The Case Of The Pharmasist's Price

A soft sound of distress had the older man reach out to rub at a thin shoulder.

"You're safe, you're with friends, just sleep," he crooned softy. He caught the merest hint of beautiful green eyes as lids fluttered briefly and then closed again. They had been lush and verdant and Grayson wanted to see them radiating joy rather than the flash of fear he had glimpsed. He found himself silently and irrationally vowing he would do anything he could to ensure it.

****

A soft groan alerted a lightly dozing Grayson that his charge was waking. He ran his hand through his hair as if it would make it any less unruly and sat a little straighter. It suddenly seemed imperative to Grayson that the younger man thought well of him. He watched entranced as the other man's face scrunched as he began to awaken.

Something must have alerted the blond to the fact he was somewhere different as the green eyes flew open and he struggled to sit up. From a defensive position, his knees high and the blankets pulled close around him, he stared at Grayson who resisted every impulse to move to try placating the scared young man.

"Who are you? Where am I? Where is he?"

The questions came almost without breath and the fear and misery seemed to radiate in waves from the blond. Grayson smiled and kept his voice as soft and reassuring as he could.

"My name is Grayson Black. I own a Pharmacy in the Strand. You are in the home of my best friends, you may have heard of their names; Dr John Watson and Mr Sherlock Holmes. You dashed in front of my cab and were injured in the process. Dr Watson felt you were not injured enough to require hospitalisation and so you are still in 221B Baker Street. This is his bedroom. As for your last question," Grayson shook his head. "I don't know who you are asking about."

"I have a nightshirt," the young man said, fingering the garment as if it were made of delicate and costly material.

"It's Dr Watson's," Grayson said softly, inordinately pleased to see the drawn up knees slowly lower. "He thought you would feel more comfortable wearing it."

"Good morning."

The sound of John's gentle voice from the doorway had Grayson turn towards his friend.

"He slept well, John," he said with a smile.

"That's good to hear," John said. "Mrs Hudson has just brought up some tea. Why don't you go wash, shave and join Sherlock and our young friend and I will join you presently."

"Alright, John," Grayson said. As he stood, he gave the blond a reassuring smile. If he was honest, he wanted to stay, but understood that as a Doctor, John needed privacy with his patient. He quietly closed the door behind him and returned the smile that Sherlock sent his way.

"John's left clean towels out in the bathroom," Sherlock said. "He's also left shaving equipment for you. How is your boy?"

"He slept well, Sherlock," Grayson said. "But he was afraid when he woke."

"John will soon put him at ease," Sherlock soothed, sensing his friend's unspoken concern. "He will probably react better if we all appear calm and at ease in his presence. Go and clean up and I'll have some tea ready for you," Sherlock added. He watched as the younger man nodded and headed away from him. Grayson's protectiveness was admirable, but if John was correct, the youth would need a little distance, as well as protectiveness, from the men to give him time to recuperate from his ordeal.

"My name is John Watson, as I'm sure Grayson has told you," John said as he walked slowly towards the bed, keeping his arms at his sides and sitting in the chair vacated by his friend. "Would you mind if I checked your temperature?" he asked, holding up a thermometer. "Just take it in your mouth and keep it under your tongue. May I have your wrist?" He smiled as a hand reached towards him. He studied his pocket watch, pleased that there was a strong regular beat and even more pleased to see there were no signs of fever when he checked the thermometer. "All very good," he praised. "Now, would you care to tell me your name?"

"P...P...Price, Price Baker," the youth stuttered and flinched involuntarily.

"Don't be afraid, Price," John soothed. "He didn't want you to use your name did he?" he asked. He was not surprised at the shake of the blond's head. "He called you something...neutral and demeaning?"

"Pet. He said I was his pet," Price said, tears falling silently. "He...he said if I did what he wanted, when he wanted things would go well, but if I disobeyed in any way I would be punished harshly."

"He can't hurt you now, Price. Can you tell me his name?"

"His name was Le Compte de Lys. I was only allowed to call him Sir or Master," Price said.

"Where did he meet you?" John asked softly.

"In the jewellers in which I was an apprentice. My parents died while I was still quite young and the only family I had was an elderly aunt. She did not know what to do with me and so sent me to Boarding School. I did well academically and one of her friends knew Mr Dale, who owned a jewellery shop. I liked him and he liked me and we worked well together. However, he had a son who was only interested in profit. The shop made a modest profit, but Hamilton wanted it making more. I used to see him looking at me and thought he disliked me, but now...I'm not sure what he was thinking."

"And the Count?" John prodded quietly.

"He came in as a customer and he and Hamilton talked quietly together for a long time. Mr Dale was going away for a week not long after and the first day he was gone, I was sent to...to the Count. He made tea and it tasted wrong and it must have been drugged. When I awoke I was no longer in my home town. I was in his country home, naked, isolated. He said that no one would look for me as Hamilton had my resignation saying that I now had a much more lucrative position with...the Count."

John let a soft sigh escape him. It was a similar enough pattern - beautiful youths with no one to notice or care they were missing, bought and sold into slavery. He looked at the blond who stared at him with wide, fearful green eyes.

"You need not be afraid, Price," he said. "You will not be sent back to that monster."

"But I have nowhere to go. I could not go back to my aunt, not after...after...and the...the Count told me that Mr Dale had retired to let his son run the business."

John could hear the increasing panic in the younger man and cautiously laid his hand on the blond's forearm.

"Don't worry, Price. Mr Holmes and I can let you stay here awhile. I would not be happy releasing you from my care until your injuries are healed more and you have proven able to eat healthily. Now I shall bring in some water and towels as well as one of my robes. It will be long, but I'm sure you won't mind that. I would like you to talk to Mr Holmes and Mr Black is very concerned for your health."

"Grayson?" Price whispered his voice uncertain.

"Yes, Grayson. I'm certain he would be very pleased to see you sitting out with us and having some breakfast. Mrs Hudson is very eager to ensure you eat heartily. There is a commode beneath the bed if you have need of it."

Left alone with his accoutrements for his toilet, including shaving equipment and a comb, Price determinedly went through the basic ritual. For the first week of his captivity, he had been forced to ask for a commode to relieve himself and he had been prohibited from washing himself or using a comb. His...the Count had done that for him. He had been made to learn that he depended on the Count's good will for even the very basic necessities of his life.

And he had hated it.

The privacy and time to take care of his ablutions made him feel more in control of his life. He donned the robe, smiling a little as it did indeed drag along the floor by a good couple of inches. He tied it tightly; checking to make sure his body was covered from neck downwards and took a deep breath as he stood at the door that led out of the bedroom.

He watched his hand reach out and watched it shake. Leaving a room had been something he only did when accompanied by the Count or one of his minions. The rest of the time he had been locked in a room, naked. He gave a shudder. He may not know for certain these men were who they claimed to be, but none had attempted to harm him in any way.

He had prayed for release from the Count and now he hesitated on the cusp. Taking another breath, he clutched the handle, turned it and pulled open the door.

The homely, mundane life before him had tears pricking at his eyelids. Dr Watson was pouring tea from a silver pot. Grayson and another man were playing chess. He offered a timid smile of his own as Dr Watson beamed warmly at him.

"Do you take milk and sugar?" he asked as he finished pouring a cup and took it over to the man playing chess with Grayson. "Mrs Hudson will be up in a few minutes with breakfast. She wanted to give you a full-blown cooked breakfast, but I wasn't sure your stomach would be able to cope just yet. I've opted for some porridge and a boiled egg with bread and butter. Do not feel obliged to eat everything. Just as much as you're comfortable with."

"I like milk and no sugar, Sir," Price whispered.

"I'm glad to see you looking so well, Price."

At the warm voice, Price turned to regard the man sitting opposite Grayson.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. Dr Watson explained your dilemma regarding habitation. You are more than welcome to remain here for as long as you need. I would like to look into this Compte de Lys. I have no desire for any other young man to fall into his clutches. There is no need to worry about speaking of him now. We can wait until you have recovered some of your strength. Please sit."

Price looked at the chair indicated and sat down in front of a warming fire. He accepted the tea, but found he was unable to drink, memories of another time and another tea burning in his memory. He wondered how he was going to overcome his fear when an older lady bustled into the room after rapping sharply on the door.

"So this is our young guest," she smiled. "I'm Mrs Hudson and I look after Mr Holmes and Dr Watson. Drink up, dear, I'll make some more. I was thinking of a nice steak and kidney pudding, Dr Watson," she added turning to the smiling physician.

Slightly dazed, Price did as he was bidden and sipped at the tea. It was as warm and welcoming as the older lady herself.

"I think perhaps that might be too much for Price's stomach to manage," John said, ignoring the soft whine of disappointment from his lover. "For today I think Price might manage your nourishing soup for lunch and we could have your incomparable chicken with dumplings for dinner. The pudding could be tomorrow if Price is able to manage today's fare."

"Poor wee thing," Mrs Hudson cooed, turning back to Price. "Dr Watson did say you'd been unwell. But never mind, he'll soon have you fit and well. Will you be returning for dinner, Mr Black?"

"I hadn't thought..." Grayson said. He was unwilling to leave but he knew he must. He glanced over at Price who seemed to silently plead with his eyes...although that could be wishful thinking on his part.

"Of course he will," Sherlock said decisively.

Grayson let out a breath he had not realised he was holding as he saw Price smile at Sherlock's words.

"I would be delighted," he supplied, grinning at his friends.

"Then that's settled," Sherlock said.

"I'll be up with breakfast and some more tea," Mrs Hudson said as she bustled towards the door. "I think the young man would do well with one of my milk junkets. I'll bake some scones as well for elevenses."

"Mrs Hudson likes nothing more than feeding us up," John said with an affectionate smile. "She will enjoy working her way through her extensive repertoire to fatten you, Price."

The blond gave a shy smile and pinkened. It had been a long time since he had been treated so kindly. He took a bigger sip of the tea, enjoying its slight bitterness. He then watched wide-eyed as Mrs Hudson began to bring breakfast. While he was settled with porridge, creamed and sugared, accompanied by tea and toast to accompany a soft-boiled egg, the table was quickly filled with other delicacies. He watched as bacon, eggs, sausages, yet more toast, black pudding, butter and preserves were laid out.

"Eat up, gentlemen," Mrs Hudson called from the doorway. "I can make more if you need it."

"She means it, too," Sherlock said as he began to fill his plate. "We're lucky to have her."

"I will have to leave for work after this," Grayson said as he lavishly buttered his toast. "Perhaps I can call back later?"

"Of course," John said. "You're always welcome and I'm sure Price would be glad of a different face after being stuck with Sherlock or myself all day."

"Thank you," Grayson said. He glanced at Price to see the young man looking at him.

As their eyes met, Price blushed and resumed his attention on the porridge before him. As much as he appreciated the care shown to him by Dr Watson and Mr Holmes, he found himself wishing that Grayson could stay.

All too soon for him, breakfast was over. He found himself unable to stifle a yawn.

"Why don't you return to bed and sleep a while," John said indulgently.

"Please, can I stay here, with you and Mr Holmes?" Price asked. He was tired, but he did not want to be alone in the bedroom.

"Of course," John smiled. "I'll make up the couch for you."

"I'll see you later, Price," Grayson said softly as he bade farewell to the younger man.

"Your wife will be missing you," Price said, then blushed hotly, mortified at his words. What was he thinking? A finger under his chin forced his eyes to meet those of the older man and all they held were affection and amusement.

"I have no wife, no fiancée and no one special in my life. At least, I hadn't," Grayson said, his voice quiet. "You can trust me, Price. I'll do all that I can to help you resume your life."

"Thank you." The words were mouthed, Price unable to make a sound as tears misted his eyes and emotion constricted his throat. He found himself turned and tenderly escorted to the chaise lounge under a large window which was now adorned with pillows and blankets. He let himself be guided to lie down and the covers were tucked warmly around him.

"John and Sherlock will take good care of you," Grayson said. "Rest well, Price.

Price nodded, closing his eyes. He was certain that the conflicting thoughts and emotions would prohibit sleep, but he was wrong.

****

When Price awoke, he noticed that Dr Watson was sitting reading a newspaper and that Mr Holmes was missing. He also noticed several large packages piled up at the side of his make-shift bed.

"How are you feeling, Price?" John asked. He knew it was important to keep emphasising the younger man's name.

"Very well, Dr Watson," Price said. He did indeed feel much better. His various aches had almost disappeared.

"Good. Then perhaps you would like to dress and sit with me for a while," John smiled.

"I have no clothes..." Price began and then stared as Dr Watson indicated the packages.

"Mr Holmes has a very accurate eye. I have no doubts that most, if not all, he has purchased will fit. Go try them on. We can exchange anything too big or small."

"But I have no money to repay you," Price said in a tiny voice.

"Your health and well-being are payment enough. It is the purpose of all Mr Holmes and I do, protecting the innocent."

"Thank you, Dr Watson," Price said, his voice husky with emotion.

Picking up the packages, Price went into the bedroom to change. The clothing was plain, but good quality and, as Dr Watson had predicted, fitted perfectly. It was a relief not to wear expensive silk or clothes that were either loose or tight-fitting dependent on the Count's preference. Looking in the mirror of the dresser he saw himself as he had been some six months earlier. He refused to give in to the tears. He could not turn back the clock and undo what had happened. All he could do was ensure that it did not destroy his future. Neither Dr Watson nor Mr Holmes had treated him with anything less than respect and consideration.

He was still a little surprised that his feelings for Grayson seemed to be more than just gratitude or burgeoning friendship. The older man made him feel safe and secure. When Grayson looked at him, Price felt warm, safe, even cared for. It was all so different than with the Count where all he had ever felt was cold, imperilled and frightened. Taking a fortifying breath, he returned to the living room and basked in Dr Watson's radiant smile.

"Perfect," John enthused. "Mr Holmes will be immensely pleased."

"Please, Dr Watson," Price began as he sat close to the older man. "I know your and Mr Holmes' names well, but you look so different in real life. Why is that?"

"Mr Holmes has many dealings with the more...unsavoury members of society," John said, his eyes flitting briefly to the door as if looking for the older man to enter. "As a consequence I would not reveal his true likeness in my chronicles for fear of endangering him."

Listening and watching intently, Price had a sudden insight. The two older men were more than friends. He blinked at the revelation. It occurred to him that if he had seen it, then Grayson, as a long-standing friend, must also be aware. Aware and yet remaining a good friend. A small flicker of hope took root in Price's heart.

****

The four new friends enjoyed an excellent dinner. The remainder of lunch's soup was served as an entree, chicken and dumplings were the main meal and a milk junket for pudding. Even as Mrs Hudson was clearing away the dinner dishes, she was already murmuring about sandwiches and cake for supper.

Considering he had done little except eat and sleep, Price was surprised at how tired he was. As Grayson, Mr Holmes and Dr Watson settled, he found himself yawning and unable to hide it.

"Perhaps you should retire," John said as he noticed the second yawn from their young guest.

"Please may I stay here," Price asked anxiously. "I don't want to be alone," he added softly.

"Then take off your shoes and jacket and you can stretch out on the chaise lounge," John offered. "I'm sure Grayson will be here for a while."

"I'd like that," Grayson confirmed as he accepted a brandy from Sherlock. He had hoped to talk to the young man, but that could wait. The look in Sherlock's eyes suggested the older man had something on his mind.

As Price settled he tried to focus on the older men's voices but they were too soft and soon the gentle drone lulled him to sleep.

The conversation remained light until Sherlock was sure that Price was sleeping. He nodded at their guest.

"I have some news," he murmured, his voice dropping in volume as he spoke. "It seems our young guest's moment of escape was well planned or well fated, more likely the latter. It happened when his carriage was opposite a narrow alleyway. He emerged into a busy street, across a road and then into your path, Grayson. It threw more than one carriage into uproar and attracted rather a large crowd. His pursuer was unable to get close enough to see who had taken Price."

"How do you know all this?" asked Grayson, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"I've been sniffing around and employed a few of the Irregulars to ferret about. There is a modest reward for information as to where Price may be found. It seems our Count is both reluctant, and arrogant enough, not to want to lose his prize so easily."

"Then Price is still in danger?" asked Grayson.

"I have made it known the boy has my protection. What I need now is to move him from here," Sherlock said.

"He can come with me," Grayson said immediately. "Robert can help me train him in pharmacy. He can remain hidden in the back, ordering and checking supplies and refilling the jars."