my imagination? And what of the Constable’s own admission that he has on occasion, earlier in life, been party to acts that could only have been committed by a non-human beast?”

I walked over and placed the syringe down onto the work table.

“But you don’t need to take my word for it Watson. Go and retrieve your gear and we shall test his blood right here.”

He rubbed at his moustache for a moment before responding. “You understand that I do trust your word don’t you Holmes? I just cannot in good conscience inject a man with seven percent...”

“Twelve percent.” I added.

Watson sighed, “With a twelve percent cocaine solution on a whim.”

“Oh of course Doctor. As I said, retrieve your kit so that we can make certain.”

As he did so I spent the next few minutes reassuring our new friend that we intended him no harm. Whether or not that was true depended greatly upon what our results were with the intravenous cocaine. I had to know what he was, for there were many creatures that I had encountered who were not purposefully malevolent, but that had been driven to kill or maim out of natural instinct. If I could identify what he was then I would be in a far better position in regards to knowing if I could trust him or not. I thought of simply pulling him onto the roof, but from the glimpse I’d seen at Scotland Yard I had no idea what kind of monster he was and it’d likely do no good to have a second look if Watson could not also see him in his true form. It was an off-chance but perhaps the doctor could identify the constable’s lineage.

I’d had absolutely no doubt in regards to the outcome of the blood test, green, the same as Watson and I, and after a brief exchange in which the doctor and I squabbled over whether or not it was right to force the man into such an experiment he, much to my surprise, volunteered of his own free will.

“My whole life Mr. Holmes, I’ve wondered why I am different. If you can give me that peace then I’ll gladly go along.”

“You do understand that there is no guarantee in this whatsoever, correct?” Watson made sure to ask him.

Lewis nodded.

“Very well. Roll up your sleeve please Constable.”

He did as instructed and in very short order the experienced doctor had located a vein and began to pump the solution into the man’s system. Mr. Lewis’ breathing began to grow ragged, shallow. I was standing close enough to see his pupils dilate. The physiological responses that I observed in him gave me great insight into my own experiences with the drug. Then, as if to startle both Watson and I half to death, the man jerked violently and in a moment far faster than I would have thought possible he performed a full transformation.

“By Jove!” the doctor exclaimed.

“Indeed.” was all that I could mutter, my probing gaze fixed upon the form that stood before us.

“Do I...do I look any different?” the constable asked.