The Circular Room

xXx

The weather had turned from one of the bitterest winters London had seen in some years to a chilly spring and I'd just left my lodgings on Baker Street, taking the first long walk I'd been able to manage since the snows began in December.

I still remember Holmes' last words to me on that fateful day. "Stay away from the dice tables now, Watson. Rent's due tomorrow."

How that annoyed that me, if only because he knew me so well. Looking back, perhaps he'd had a feeling, a premonition of sorts but he'd be the first one to rule out such a theory as superstitious nonsense.

I didn't reply to him, opting instead to leave without a word. And I did avoid the dice tables, deciding to head to the impromptu card games instead. That will show him, I thought spitefully, tossing my money in for a few rounds.

As is typical of my luck, I won most of the hands I played. Atypically, I decided to leave well enough alone and exit the game, throwing down the customary amount for drinks all around. Everything seemed all right and I was in a fine mood when a young man standing in the doorway waved for my attention.

"You forgot something, guv."

Automatically, I checked for my wallet, hat and cane. "I think I have everything."

His smile was thin when he held up a card. It was the ace of spades and he flung it at me with extraordinary accuracy. Its sharp corner nicked my cheek and I stared at him in confusion, wondering if the man was mad or just stupid. To attack another man with a playing card ...

That's when the poison laced over the card's edge hit me.

The world around me blurred and tilted. My legs went out from under me and I remember nothing from that point until my awakening, lying the floor of a swift moving carriage, my arms bound behind me, gagged and my eyes covered with a blindfold. Confusion swarmed through my still-woozy brain, followed by a cold terror.

For some reason the blindfold bothered me the most and I tried desperately to dislodge it, to no avail. The futility of the exercise forced calm upon me and I lay very still, using what senses I had available to understand my situation.

The carriage was moving too fast for a mere cab, so a hansom it was. After a few minutes of feeling around, my fingers touched a leather shoe and I flinched, realizing I wasn't alone. On the sharper turns, the shoes would press into the small of my back, as if for balance and I fought against a wave of nausea, which would certainly choke me if I gave into it.

I don't know how long the ride lasted but once we reached our destination, rough hands pulled me from the carriage and practically lifted me up what felt like an endless round of stairs. My hands were untied and I put up a violent, if ineffective struggle, succeeding only in gaining myself a breathtaking hit to the stomach that left my lying on the floor gasping for air.

The blindfold was the last to go. I sat up and blinked in the too-bright light. To my surprise I found myself in a room, a strangely cozy room that reminded me of any other pleasant bedroom, with bookcases, a small table, soft chairs and a day bed. There were generic landscapes resting on the walls, hanging a little crookedly, as the walls weren't flat.

They were rounded. Everything was oddly round and it took me a few more minutes to realize the room was perfectly circular, without an apparent entrance or exit. Windowless as well and I never remember feeling quite the terror I did at that moment, in that strange, faceless prison.

Pulling myself into a chair, I fought to calm the terrified pounding of my heart. This was something so extraordinary, none of our usual foes could have dreamed this up, let alone executed it. I wracked my brain to think as to the who ... whys ... and wheres of my situation when I felt a hand on my shoulder, surprising me so badly, I nearly fell from the chair.

The only thing that was more frightening was when I realized who was standing there. A man I'd had known only by Holmes' description, but that description was singular enough for me to understand exactly what horror I was dealing with.

"Good evening, Doctor Watson," Professor Moriarty said, his voice as smooth as velvet. "Welcome to my room."

---

Holmes POV

He had been gone for six hours, twelve minutes and eighteen ... nineteen ... seconds.

He had been irritated with me, which accounted for two of the hours, tacked onto the one and a half he would have normally spent out at the gambling house. Punishing me with his absence was one of Watson's little ploys and an effective one, but nothing I couldn't anticipate and measure.

Two and a half hours were still unaccounted for.

Something was wrong. He had either gotten himself lost - highly unlikely - or met with injury or foul play. Considering where he'd been, the latter seemed more possible. Strange still, as Watson can handle himself perfectly well against any of the dregs that habituate the less reputable houses. Few of them will take the business end of his cane more than once, the rest having learned the hard way that the kind-eyed doctor with the limp is not to be trifled with.

This left even less attractive options open.

He had been taken, by who or what I didn't yet know. It wouldn't take long, however, to find out.

His cane arrived by messenger at exactly seven o'clock in the evening. It was wrapped in gilt paper, a garish bow on the end and I'm ashamed to admit my heart sank at the sight.

The note attached had a message scrawled over it in the careless hand of a professor. A mathematics professor. It merely read:

I have a job for you, Mr. Holmes.

xXx

to be continued in Part Two ....