Title: The Speckled Band, TrekAUverse
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes, with a Star Trek TOS twist
Characters: Holmes, Watson
Rating: K+
Warnings: basic spoilers for Trek-related things such as Vulcans, and spoilers for various Holmes stories
Summary: Takes place in my AU, where Holmes is a Vulcan and Watson a full empath (as seen in the TOS episode The Empath). To avoid taking up space inside the chapter in narrative, please read my story Whatever Remains to find out why Vulcan!Holmes is on Earth in the Victorian period. This is the first in a series of Canon short story rewrites, focusing on proving that Holmes really was a Vulcan and Watson an empath, so let's play the game here, people. :) First up: The Speckled Band, since it's the most famous of the Holmes short stories. Please note that I am NOT just copy-and-pasting Doyle in these; I'm only keeping the bare bones of the plot the same and developing an entirely new style of story. Any directly quoted material (max. 15% of the total fic) is noted. I am not Doyle, and I am not trying to write this as Doyle. Meant to be a light-hearted, slightly tongue-in-cheek AU but still believable as the Holmes and Watson we love.
A/N: Am I totally on crack, or is anyone really as interested in this as I am? Feedback is welcomed and appreciated, especially if you have requests for stories to be rewritten or details you want to point out for me to cover.
Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Paramount and Gene Roddenberry. Holmes and Watson are public domain and originally belonged to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Their TrekverseAU characteristics are entirely mine, as is this not-quite-a-crossover universe. Please ask if you're wanting to play in my sandbox.

In looking over my notes from the many cases I have spent in the company of the world's first and finest private consulting detective, I have come to the decision that several of these adventures may, someday, be understood by generations in our far distant future; and that as such, I alone bear the responsibility to leave an accurate, if somewhat incredible, chronicle of these occurrences. My readers will no doubt know to whom I am referring when I mention the name of Sherlock Holmes; but no one knows, or shall know for decades to come, to what I am referring when I mention my friend's singular abilities and gifts.

Allegations have before been made upon my story-telling accuracy, due to deliberate misconstruing of events and slight mix-ups of dates and names; but these mistakes were all done for a purpose, for to be clear in every detail due to Holmes's perfect memory might divulge hints of what Sherlock Holmes and I truly were, rather than what the world believed us to be. The world is not yet prepared for the truth, and yet I feel that I must at least leave a written account of that truth for history's sake, even if I shall never know who will read it.

It lies with me now, therefore, to leave an account of some of my exploits in the company of that most remarkable of individuals, in the hope that the world of far-tomorrow may at last be able to understand the truth, rather than the carefully-edited version which I have before offered to the public.

One of the most memorable cases of our careers occurred in early spring of 1883 – April, to be exact – and not many months after the incredible revelation given to me by my friend Sherlock Holmes in response to the unveiling of my own, no less incredible, personal secret. For a few weeks following the slightly inconceivable announcements we had divulged to each other, our relations were, understandably, somewhat strained. However, as the awkwardness wore away, so did our formerly well-constructed barriers, and in a very short time I found myself understanding Mr. Sherlock Holmes better than I had ever understood an individual before.

He, in his turn, though he retained that calm and almost entirely expressionless exterior at most times, occasionally relaxed his guard enough to discuss matters with me which would of course be impossible to do with another. Shared solitude makes friends of mere acquaintances, and within a very short time we had certainly progressed to that state of being.

Despite this, I still did not appreciate being woken up at the ungodly hour of half-past-seven by a gentle but quite insistent thought worming its way into the threads of my dreams, and compelling me to wakefulness despite my wishing to remain very much asleep.

I opened my eyes to find my friend withdrawing his hand from my temple, an unrepentant look twinkling in his eyes.

"I do hate it when you do that," I mumbled into the pillow.

"Would you prefer I shout at you from below, pour a glass of water over you, or remove the bedclothes from your person on this simply beastly frigid morning?"

I contemplating hurling a pillow at his insufferable skull but decided it was not worth the expenditure of effort, not at this hour.

I must have been 'thinking too loudly,' as Holmes so quaintly put it, for he cocked a disapproving eyebrow my direction. "I would recommend you stir yourself, Doctor, for we have a young female client in, and I quote our esteemed landlady, 'a considerable state of excitement' (1). I should much prefer to have you present at the consultation to absorb the emotional impact, if you would be so kind?"

"I've a good mind to make you deal with the poor girl yourself, Holmes," I grumbled, though I did begin to stir myself, knowing how distracting an emotional outburst would be to my friend in his consultation.

"Dear me, you are a trifle testy before your morning coffee, Doctor, which will be awaiting you below. Stir yourself, my dear fellow, and promptly." And with that, he popped out of my room as quietly as he had entered, his light, even footsteps receding on the stairs outside.

I sighed, cast one longing look back at my woolen coverlet, and began to dress for the day. I well knew Holmes's intolerance for cold, and therefore his rapid departure from my frosty chamber toward the relative comfort of the sitting-room fire did not surprise me. Within five minutes I was prepared to follow, and even before I entered the room realized I had done well to hurry, for the client on the other side of the door was considerably agitated.

I entered to find Holmes pouring coffee, over the pot of which he shot me a pointed look that plainly spoke his mind about my taking five minutes instead of three, and so made my way toward the settee, where a young lady dressed all in black sat, shivering before the cheery coal blaze.

She was trembling with part chill, part terror, I knew before even sitting next to her; though from what, I could not discern. A pair of very pretty, but haunted, eyes met mine as she looked up, and I saw a young face lined with more care than any girl that age should be forced to bear.

"You must not fear," said I, placing a hand of comfort upon her arm and attempting to draw some of the stark, rigid terror from her tumultuous emotions. "Whatever is troubling you, I assure you Mr. Holmes will be able to set it right." (2)

"Indeed," my friend agreed from just to my left, handing our client a cup of coffee with sugar.

The lady thanked him, and between the drink and my more practical (though invisible) aid soon calmed enough to tell us her story. I shall not here dwell upon the details of that account, for my readers no doubt either can recall them or will be able to easily discover them. Suffice it to say, that Holmes's eyes darkened progressively as he listened, and I could sense that he was becoming both increasingly excited and horrified at the direction of his deductions.

Finally, we had set our plans in place for the afternoon's events, and Miss Stoner departed our rooms both looking confident that Holmes would solve her problem, and indeed telling us she felt much lighter of heart than she had upon arrival. The former my friend was responsible for, the latter I was; one reason we functioned so perfectly as a team that it amazed those unacquainted with our singular talents.

When the door had closed behind the girl, I covered a yawn with the back of my notebook and debated ringing for toast. Holmes, true to his nature, waved me away absently when I mentioned breaking our fast, and only muttered about not needing to eat as much as humans did.

Personally I was yet unconvinced that any corporeal being, human or Vulcan or whatever-else-the-universe-held, could survive for days without sustenance, but I knew better than to argue with a mind such as his and so rang for Mrs. Hudson and ordered eggs and kippers for one.

The good lady had not yet brought them up when the door burst open and unceremoniously deposited a very large, and very irate, man in our doorway.

Holmes muttered something that I knew for fact was not English, and then stood to face the visitor. The man was at least six feet six inches in height, for my friend was well over six feet and still was not at eye level, with a build to match, and he carried a hunting crop in his enormous hand. Contrasting personalities, I noted detachedly (I was rather more concerned with our safety at the moment), with Holmes all thin whipcord and deceptively hidden strength of mind and body, and this man all bluster and bulk.

And, of course, my friend paid no notice to the fact that deception, malice, and pure evil were rolling off our visitor in waves as tangible to me as his wrinkled face was visible to the average human's eyesight.

"I am Holmes," my friend said pleasantly in response to the growl of greeting. "Will you not take a seat, Doctor Roylott?"

"I will do nothing of the kind. My step-daughter has been here. I have traced her. What has she been saying to you?"

Holmes yawned politely, and I began to wish I'd not left my revolver upstairs; I had no desire to spend my morning healing a concussion, for they are deucedly painful things to take upon one's self, and the damage to the brain cells muddles the entire process into hours longer than any normal healing transfer should.

"It is a little cold for the time of year," Holmes ventured next, looking dreamily at our blazing fire.

"What has she been saying to you?" Roylott fairly screamed, and I jerked my head up in warning at the sudden spike in fury that I sensed behind the words.

"But I have heard that the…crocuses promise well." (3)

I caught the small hesitation as Holmes recalled the common name for the purple blooms (he was in the annoyingly supercilious habit of reeling off the Latin, and sometimes Vulcan, names and classifications for anything that was green and remotely looked like a plant), and I fervently hoped he did not try to ad-lib his way through a discussion of British botany with the man. He had attempted that once with me, regarding astronomy of our day, and had failed dismally.

I need not have worried; Roylott preferred to do his arguing with the end of a hunting-crop thrust into my friend's face. Personally I would not have pitied the man had Holmes simply broken his wrist with one clench, but my friend was wiser than to allow such a display, and even permitted the brute to bend our fireplace poker into a U-shape before he stormed away, blissfully unaware that the man he'd just tried to browbeat could have snapped his neck in a martial arts move that would make most Japanese masters bow in awe.

When the fellow had finally departed, my friend shot me a brief quirk of a smile and vented a silent chuckle before taking up the poker and deftly shaping it back into its original rigid length.

"Deucedly handy ability, that," I observed over my pre-breakfast scone and second cup of coffee.

"It has its uses, one of which is avoiding questions from our uncannily observant landlady," he agreed, accidentally brushing a hand over my sleeve as he reached for the coffee-pot. Then he paused, and looked curiously at me. "Does it truly distress you so, that I do not eat regular meals?"

I batted his hand away, sending him a warning glare. "Is it not considered rude to eavesdrop, even if done silently inside the cranium of one's fellow-lodger?"

He inclined his head graciously. "Yes, you are quite right; my apologies, Watson. But you did give me permission, you do remember."

"Not to just pop into my head whenever you feel a curiosity for listening to me think!" I protested, though he knew as well as I that I was far more inquisitive about the process than annoyed.

Mrs. Hudson chose that exact unfortunate instant to enter with breakfast, and for a moment blinked at us both, obviously debating whether to ask for explanation or not.

Wise woman that she is, she decided against it, and only dropped the tray upon the table and exited, shaking her head.

Holmes's lips twitched in a half-smirk, which was as close as he normally would get to a full one, and appropriated my toast without another word.

(1) - (3) Passages are either direct quotes or adapted quotes from the original SPEC.