Title: Then and Now (2/6)

Author: Emma

Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, others

Rating: Starts PG, but hey, it’s got Jack and Ianto in it!

Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?

Summary: Jack meets the greatest detective of all time – twice.

Author’s Note: After reading Invincible Summer, someone sent me an anonymous email asking me how Jack and Ianto ended up with Sherlock Holmes’s house in Sussex. Here’s the story.

Author’s Note: God knows how this is going to turn out. Dear God, Arthur Conan Doyle is spinning in his grave hard enough to be able to sell electricity back to the grid.

            Holmes ushered a distraught Stackhurst into the parlour. Once settled into an armchair with a glass of whiskey in hand, he regained some composure.

            “I am so sorry, gentlemen. I assure you, I am not as weak-minded as I must seem to you at this moment.” He took a deep draught. “But the disappearance of Alan Parrington from my establishment could have the direst of consequences. Parents will be most reluctant to entrust their sons to me if they can be so easily taken from my care.”

            “All is not lost yet,” Holmes said. “The facts, my dear Stackhurst.”

            The schoolmaster composed himself with some effort. “Last night a messenger arrived from Parrington House, bringing news of the death of Lord Parrington’s youngest sister, Lady Anne. I am told he was very fond of her. He retreated to his rooms for about thirty minutes, and then came down by the back stairs. He told our cook, Mrs.Lawry, that he was going for a stroll in the grounds. This morning, when he did not show up for breakfast, I went to his rooms. The bed hadn’t been slept in.”

            “Perhaps,” I suggested tentatively, “he has just left for home? If he was close to his sister, he might wish to attend her funeral.  Thoughtless of him not to leave a note, perhaps, but people in the depths of grief do very odd things.”

            “I would have thought the same, Doctor Watson,” Stackhurst replied,” were it not that Jenkins, our grounds man, told me that he overheard an altercation between Lord Parrington and another man in the early hours of this morning. Jenkins resides in our gate house, and he was up and about early. According to him, Lord Parrington sounded extremely agitated. Lowry heard him say he did this and I will destroy him once and for all.”

            “And the other man?” Holmes asked. “Could Jenkins give you any description of him?”

            “Very little. The man kept his voice low. Jenkins looked out the kitchen window, which overlooks the road, but it was still dark. All he could see were two silhouettes. One he thinks he can indentify as Parrington; the boy has a distinctive stoop. The other one was much taller and straighter. He was holding Lord Parrington by the shoulders, but the boy shook him off and set down the road. The other man seemed undecided for a moment, but then started after him.”

            “And you are afraid this mysterious visitor might have kidnapped Lord Parrington?” I asked.

            “I suppose.” Stackhurst’s answer was uncharacteristically diffident. “Or…”

            “Come now, Stackhurst, out with it,” Holmes said with a touch of his old impatience. “You cannot expect my help if you are not fully honest with me.”

            The schoolmaster seemed to deflate before our very eyes. He tossed back the last of his whiskey and then jumped up to pace the confines of the parlor like a caged tiger.

            “I was told in confidence by Mr. Carruthers that there was a bitter estrangement between Lord Parrington and his father. The Earl and his countess have lived apart for many years, and Lord Parrington blamed his father for what he saw as his abandonment of his wife. He also disagreed with the Earl about the medical treatment his youngest sister was receiving. Lady Anne was sickly and the prognosis was never good. Lord Parrington felt his father was deliberately not doing enough to help her.”

            “Ah!” Holmes leaned back in his armchair and tented his fingers. “And you fear that the conversation overheard by Jenkins means the boy’s out to punish his father for his sister’s death.”

            “I would like not to think so, Holmes, but… on one or two occasions Lord Parrington was very vocal about his dislike of his father. Lady Anne’s death might have sent him over the edge.”

            “Indeed. The first order of business, then, is to keep Lord Parrington from reaching his father in his present state of mind. Could Jenkins give you the appropriate time he overheard the argument between Parrington and his mysterious visitor?”

            “He could give me the exact time, Holmes. Jenkins is a man of routine, and he is forever glancing at his watch. I was exactly six twenty-two.”

            “So if Parrington set out on foot…”

            “He must have, Mr. Holmes.” Harkness spoke for the first time. “I checked the stables first thing this morning. All of our horses and all the student bicycles are accounted for. I also made inquiries among our neighbours on the pretext on an escaped mare. No horses or indeed any other form of transportation is missing.”

            “Stackhurst, you mentioned Parrington House. The Earl then must be in London for the Parliamentary season?”  At Stackhurst’s nod, Holmes continued. “Well, then, Lord Parrington must have set out for the train at Eastbourne. Even if he was lucky enough to hitch a ride from someone going in that direction he will have missed the morning train. I suggest, Stackhurst, that you set out immediately. A man in a fast gig can overtake a man on foot even if the later has a few hours’ advantage. Even if you don’t, the next train doesn’t leave until four thirty in the afternoon. You will likely find him at the station.”

            It was obvious that Holmes’s words had cheered the school master immensely. “I will take your advice, Holmes. Let’s pray we can find him in time.”

            Harkness started to say something but Holmes cut him off abruptly. It was not uncharacteristic of him – Homes could be exquisitely courteous one minute and unspeakably rude the next – but it startled Harkness into silence, which, I realized, was exactly what Holmes wanted.

            “One more thing, Stackhurst. As Watson here can attest, high-strung people of Parrington’s kind will often lose all steam from one step to the next and fall into a deep lethargy. Some even fall asleep. Keep an eye out as you go.”

            “I will, Holmes. Jack, will you come with me?”

            “I think Captain Harkness would be better employed by searching to road to Southampton,” Holmes said quickly. “It’s not likely, but there is the remote possibility that someone passed him going in the other direction. Parrington may have impulsively decided to go with them and catch the train from there.”

            I pride myself in my ability to control my reactions even under the most difficult conditions, but I must confess that I found it hard not to gape at Holmes’s transparent excuse. It was painfully clear to me that he believed Harkness to be involved in this matter and was protecting the man. Having experienced other instances where Holmes had acted as judge and jury I knew he would have good and sufficient reasons to do so, so I held my tongue.

            “Very well, Holmes. I shall take Murdoch or Hollinstead with me. I shall send someone towards Portsmouth also.”

            “That would be prudent,’ Holmes said. “Go on. I shall lend Harkness my own gig and see him on his way.”

            “I can never thank you enough, Holmes.”

            We all accompanied the school-master to the door and watched as he ran along the path towards his establishment. Once he was out of sight, Holmes turned to the handsome American.

            “Now, Captain Harkness. Will Stackhurst find Lord Parrington on the road to Eastbourne?”

            The sudden cool stillness that descended over the Captain’s features was perhaps more revealing than his usual charming animation. I realized with a start that Captain Jack Harkness was a truly dangerous man, on a par with Holmes himself.

            “I don’t understand, Mr. Holmes.”

            “Jack,” my friend’s voice turned gentle and even a little coaxing. “I don’t approve of Torchwood’s methods, but I understand the necessity of its existence. Where is the boy?”