#the glass scientists enoch brokenshire

[bansheeoftheforest]

Sappy [A Very Fluffy Jekshire Fic]

SO uhm. This is the first thing I've written since October, merely because I've Not Felt The Motivation but today my lovely friend Axol blessed the discord server with a Jekshire fic that singlehandedly got me out of writer's block. Congratulations! Now you guys have to deal with me being sappy <3

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Wordcount: 2567

Summary: Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire was never a sentimental man, but... Perhaps there were moments where he could allow himself to be.

Relationships: Dr. Henry Jekyll/Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire, Jekshire.

CW: None apply.

Support this fic on AO3!

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Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire couldn’t necessarily say that he was experienced when it came to love.

Perhaps a few ladies had caught his eye once or twice in his youth. Perhaps he, too, had shared and enjoyed the stories of his colleagues and classmates of women at bars that spared them more than a few glances. Perhaps he had... Occasionally, enjoyed the view of the delicately and tastefully nude men on paintings that dotted London-- in the houses of the wealthy that he frequently examined and the historic monuments where the human body was sculpted to perfection, perhaps he would even go as far as to say that a few fellows had managed to get him to look twice when he passed them on the street, but he had never indulged. The thought never really crossed his mind, either. When he was out drinking with his friends, off-duty and merry, he kept his gaze at the cards on the table and his focus on his colleagues, he didn’t let his eyes wander to the many ladies and occasional prostitutes that would look for an eager lad to put their attention on. If they tried to go his way he’d merely shake his head or ignore them, directing them to someone else, someone more willing. Sometimes he longed to feel someone beside him, sometimes he longed for the company, but he never indulged. God, no. He never did, he didn’t want to.

“My heart lays within my work,” he’d often joke during the few times someone would question his solitary decision, wanting to avoid an explanation, wanting to give them a somewhat satisfying answer, “my love is within the law.”

Perhaps he wasn’t necessarily lying, but... Sometimes he did yearn. Sometimes, not often. 

Well, he had yearned for someone, that someone would come into his life. Now he just longed for said person. 

  Perhaps it was the charming smiles, perhaps it was the sparkles that seemed to surround him, perhaps... Perhaps it was the frequent meetings where they would put their attention directly on the Sergeant, and almost ignore the people around them. A siren, perhaps. Or maybe an incubus. Perhaps it was even witchcraft. Whatever it was... Whenever the gentle, genial doctor was in the room... Brokenshire’s knees felt weak, his skin would burn up, his body would sweat, and yet it always earned a gentle conversation of concern and an ungloved hand of soft skin upon the Sergeant’s forehead.

  Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire had fallen in love with Doctor Henry Jekyll without even noticing, so fast he couldn’t stop it, a fall into a bottomless abyss that didn’t give mercy. 

  And yet... The doctor had fallen in love with him, too. 

  Enoch couldn’t say he knew how it all started. At some point they both just knew-- or perhaps Henry knew, and had deemed Enoch worthy. Enoch couldn’t even attempt to understand it, he couldn’t even attempt to understand how he, of all people, was enough for the doctor. There were a million men and a million women that would gladly fall to Henry’s feet, all of them considerably better than Enoch, and yet... Henry had chosen him. They-- they became friends. They met during the dreadfully boring and incredibly fancy banquets that Enoch soon was forced to attend; Henry was in the spotlight of every outing he attended, and yet he had always seemed to light up once he spotted the ginger hair and the soft frown. They would stand by the side and converse late into the night. At some point, the doctor had begun to invite Enoch to his dinner parties. At some point, he invited him alone to his home. Every day, the sergeant fell harder, and harder, and harder. Every day, the doctor toyed with his heart. 

  One night, Dr. Jekyll had invited him over, alone. It had been late, the gaslamps already lit, the small fires reflecting upon the shadow-cast stone paths and murals. He hadn’t known what to expect, he had been tense the entire evening... They spent it drinking fine wines in Henry’s personal study, sitting on a couch slightly too small to fit both of them, the alcohol took over their bodies like demonic possession. Warm light from a roaring fireplace had illuminated the doctor’s gentle frame, his fragile body, and his exquisite clothing. They were more than just tipsy, the laugh that the doctor had let out at a small joke that Enoch had managed to press out was one of the most beautiful things he had ever heard-- more beautiful than any piece of art any man had been able to capture, something only described as lovingly indescribable. Something only shown in dreams, something that captured you and changed you. They had locked eyes, the doctor had quieted, and they had both realized the situation they were in.

  They could sit there, next to each other, and enjoy each other’s company; they could bask themselves in the comfort of safety, without the worry of risks or misreadings. They could continue to drink, they could continue to spend time together, and then when it was time for Brokenshire to leave, he would do so without problems. They wouldn’t speak of what they were feeling or the thoughts that swirled in their heads that evening, they’d forget about it. Yet... They could also admit to themselves and each other what they really, truly yearned for. Brokenshire could admit that his heart had been captured by a man he couldn’t have-- not only were they both men, but Dr. Jekyll... Was not like him. Dr. Jekyll was well-loved and well-admired, Brokenshire... Not so much. Everything was so complicated, Enoch couldn’t say that he’d ever felt... Shame for his liking for other men, but... It wasn’t like the doctor would have him, or could have him. 

  They were staring at each other as if caught in time. They didn’t realize for how long they sat there, inching closer for every moment that passed. Enoch was too caught up in his own thoughts and worries, worries he’d rather not think of. Henry... Seemed to have a pretty empty head, he didn’t seem to worry, he seemed to relax, or perhaps Enoch would have noticed the drunk yearning in those red eyes if he wasn’t so distracted. 

  They could feel their breaths hit each other’s faces, they were so close that their noses almost brushed together. Enoch did not know how they ended up like this, and yet he had hesitated. 

  Henry had not. 

  With a sweep lean forward, the doctor had closed the already small space between them. His soft hand-- cold but slowly heated by the warmth of the fire-- had been placed on the ruffled patch of Enoch’s beard, their lips met, both of them had let out a sound of surprise and yet Henry was so clearly indulging. With the little that the sergeant could see in his drunken state, right before he, too, allowed himself to indulge... The doctor had the same grin preserved for the rich desserts that he so often seemed to enjoy during the many dinners of aristocrats he attended, filled with flavor and longing and greed, wanting for more.

  They were both drunk. Deep down, Enoch had wanted to pull back, pull back and go back to his cocoon of familiarity and safety and comfort, but he couldn’t. Once both of Henry’s hands were on his face, the gentle tugging became undeniable. He pulled the sergeant in, soon the delicate doctor was sprawled under the heavier build of the older man. Delicate and gorgeous, on display for no one but Enoch to see. Even then, sooner or later, they both had to pull away. They chased each other, they both pulled back, allowing them a few moments to breathe. The smell of wine on their breaths was evident. Soft, gentle gasps that echoed in the room, echoed into Enoch’s ears and carved his heart. A warm, comforting smile soon appeared upon the doctor’s lips... His eyes were heavily lidded, drunk and tired but happy .

  “I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” Henry confessed, tilting his head back as he examined the man on top of him, showing off his elegant neck tinted with pink from a blush. The confession felt sinful, something reserved for the early mornings of church attendance, yet Henry said it so freely. His thumb brushed over Enoch’s thick lips, hidden under his mustache, gently parting them and exploring. “I’ve always wondered how your lips felt like... And now I know.”

  And now he knew.

  And Enoch knew that he’d never be able to escape. He was fallen, he had fallen right by Henry’s feet, and in this very moment... Enoch felt invincible, yet so very vulnerable.

  He wouldn’t have been able to speak even if he wanted to. His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth, he couldn’t even bring himself to do any sound at all. But Henry took the silence as an invitation, soon he brought the older man down again, lips meeting once more... And this time, Enoch dared. Soon the older man-- tougher and rougher and yet so inexperienced-- took the lead, and Henry eagerly followed. Their bodies met, their bodies didn’t separate the entire night. The morning after had been nothing but a haze, to wake up entangled with a half-dressed body and another one pressed up against his own, hungover from the many glasses of wine too many. They had been too disorientated and enchanted to think about what they had done, think about the things they had barely remembered. A night so unforgettable slipped their minds, they woke up with dazed expressions and slurred greetings. Something so unusual and sinful felt so... Normal, so welcome. Enoch knew that he would never get used to waking up alone after that night, that morning... And he didn’t. He never got used to it, he didn’t need to. But he did get used to waking up with the delicate, soft body of his newfound lover in his arms, sprawling out like a cat in a sunray but the warmth being that of Enoch himself. Soft fingertips and gentle bites would explore his body, innocently, to lull him out of his sleep in the mornings, and Enoch would always prefer the touch of his love to anything to wake up to. 

  Dr. Jekyll was a tease, his favorite pastime would always be to get his lover’s face to become as red as his hair, nothing seemed to amuse him more than the days they crossed paths during their workdays and they could share a moment alone, bodies pressed against each other with a wall for support. His favorite teas were a mix of peppermint and berries, his favorite time of day was dusk, just after they had gone to bed and just before they had fallen asleep. His favorite place, as the doctor had stated himself, was in Enoch’s arms. Words could not describe how loved Enoch felt, simply by being in the same room as the other man. He wondered if Henry felt the same. If Henry felt his own heart beating faster at the sight of the sergeant, if Henry longed and yearned for the quiet evenings when they were both off of work and could bask in each other’s presence, no one existing but them. He wondered if thought of him when they had to work nights and couldn’t spend it wrapped in each other’s arms until the late morning. He wondered how Henry felt, he wondered if he knew how much he loved him, he wondered if Henry loved him as much as Enoch loved him. It would not matter, of course, you could not measure love. So precise and longing, so uncertain and carefree, so... So...

  “Enoch..?”

  Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire had disappeared in his thoughts again. Perhaps it had been the wine they had shared after dinner, perhaps it was the absent mind after a long shift at the station. Either way, he soon heard the soft, tired voice of his lover speak up. They were seated in front of the fireplace in Enoch’s apartment, Enoch himself sat in his favorite armchair, legs rested upon a footstool while his lover’s meek body laid atop of his, in his lap. His head was placed against Enoch’s shoulder, his ruffled hair sprawled and tangled together with the sergeant’s newly trimmed beard. Henry’s fingers had traveled along and explored Enoch’s exposed neck, having unbuttoned one or two buttons of his collar for more access. The exhausted man in his lap had stopped his movement, Enoch nibbled on the end of his pipe as his gaze turned towards his beloved.

  “Yes, love?”

  The other man didn’t have to say anything, it was not needed. The way his body became limp in Enoch’s embrace was enough for the older man to know that Henry was tired and that it was time for bed. From his seat, Enoch managed to dump the rest-- which was not a lot, mind you-- of his tobacco in the fireplace, placing his pipe on the coffee table to be cleaned later. It was not until then that his arms wrapped around the body of his lover, one around his back and the other under his knees, as he moved them both. Zosi and Ralphie-- their respective pups-- were still fast asleep by their shared bed in the living room, neither seemingly getting disturbed by their masters’ movement. Soft footsteps continued through the apartment, into the bedroom.

  Henry was already fast asleep by the time that Enoch managed to move the neatly made blanket and place him down on their bed. Fortunately, he didn’t need to wake Henry up to change him into a pair of nightclothes, as they both already had changed for the night long before the exhaustion had snuck upon them. He watched his lover for just a moment, watching the way he cuddled into the sheets, right before he moved towards the lone window in the room, closing the curtains to allow them a bit of a lazy morning the next day, both having taken tomorrow off to spend time with each other. His gaze traveled back to his beloved doctor soon enough, a soft and loving sigh escaped his lips. He was already curled up and snoozing, his back turned against Enoch, and yet it did not take long for the sergeant to climb into bed and wrap his arms around his lover, cuddling him from behind, pulling the blanket up over the two of them. Another sigh escaped him, just as yearning as the one before, as he nuzzled his nose and his lips against the back of Henry’s neck.

  To be loved by a man like Dr. Henry Jekyll was a rare privilege, one that Enoch was thankful for and prayed to have every day. It was a blessing, it really was a blessing to be the one that would wake up to Henry’s morning smiles, the one to watch him dress, the one to share a good breakfast with him, the one to be able to love him. 

  Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire was not a sentimental man, but as he began to doze off to his lover’s soft breaths... He had to admit that he could get quite sappy, sometimes, but only for his Henry.

——————————————— Between you and me... Please do feel free to send me some Jekshire asks, I’ve been brainrotting for them for weeks now <3 ———————————————

#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs jekyll #tgs brokenshire #tgs henry jekyll #tgs enoch brokenshire #the glass scientists jekyll #the glass scientists henry jekyll #the glass scientists enoch brokenshire #tgs jekshire #the glass scientists jekshire #tgs fanfic #tgs oneshot #the glass scientists oneshot #the glass scientists fanfic #banshees writing #Jekshire #henry jekyll x enoch brokenshire

[edwarddhyde]

MY PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED

#the glass scientists #arythusa #tgs #tgs memes #henry jekyll #edward hyde #robert lanyon #jasper kaylock #rachel pidgley #enoch brokenshire #the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #jekyll and hyde #THANK FUCKING GOD #THEY’RE FREE BUT NOW I’M SCARED BECAUSE HYDE IS SURPRISINGLY CALM ABOUT THIS DEVELOPMENT #AND THEY’RE GONNA HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THIS LIKE SOON SO 👀 #THOUGH I THINK LANYON’S GONNA BE REAL HAPPY WITH HENRY FOR DOING THIS

[bansheeoftheforest]

@an-army-of-nightmares​

(Chapter 5, page 15)

I like how we all collectively forgot that Brokenshire’s first name is Enoch when it was literally right there in the comic????

And I only found out because I found his (mostly empty) page on the TGS fandom Wiki.

#Whelp. So Brokenshire is definitely more scottish than we thought #i definitely wont do anything that at all no sir why would i #TGS #the glass scientists #tgs enoch brokenshire #the glass scientists enoch brokenshire

[bansheeoftheforest]

Hyde, rummaging through his pockets: Shit, I forgot my keys, can I borrow yours?

Brokenshire, standing outside his cell, deadpan: No.

#Why did no one tell me that Brokenshires first name is ENOCH what thE #tgs #the glass scientists #tgs edward hyde #the glass scientists edward hyde #tgs enoch brokenshire #the glass scientists enoch brokenshire #daily post #daily chat post

[bansheeoftheforest]

A Moment Of Glory

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Chapter 10; A Pedestal Of Lies

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Chapter 11, conveniently posted the day my brain is turned off because of the schoolstart tomorrow! Wahoo! 

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Wordcount: 6481

Chapter summary: Dr. Henry Jekyll is confronted with the lies he had set up, but without Hyde, he is forced to take responsibility for his alibi.

CW [for this chapter]: Vomiting (right in the end, it’s easily skippable but I always get queasy reading about it so I’m warning just in case lol).

[Ao3]

—— Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

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Henry had to admit that he had never planned to come back.

 He had never planned to give up his newfound life as Thomas O’Leary, a man no one knew and no one paid attention to. He had never planned to indirectly quit his job at the park and leave the shaggy, run-down apartment in Lambeth. He had enjoyed that life while it had lasted, but he had never planned to end it. He had never dreamt of coming back to that one place he sought to escape so badly, the people he envied, and his so-called ‘friends’ that had turned against him. He had done drastic, terrible things just to get away, Hyde’s manipulation had grasped and clawed and tore him to shreds because they both had wanted the same thing; an escape, so the thought of going back on his own free will had felt outlandish to him... Keyword being had. 

 In the end, Henry was back at the Society for Arcane Sciences, a bit against his own will, even if he would never admit that.

 Henry was home. He had managed to find his way through the dark alleys and back to the Society, despite his disoriented and concussed state. He had managed to spot the grandiose building, he had managed to slink unspotted through the shadows, he had managed to stumble towards the doors, open them, and then he had passed out in the foyer, finally safe. He had been home, where he was meant to be, he knew he was safe, and he had been right. Sure, it had taken hours for anyone to find him... But he was home and Hyde left him alone now, and that’s all that mattered. 

 The warm summer sun stood brightly in the sky, warming up the normally cold city with its mellow solace, yet Henry Jekyll soon found himself coddled up in massive heaps of blankets, a warm cup of tea held firmly against his cold, shaky palms. All the lost blood together with the concussion had given the doctor a nasty chill on top of his normally cold body temperature, and of course, his dear friends around him had taken it upon themselves to collect almost every blanket in the infirmary to warm him up and keep him from getting an easily preventable fever, now that his immune system was so vulnerable and fragile. They would have preferred hugging him warm themselves, of course, but Henry had neither the emotional energy nor physical tolerance to withstand people touching him right now, especially since his wounds were still so brittle and fresh. He had to reside with letting his body heal under his little fort of blankets while the steaming tea warmed him up from the inside, coddled up in a faux-cocoon, even if he didn’t particularly like warm drinks. It was fine enough, even if it was hard to drink, what with the shake of his hands and how it felt like the sweet liquid grew in his mouth, refusing to go down his throat but instead burning his tongue and making him feel nauseous. He felt fragile, like porcelain, so weak and vulnerable... And he knew he could do nothing about it. 

 He had tuned out the conversations around him a long time ago, or rather, he wanted to believe that he had tuned them out intentionally instead of having completely zoned out and lost his focus the moment that the noises got too loud and the topics too many. It went from Rachel, Jasper, and Robert telling him how much they had missed him, how happy they were that he was back to the three of them asking Maijabi questions about Henry’s health. At some point the conversation had been steered away from him, either intentionally or unintentionally, but he had to admit that he was thankful for it. His voice had been long since gone, raspy and dry beyond recognition, and he did not feel like straining himself even more right now. At least the honey-lemon tea that Maijabi had given him did a good enough job in soothing both his mind and body.

 They were still alone in the infirmary, Helsby having gotten the job to go to the police station and alert Brokenshire of Henry’s reappearance while also asking the other Lodgers to look for Zosi, wherever that little devil might have gone, just for Henry’s sake. They were practically waiting for the sergeant to burst through the door and demand a statement from Henry about everything that happened, and yet the doctor savored every moment that Brokenshire was not here. Nothing personal against him, of course, as Brokenshire was a decent chap... But Henry had a feeling that having a police officer anywhere close to him right now would only freak him out even more, not to mention that he had to figure out... Some kind of lie to make his “story” believable. He would rather die than admit what he had done and yet he felt... Lost without Hyde’s guidance. After all, Hyde had been the one that orchestrated the entire thing. He had done all the planning: from bringing up the idea to fake a kidnapping, to the idea of framing someone, who to frame, how they were going to frame them, how Henry was going to trash his office, what he was going to do to keep himself hidden... Hyde had been in charge the entire time and Henry was embarrassed to admit it, not to mention that he was far too humiliated and vulnerable to admit that he had followed his alter ego blindly, even when he knew what a devil and vulture and absolute bastard he was. Now Henry was left to pick up the pieces, unaware of what next step to take, unsure of himself and the lies he had told. He was trapped, all he could hope for was that someone would dig him out of the hole he had gotten himself trapped in without them realizing that he was the cause of it.

 He took a moment to let his lips leave the teacup, allowing him to take a deep, steady breath as he glanced to the side. His three friends --Robert, Rachel, and Jasper in that order-- sat to his left side with Robert closest to him and Jasper by the end of the bed. They were holding a steady conversation with Maijabi, who sat on Henry’s other side, alone. Maybe they had noticed that Henry was not in the mind to hold a conversation right now, so while he seemed to be in the center of attention, no one forced him to talk or say something. They let him be and he was happy about that. As he continued to glance around him for a moment, it did not take long for him to catch eyes with Robert, who had just taken a moment to gaze at the younger doctor himself, giving Henry a reassuring smile before he scooted his chair closer to the bed. He did not say anything, no, but one of his broad hands came and rested upon Henry’s uninjured knee, seemingly testing to see if it would bring Henry any comfort, if it would ease the thoughts and worries that seemed to swirl in the younger doctor’s head that he was so convinced was there, and while he was right that there were worries and anxiety that occupied Henry’s mind like pesky vultures, he doubted that the older man actually knew why, or what for. A light blush quickly glossed over Henry’s pale cheeks, yet he was quick to return his attention to the tea and glance away. Sure, sure, he could very well play into the small bits of affection that Robert could not restrain, the small touches and glances that he finally allowed himself to give the younger doctor, but... No, it did not feel right. Not for Henry, no, not after what he had tried to do just to get that very same affection. Not after he had “convinced” Robert that he was someone else, just for a chance of his touch and his sweet praises, even if he knew full well that the older man rarely gave such a thing for those he took to bed anyway. Henry looked away, he turned the other cheek, but he did not shake Robert’s hand off of him.

 He had ruined everything. Hyde had made him ruin everything, and for a moment, he wondered if this had been his grand plan all along; to have Henry be eaten alive with guilt after what he had done so that he would be able to take advantage of him, take control of the body and do as he pleased.

 But... Why?

 Henry did let Hyde out when he wanted to be, it wasn’t like he had only done that so that Hyde could nick those trinkets off of Crawford-- hell, both of them knew that if he had only allowed Hyde out specifically for that, but no other time, he would have completely ignored the plan and would have spent a night out on town instead. Whatever grand goal he had... It went completely beyond Henry. Was this merely some kind of twisted joke? An act of revenge for things Henry couldn’t even recall? Did he just want to see the doctor suffer? Did he just feed off of Henry’s negative emotions? No, of course he did not... Sure, he thought it was funny to torment the doctor but in the end, Henry’s emotions were still Hyde’s. Henry’s bad emotions still affected him and they have learned that very well during the last two years. 

 Well, whatever his end goal had been, his plan had worked. Henry now toed between the edge of innocence and prosecution, sanity and insanity. His relationship with Robert would never be the same after what he had tried to do to him, after he saw what his disappearance had done to him and the rest of Henry’s friends. He was not naive enough to think that he could ever have had the kind of relationship he would have wanted with Robert. Robert did not want relationships, he knew that. He preferred hitting molly-houses and pubs in search of something to have on the side, to keep his bed warm, and Henry had been naive and dumb to think that he would ever have been able to get something like that from the older man, whether or not Robert knew it. He had gotten a taste of what he wanted and while it only fueled his addiction, his desire for more, he would never be able to get anything out of it, ever again. Even then, Henry had to admit that he... Did not really think about what his disappearance had done to the rest of his friends, mainly Rachel and Jasper. Even when they sat next to him, even when both of them looked just as... well, bad as Robert... It did not hit him as hard as he would have thought, he did not manage to process it. He could barely process what he had done to Robert, he had honestly not expected anyone else to care for his disappearance despite such a thought being incredibly naive. Of course, his friends would have cared but why... Why could he not realize that? Besides, there was a difference between Robert and the others. He had not tried to take advantage of the rest of his vulnerable friends, only Robert... Maybe that’s why he only really felt guilty for what he had done to him, maybe he felt too numb to feel guilty for everything else.

 Robert, much like Henry, stayed silent. The only ones talking were Maijabi, Jasper, and Rachel. Their topic went beyond Henry, yet it was safe to safe and all four people around him seemed so much more... Relieved, happy, now that the source of their troubles was back in its place. Henry was not going to beat around the bush and theorize that he hadn’t been the direct source for their stress, yet it made him feel incredibly guilty. While he could guarantee that he was the worst-looking out of the lot, none of his friends seemed to be looking any better. Jasper and Rachel were both paler than usual, he could have sworn that Maijabi and Robert would have been too, had it not been for the dark pigment of their skin. Maijabi himself looked gaunt, Rachel and Jasper looked jumpy, and Robert... Just seemed tired, yet it seemed like being around Henry --as narcissistic as it sounded-- brought them all some sort of relief, some sort of solace, some sort of comfort, although he had to admit that he really was not in the state of mind to read into things. Sure, he was a doctor, and sure, it was his job to see how and where people were hurt, but his focus was non-existent and he knew that he couldn’t have made up the concussion he had been diagnosed with. He had been hit in the head quite hard when he and Hyde fought in his apartment yesterday, the lost blood did not help it, so at least he had an excuse to not listen or pay attention to anything around him. He did not have to speak, all he had to do was sip on his tea and nuzzle into the heaps of blankets wrapped around his fragile body, hoping that the warmth would make his worries disappear. He could blame it on his concussion, he could blame it on his mood, he could merely act like he had lost his voice... He did not need to speak, and he was not going to, at least until he was forced to, at least until it got suspicious.

 He finished the tea much quicker than he had anticipated, yet he merely placed the cup away and nuzzled further into his blankets, pulling it over his head, and leaning back against the pillows of the hospital bed. His hands still shook, his body still felt extremely cold despite the many blankets and despite the warm temperature of the room, yet he did not say anything. Robert never moved his hand, instead it only seemed like he scooted closer and closer with his chair, seemingly not being able to keep himself from holding on to his best friend. It was sweet, in a way, and yet it just continued to make Henry feel guilty and queasy. Robert did not know, yet Henry would have to live with the guilt. At least he could distract himself with the conversations that went on and on around him, even if he couldn’t listen in on them. No matter, he did not have to, because soon everyone’s attention was at the door to the infirmary. A soft knock was heard, not asking for permission to enter but merely alerting the people inside, before the door handle turned and the door itself swung open.

 On the other side of the threshold stood Dr. Helsby and none other than the anticipated sergeant Brokenshire himself. Helsby gave a short nod to the people inside, a polite nod to Brokenshire, and then took a step back, allowing the sergeant to enter the room himself before Helsby closed the door and left. The horrible nausea that had already riddled Henry’s body seemed to punch him in the gut and wash over him in waves --much as expected-- at the sight of the officer and he could practically feel how he almost started to sink into the mattress in a desperate attempt to escape, the room starting to spin and sway so very softly for him. Brokenshire did not seem to notice it at all, or maybe he did but did not care for it, as he wasted no time in striding the short steps until he was in front of Henry’s bed. He stopped, seemingly a bit unsure, his eyebrows gently furrowing at the sight of the man he had wished to speak to. His eyes seemed to scan the doctor, although there was not much to see but for the pale face that was not hidden by heaps of blankets, soon his gaze instead fell on the people around the bed. All looked a bit worse-for-wear, yet the sergeant gave a short nod to Lanyon, a silent acknowledgment for the investigation they had shared that now came to a close, thank god, although such a fact remained unknown to Henry. It wasn’t like he had been keeping track of his own investigation, after all.

 Maijabi invited Brokenshire to sit down on the chair next to him, on the more unoccupied side of Henry’s bed, and the sergeant obliged. He sat down quietly, pulling the chair closer, and taking another good look at the man in front of him. He seemed unsure of where to start, and truth to be told, he was. He was not sure if he should greet the doctor, ask him how felt, or immediately jump into the interrogation of what happened to him. The man in front of him looked nothing like the Henry Jekyll he had known; his face was pale, bruised cheeks and bloodshot eyes sunk into his skull while the hair that poked out from under the blanket looked sweaty and damp, clinging to his head like a fever. Most of Henry’s body was hidden under the blankets, only revealing his face, yet he was quick to pull the blanket down to reveal his head fully. Brokenshire took the wild guess to suspect that his head was not the only thing bandaged, especially so when he saw thickly bandaged hands peeking out from under the blankets as well, fingers just as scrawny as he assumed the rest of Jekyll’s body was. With the story that Dr. Helsby had hastily explained the situation with, he would not be surprised. Yet, Brokenshire did not have to question how he was going to start all of this, a bit unsure if the doctor was even fully conscious, because soon Dr. Jekyll did his best to press out a forced, dry smile. It was empty and it clearly brought him pain, his chapped lips seemingly splitting open at the mere attempt, yet he did not let that stop him. The way he seemed to hide his hands and most of his body under the blankets again did not go unnoticed by Brokenshire, though.

 “Good... Afternoon, sergeant.” Jekyll pressed out, having to take a moment to really remember what time it was, yet he did his best to remain polite, “It was long since I saw you.”

 Brokenshire blinked, as if a bit surprised that he got talked to, yet his look of shock quickly melted into a grim frown, a short nod being the only gesture he made. The frown was nothing personal against Jekyll, no, it was the mere mention that it had taken two weeks for the doctor to be found and yet the Scotland Yard had been helplessly lost with the entire case, the thought of Henry never being found at all lingering in everyone’s mind. Still, he did his best to return the smile, if not only to calm the doctor and not bring him more stress.

 “That it was.” The sergeant agreed. It took a moment before he managed to say something back and it had been much too long since he had last seen the doctor, even if he was not going to admit that, yet he had to confess that the most important point right now was not for how long Henry had been gone, but rather that he was here and that he was safe. He could lament about how much more the Scotland Yard could have done for the doctor later, but for now, he took a deep breath and pulled out his notebook from his coat pocket, soon letting his hand dive back in to retrieve his trust pen. While the gesture was nowhere near hasty or aggressive, Henry could almost feel how he began to pale even more, if such a thing was even possible. He was wan and feeble as it was, yet today, right now, at this very moment, he might as well have blended in with the pure snow that often dusted the Highlands during the winter mornings. Brokenshire did not seem to notice, no, but instead, he kept his eyes firmly on the notebook for a second or two, scribbling what seemed to be a headline to the top of the page before he let his gaze move up to Henry again.

 “Dr. Helsby told me that you are currently suffering from a concussion, so I don’t expect you to remember everything, but I will need an official statement from you as soon as possible to go forward with the investigation,” Brokenshire said, silently apologizing for the intrusion. It seemed like he really did not have the heart to disturb the doctor, but he had no choice. “Do you remember anything from the night of the kidnapping?”

 He was terribly blunt, Robert and Rachel shared a glance and a scoff, and yet they both knew that he was just doing his job. He did not have time for pleasantries, it was not his place to inquire how Henry was feeling and about his medical history outside of the investigation, and if they were honest... Everyone in the room wanted to know what had happened to him. They hadn’t even been allowed into Henry’s office, the night that it all had happened had been a mystery to them, despite Robert having been the only one to have seen the study with his own eyes. He did not want to recall it, all the blood and all the glass... Yet he could only imagine what it felt like for Henry, who had actually experienced it all, who must be traumatized by it. Neither Robert nor Rachel said anything, though, but instead smiled reassuringly at Jasper to deflect the silent conversation, as the werewolf had noticed and been utterly confused by the entire thing. Yet all three, as well as Maijabi, could not help but put their sole attention on Henry almost immediately. They all wanted to know, they all wanted to hear what happened to him, yet it only seemed to make him more nervous. He knew he couldn’t just shoo his friends out of the room, those who had taken care of him the whole day, yet he began to grow hot and anxious. He had to shrug off one of the blankets and start to pull at the open collar of his shirt, trying to get rid of the growing temperature of his body, trying to cool himself off and get rid of the fleeting adrenaline that began to grip his body. He tried to play it off, of course, but Brokenshire did not seem convinced. Soon he looked back at the people around Dr. Jekyll’s bed and he barely had to gesture carefully, gently, as inoffensively as possible, to the door for them to get the hint. All four rose silently from their seats, their disappointment clear as they glanced back at Henry for just a moment before they slunk out. They were not going to go far, but this was confidential, and they did not want to make Henry’s nervosity worse. While he was a bit relieved... He could not help but look after them in pure desperation. Soon the door closed again, soon he was alone with the sergeant, soon he had nowhere to hide.

 “I... Well...” 

 Henry struggled to find the words. He was sure that Hyde had come up with some plan for when he would inevitably need to come back home, yet everything was lost in the thick sauce of his mind. He could not really say; “I destroyed my office and broke through the window”, yet any lie that normally would have come naturally for him had long since packed its bags and left his mind together with his put-up self-confidence. It was to eat or be eaten, kill or be killed, a survival of the fittest but Henry was a weak fawn struggling to stand, the wolves were close. His nervosity and his hesitation were not as hidden as he would have wanted it to be, no, yet Brokenshire only continued to look at him with such a sympathetic, understanding look and it almost made Henry feel even worse. The wolves were practically everyone around him; his friends, the Lodgers, the Scotland Yard, and Hyde, and yet most, not all, of them were those who wanted to help him. He was an injured fawn, normally food, yet the wolves seemed to think that he was one of their own, thinking he was worth their help and not something they should or would have consumed. The officer took the moment to take off his hat and cloak as well, placing them both upon the chair where Maijabi had previously sat, yet he was quick to put his attention back at Henry, doing his best to silently encourage him. He did not want to stress him, he could only imagine what he had gone through, and while he didn’t necessarily like to admit it... Dr. Henry Jekyll had a soft spot in everyone’s heart, Brokenshire’s included. He merely thought that the clear anxiety that displayed itself upon Jekyll’s face and his --although quite hidden-- body language merely came from remembering the event, or trying to remember it at all. Concussions were nasty and trauma even more so, he could tell you that first hand, so he did his best to remain patient.

 “I... Uhm... I was doing paperwork at my desk... I was staying up late after-- after I had checked up on Frankenstein, I think; I had things to catch up on and...” He bit his tongue silently, trying to get his mind to actually work for just a second, just a moment so he actually could come up with a coherent alibi, one that would make sense for the ‘evidence’ he had left at the scene. It was hard, yet he pushed through and practically forced the words out of his mouth, “Two-- or three-- at least more than one person broke through my window... I don’t know why but they attacked me... I tried to struggle and fight back, I ended up knocking over the mirror in the process so I tried to defend myself with the glass... I didn’t manage to. They managed to grab me, they choked me out... I think one began to trash the rest of my office... And then... I can’t remember.”

 He honestly felt like he was about to choke on his own spit, or maybe throw up, or maybe have another panic attack what with how his eyes began to sting and his breathing turned heavy, but it was not very hard for him to notice that he was shaking with so much adrenaline that the possibility of another breakdown didn’t seem so far off. He watched, helpless, as Brokenshire eagerly noted down every detail in his notebook before his gaze returned to Henry, so unaware of the effect he had on the doctor, so unaware of how it felt for him to “recall” the event.

 “Do you remember what they looked like?”

 “...No, it’s all blank.”

 Brokenshire, obviously, seemed quite disappointed by that news, yet he merely nodded and wrote it all down. 

 “Did you get hurt while trying to defend yourself?”

 “...I think so. I think I managed to get in some cuts on the others, though.”

 The sergeant almost seemed physically relieved to hear that all that blood... Had not only been Henry’s, thank god for that, yet it seemed like his pen never stopped scribbling on the paper. Every scratch only made Henry more nervous, but he shut his mouth and said nothing. 

 “Do you remember where they took you?”

 “...Not... Not really. I can’t remember much of the last few weeks.”

 More scribbling, more scratching.

 “Do you remember how you got your... Current wounds? The ones that Helsby reported?”

 “...No.”

 Henry felt himself gulping, he felt how his injured hands began to twitch. This entire thing might be fake but the injuries on his body were not. His body was healed with flesh weaver, but the wounds still ached and hurt.

 “Can you recall anything from how you managed to escape, and come back here?”

 “...I... I don’t think so... I... Someone found me... And they helped me... I think they led me back here... I think I passed but then... I can’t remember.”

 Brokenshire looked up, his eyes slightly wide with surprise, yet he nodded and was quick to write everything down before Henry would be able to decipher his surprise. If someone had found Jekyll... Why had they not gotten him to the police station? The hospital? Well... The only reason why they wouldn’t do that was probably because they feared the police. If they feared the police... Either the person who helped him was one of those who had kidnapped him, or they were a criminal either way.

 Edward Hyde was a criminal and on the run. Edward Hyde had connections to Jekyll. Edward Hyde was surely mad that Jekyll hadn’t covered for him after the fire...

 Jekyll might not be able to remember clearly but Brokenshire only got more and more sure that Hyde had something to do with this. Yet, he merely wrote his suspicion down, before he finally looked up at the doctor again.

 “Do you remember anything about those that kidnapped you?”

 “...No. I think... I think I heard the kidnappers... They were talking about, uhm, framing someone..? I can’t... I can’t remember who, though.”

 “Do you remember anything about the person that found you?”

 Henry stopped, his breath hitching and lodging itself within his throat. His mind was sprinting like a track horse fleeing from predators and yet, at the same time, it felt so slow and so mushy. Brokenshire expected an answer, Henry had to give him it, he couldn’t say that he couldn’t remember anything, what if he got suspicious? But what was he supposed to say? Should he just say something random and hope that it would not amount to anything? Should he try to weave the story into an even more complex pattern than it already was, hoping that the sergeant would find no holes in his story? Everything was such a mess, not to mention that Henry... He hated Hyde but he had to get them off of his back somehow. They thought Hyde had done all of this but Henry was Hyde and if they took Hyde...

 Wait...

 “It was Hyde.”

 The words were out of his mouth before he could even process them, his tongue making it feel like he was about to get choked. Brokenshire seemed to freeze and Henry saw how he narrowly managed to catch the notebook that had threatened to escape his hardy palms, the sergeant soon looking back up at Henry.

 “What?”

 “Hyde-- he was the one that saved me.” He continued, already knowing it was too late. He could not turn back now, he continued to let his tongue run havoc instead, his lips moving without him even realizing, “He said he had been searching for me the entire time. He took me back to the Society somehow but I think he left... I think he was scared of the police thinking he had done it, or that the Lodgers would take him to the station... I... I don’t know why he saved me.” 

 Perhaps he was only making things worse, perhaps he was making the story more and more unbelievable. He hated Hyde, for the first time in his life he actually hated Hyde for what he had done to him, yet he knew he was not safe from him. He knew that Hyde might take advantage of him at some point, perhaps he would pull that little trick they had pulled on each other in the sewers, but he could not run the risk of the police thinking that Hyde had been involved in his kidnapping. If they caught him, if Hyde got prosecuted-- executed... Henry would die, too. He had no choice but to let Hyde be the hero of his story.

 Brokenshire watched him for a long, long moment. Henry felt like he was staring straight through his soul. He felt like he was hiding in some tucked-away corner in a dark basement trying to escape a murderer, yet he could hear their echoing footsteps, he could hear their ragged breath and the slow pull of the butcher knife against the brick wall, yet he was stuck. Soon Brokenshire turned back to his notebook, Henry immediately took the chance to move his gaze.

 He had a hard time hiding the way he was cold sweating, his thin hands writhing around and fidgeting with one of the many blankets around him. As he heard the quick scratches of the lead against the paper, he refused to look back up at the sergeant, god knows he was too scared to do such a thing, too terrified by the thought that Brokenshire somehow had seen right through him. It was impossible, of course. Brokenshire was convinced that Henry would not do such a thing, something so... Violent and sinful as faking his own kidnapping, and they had no other story than the one that Henry had personally fabricated --the one that Henry, with a concussion, on the verge of a panic attack, had come up with on the spot-- and no one would ever suspect that they had any reason to not believe him, yet Henry’s paranoia got the best of him. His stomach felt uneasy but he tried to bite everything down. He heard how the sergeant continued to write, continued to note everything down, yet it did not take long until the noise stopped. He heard how the officer sighed softly, adjusted his seat, before clearing his throat. Henry had no choice but to look up and yet, to his surprise, the kind look of sympathy that had previously graced Brokenshire’s face was still there. No frown, no scowl, just... Pity.

 “While I have to admit that I would have liked to continue this... I think that’s enough for now, I have the most important things written down but I’ll make sure to come by later once you have... Well, recovered.” Brokenshire explained, seemingly seeing the expressions that managed to slink their way onto the doctor’s face, wide-eyed and biting his lip. Henry was not feeling well, and Brokenshire saw that. He was no doctor but he knew to stop when he needed to, he did not want to be responsible for any setbacks in Dr. Jekyll’s well-deserved recovery. One of his hands moved up and gave the doctor a friendly pat on the knee, much like both Maijabi and Lanyon had done earlier, yet he did not continue that touch for long. Soon his hand retreated and he stood up, placing the notebook and pen back into his pocket before retrieving his cloak and hat from the chair next to him. He turned away, as if he was going to leave without saying another word, but then he changed his mind and turned back. A short moment of hesitation passed before he finally sighed. “Get well soon, doctor. We’re glad to have you back... The people have missed you.”

 ‘The people’ was a nice way of saying ‘the entirety of London, the Scotland Yard, and the aristocracy with me included’, but the silent nod to how missed Henry had been was understood by both of them. Henry did his best to press out a hesitant, tired smile and Brokenshire did his best to return it, shortly, for just a moment, before he placed his hat back on his head and turned away. He walked over to the door and opened it, yet left it open as he continued down the corridor. It did not take long until Robert, Rachel, and Jasper poked their heads through the open door, quickly slinking in again but this time without either Maijabi or Helsby. They closed the door behind them and moved back to Henry’s bed, taking their previous seats, and yet they didn’t say anything. Henry did not doubt that they could see how ill he was feeling.

 He felt ill. Very ill.

 He had felt nauseous the entire day, only more so once he had started to meet his friends, even more so when Brokenshire had entered the room. He had not eaten in a long time, yet his stomach began to revolt. The paranoia, the anxiety, and all the panic had churned into his stomach and now he couldn’t keep it all down.

 Jasper seemed to notice what was happening with the doctor immediately. He dove for an empty bucket to the side and quickly placed it in Henry’s lap. It took only a moment before Henry threw his head forward and felt what little contents that had been in his gut come back up, piling into the bucket. The little bit of food, the little bits of this-and-that that had previously laid uneasy within his stomach; nothing seemed to stay and he couldn’t have stopped it even if he tried, it all just came up. He could not feel how Jasper patted his back encouragingly, he could not feel how Robert and Rachel immediately jumped to his side, yet unable to do something just yet. He could not hear the words that were shared between his three friends, he could not see how pitiful and sympathetic they became, he could not have even tried to listen to what they tried to say, even if he wanted to, no, yet his focus remained as good as gone as his gut finally was emptied. It would not take long before they would help to get Henry cleaned up and then help him back to bed, finally allowing him to rest. They would double-check so that Henry did not get sick again, Rachel and Robert would give him medicine to help his gut, they would tuck him in, and then they would reluctantly leave, just to bring him some well-deserved peace. They would not be able to ask him the questions that were clear in everyone’s mind, they would not have had the heart to anyways, but for now, they would trust that Brokenshire got to know exactly what he needed, and then they would finally let Henry Jekyll rest, unaware of the pedestal of lies he had placed himself upon, risking to get knocked down.

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Taglist: @artzycreature​ @jekkiefan

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#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs fanfic #tgs fanfiction #the glass scientists fanfic #the glass scientists fanfiction #tgs henry jekyll #the glass scientists henry jekyll #tgs enoch brokenshire #the glass scientists enoch brokenshire #banshees writing #banshees fanfic

[bansheeoftheforest]

A Moment Of Glory

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Chapter 4; Dried Blood On Silver Trinkets

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Ahhhhh.... Five chapters in, we are a third through my dudes! It’s only getting worse from here. I’m not sorry. This is also a very short chapter but don’t worry, the long chapters will be back by Sunday! I also feel ill and almost fell asleep trying to read through this, please tell me if you find any mistakes!

Also! I’m adding a taglist for this fic (if it works, of course, as I’m having the tags at the bottom of the chapter) so if you’d like to be added, please shoot me a message/ask/reply and I’ll add you! The only ones added right now are those that explicitly stated they wanted to be added as I have no idea if the other peeps who liked the post about the taglist liked it for the sake of liking it or... Actually wanted to be added sdfsdf

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Wordcount: 4819

Chapter summary: Constables Jenkins and Wipple are put in charge of investigating Dr. Henry Jekyll’s office. Sergeant Brokenshire wishes that the Lodgers actually knew their leader.

CW [for this chapter]: Mentions of blood.

[Ao3]

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Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

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“Oh my god.”

 They had not even taken a full step into the doctor’s office, and yet Constables Jenkins and Wipple might as well have thought they were stepping right into a butcher’s shop. Their eyes darted, neither able to decide where their gazes should land first. There was just so much going on in the rubble that used to be an office. Broken furniture, scattered and torn paper, not to mention the blood and all the broken glass.

 Both of the police officers had, of course, seen their handful of gruesome scenes in their careers. They had seen everything from street fights or quarrels gone wrong to gruesome mass murders, and yet... Maybe it had something to do with the toxic smell of old blood, sweat, combined with the general scene that sprawled out in masses around their feet that made it all seem so much more... Horrific. The fact that the victim of such a crime was such a beloved man, as well as the possible intentions and reasons for all of this to have been caused in the first place... It got both Constables on edge. Neither dared to step further into the room, yet they let their eyes continue to scan over it, in hopes of finding a good clue on where to start. The coagulated blood that clung to the shattered glass and furniture seemed to indicate that the scene was quite old, maybe a whole day, yet it made them even more nervous knowing that it had only been a few hours since Dr. Robert Lanyon practically broke through the doors of the police station in hysterics, demanding that Sergeant Brokenshire came with him. The man had been so upset that the officers had barely been able to get out what had happened from him, and yet they had rushed towards the Society as soon as he told them.

 “I don’t know what happened,” Lanyon had said, sounding like he had ran all the way from the Society to the station, “Please, you have to come with me. Henry-- his office is trashed and there is blood everywhere and he is gone--”

 Wipple and Jenkins had observed the way Brokenshire had tried to calm the hysteric doctor, but with little to no avail. In the end, the Sergeant had called for assistance as he and the aristocratic doctor had traveled to the Society, and it certainly had been well needed, especially since Brokenshire had to travel back to the Society to interrogate the Lodgers... And here Jenkins and Wipple stood, in the doctor’s office, having had the actual investigating job pushed onto them as the other officers seemed to have bailed from the post and instead resided to keep the crowds outside at bay or escorting the rest of the Lodgers out of the Society. What had once been a room of great pride and dignity was now nothing more than a horrible ordeal of smashed furniture and shattered glass, blood topping the whole thing off. The desk had almost been snapped in half, blocking off the door and having made it increasingly difficult to enter the room, and a chair with the legs smashed off laid upon it. Further into the room laid a full-body mirror; its glass side faced down with its shatter spilled out on the floor surrounding it. The wine-red carpet where, assumingly, the desk had once rested upon was now stained with blood that darkened the already dark fabric, and the window displaying the view of the Diodati Theater had been opened but was still smashed, like whoever had broken in had crashed through the window but opened it when they left-- seemingly with the doctor, yet the remains of the window on the city street were enough to gather the curious crowds of passersby and scared acquaintances. The only things that remained untouched were the dozens of glass cabinets and displays that covered the walls of the room, together with a sole couch and a grandfather clock. Everything else was destroyed and stained to unrecognition.

 It seemed like someone had wanted the doctor gone, and it seemed like Jekyll had put up a fight.

 The noises around them seemed to echo in the high-walled room, as not only could they both hear their own breaths so eerily loud against their own ears, for a moment making them feel like they weren’t alone in here, but they could hear their poor colleagues trying to disband the crowds outside through the broken window, they could hear other officers going back and forth through the Society as they gathered and escorted the Lodgers and whoever else happened to find themselves within these walls at this very moment, hauling them off to interrogation, and they could hear the slow, even, and yet loud ticking of the grandfather clock by the fireplace, only further reminding them that they were losing precious time by stalling. They both gulped, yet it only took a short moment before the two of them glanced at each other. Jenkins soon turned his gaze back to keeping it straight ahead of him, soon he began to move further into the room as Wipple closed the doors behind them, giving them a bit of privacy for their investigation, even though no one was close to the room anyways.

 “Well... One thing is certain;” Jenkins started, scratching the back of his neck as he continued further into the room, looking it over, “something very bad seemed to have happened to Jekyll.”

 “Oh, that’s to underestimate it. I would not be surprised if some pauper would find him dead in a ditch at this very moment.”

 Jenkins took a deep breath, clearing his throat slightly as he tried to decide where to start investigating first, desperately wanting to avoid the inevitable conversation he and his colleague might have started otherwise. Turning back to see Wipple crouching down by the broken furniture next to the door, Jenkins took a short moment to decide that the split and bloodied mirror seemed to be a good call. He moved closer and kneeled down, carefully observing the large glass shards covered in blood just around the frame as he did his best to avoid sitting on or crushing any of it. A thin, gloved hand reached out for a bigger, sharper piece, carefully bringing it up to his face for a better view and inspection of it. The delicately dried blood seemed to fall off at a mere gust of wind hitting it, and yet there were pieces of broken skin clinging to the uneven edge of the cracked end. Jenkins furrowed his thin eyebrows. The remains of skin indicated that someone had either intentionally tried to hurt Jekyll, maybe to actually cause a scene, or Jekyll had tried to defend himself with whatever he had on hand, yet it was hard to say which option it was. No matter the reason, the Constable wasted no time in digging up a plastic bag from his pocket, packing the blooded shards into them so they would be able to investigate the evidence later. They were not as advanced with humane evidence as they would like to imagine, neither Jenkins and Wipple themselves nor the Scotland Yard as a whole, but it was at least something. Either way, Jenkins couldn’t help but wonder... Had no one heard this mess when it was caused? Something so violent-- the doctor surely must have screamed, surely would have tried to kick up a fuss to get someone to come and save him. Had no one heard him? The blood could be anything from twelve hours to a whole day old and anywhere in-between, Dr. Lanyon had only come to check up on the other doctor a few hours ago... But surely some of the other scientists must have heard something. Brokenshire was investigating some of them right this very moment, surely he was asking the same question that they were.

 “Do you reckon that someone must have heard something?” Jenkins asked his colleague then, “after all, almost thirty people in a single building-- someone must have heard or noticed something. I doubt Jekyll would have gone out quietly.”

 “I don’t know... maybe no one was nearby? The walls seem thick, maybe it’s... Uh, soundproof?”

 Jenkins merely gave off a slight shrug before he turned his attention towards the other officer, most of the bloody glass now secured in the plastic bag and rendering the mirror as cleared. Wipple seemed to have moved on from the desk and was now walking around the office, looking over the many glass displays that the doctor had kept. They seemed to be filled with all kinds of alchemical elixirs and spooky serums and god-knows-whats, although Jenkins had to admit that he really had no clue what all those bottles actually were for. Yet, soon his attention stopped back at Wipple, as the other man seemed to come to a halt before a specific glass display. His eyebrows seemed to furrow in pure confusion, observing what seemed to have caught his eye, although he only made his colleague curious.

 “Finding anything interesting?”

 “No...” Wipple hummed, a chubby finger coming up to scratch his beard in thought while his other hand reached up to carefully touch the glass upon the display, rubbing his fingers together right after, “I didn’t know Jekyll seemed to have such a great interest in poison, though.” 

 Jenkins watched him for a moment, soon hurrying to stand up from where he had been kneeling on the floor, yet moving carefully so as to not crush or stomp on anything important on the floor as he moved closer to his colleague. Much like Wipple had said, the entire shelf was filled to its metaphorical brim with exotic poisons and toxins; everything from hemlock to cyanide, strychnine to arsenic, quite the collection you’d expect from a madman. There were even a whole bunch of titles that neither of the Constables had ever heard of before, and yet everything was carefully and neatly labeled and placed within the cabinet. It looked just as respectful as all the other displays that, upon closer inspection, only seemed to contain medicine and alchemical ingredients. Neither Wipple nor Jenkins would probably have noticed, had they visited the office at any other time and any other circumstance.

 “Does anything seem to be out of its place? The offender might have tried to use the poisons against him.”

 “Considering that the display door is locked and there is dust on the glass; most likely not.”

 “What do you reckon Jekyll used those poisons for? Do you think he’s just collecting them or something?” 

 “I mean... What would he use them for otherwise?”

 They glanced at each other, yet it only took a moment before the both of them cowered, looking away from each other in the opposite direction in mere shame of the silent implication and suggestion that they shared. Wipple scratched his neck a bit awkwardly while Jenkins cleared his throat, rocking back and forth on his heels as they both tried to look anywhere else but at each other, trying to focus on anything else but the silent implication that the doctor had done anything but merely collected all of these poisons. It was accusatory and immoral to think such a thing of the good doctor, and yet... They couldn’t deny that it certainly was strange to collect exotic poisons and do nothing with them. Well, at least they could be glad that it didn’t seem like the display had been touched for a while; that gave one less possibility that the doctor might be... Well, mad, or dead already. No, no, they had no time to think about that, they shouldn’t think about that. They had to hope and think that the doctor was still alive and was not beyond saving for them to move any further with the investigation, so Jenkins shook his head softly. After all, they had to continue their work. Every minute was sacred and every second lost could only further put the doctor in danger and-

 ...

 Hold on, what was that?

 A soft glimmer from under a few shredded documents caught Jenkins’ attention quite quickly, yet he felt entranced by the soft shimmer. He moved closer before he even fully realized what he was doing, yet his steps continued with the same caution as before. He crouched down, carefully turning the blood-stained piece of paper over and placing it aside before he looked back at what seemed to have caught his attention. Two pieces of silver jewelry, both stained with dried blood as well. Huh, strange... He couldn’t ever recall the doctor wearing rings, or necklaces for that matter, he didn’t really seem like a jewelry person-- not that he had been looking at Jekyll’s hands or neck, of course! He could just never recall seeing the doctor wearing jewelry at all, ever...

 His gloved hand reached out, picking up both of the silver trinkets and holding them up to the light, further inspecting them. His eyebrows furrowed softly as he twisted and turned the pendant and the ring in his gloved hands, a bit unsure what he should look for before he turned the ring over, showing it’s inside. His eyebrows only furrowed more and yet he was quick to check the backside of the pendant of the necklace as well.

 Engraved in both was the name ‘R. Crawford’. 

 Crawford... Oh god...

 Richard Crawford... That Richard Crawford? One of Jekyll’s biggest competitors?

 He hastily stood up, holding the chain of the necklace with his closed fist as he held it up in the light, showing it towards his colleague, yet he almost blurted out the words before he even realized what he was saying. 

 “Wipple,” he started, “I think we found our first suspect.”

 ---

 “So, Miss Ito, you were Dr. Jekyll's apprentice, correct?”

 “Yes.”

 “And how long have you studied under him?”

 “About four years.”

 “Did you know him before that?”

 “No. I only first met him when I moved to England, and that’s when he offered to help me with my studies.”

 Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire nodded slightly, quickly scribbling down the answers onto his notepad. The soft scratches of the pen’s tip upon the delicate paper were the only sounds that broke the fragile silence in the room, counting out the soft hum coming from the Sergeant, before he looked back up at the woman sitting on the opposite side of his desk. Miss Virginia Ito sat straight-backed against her chair, both hands curled into the black fur of a certain Church Grim currently snoozing upon her lap. Normally, Brokenshire did not allow animals in his office but... He had to admit he had a soft spot for little Zosi, and the boy had refused to let the Lodgers-- specifically Virginia-- leave without him, just as much as he had refused to leave Virginia’s side when it was her turn for the interrogation. Brokenshire only let his gaze be focused upon the pair in front of him for a short second, before he turned back to the notepad, double-checking every question and every answer he had just asked the young woman and every other Lodger before her. At least he could be thankful that Virginia was the last of all of the lot to be interrogated; she was much more well-behaved than the rest of them... Not to mention that one Frankenstein, although he really could not blame them for being upset and fussy. They had been thoroughly confused and scared when the Scotland Yard began to haul them off to the station, no one seemed to have any idea what had happened during the night. The news of the disappearance of their leader and the state of his office had only seemed to scare them even more.

 “I see... How close were the two of you before his disappearance?”

 “He was closer to me than most of the others, I would believe, but he was close to all of us regardless...” Virginia stopped, then cowered, “Well, used to be, at least.”

 Brokenshire let his gaze return up to Ito quite quickly, silently quirking one of his thick eyebrows to allow her to elaborate. She hesitated, and the Sergeant did not miss the way her hands seemed to get buried further in Zosimos’ fur, only showing her clear nervosity even more.

 “...Well, we-- the other Lodgers and I-- have not been seeing very... Eye-to-eye with him on things lately.” 

 “Is there a specific reason for that?”

 “... The arrival of Frankenstein seemed to complicate things for us.” 

 “Go on.”

 “I-” Virginia stopped again, this time moving a hand from the dog on her lap to move the bangs out of her eyes. She began to grow frustrated, so much was obvious between the both of them, yet it was clear that she tried to contain it, “...How much do I have to tell you?”

 “Everything. Everything that could give me a bit of insight into what possibly could have led up to Jekyll’s disappearance.”

 “None of us would ever try to-”

 “That’s not what I said, Miss.” 

 The officer placed his notepad back onto the desk, faced down to prevent Ito from seeing what he had written, before he placed his arms on the table, intertwining his hands with each other as he looked at the young woman, his expression making his intent clear. Virginia’s lips pressed together, yet she quickly looked away and cowered even more.

 “I understand that what’s happened is upsetting,” Brokenshire started, uncharacteristically calmly for a man of his sorts, although he never once let his gaze move away from her, “but I need you to cooperate and tell me what I ask of you. We are doing everything we can to make sure we will be able to find Jekyll and whoever did this to him. For that, we need you-- just as well as the other Lodgers-- to work together with us rather than against us.” 

 “...Yes, sir.”

 “Good. Now, how did Frankenstein’s arrival ‘complicate’ things between you and him?”

 “Frankenstein, she... Well...” Like many other times before, Ito hesitated, unsure of what to say. She did not want to reveal too much of the situation between her, the Lodgers, and Jekyll, as she knew that it was not something that her senior would want to be revealed but... She did not have much of a choice. “She did not seem to like Jekyll very much. She wanted us to abandon the Exhibition and she told us that Henry was not one of us. I guess she managed to turn us against him, in a way...”

 The reveal of such information seemed to take Brokenshire off-guard, if even for a moment, and yet he was quick to clear his throat and turn back to writing everything down on his notepad. He was aware that Jekyll was having trouble with the Exhibition, as the man had stated so himself in the news just a few days ago, and yet he could not even imagine the actual severity and depth behind Virginia’s words, the depth of Frankenstein’s behavior to Jekyll. No, in his mind, it definitely did not seem as bad as Virginia actually said it to be. Of course, Virginia was not going to reveal that, either.

 “Do you know if Dr. Jekyll had any... Say, rivals, enemies, that would like to see him gone?” 

 “I don’t know. He didn’t tell us much about himself or his... Social status. I don’t think I have ever heard that someone has even actively disliked him... Except for Frankenstein, of course. Maybe those who seem to be against the Society but there aren’t a lot, otherwise...”

 Brokenshire nodded.

 “And where were you during the approximate hour of the kidnapping?”

 “I spent the entire evening with Miss Lavender and Miss Flowers up on the rooftops, and then we went on with our work today. We normally haven’t seen much of Jekyll lately so we just thought he was doing something else and that’s why we haven’t seen him. ”

 “And when was the last time you saw him?”

 “Yesterday evening, around... I think somewhere around half-past seven. He was leaving the attic after a check-up with Frankenstein.”

 Brokenshire nodded once more.

 “Thank you, then you are dismissed for now. I trust that you’ll come and tell me or the other officers immediately, would you remember or find anything that could be of use.”

 “Of course, officer.”

 Virginia gave off a respectful nod before she quickly scooped the dog in her lap into her arms, wasting no time to stand up and immediately leave the office. Another Constable held the door open for her as she left before he looked back at Brokenshire. With a sole nod, the other man left the office as well, closing the door behind him and leaving Brokenshire alone. The Sergeant watched the door close for only a moment, before he turned back to his notes once more, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he filtered through the dozen notes of paper upon his notebook, unsure where to start rereading first.

 The entire notepad was filled with the accounts and testimonies of anyone and everyone that had found themselves in the Society for the last twenty-four hours, thereby including every Lodger, every worker... And of course, Miss. Frankenstein and her Creature. So far, they had gotten absolutely nothing useful out of it, and yet, what really concerned the Sergeant was the fact that every one of the Lodgers had, at some point or another, told them that they truly did not know much about Jekyll or what he did during his spare time, who he socialized with, or who might have seen Jekyll as a threat. Jekyll had always loved to brag about his Lodgers like a proud father would of their children to anyone that would listen, yet it seemed like the man himself was as much of a mystery to the residents of his very Society as he was to the people around him. From the doctor’s acquaintances to his business partners, no one seemed to have a full clue what he did with his life that wasn’t a subject of conversation. The man didn’t have any reported family in London, either, but most of what they could find surrounding his family came from an immigration record from around twenty years ago, from when the doctor-- merely fifteen at the time-- had first moved to London. He had been alone and his passport had reported he came from Glasgow, Scotland, and that’s where his kin resided. The records did not say where the doctor had lived once he was permitted into the city, why he had traveled alone, where his family lived, or what he was planning to do in London but any possible chance of contacting or informing his family would be impossible. Normally, the most likely suspects of kidnapping like this would be the family, the close friends, but since Jekyll seemed to have neither a family nor any reported friends outside of the Society and his many business partners...

 Brokenshire leaned back in his chair, scratching his beard slightly. This was certainly a quite concerning case, and the Sergeant would be lying if he would try to claim that he didn’t feel very scared and worried for the doctor. Jekyll was a well-liked man, and Brokenshire had only seen the crime scene briefly before he had returned to the station to interrogate the Lodgers, and yet that sight had been more than enough to simultaneously freeze and boil his blood with a mix between terror and rage. Whoever had done that to Jekyll... They had wanted him gone and wanted so badly, and yet the reason for such a thing went beyond the Sergeant. He could not imagine that Jekyll would have managed to upset anyone, and he could not imagine that he could be seen as a threat to anyone or anyone’s business, either, and yet... He couldn’t help but worry that they were too late. He worried that whoever had taken Jekyll had not only abducted him but he worried that the doctor was already far beyond saving. No man would be able to lose so much blood without any dire consequences, and that was assuming that it was all Jekyll’s. He wondered if the doctor had managed to defend himself, or if he had tried to flee. He wondered if the broken window was the kidnapper’s attempt to get him or Jekyll’s attempt of escape. He wondered if the mirror, the desk, the chair, and all the documents were signs of Jekyll having tried to stall his kidnapper in hopes that someone would find and save him, or if it was the offender’s wicked attempt of malice, violence, and aggression. He guessed that they would never get to know anything until they... Hopefully... Would find poor doctor Henry Jekyll and until the man, or men, who caused this would be behind bars or on their way to the gallows. For the sake of the doctor, he certainly hoped for the latter.

 God, if he got his hands on whoever did this to Jekyll...

 Even then, it did not take long until he heard the door handle to the office door turn, successfully breaking him off from his thoughts and lament about what could possibly have happened to the doctor, even if he couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrows as he watched the door open and two of his friends slink in.

 “Jenkins, Wipple, aren’t you two supposed to be investigating Jekyll’s office?”

 “Well, yes, but-”

 “We think we might have found a clue on who might have done it!”

 The previous frown that had graced the Sergeant’s face quickly turned into an expression of pure shock, his eyes widening and his eyebrows rising almost to his hairline. Brokenshire scrambled to get out of his chair and to stand up, yet he stayed behind his desk as he pressed his hands firmly against his desk, trying to keep the adrenaline that pumped through him at bay.

 “Well, where is it?”

 Jenkins and Wipple hurried closer, the taller of the two quickly pulling out a clear plastic bag from a pocket on the inside of his coat. He was quick to place it upon Brokenshire’s empty desk, tapping the clear bag with his index finger to further put the attention on its contents, yet Brokenshire only raised an eyebrow.

 “You see this ring and necklace?”

 “Well... Obviously.”

 “Well, if you would look at the initials...”

 He picked up the bag once more, carefully angling and turning it so that the Sergeant could get a clear view of the inside of the ring and the back of the necklace’s pendant, and yet the deep frown upon Brokenshire’s complex only got deeper. He took the bag from Jenkins’ hands, looking over the contents of the bag himself. He twisted and turned the bloodstained trinkets, and yet...

 “R. Crawford,” Jenkins explained, “The right and the necklace says ‘R. Crawford’. Richard Crawford has always been against Jekyll’s work and Society.”

 Brokenshire observed the initials of both pieces of jewelry thoroughly, and sure enough, the engravings of ‘R. Crawford’ was as noticeable as a piece of coal in the snow despite the deep, dried bloodstains upon the silver. Richard Crawford. The same aristocrat that publically humiliated the doctor at every turn. The same aristocrat who was known for pushing off his competition without a care in the world. The same aristocrat who would not be above kidnapping someone as kind and innocent as the poor doctor. A cruel man who would do anything to get his way, and for now, one of the most likely suspects.

 “...Where did you find this?”

 “Under a few documents in the office, between the mirror and the desk.”

 Brokenshire straightened himself, taking a deep breath as he fixed his suit. He gave Jenkins the plastic bag back before he turned around and got his coat and his hat from where they had been resting on the cabinet behind him. They had no time to lose, so as Brokenshire placed the notepad and pen into the pockets of his coat, he merely turned to his colleagues and gave them a sole nod, a dry smile upon his lips. They were going to go to the bottom of this, but to get to the bottom of this... They had some people to interrogate. Before they could get to Crawford, they had to start asking around, if not to only find out how his jewelry could have found its way into Jekyll’s office otherwise, if he had no hand in the kidnapping.

 Watch out, Crawford. We will have our eyes on you.

 “Well, lads, it seems like we have some work to do...”’

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Taglist: @jekkiefan @artzycreature

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#TGS #the glass scientists #tgs fanfic #tgs fanfiction #tgs fake kidnapping au #the glass scientists fanfic #the glass scientists fanfiction #the glass scientists fake kidnapping au #tgs enoch brokenshire #the glass scientists enoch brokenshire #tgs virginia ito #tgs zosimos #the glass scientists virginia ito #the glass scientists zosimos #banshees writing #fake kidnapping au #banshees fanfic #tw blood #blood tw

[bansheeoftheforest]

I FINALLY SAT DOWN AND DREW SMT 100% FROM SCRATCH ON MY PHONE AND IT ENDED UP BEING JEKSHIRE AND ALSO MY BEST PIECE OF 2021

I titled this one Sweet Watlz for obvious reasons uwu

Speedpaint of the process under cut!!! :D

#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs jekyll #tgs henry jekyll #tgs brokenshire #tgs enoch brokenshire #jekshire #tgs jekshire #the glass scientists jekyll #the glass scientists henry jekyll #the glass scientists brokenshire #the glass scientsits enoch brokenshire #banshees art #banshees fanart

[bansheeoftheforest]

A Moment Of Glory

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Chapter 7; Parva Sub Ingenti

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Chapter 8 babyyyyyyyyyyy! Oh man, the next chapters to come are not going to be fun for Henry. I also had to rewrite this chapter like... Halfway through finishing the third-to-last chapter bc I realized that this route would be better to go with <3

Also, note, in case I did not make it clear in the actual chapter: it’s a week’s timeskip between this chapter and last chapter!

Also also! Since I have written all chapters now, I would not mind to update more frequently if that would be desired! Either I can hold onto the schedule I have rn (twice a week - Wednesday and Saturday) or I can change it so I update three times a week, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday? I would very much like some opinions on how often to update!

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Wordcount: 4300

Chapter summary: Brokenshire and the Scotland Yard come to a disappointing discovery, but waste no time in following a new lead.

CW [for this chapter]: Mentions of blood, mentions of murder.

[Ao3]

——

Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

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Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire, a man who so often took pride in the loyalty and hard work he put into his position in the Scotland Yard, did not like his night duty. 

 He sat by his lone desk, elbows placed upon the only empty space on his messy workspace that was not already occupied by paperwork. The only source of light that found itself in the dark office was a flickering flame from a tiny, half-melted candle that was placed next to him, so bravely and so obediently bringing light to the documents that had caught his sole attention. For once, it was completely quiet. Not even the normal noises from the world going on and on outside could be heard tonight; no drunkards laughing their way home from the pubs, no footsteps from late-night wanderers exploring the streets, not even the sound of other officers standing guard outside seemed to find its way into the office. Had Brokenshire not long since gotten accustomed to the eerie silence that so specifically seemed to haunt him tonight, he might have found the loneliness and the quietness a bit depressing, a bit bleak. Perhaps it was merely because he had one of the most boring, yet most important jobs tonight. Perhaps it was merely because he was waiting. Perhaps it was merely because he was alone.

 Of every late-night duty he could have gotten, Brokenshire got the unfortunate luck of being stuck in his office for the evening. He could have been out wandering the corridors of this very station, maybe checking on one of the few currently held in the cells in the basements, or maybe he could have been patrolling the streets with Wipple and Jenkins like he normally did. Maybe he could have been breaking up gang fights, catching thieves, or inspecting the new shipments and arrivals by the docks and train stations in search of stolen goods, but no, he was stuck waiting for his two colleagues. A soft sigh of boredom escaped his lips, and yet he decided to occupy his time by gazing over the many documents laid upon his so often neat desk, the shiny wooden surface now hidden under dozens of chaotically sprawled papers. His eyes traveled, and yet it did not take long until his gaze was caught by a single photograph that displayed none other than Dr. Henry Jekyll, stapled to a short investigative essay about the doctor’s career in London, written and documented in hopes of getting a bit of insight about the whole case. Through the two weeks that had recently passed since his estimated disappearance, it felt like they hadn’t managed to get a single step closer to figuring out what had happened to him, who did it and where he was currently located. They could find no possible motives; after all, Dr. Jekyll was a beloved man. No one seemed to have any ideas of someone who had actively disliked him, rather than his work and connection to yet-so-stigmatized science, yet they were stuck on the single ‘suspect’ they had gotten from finding branded trinkets on the crime scene. They had interrogated practically every single person that had lived on the streets by the Society, and yet there hadn’t been a single witness, not a single trail to follow-- not even the blood that had so horrifyingly splattered upon almost every surface in the entire study had been found anywhere outside of the room, not in the corridors outside nor by the broken window. It seemed like the doctor had just disappeared in thin air, once he was, assumingly, dragged out of that window. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense at all and yet this wasn’t even one of the most gruesome or violent cases the Sergeant had gotten his hands on, no, but it was still so very unnerving, maybe because of the specific circumstances, maybe because it was specifically Dr. Jekyll everything was about. No matter, it was unnerving regardless and Brokenshire was going to stand by that fact, and yet he couldn’t help but let out another sigh. Another sigh among the thousands he had made just this night. Another sigh among the thousands to come.

 He felt how his eyes began to roam once more, and yet they did not wander for long before they were caught by a second photograph; this one displayed the second subject of the mess of his desk, one Mr. Richard Crawford. Having found his name-engraved jewelry on the crime scene, the opposition, aggression, and hatred that Crawford harbored for the Society for Arcane Sciences had only seemed to confirm their suspicion of him as a suspect, and since there were no more suspects at all, he was currently their main lead as well, yet Brokenshire doubted that Crawford had a vendetta against Dr. Jekyll himself, rather than their two opposing beliefs and opinions. There had been a lot of theories for why Crawford would have wanted Jekyll out of the way, some including the simple fact that Jekyll was probably the only other man in all of London as popular and influential as him, some including their clashing opinions in important political and scientific questions, and yet, through their feud, it had seemed like their rivalry had been quite one-sided. Brokenshire and his team had spent the last two weeks researching both men and their rivalry and at this point, the Sergeant was quite sure that he could give a ten-page essay for each topic respectively. Crawford was about a decade older than Jekyll and had therefore been in the public eye much longer. He was a working aristocrat and a businessman, having funded many of London’s most successful businesses, spanning from medical supply companies to breweries to real estate, and it seemed like he had seen the rise of Dr. Jekyll’s career as a threat to his own. It was not a secret that most of London and the people of power in the city were-- or had been-- against science, so while Crawford had been on top of the food chain for years, the establishment and success of the Society seemed to have struck a nerve of some sort, especially so once Crawford’s allies began to support it. It seemed like Crawford had seen that as a type of betrayal, and had come to the “clever” solution of trying to shut the operation down immediately, and yet he had never managed. It seemed like no matter what Crawford threw at Jekyll, the doctor would catch it with a smile on his face, light it on fire and toss it in the trash. No matter what the aristocrat did, Brokenshire couldn’t find a single instance of Dr. Jekyll doing anything to actively harm Crawford, his image, or his businesses, despite everything the latter did to him. 

 He guessed it was just another instance of what a goodhearted man that Jekyll was, of course. Ask anyone on the street and they would all tell you what a great man the doctor was, and it always seemed like every single person in London had a story about how the scientist had personally helped them, their family, or their friends. The only ones that Brokenshire and his team had heart talking badly about him had, of course, been the few people still against the Society, and yet it had never really been about his character rather than the entire idea of the Society. Everyone knew the doctor was a kind, helpful man who just wished everyone well. Men of his stock were, sadly, few and far in between, and it saddened the Sergeant to know that people were willing to hurt such a good man like that. He could not figure out why someone would do such a thing-- sure, Jekyll had made mistakes, but who hadn’t? He doubted that the doctor could have done anything to anger someone to the point of them thinking the only logical solution was to hurt him, abduct him, murder him. Sure, there were probably people mad at Hyde who decided to take it out on Jekyll, but that made no sense at all. After all, Jekyll had been just as much of a victim of the fire and Hyde’s scheme as everyone else had been. Going after Hyde’s ex-employer after leading the Scotland Yard to the Blackfog Bazaar was absolutely absurd, yet a type of revenge that Brokenshire would not put past the many criminals that lurked in the London Underground.

 Really, the reason why the offenders could have done it was completely unimportant. What was important was the fact that Dr. Henry Jekyll was gone, and they had to find both him and his kidnappers as soon as possible. Hell, Jekyll could be dying or very badly injured at this very moment! Who knew what kind of torture, what kind of sadistic treatment he was suffering through? Who knew if he was even alive still? Who knew if he even was in London at all? Who knew what kind of man he would be if he was found? For every day that passed, the probability that he would be found and found alive plummeted heavily, the odds and statistics were against them. They had to be quick, so very quick, and yet...

 Brokenshire’s hands found the edge of his desk as he pushed his chair away quite abruptly, grunting as he got on his legs and turned his head away from all these godforsaken documents, feeling the clinically white paper blinding him in the dim light. He made a beeline towards one of the few windows in his office, quietly running a hand through his ginger locks as he peaked between the blinds, observing, watching, praying that his goddamn colleagues would come back soon. It was dark, yet it was brighter out there than it was in his office, giving him just enough light to be able to decipher anything going on outside. The streets were empty, the night was quiet... Goddamnit, where were they?

 He sighed and shook his head, mostly to try to get rid of the slight paranoia and weariness that began to grip him. He moved away from the window, feeling how all the energy in his legs only got worse and worse for every second, and he almost could not stop himself as he began to pace around the office, trying to pass time and trying to distract himself as it only seemed like all his energy got worse and worse and worse for every second that passed. Jenkins and Wipple should have been here a long time ago. What could possibly have taken them so long? They didn’t have all night!

 Brokenshire was an impatient man as it was, he knew that. He seldom had the patience to wait for something unimportant and he had particularly no patience for things that were important. The fact that Wipple and Jenkins had been sent out to collect documents, proof of possible evidence of Crawford’s involvement in Jekyll’s kidnapping that could either incriminate him or prove him innocent of the whole ordeal... Sure, they had his jewelry, but that was certainly not enough proof to arrest him just yet. They needed more... More proof of Crawford’s suspicious behavior, proof that he was not above kidnapping, proof that he was not a man to be trusted. Two weeks of research, two weeks of potentially wasted and precious time amounted to this. Two weeks of quietly investigating Crawford, sinking so much time and so many resources in a potential dead-end... They were hoping to find the evidence they needed to arrest Crawford, after all, they hoped that he was the criminal in all of this, the orchestrator to the entire kidnapping and especially since they had no other leads, but for that, they needed definite proof, proof that Jenkins and Wipple had been in charge of, and if they never showed up...

 The Sergeant rubbed his sore eyes, regretfully feeling how the late-night weariness slowly began to get to him, slowly washing over his body like algae clinging to every surface, only seeming to become worse and worse and more and more in quantity the longer you didn’t pay attention. He had been working on this case non-stop for the last two weeks, having barely gotten any rest at all during that time, and yet it was much less because he couldn’t pawn the case off to someone else while he took his normal days off and got the rest he so desperately needed, it was much less the work piling up and being forced upon him because there was no one else to take the case, no, it was mostly the fact that he wanted to get to the bottom of this as fast as possible, and he wanted to be the one in charge of such an important case. He trusted his colleagues with his life and yet he only trusted himself with the Henry Jekyll case, even if he wasn’t fully sure why. Everyone was worried, of course, so he had no doubt that the other officers would be just as precise and active with the case as he currently was, but... Yeah. Jekyll was a beloved man, a man who was friends with practically everyone-- the commissioner specifically, but Brokenshire could not deny that he had taken a liking to that man, as much as he regretted admitting it. He knew the cautionary tale of scientists who went mad with hubris, narcissism, and... Well, madness all too well. He knew the tale of the bright young men and women who wanted to test the limits of every aspect of the world they lived in, who wanted to understand how things worked and wanted to manipulate it into their own liking, who only got hungry for more and more until they went insane and could find themselves in the Asylums all of them seemed to fear so, or until they found themselves exiled and on the run from the law. After all, Brokenshire had known Moreau once upon an eternity ago; he had been just as respectable of a gentleman as Jekyll was, then Moreau had shown his true colors, got exiled, and now he spent the last of his days stuck in a padded cell under solitary confinement and burnt to a crisp in Bethlam Royal Asylum. He knew that there seldom were scientists who did not go mad in their own way-- everyone knew the story of Frankenstein, even if she did seem... Relatively sane now, she had still caused catastrophic damage to the people around her, innocent people specifically, and Moreau was already mentioned... The odds that Jekyll and his Society, too, were just as mad as the rest of the scientists that had made and snuck their way into the history books were far too high. Respectable facades and silver-tongued speech were all they needed to trick practically everyone, both of which Henry Jekyll undoubtedly had. Impulsive, uncontrollable, testing the limits of reality while claiming that it was for the betterment of society, humanity as a whole. It was a tale Brokenshire knew all too well and yet Jekyll had done a good job of pushing himself away from any and all possibilities that he was like those scientists. They were rogue scientists, he would say, not mad scientists.

 Oh, it was a speech that the sergeant had heard a handful of times already, yet it was almost endearing, and quite charming after a while. He guessed that was just the effect the doctor had on the people around him. He was a charming man and no one could deny that. He had all of London wrapped around his pinkie, spun and held together with the silken thread he had woven with his silver-tongue, and that had been quite obvious, and it still was. After all, people had been outraged over his disappearance, and they could still hear the people of London making a ruckus and demanding that they find the doctor they all loved so much. Many of Jekyll’s friends had offered to put up rewards for whoever could come forward with any possible statements or for whoever could find the doctor, and with many, he meant many; Dr. Robert Lanyon, Sr. Lanyon, Sir. Danvers Carew, the commissioner himself, and of course the entire Society, and that was only to name a few, so there was quite a large sum of money at play now. So much money was at stake and yet they still had heard nothing related to the Henry Jekyll case. No one had seen suspicious activity, no one had any clue what possibly could have caused it... You might as well have thought he disappeared in thin air just because someone wished him gone, for no reason whatsoever. You might as well have thought the doctor never existed. 

 The only real ‘evidence’ and the only real statements they had about the case came from their investigation of Crawford. They had dipped their noses in practically every part of Crawford’s life, investigating and interrogating every servant, worker, acquaintance, business partner, and rival with a connection to the man in question, their statements now placed upon the sergeant’s desk, neatly waiting for when they would be of use. All they needed was Jenkins and Wipple with the rest of the accounts and statements, and hopefully they would bring the long-awaited truth. They all had theories, of course, both personal and more... Hmm, official ones, so to speak, all of which suggested that the kidnapping of Henry Jekyll was not the only crime that Crawford may be involved in, many of which seemed to be about tax evasion, blackmail... The classic stuff that men of his stock often dipped into sooner or later. Now, if Jenkins and Wipple could just come back...

 Knockknockknock--

 Speaking of the devil, Brokenshire couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath he hadn’t known he had been holding as he finally stopped his pace. His attention immediately shifted towards his door, and it only took a moment before he saw the door handle moving, and then through the darkness, Brokenshire finally-- finally!-- saw his dear colleagues entering, the expected documents in hand.

 “Oi, sergeant, why are you cooping up in the darkness?”

 As Jenkins moved forward with the documents, Wipple stayed behind to close the door behind them, taking the opportunity to also turn on the light, which, in its turn, successfully blinded the poor sergeant whose eyes had gotten so accustomed to the soft, simple light from the candle on his desk. He did not get a lot of time to adjust to it, however, as Jenkins soon placed the new documents down on the little empty space on the sergeant’s desk that had not been occupied with paperwork and, instead, occupied it with more documents. Brokenshire watched the papers, then his gaze turned to Jenkins, who looked less than proud of the work they presented. His thin lips and mustache curled into a frown, the disappointment in his sigh seemed to echo through the room.

 “You are not going to believe this, sir.”

 “Well, what is it? Did you find anything?”

 “Well... You are not going to like it.” 

 The three of them surrounded the desk, waddling together so everyone could have a good view of the newly added documents. Brokenshire eyed it up and down with great interest, if not suspicion and caution, yet he was quick to look back up at Jenkins, quietly gesturing for him to continue to explain.

 “Crawford has been actively against the Society, as we knew, but his way of sabotaging, as we theorized, is nowhere near illegal.” Jenkins filtered through the documents until he got a specific page, tapping it with his finger against the headlines, and them moving the tip of his finger down to the summary, “According to his bank statements, the only money that has been taken out and put into anything remotely against science as been into perfectly legal campaigns, some of just so happens to affect the Society, would the things they push for actually go through. Other than that... The only proof we have is the jewelry found on the scene. Sure, yeah, it’s clear proof but it’s nothing we can arrest or accuse him with. It’s practically impossible for the jewelry to have found its way into the office...”

 Brokenshire might as well have thought he got a door slammed into his face.

 Their main suspect turned out to be a dead end. All the work, all the time, and all the funds they had put into investigating Crawford turned into a dead-end, and now they came up empty-handed without a new suspect.

 But... That didn’t explain why his jewelry was in Jekyll’s workspace.

 “Well... Do either of you have any idea why the ring and necklace were in the office otherwise?”

 Wipple and Jenkins stayed silent, glancing at each other for a short second, yet they quickly looked back at Brokenshire and seemed to struggle to come up with a logical answer to such a question. So many things could have made the jewelry appear where they did, yet none of them actually seemed as logical as... Well, the theory that Crawford paid some thugs to get Dr. Jekyll out of the game, although having paid them with jewelry-- specifically name engraved jewelry-- was certainly not the most logical option, either. The thought that Dr. Jekyll might have stolen the trinkets didn’t even cross their minds, the thought that Dr. Jekyll might have planted them there seemed too absurd for any of them to even consider it, the thought of Dr. Jekyll having faked the entire thing would probably be the dumbest thing either of them would have thought in years. Dr. Jekyll was gone, he was kidnapped, there had been blood everywhere in the office and the blood might have dried into the wood at this point. Red crimson that coagulated and stained into the mahogany wood was a reminder of what Jekyll, in this very moment, might be suffering through, a reminder that if they weren’t quick, Jekyll’s blood might not have only stained his office. 

 But... Hold on...

 “What if it wasn’t Crawford who planted them there?” Jenkins suddenly spoke up, you could practically see the lightbulb shining over his head as the idea struck him. Both Wipple and Brokenshire furrowed their eyebrows, looking at their colleague.

 “Well... Obviously. It isn’t like someone-- if Crawford did hire criminals, would have put them there intentionally. Crawford would clearly not have done the dirty work himself.” Brokenshire pressed.

 “No, no-- What if someone tried to frame him?” Jenkins continued, “Think about it-- Crawford is a high standing man, he has a lot of enemies, someone might have stolen the jewelry and planted it on the scene when they kidnapped Jekyll, to throw us off of their tracks?”

 The officers all went silent for a moment, as Jenkin’s words and his theory began to sink in. It only took a moment, and then Wipple gasped, almost with excitement. He grabbed Jenkins’ arm and stared at him in awe, before immediately giving him a quick pat on the back.

 “Jenkins! You might actually be onto something!” 

 Jenkins grinned proudly, preening under the praises before the two constables turned towards the sergeant for his input. Brokenshire continued to stare down at the documents, eyebrows knitted into a deep, deep frown upon his forehead. Jenkins’ and Wipple’s excited grins slowly washed away as they watched their friend, a bit confused, a bit worried, as the sergeant reached up a hand to scratch his beard in thought. 

 “That... Complicates things.” 

 Brokenshire straightened himself, placing his arms behind his back as his frown only seemed to deepen by the second, yet his eyes did not leave the documents. If someone had kidnapped Jekyll and tried to frame Crawford for it... This might be a much more complicated situation than they had anticipated. This must be a gang activity, or someone who was very dumb for using two pieces of jewelry and nothing more. He could not deny that the idea seemed plausible-- it actually sounded quite reasonable and logical, But how did the criminals get their hands on the trinkets? Could the Scotland Yard afford to finally go and confront Crawford about it, if he knew that his things had recently gotten stolen?

 Well... It wasn’t like they had anything to go on, otherwise.

 “Gentlemen... I think it’s time that we go to the source, eh?”

 “Source?”

 “We have to interrogate Crawford. Perhaps he can point us to the reason for why his stuff was in Jekyll’s office.”

 Wipple and Jenkins looked at each other, and yet they both immediately turned back to the sergeant.

 “Well... What are we waiting for, then?”

The three of them looked at each other for a short moment, only allowing a second of hesitation before all three of them practically sprinted to the door, tearing it open and practically running down the corridors, immediately jumping into the police carriage that was stationed outside and then they were off, galloping through the city streets, off to an unsuspecting Richard Crawford. They had no time to waste, perhaps that’s why they all decided that they had to rush, perhaps that’s why they decided to be quick, or maybe it was the excitement of finally having another lead-- another lead that actually made sense and could be true. In just a few hours they might have their truth. In just a few hours they might find the culprits. In just a few hours, they could all just hope that they would find out what happened to the beloved Dr. Henry Jekyll.

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This chapter was originally going to be Thomas going home from the... Ahem, “hook up” with Robert and meeting Emma Carew and flirting a bit with her, but that plan was only in the drafts and I never wrote it so it’s not what I originally had planned and mentioned in the notes above, but I’m weak for Emma and also Emma X Henry so I hope I will be able to write something for them when this fic is over <3

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Taglist: @artzycreature @jekkiefan

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#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs fanfic #tgs fanfiction #the glass scientists fanfic #the glass scientists fanfiction #banshees fanfic #banshees writing #tgs brokenshire #tgs sergeant brokenshire #tgs sergeant enoch brokenshire #the glass scientists brokenshire #the glass scientists sergeant brokenshire #the glass scientists sergeant enoch brokenshire