Sherlock/The Hobbit: Sherlock the Finder 2/?

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Sherlock The Finder Author Karadin PART TWO
Fandom: SHERLOCK(BBC)/The Hobbit/Tolkien other works
Main Characters: Sherlock (an Elf of Mirkwood) Mycroft (his brother) Bilbo(John)Baggins, Frodo Baggins. (features more characters from Sherlock BBC)
Rating: Gen
Genre: adventure, mystery, humour
Warnings: some descriptions of violence, dwarf abuse, large spiders
Sherlock Holmes created by Arthur Conan Doyle
Sherlock (BBC 2010) created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss
The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien
This is a work of fiction, a parody; no remuneration is taken by the author.
Illustrations copyright Karadin 2011 all rights reserved.

Synopsis: Bilbo Baggins reveals the true reason why he found the race of Elves so compelling, due to his meeting with one Elf in particular.
*spoilers for The Hobbit*


***

I'll admit I was nervous when I took off the ring to reveal myself to the Elf named Sherlock, recalling that the buttons of my weskit had been torn off in my escape from the Goblin caves and that my recent battle with the Giant Spiders left my jacket in tatters; every bit of clothing I wore that was not torn was filthy.

Suffice it to say, I was not an inspiring sight.

Yet Sherlock's eyes grew wide and his lips went round in a perfect 'O'. In fact 'Oh' was the sound that came out of his mouth, just before he said, in a low, almost reverent tone,

"What are you!"

(And the fact he sounded so certain prevents me from adding the question mark.) The Elf reached out his long arms as if to grasp me and I took a step backward.

"Let's have no Hobbit-handling just yet!"

"What is a Hobbit?" Sherlock asked, allowing his arms to drop to his sides and straightening his back.

I found myself having to crick my neck to look up at him, the resulting irritation distracting me from my nervousness.

"I am a Hobbit. Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, at your service."

I gave a bow for the sake of good manners. The tall Elf merely waved this aside with a gesture of his pale long fingers.

"Yes, yes, but are you a type of Man? The result of cross-breeding? But with what? I need to study you."

"I don't know half of what you are saying," said I, "but none of it sounds like a compliment." I stepped back once more. "What are you doing with that?"

While I had been speaking Sherlock pulled a reel of tape from a pocket and held this out towards me.

"I'm just going to take a few measurements."

"Don't you think we might go somewhere less public for this?" I hissed; afraid Sally or Lestrade might walk in any moment, though I did realize my only hope to remain hidden rested with my ability to engage Sherlock's scholarly interest.

The Finder snapped the end of his measuring tape so it returned to the round case clasped in his hand.

"Good point. Put on your magic ring and follow me to my chambers. You know where my rooms are, but I'll take us by the most direct route."

"Wait!" I gasped, moving to catch the edge of his outer robe. "What do you mean, magic ring? How could you possibly know I'd been near your rooms?"

Sherlock bestowed a bright smile upon me, lighting his grey eyes and softening the sharp planes of his face.

"As soon as you appeared you were moving your hands. Upon your right hand there is the indentation where a ring has been, your skin is pink, so you removed it recently. It is commonly known by those who have made a study of Objects of Power, that a method of becoming invisible is the use of an enchanted ring or a cloak. So far, so obvious."

"Astounding!" I said. "How did you deduce I had been outside your room?"

"At times when I was playing my fiddle I thought I could hear someone humming along, if not quite in tune, an Elf's ears are quite sensitive and mine more than most. There were also slight damp stains upon the wall outside my door indicating where your head touched it."

"Remarkable, quite remarkable!" I said.

Sherlock lifted his arm with a wry smile, so I would notice how I still clung to him and I snatched back my hand, feeling my face burn with embarrassment.

Yet the Elf was nonplussed. "Follow me!"

I had to jog to keep up with Sherlock's long strides, his outer robe sweeping behind him like the wings of a Great Eagle, down the narrow passage through a larger hallway then down another tunnel and every Elf we encountered was quick to scramble out of the Finder's path.



***

As exhilarating as I had found the brisk walk to be - after creeping about the Great Hall for over a week - as I reached the Finder's chambers my limbs were trembling with exhaustion. Sherlock opened the many locks to his heavy iron-bound front door, pushing it open just enough for me to wriggle inside.

"Why so many locks?" I asked.

"In my profession of Finding I've made a few enemies," Sherlock replied as he secured his door.

"Oh, dear," I sighed. I couldn't find myself as bothered at the thought of Elves being enemies as the Goblins, Wargs, Trolls and Giant Spiders I had encountered, which shows my lack of foresight.

As soon as I looked about me I felt a great weight of anxiety lift from my shoulders; for the room I stood in was as cozy as a Hobbit Hole, with a cheery fireplace and furniture with soft cushions that were threadbare yet clean and comfortable.

The walls were lined with shelves which were piled with books and scrolls - the detritus of Sherlock's Work - letters, clippings and papers where strewn over every desk and table or pinned to the mantelpiece by a wicked-looking dagger of Goblin-make.

Beyond the sitting room was an antechamber behind sliding doors with a large table filled with glass flasks and strange instruments which Sherlock informed me was his elaboratory or work-room. I was admonished Not To Touch Anything so I kept my hands behind my back. Down a hallway was the pantry and larder, a water closet (the Great Hall had a marvelous plumbing system) a storage room and a bed chamber.

"After a careful anatomical study I will ask you about the land where your folk live and their particulars," Sherlock said. "Hobbits, I've never heard of such a name. The Elves had the first naming of things, but Periannath came along so much later and we were rather busy at the time. The legend rose first among Men of Halflings or as the Horse-Riders called them Holbytla."

Sherlock paced as he spoke his thoughts aloud, he neither looked to me nor asked me any questions, so I decided this must be a way for him to order his powerful brain.

The sound of his voice, low and melodic, began to lull me and the chair beside the fire looked oh-so-inviting after nights spent on stone floors.

The Elf took the pack from my hand and my tattered jacket to place them on the top of his work bench and said, "Take off your clothes."

I was that weary my only response was to yawn deeply.

"Come along," gesturing with his long pale hands in impatience, "there will be food and a bath for your trouble."

"That sounds lovely, thank you."

I began to undress, the Elf taking each item as I handed it over, muttering over various colours of soil and mould found in Mirkwood. As he walked back to his elaboratory I took advantage of the moment to crawl into his large cushy chair.

"Oh no, you don't!" Sherlock cried when he discovered I had curled up. He tugged at my arm. "You can't fall sleep now!"

"Can't be helped," I murmured, "... so tired."

"I could make a preliminary examination while you are asleep, I suppose."

"Do as you like," I flapped my hand in Sherlock's general direction and was out like a pinched candlewick.



***

This is how I came to find myself - once I woke and stretched my limbs - completely naked beneath a soft blanket. While I had slept Sherlock had hung my shirt, weskit, jacket, breeches and smallclothes (I blushed at the state of them) along a line, and I am sorry to say they were not drying from a much-needed wash, there were small pieces of paper covered in close Elvish writing attached to them with straight silver pins.

The contents of all of my pockets and my knapsack were arranged neatly on the worktable on pieces of paper which were numbered; among these items lay my short sword still in its sheath.

The Finder had exchanged his austere, tailored black garments for a loose shirt and trousers of soft fabric in dove grey and a long unbelted dressing gown of blue and he had rolled up his sleeves for working. His bare feet were long and pale and well-shaped and I considered it a shame he had no hair to cover them.

"Hello, what is the time?" I asked.

"It is quite early in the morning, if there were a window you'd find it's still dark outside. You slept through the afternoon and evening," Sherlock replied without turning around.

I was relieved to find that the magic ring had been placed on the arm of the chair within easy reach.

I left it where it lay and hopped down, wrapping the blanket around me to forestall a chill and walked over to the table.

"Whatever you are doing with my personal effects seems quite methodical."

"It is necessary to proceed with any inquiry in a logical manner. I must verify the facts," Sherlock replied.

He lifted the glass lens which he wore on a chain to my face, so that I could look through it. I could see the weave of my jacket magnified and what had appeared to be a small tear in the wool looked like a jagged chasm.

"See how the threads here are warped and torn, not cleanly cut; this rip was made by the fang of a Great Spider. Not to mention there is a spot of dried venom."

"I can tell you how I met the Great Spiders," I said.

"I cannot rely on the accuracy of your account," when I opened my mouth to protest, he cut me off with a wave of his hand.

"Not you in particular, anyone will choose words - whether they are aware of it or not - to make themselves seem heroic or sympathetic in a given situation, but the materials themselves," Sherlock gestured to my poor ragged clothes and meager supplies, "... cannot lie."

"Oh," I said, aware my eyes had become very round. "Is this careful collection of proofs how you go about Finding Things?"

"If were merely a matter of gathering evidence and the statements of witnesses, Lestrade would have discovered you on his own. No, there are inexplicable and strange chains of events in Middle Earth, undiscovered Powers and cunning minds to contrive the most ingenious, pernicious, evil schemes you could imagine."

Sherlock's eyes blazed for a moment with a barely contained excitement before he allowed the magnifying glass he held in his fingers to drop on its chain and fall back against his breast.

"It takes a person of considerable intellect to solve these cases," he concluded.

I clapped my hands in delight. "Marvelous! How many Finders are there?"

Sherlock's chin lifted with obvious pride. "I'm the only one. There are Pretenders of course, but no one has ever been able to match my skill at deduction. Princes and Kings as well as Authorities of Various Kinds, seek my assistance."

"You mentioned cases," I ventured, "what did you mean by that?"

The Finder made one of his elegant sweeping gestures to his shelves stuffed to bursting.

"That is my own term for each puzzle I solve. I record the details and place the papers in leather slipcovers, so I refer to them as my cases."

"Ah," I replied, but was interrupted from further questions when my belly rumbled, loudly.

"Is there any breakfast? I would be happy to make you something. I'm a very good cook. Seed cakes are my specialty."

I was surprised at my own earnestness and the desire to be useful to this strange Elf, perhaps I had been too long away from a companion of any sort. At any rate, Sherlock seemed to be equally astonished, for he stopped his investigation to stare at me.

"It can't be less than four hours since you last had something to eat," Sherlock said, lifting the collar of my shirt where it hung from the rope so I would notice a spot of mustard.

I felt my cheeks glow with embarrassment.

"Hobbits will have six meals a day when they can get them."

Sherlock's expression became thoughtful. "Ah, I was calculating the quantity of the disappearing food by a Man's appetite - there's always something." The Elf turned back to his work table. "You may check the larder. Don't bother about me, I never take meals while I'm on a case; digestion slows down brainwork."

I am certain my features showed my dismay at this idea, but it did explain why Sherlock was so slender, even for an Elf.

Gathering my blanket around me I went down the hall to find the larder, setting out the dried meat, cheese, bread and apples I found on a tray; avoiding the various items in the cupboards that I could not identify.

Across the hall there was a sink with a pump and a small stove, its sides splashed with various liquids that had baked on. The copper kettle was clean enough, so I filled it with water and set it on the hob, poking at the coals in the grate to refresh the fire. I located tea leaves, and put them steep in the newly boiled water, deeply inhaling the green fragrance, which left me feeling refreshed.

When the tea was ready I padded out to the elaboratory to set a cup down beside Sherlock's elbow. He picked this up without a word of thanks, only making a soft considering hum. I went back to the chair to curl up and enjoy my meal.



TBC