holmes_minor | Fic: Friday's Toast: Gen

Title: Friday's Toast
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Notes: for the June prompt. Also using the British Royal Navy's toast of day. This follows on from Thursday's Toast.
Summary: Watson and Holmes catch up with the villain Spur during a storm.

“Were that we were warm and dry, sitting opposite our cribbage board, Captain Basil!” Spur was howling to be heard over the lashing wind, “having a fine mug of grog and toasting, uh, what day is it?”

“It is Friday, you villain!” screamed Holmes. He was playing for time. The vessel carrying the authorities was in the distance, but I was not certain with the storm that they would reach us.

“Friday!” Spur cackled. “Oh, that we were safe in the hull of the Georgina’s Pride, toasting to a willing foe and sea room! I will grant you the first, Captain Basil. You are a willing foe. I have enjoyed our battle of wits and brawn. Oh, yes, I have enjoyed this cat and mouse game of ours. I have led you on a merry chase, and you have followed, and it has been a joy. I thank you for that.”

The ship pitched and lurched and rolled. The rain fell like buckshot. All three of us were struggling to stay on our feet.

“But sea room, alas, was not to be had, was it?” continued Spur. He waved wildly. “Between your ship and theirs,” he flailed in the direction of the distant vessel, “you’ve blocked me in. I’ve nowhere to go. I wish you’d given me a wide berth in the beginning, of course.”

“The world gave you too wide a berth, Spur, and now you must pay for the lives you’ve taken and the lives you’ve ruined and the misery you’ve sown with your greed and your wrath. There is nothing for it. Surrender and we can seek shelter below until the authorities arrive to take charge of you. We can have that cup of grog. We can have that toast.”

“Oh, no, Captain Basil, I can’t do that. No one is going to put shackles on ol’ Spur. I shan’t raise my glass to you, sir…”

“Catch ‘im, Watson!” Holmes cried but it was too late, and the deck was too slippery.

The villain had already flung himself overboard and disappeared into the churning sea.

A week passed before the fate of Spur was known.

Holmes and I weathered the storm, compensated the brave captain and crew who had worked so valiantly to help us reach Spur’s vessel, and met with the authorities. Holmes turned over everything we knew of Spur and his crimes.

But we remained in port.

Holmes and I agreed that a week’s holiday would not be too much given all that we’d endured in pursuit of wicked Spur.

We rested up and allowed our wounds to heal. We ate well and slept well.

But most of all, we waited.

Word arrived just as we were contemplating a return to London.

Holmes and I hurried to the tiny fishing village. Neither of us was willing to trust anything but our own eyes.

Yes, the body that had washed up on shore was Spur.

“That’s the epilogue,” said Holmes.

I nodded. “Time to go home.”