Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

10 November, 1883

My daughter was born today. She’s a small thing, quiet too, and she has quite the shock of jet black hair. I truly wish this were the most joyous day of my life, as it should have been, but even now as my child is sleeping mere inches away from me, I write this entry with a heavy heart.

It started late last night, probably around the hours of ten or eleven o’clock, when my wife’s water had broken. My mother lived with us, and the midwives were staying as well since it was only a matter of time at that point. It was all such a rush, and before I knew it, I was alone outside as the women conducted their work. Despite my own profession, I fear that I would have gotten in their way, especially as I acted more like an expectant father more than that of a rational doctor.

I paced on the veranda alone through the hours, it did not do me well to sit idly by, there truly was no other way I could have stayed sane otherwise. The sky was full of stars that night, I had mapped out every constellation as best as I was able to. That was the only thing I missed more than my darling Ayame when I lived in the city proper while I studied at the university— I missed being able to see the stars. 

Anyway, just before daybreak, one of the midwives came to retrieve me. All of the joy melted from me when I saw the gravity with which she stepped, the young woman was much too afraid to look me in the eye.

My heart sank even more when she led me back into the bedchamber, not as a new father, but for my services as a physician. My mother had the little bundle in her arms, she was already preoccupied with cleaning my daughter, who was letting out little chirps and whines already!
Blood stained the sheets, and it was horrific with how much had been spilt. My poor Ayame, she was nearly white and her skin was clammy and cold. She could barely turn her head, much less acknowledge that I was finally in the room with her. She mumbled under her breath, if you could call the weak gasps that, and was completely and wholly delirious. By the time I got to her side, she shivered and groaned. My mother rushed to join us, placing the delicate bundle into Ayame’s expectant arms. 

“A healthy little girl,” My mother reassured her. “Just as happy and beautiful as her mother…!”

Ayame looked at our daughter, despite everything, she still had a smile on her face. It was all wrong, her face wasn’t the lively and spirited face I knew, the face that matched the woman I fell in love with. This face was sunken in on itself, there were dark heavy bags under her eyes, and she was far too pale for a living woman.

“Susa…” She breathed, her voice was raspy, “Susa… sato…”

Susato, that was the name we had loved for our daughter, I had even insisted on spelling it with the Kanji for ‘long life’.

The haemorrhaging was too much, it was far too late to save my poor wife. Perhaps if I were a more competent doctor with greater experience, then I would not have failed my poor Ayame, perhaps indeed… 

Just as the sunlight was peeking through the window, I watched helplessly as the light from her eyes faded with it. I watched as her breathing became shallow and how she could no longer hold Susato on her own without my mother’s assistance.

On the day that was supposed to be the happiest of my life, it quickly soured into the most heartbreaking. It’s been more than half a day so far, the sun has long since set, and my daughter is asleep mere inches away from me. I haven’t been able to look at her without bursting out into tears, and I haven’t even held her yet. This is horrible, but I wish that this was all some horrible nightmare, that I’m going to wake up and Ayame will still be here beside me.
What a horrible father am I? One that can’t even bear to look at or hold his only child without crying more than she ever has in her whole life thus far? I’m the failure of a father who can’t comfort his own child due to his own selfish despair, akin to the failure of a doctor who couldn’t do anything to help the patient bleeding out from under him, the failure of a husband who couldn’t help his wife in need.

My poor girl is starting to stir, it’s cruel that fate has cursed her with a father who can’t even bear to be happy that she is alive and well.

Chapter Text

12 November, 1883   17 November, 1883

13 November, 1883   24 November, 1883

These past two weeks have been hard. Every time I try to pick up this pen, I falter before giving up and scratching out the date. I don’t leave the house anymore, thank goodness the university has given me a small allowance and reprieve in this tragedy, but as time ticks on, it will soon no longer be enough. Tomorrow will be the last day of the stipend, and I will have to go back to the university or risk losing my place as a student due to ‘truancy’.

Truancy, what a joke… they truly believe that I can just return to my old life after two weeks of despair?! I can’t even bear to leave Susato alone, I feel anxious just taking my eyes off of her for a second. I can’t explain this… I struggle with holding her, she cries whenever I try, but I still cannot bear to leave her. This overwhelming doom is threatening to eat me alive and I’m losing my own mind.

Bless my mother, she’s truly gone above and beyond for us both, she’s the only one who has made sure that we’re alive. This isn’t fair to her, I should be the one providing for her, not the other way around. I’m sorry that I am a failure as her only son.

Either way, I need to consider my options. Last night, Genshin and Seishirou visited us. Genshin’s wife and son had also been with them, they had left to assist my mother with Susato in the sitting room while we went to my study. Had I known that they were visiting, I would have tried to not appear so dishevelled or slovenly, I’m sure my appearance was quite a shock to them both.

After we exchanged pleasantries, my two friends sat me down and offered a ‘proposition’ to me.

“Yumei is hosting an exchange program to study in the heart of the Great British Empire,” Seishirou said, always one to jump straight to the point. “Asougi and I have already applied, and you ought to do so as well.”

“We both agree that it would be a good opportunity for you,” Genshin added. “Not only as a student and practitioner, but a financial one.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. 

I had already developed a pit in my stomach the moment that they had brought up the exchange program. These types of programs had been going on since around the time I was born, ever since the Arrival of the Black Ships. Our country was slowly being forced open, it was not entirely unusual to see American Merchants in Tokyo, and even their wives and children. I also knew that these exchange trips were long and strenuous, occasionally travelling all over the world and touring!

“The stipend you receive will be more than enough to take care of your mother and your daughter, and after the trip, your prospects for success will increase due to the experience,” Genshin continued. “I’ve already set aside a fund for my boy’s education.”

“And I will have priority when I join the Ministry of Justice,” Seishirou said. “A mere ten years is nothing for the rewards it will reap!”

Ten years. Ten years, an entire decade! A decade alone in some faraway land, away from my mother and my daughter! My daughter, who doesn’t even know me yet! She will see me as a stranger when I return! It’s madness! Lunacy! I can’t just abandon my family! Seshirou has no family of his own, he’s not a father, ten years is nothing to him! And Genshin’s son will at least remember who he is when he returns, he is old enough to recognize his own father! How dare they come into my home and order me to leave Susato behind?!

I don’t know how long I ranted and raved. I don’t even remember what I said, but judging by the looks on their faces, it was something that ought never be repeated in good company. Susato’s crying was what pulled me out of my madness. I had terrified the poor thing with my shouting, and even Genshin’s young boy was cowering behind his mother. My mother shuffled them all out, and I slumped back down in my seat. Susato couldn’t stop crying, she was red in the face for the next hour or so, poor thing.

They will never understand my position, I cannot just abandon my poor daughter…

Chapter Text

25 November, 1883

I don’t know what I am doing wrong, everything I seem to be doing is a mistake. Susato starts to cry every time she sees me: I move too fast and she cries, I rock her too slowly and she cries, I sigh too loudly and she cries. I tried to sing to her last night, just a simple little lullaby, but she just burst into tears… she finally calmed down when my mother tended to her. How am I managing to do everything wrong? Is this some horrible sign?

I want to be a better father for her, I want to be the best for her, but am I even cut out to be a father in the first place?

Chapter Text

30 November, 1883

Both Genshin and Seishirou have continued to reach out to me. Whether it’s coming to my door late at night, or running to wherever I am on the university campus, whether it’s one or both of them at the same time… I’ll give them this, they are determined.

Last night, I conversed with my mother. I’m not blind, I can see how tired she is, how much she works, and how close Susato is with her. We’ve been living by the scraps of our teeth, just living off of what is enough to survive. She tried turning down some meals, insisting that she wasn’t as hungry. I couldn’t have it, I practically demanded that she eat the full amount, I could stand to shed a few pounds anyway.

Ever since that first night that Genshin and Seishiro visited, we haven’t talked about what had happened. I’ve been plagued by the most awful nightmares ever since then, of both my mother and Susato. My poor girl was thin and her face was sunken in, nothing like the child she should have grown up as. They looked more like victims of famine than living beings. But that wasn’t the worst part, far from it. I kept seeing Ayame, the same as the last time I had seen her. More like a walking corpse and just as terrifying. Her soft hands turned into haggard claws as she dragged my mother and Susato into the unknown with her. Whenever that part comes to pass, I cannot bear to sleep again for the rest of the night.

Anyway, I finally confessed to my mother the horrible visions I keep seeing, she sobbed as I described the terrible form my poor Ayame took on. As much as it pains me to say it, I fear that I might have to do the unthinkable, no, the unforgivable . My mother should not have to work herself to the bone, and my daughter deserves something to eat. It is my job to take care of my family, I am an adult, and I am a father first and foremost.

I told Genshin and Seishirou that I had made my decision. I bit my tongue as I saw their faces light up with glee and joy, patting me on the back and telling me that I had finally come to my senses. I’m not doing this to fulfil their fantasies of traversing through the streets of London, ready to go on foolhardy adventures, or act like the young men we once were when we started at the university: I’m going on this damned trip to provide for my daughter.

I just hope that Susato will forgive understand my absence one day.  

Chapter Text

10 December, 1883

Despite applying at the last possible second, I was chosen as the third candidate to travel to the Great British Empire. Luckily I will only spend my decade in London rather than in short tours across the continent, I can at the very least find a reliable address so that I can send letters back home. Today is the day that I embark on the longest, and loneliest, ten years of my life. Poor Susato only had me around for a month, and now she must see me go.

The initial payment for my participation will suffice for the first six months of the trip, as soon as I get my monthly allowance, I will send a portion of it back so that my mother and Susato will be well taken care of. We have already set aside some of the money needed for Susato’s education, she deserves that chance to grow and flourish. If I cannot be there as her father, then let me serve as her benefactor… 

Before I had to leave for the ports, we all dressed in the best clothing we had. My mother thought it would be a wonderful idea to have one last photo of all three of us, and she plans to send me a photograph of Susato every year on her birthday. The gesture is wonderful, but my heart breaks at missing every birthday for so long, but I truly have no other choice, I’m doing this so that she has a chance.

When I stood on the deck of that steamship, Genshin and Seishirou were by my side. Their loved ones came to see them off as well, Genshin’s wife stood by my mother and little Kazuma was playing peek-a-boo with Susato (even if she stared at the poor boy with confusion, bless him). The foghorn rang in the sky, leaving behind a plume of smoke in its wake. We three stood by the guardrails, waving, for as long as humanly possible. I stood there until I could no longer see the dock, and even longer until my homeland became a stripe in the distance swallowed up by the sea.

I truly hate travelling by boat, I have the worst possible headache and it feels like my head is swimming. My stomach is queasy and I want to throw up with that awful smell of coal burning. This ride is supposed to last three months, I honestly don’t know how I’m going to survive.

Chapter Text

7 January, 1884

Since the majority of the crew on this steamship are Russian, today is a very important day to them. The sailors are all celebrating Christmas, and it’s rather lively; they’ve been singing songs all day while they work, and some have been pouring wax in water in an attempt to figure out what it best resembles. I would join in the festivities, but I honestly have no idea what they’re saying half the time.

The majority of their English is broken at best, and I still need to brush up some more on mine. Seishirou has been very adamant about this to us, he absolutely refuses to speak to us in anything but English in preparation. Genshin makes fun of him, his reasoning is that he’s not in London yet, so why should he worry himself out about it? Seishirou turned red-faced when Genshin suggested that he learn Russian out of respect for the crewman on this ship… with the way he stormed off, I think Seishirou might actually attempt to do so.

The first few nights on the steamship haven’t been easy, I’m not used to the smell of burning coal yet and I feel sick every time I look out at the sea. I’ve gone so far as to pin one of my dress shirts onto the window just so I don’t have to look out… too bad I can’t pin anything over the ship, I haven’t stepped foot on deck even once. Perhaps one day, there will be a more efficient way of travelling, hopefully a faster way of travelling if this illness cannot be prevented. I look at the picture I have of Susato whenever I feel doubtful of my decision. 

‘I’m doing this for her’, that’s what I have to remind myself everyday. My mother and I are her sole champions, she has no one else but us. If only my dear Ayame were still with us… 

I’m writing this entry while waiting for Genshin and Seishirou to join me for supper. I came early just to have some peace and quiet before those two got too drunk again during the festivities. Transporting Genshin is easy enough on my own, as for Seishirou… not so much.

During one of these binges, after I managed to guide Genshin to his quarters, I returned for Seishirou. Unlike Genshin, who was able to stand somewhat on his own, Seishirou had already passed out onto the table. He’s a good foot taller than me, and one of the older sailors saw my struggle. Thank goodness he helped me, I wouldn’t have heard the end of it if I had just left him there to sleep it off… perhaps I should do that for the both of them, my back is starting to feel sore!

They’re both fools, but they’re the best friends I’ve got, and I am happy that they’re going on this trip with me.

I can already hear them bantering down the hall, luckily no one’s complained yet, I’ll never hear the end of it.

Chapter Text

15 January, 1884

There really isn’t much to do on this ship other than wait for the days to pass by. I remember packing my belongings into my cabin the day I arrived on this barge, and I was pleasantly surprised to see some complementary books so I could pass the time.

Imagine my frustration when I see that they are all written in Cyrillic (Maybe Seishirou has a point...).

At this rate, I memorised every textbook that I brought along with me for this trip, perhaps I’ll start dreaming of them!

At least there’s someone I can talk to whenever Seishirou and Genshin are otherwise indisposed (doing what, I have no idea, perhaps it’s a similar mystery as to how on earth Genshin was allowed to bring that old katana of his?). The older sailor that occasionally helps me drag Seishirou back to his cabin, Old Man Strogenov is his name (At least, that's what everyone calls him). I’m starting to think that he just lets me hold up Seishirou to mend my pride, even given his age, that giant man’s biceps are probably as big as melons!

He has two sons himself, they’re both much older than Susato, both nine and eleven. When I asked him how he manages to be apart from his family for so long he told me something that’s still keeping me up so late at night while I write:

“I work long hours even if there is great struggle. No matter how lonely I am, I remember that my sons will flourish, and I know I will come home one day. That is what keeps me going,”

His sons also hope to be sailors like him one day, they see him as a hero on the seven seas and admire him so much. I hope they find this life satisfying, I don’t think I could stand to be on this damned ship a month longer, much less ten!

I’m going to think of Strogenov when I get homesick, especially when I look at the photograph before I go to bed. As I try to memorise Susato’s face, I’m going to keep reminding myself that this is for her, in the hopes that I will be able to provide for her, so that she does not struggle and be that carefree little girl that she deserves to be.

Chapter Text

17 January, 1884

God-awful storm at sea. Hit my head and bled. Probably have a concussion.

Just fantastic.

Chapter Text

28 January, 1884

Well, I finally did it. I let Genshin and Seishirou be after they passed out. Old Strogenov nearly threw out his back yesterday dealing with a shipment stop in the Ottoman Empire, so he’s on bed-rest for the next few days. I told some of the workers in the parlour to let them deal with the consequences of their actions and to only rouse them awake to get them out.

Genshin was able to wake up when one of the bartenders poked him over and over with a broomstick. Seishirou, on the other hand, was rather difficult.

Here I am, alone in my cabin, practising my English when I hear a thunderous boom on my door!
I open it to see Genshin, barely containing his own laughter, and Seishirou towering over me, sopping wet!

He forced himself in my cabin, tracking the water all over the floor, ranting and raving about the mistreatment he suffered under my consent! Apparently, as Genshin explained, earning a rather pointed glare whenever he started to laugh too much: the ship could hit an iceberg, raising all of the alarms, and start to sink before he would wake up.

Genshin snidely told the bartender that some cold water would do him some favours, but apparently the man didn’t quite understand what he meant… and poured a bucket of cold water onto Seishirou.

Unfortunately, it seems that he has a slight cold now, and in turn Genshin and I have to nurse him back to health since we are ‘somewhat responsible’ for this predicament.

Luckily this misadventure will teach them both to be a little more considerate.

Chapter Text

14 February, 1884

Thank goodness! Thank heavens! Thank everything that is wonderful in this world! I’m finally back on solid land… or at least as solid as Venice possibly could be.

The city is truly wonderful, it’s something out of a dream! As soon as the ship docked, I nearly lost my breath in the wonder of it all; a city built on the canals, no roads or carts, but waterways and gondolas!
Genshin, Seishirou, and I took a gondola to the train station. We'll be riding through the continent for two days and one night, then we’ll take a ferry for an hour or two once we reach Calais; An hour or two is far more tolerable than two months!

Our gondolier serenaded us as we glided through the canals, if only Ayame could see this! I’m sure she would have found it marvellous, perhaps I can bring Susato here one day, if I don’t die of loneliness first. He has a fantastic voice, if only I could trap it into a box and listen to it again and again. I’ve only been to one opera, but I think his voice would fit in perfectly. 

Luckily, the train station isn’t nearly as noxious as the ship I called home for these past months: I was right, I never did get used to the stench.

Chapter Text

14? 5? February, 1884

Apparently it’s not long after two in the morning, and I cannot get a lick of sleep; why didn’t I think to bring some medication to calm down my nerves?! Every time I try to rest my head, I can hear the bump and grind of metal on the tracks. It’s rhythmic, certainly, but goodness it’s ever present. Between Genshin’s incoherent mumbling and Seishirou’s snores and this, it’s a perfect concoction for a sleepless night. 

Luckily there’s a small window that I can peek out of, the continent is beautiful at night. We’re passing by a beautiful chain of mountains, the Alps if I remember the map correctly. It’s one way to experience the continent, there’s hardly any lights on the hills and knolls as we pass by the small villages through the night. There are mostly agrarian villages, a few farms and not much else, it almost reminds me of the quiet outskirts back home. I hope Susato is sleeping well… she couldn’t stay asleep for more than an hour or two when I was last with her.

We’re approaching a tunnel, there won’t be any light to work with soon without causing my fellow compatriots to complain… I suppose I will leave it off here.

Chapter Text

15 February, 1884

The train ride is finally over, we’re all waiting at the port restaurant now for the ferry to take us across the channel. It’s rather exciting, I’ve been unable to sleep this whole time and now I’m just running on pure adrenaline!

I’ve managed to make an estimate of my budget during my free time, and hopefully my maths is correct! I’ll need to find a hospital to study at for my residency, and hopefully a flat that isn’t terribly far from it. 

Who am I kidding? With my luck, I’ll only have enough to send a letter every other month… all of the other patrons here seem so affluent, probably returning from holiday on the continent. As terrified as I am, I can’t help but admit that I am rather excited about this venture, almost gleeful even! It’s been a little over two months, and now I finally get to see this golden city that has been in the forefront of our minds… I wonder if Ayame would have enjoyed this trip? I know that Paris is considered the capital of the fashion world, but I’ve heard that London is quite the runner-up.

Luckily this boat ride will be much more tolerable compared to the steamship, the other ferries seem smaller, so there will be less noxious smoke. If I squint hard enough, I can see the white cliffs of Dover. It’s unbelievable, just across that straight is London. If only I had access to a camera, it would be quite the sight to remember!

Chapter Text

16 February, 1884

Today was quite eventful. Immigration nearly lost Seishirou’s luggage while they were inspecting it, so we were held up until it was finally found; Somehow, the two trunks were swapped. I have no idea how that occurred, Seishirou’s trunk is possibly the biggest I have ever seen, but I suppose anything is possible in a city such as London.

Luckily I had some time, and funds, to send a short telegram back home to let everyone know that I had landed safely in the city; even if the message was as parse as “London Safe”.

We weren’t able to leave for our lodgings until late that evening, where we were able to take what is called an ‘omnibus’. It’s a marvellous invention, especially when I think about the rickshaws back home. There was no room inside the carriage for us, so we rode on the seats above; seats on the roof! What will they think of next? Our hotel was also high class, I felt criminally under-dressed compared to the rest of the patrons inside, heaven knows that had I not been on an exchange trip, I would never have been able to afford standing inside the lobby of the Great Waterloo Hotel, much less lodge in it.

We were all given one room all to ourselves, it’s nearly criminal how grand and enormous everything is! I feel like a small mouse inside of it, it reminds me of how the world looked like when I was a small child! Compared to the rock-hard mattresses aboard that steamship, I was half worried that the plush would swallow me whole! The concierge of the hotel bragged that this was only half the quality of the Queen’s livings, it’s otherworldly for me, but this would be simple for her? I fear I will never understand London.

I could never be a royal, I enjoy simpler pursuits far too much.

Tomorrow, or technically later today I suppose, Seishirou will report to the Lord Chief Justice for his study assignment, Genshin will head to Whitehall to study with the Scotland Yard, and as for me I only have two options at the moment. I either study at St. Bartholomew Hospital, or St. Synner’s Hospital. I qualify for study at either, but all-in-all, the decision lies in where I can make rent. If I’m mindful of my budget, I can still send a letter back home every few weeks, along with a helpful allowance! Hopefully I can find some suitable lodging soon, I feel an extended night in this hotel is enough to run me dry by the end of the week.

Chapter Text

17 February, 1884

I lost count at how many flats I had seen today, I must have given myself an extended tour of the city through my attempts to find a reasonable lodging. I started my day by thoroughly examining the newspaper for every advertisement, and I had managed to narrow down the possible flats near St. Bartholomew’s and St. Synner’s.

Evidently, that was simply the easy part. As I was walking down the adjacent streets to St. Bartholomew’s, I was worried to see that the flats there were more high end than I anticipated. I tried my luck at the first flat that I had circled over breakfast, but the door slammed in my face just as soon as I had knocked on it! The man inside stated that the vacancy was already filled, a very low probability as the newspaper said that the requests were kept up to date. However, I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I tried down the street. Again, I was turned away. One other simply laughed in my face before turning me away.

How infuriating… I know that I am a foreigner, but am I truly so shabby that one cannot bear to even entertain me for an interview? My homeland may not seem to be as great a power as that of Great Britain, or even London itself, but I am here based on my own qualifications! I am an educated man! I studied this language earnestly! I even tried to read up on the recent history of this very city!

I should hope my homeland never acts as snobbishly as this city…

So, it seems that St. Bartholomew’s is out, I may have to study at St. Synner’s instead. As I had walked through the streets nearby that hospital, the flats and shops seemed closer to a more reasonable budget. I have one last option, one final hope. 

I have this one last newspaper clipping, and I have just sent my letter to the office of the newspaper. There seem to be no other qualifications other than ‘good character’, perhaps it will yield a much better option for me.

Here’s to hoping that 221b Baker Street will open its doors for me!

Chapter Text

18 February, 1884

I don’t really know what I expected. The good news, I am now a resident at 221b Baker Street. The bad not as bad peculiar news is that my fellow tenant is rather eccentric. First off, it was not he that had placed the advertisement in the newspaper, but his landlady.

The landlady, a kindly older woman who introduced herself as Mrs. Hudson, looked particularly relieved when she saw me. I hadn’t even had the chance to introduce myself before she pulled me inside, thanking the heavens, and sitting me down in the sitting room with fresh tea and biscuits. Already a far warmer reception than my awful luck yesterday. She mentioned that the other potential residents had steered clear after discussing matters with the current inhabitant, so she wanted to take the time to speak to me first.

Suddenly, there was this horrible crash just above us in the flat proper. When I saw how white poor Mrs. Hudson was, I immediately rushed upstairs to see what had happened.

The sight before me was horrific, had I not already had experience in the medical field, I would have died from the shock before me!

The first thing I noticed when I forced the door open was the horrible and noxious fumes filling the room. The man was experienced in chemistry judging by his many instruments, but the lunatic hadn’t let any way for the air to filter out. After instructing Mrs. Hudson to open the nearest window, I immediately made my way to the body.

He was still boyish, barely eighteen or so, and he was knocked out cold. I checked to see if anything was blocking his airway, and just as I was about to perform chest compressions, he jerked back to life when he heard Mrs. Hudson moving some graduated glass off of the window sill.

“Mrs. Hudson, I implore you to move nothing!” He shouted, jerking up and nearly hitting me in the head.

As if nothing had happened, he rushed to his working area and shooed the poor woman, frightened out of her wits, away as he hemmed and hawed about.

I was nearly shocked into silence, by the time I came to my senses I tried to get him to sit down so that I could properly examine him, but he would have no such thing; ranting and raving about who knows what!

Somehow, Mrs. Hudson got close to the strange man and pulled him to her level by the ear and told him to be on his best behaviour; it was quite a sight to see, it was as if she were a mother scolding a petulant doctor.

Before I could introduce myself properly, the man, one Herlock Sholmes, started off on a tangent.

“He must nearly be as desperate as you, Dear Nanny,” was all that he remarked.

Upon my questioning look, he grinned wildly, his mouth stretched wide and his eyes were manic.

“Judging from your utterly exhausted expression, this has not been your first time looking for a flat or other lodging, and when I first heard your voice, I knew it to be true that you were not a Londoner! In fact, with my own experience you were not a Briton, a Scotsman, or even an Irishman!” He said. “No, no, no, you aren’t even from the continent…!”

“You’re right, I’m not a European,” I replied. 

“Nevermind that, I also noticed something rather telling about you, Doctor,” He continued, smirking even more when he saw my expression. “The very first thing you did was to check my oral cavity, to see if I had anything blocking my airway… a layman wouldn’t think to do that on the very first instance of finding an unconscious fellow… yes! Your conduct is indicative of good, or very regimented, training! When I felt your fingers on the underside of my jaw, which were quite clammy by the by, you were precise, meaning that this is second nature to you, My Good Doctor!”

“My goodness, right to the letter!” I gasped. “You’re right, My name is Doctor Yujin Mikotoba and—”

“Shush, this dance isn’t over yet!” He interrupted, still wanting to show off even more. “I noticed that your hand has a most peculiar mark, and it supports my first finding even more! Bully!”

Without a second thought, Sholmes dragged me by my coat sleeve and brought the back of my hand close to his now goggled eyes. With a slight whir, he mumbled about himself, muttering incoherently about the remaining residue, suggesting that I had landed either a day or two prior.

How in good heavens could he speculate on such a thing? And so precise!

“And I know your business, had Dear Mrs. Hudson’s presence not been enough of a clue, I can see that torn clipping in your pocket,” He continued. “Clearly, you’re desperate enough to bother me about your less-than-stellar housing prospects at the moment to bother me at such an important time as this…!”

“But that doesn’t explain why you gave us both such a fright!” Mrs. Hudson remarked.

“Simple, I was tired of waiting, so I fell asleep standing up,” Sholmes shrugged.

As if that weren’t an excuse for the windows being closed… What a reckless man! He could have asphyxiated if we were a few minutes too late!

“So my one conclusion about you, Doctor Mikotoba,” Sholmes finished with a final flourish, “Is that you are a medical student from the orient, and you were dually attracted to this flat due to the advertisement placed in the paper by Mrs. Hudson!”

Upon hearing that the newspaper advertisement was not, in fact, penned by Sholmes himself but his landlady was quite a shock to me. Even more by the sheepish look that she returned to me.

It was no wonder that she was so overjoyed to see that I had answered the advertisement.

“Yes! I’m from the Empire of Japan!” I cried out, hoping to get a word in before he could interrupt me once more. “I’m a medical student here on sabbatical!” 

“Mr. Sholmes, you have complained on numerous occasions about the rent, and I have explained that you can offer up space for a fellow lodger to split the cost!” Mrs. Hudson said. “And I have had enough of your horrid experiments, it’s enough to give a fright to this poor woman!”

Ignoring her, Sholmes returned to his workstation, still pulling me by the sleeve, until I came face to face with his experiment. It was then that he started an impromptu presentation about his studies that I started to wonder what on earth Sholmes did for a living. He was clearly very adept at chemistry, windows notwithstanding, what with the care he gave to his instruments, and he employed a great knowledge of human anatomy and physiology— perhaps he is a fellow medical student?

"Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for years. Don’t you see that it gives us an infallible test for blood stains? Let us have some fresh blood,” Sholmes explained as he pulled out an unusually long sewing needle (which nearly gave me a heart attack of my own!) and pricked his forefinger on it and drew the resulting blood into a pipette. “Now, I add this small quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive that the resulting mixture has the appearance of pure water. The proportion of blood cannot be more than one in a million. I have no doubt, however, that we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction!”

I still have no idea what on earth he was blathering on about, but I didn’t want to upset him and lose my one chance at a less expensive residence near the hospital.

As he spoke, he threw into the vessel a few white crystals, and then added some drops of a transparent fluid. In an instant the contents assumed a dull mahogany colour, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the bottom of the glass jar.

Sholmes immediately laughed with pure delight, clapping his hands as if he were a child with a brand new toy. I wonder if that’s how Susato would be in a year or two, good heavens I miss home terribly… 

“Beautiful! beautiful! The old Guiacum test was very clumsy and uncertain. So is the microscopic examination for blood corpuscles. The latter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old,” Sholmes said, “Now, this appears to act as well whether the blood is old or new. Had this test been invented, there would be hundreds of men now walking the earth who would long ago have paid the penalty for their crimes!”

How terribly arrogant and cocky of this man.

He would go on and on about his precious hemoglobins whenever Mrs. Hudson tried to bring up the matter once more about my being a roommate, uttering, “I need my space as I leave it! The Good Doctor would serve no good getting in my way!” 

This man is quite possibly the rudest, or most absent-minded, gentleman that I had ever had the chance to witness! Eventually, I had figured out a way to trick this childish man into entertaining the possibility of my added residence.

“Mr. Sholmes, you’ve lived here for quite some time, yes?” I asked. “Then I’m sure that you are aware of a hospital quite close to this flat?”

He quirked an eyebrow and stared at me with those intense grey eyes. He nodded and motioned for me to keep going.

“Well, as a student, I will have to spend the majority of my time at this hospital, so really, I’ll only be here to rest for the night and perhaps eat breakfast in the morning if I am able,” I told him. “In fact, I will probably be gone for so long, it will still feel like you are living on your own!”

I am far from a gambling man, but I had everything betting on this flat. Sholmes was more delighted in this prospect than he dared to let on, it was that moment in which I knew that I had gotten through to the man. Getting up from his lounge chair he offered his hand and grinned, finally accepting my offer. After that, we had drawn up an agreement for what the other would owe for the rent— it’s a bimonthly affair, though I’m starting to think that it’s bimonthly because of Sholmes…

Chapter Text

20 February, 1884

I haven’t had a moment's rest. Thank goodness everything I own is able to be carried in a trunk, which was not a hassle when I went to move into my lodgings. Compared to the rest of the flat, my room was mercifully kept clean, it seems that even Sholmes has some modicum of consideration in him. Strangely enough, I haven’t seen him at all since we drafted our agreement, but I suppose that’s how he would rather have it in regards to my own business in and out of the flat.

“Let me see—what are my other shortcomings? I get in the dumps at times, and don’t open my mouth for days on end,” He had said that day, “Just leave me alone, and I’ll soon be right as rain.”

I have yet to see what ‘the dumps’ could possibly look like, but I must admit that I am horribly intrigued. 

Another consolation regarding my circumstances is that my first day at St. Synner’s was uneventful. Dr. John H. Wilson is the head coroner of London, and he’s also the senior physician in which I report to. He’s pleasant enough to be around, even with that habit of clearing his throat loudly— nearly scared the heavens out of me when I was deep in thought! He has a wife that he talks about quite a lot, and I have to admit that I am jealous, but at least they are in a happier sort than me. In fact, he talks about her so much that I am absolutely positive that her name is Mary!

My fellow student is a British woman, Courtney Stevens, but I haven’t had the chance to become more than an acquaintance to her yet… but I’m not entirely sure that is a bad thing. It seems that she brings a shadow with her everywhere she goes, I can’t help but shiver when she walks past. She hasn’t said much of anything to me other than a curt, “Good day”, she mostly stares at me out of the corner of her eye. I wonder what on earth she is thinking, but I suppose I should be glad that she isn’t holding a scalpel when she does so? Stevens also has a young girl, who often accompanies her to the hospital, a small thing of two or three, Maria is her name. I hate to talk this way of a child, for lack of better terms, she is most certainly her mother’s daughter. It’s more unnerving when a child stares at you for what seems like hours on end— especially when she doesn’t blink for some time.

Just what on earth did I get myself into on this trip?!

In much better news, I was finally able to send a proper letter back home, the proper first of many… I wonder how long it will take to travel?

Chapter Text

26 February, 1884

Sholmes is a strange and enigmatic man. I finally caught him in one of his moods, there he was just lying on the sofa with this blank look in his eyes. It was as if he were dead to the world with how he was laying about! I would have thought him a cadaver had he not been playing his violin.

Actually, it wasn’t quite like playing, he was mindlessly drawing the bow along the strings making noise over and over again. I know that he has the ability to play, I’ve heard him late at night playing in his quarters while I was trying to sleep, he’s quite skilled. Over this past week I’ve been observing him as best as I possibly could, despite our strange schedules.

The man is clearly not a medical student, nor a student of any sort! Sholmes hasn’t seemed to have pursued any type of reading fit for a degree of any science, and yet he has this zeal about him! No man would study so much, and with such fervour, without any end in sight, right?

For this reason, I’ve decided to pursue a series of experiments with the enigma called Herlock Sholmes. It seems that his ignorance is just as great as his own knowledge. I started first with contemporary philosophy and politics (the latter of which I underwent for the sole purpose of this experiment), to my shock upon quoting Kant and Darwin, he knew next to nothing! Of Darwin, he asked with great naivete about who he was and what he was supposed to have done! My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found that he was also ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition of the Solar System! To think that a man in this day and age, much less a British man who clearly has some modicum of education behind him, should not be aware that the earth travelled around the sun rather than the other way around appeared to me as such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realise it!

Upon seeing my shock, the madman smiled and said, “Now that I do know it, I shall do my best to forget it.”

Forget it? Forget it?!

“You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. 

“Now the skillful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order,” He continued. “It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depending upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones.”

Good grief! What can one possibly say about my peculiar roommate?!

“What the deuce is it to me?” Sholmes concluded. “You say that we go 'round the sun. If we went 'round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work.”

I would like to know what sort of work Sholmes does, but he simply went back to his violin, mindlessly rubbing his bow on the strings and closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

27 February, 1884

Herlock Sholmes— his limits.

1. Knowledge of Literature, or classics— Nil
2. Philosophy—  Nil
3. Astronomy—Nil
4. Politics—  Feeble, there is a possibility that he may be more proficient regarding the subject matter, need more data
5. Botany— Variable. Well up in belladonna, opium, and poisons generally. Knows nothing of practical gardening (Evidence: dead, maybe forgotten, flowers in window box— old enough to crumble under my touch, it seems that not even Mrs. Hudson knows about these)
6. Geology— Practical, but limited. Tells at a glance different soils from each other. After walks, has shown me splashes upon his trousers, and told me by their colour and consistency in what part of London he had received them, peculiar but endearing, godspeed to the launderer
7. Chemistry— Profound, yet absent-minded as evidence by the window negligence, has extensive notes that he piles every which way— it seems that he has no concise filing method to store these findings
8. Anatomy— Accurate, but unsystematic, skulks by hospitals to learn more, see filing method above
9. Sensational Literature— Immense. He appears to know every detail of every horror perpetrated in the century, routinely receives the Illustrated Police News, often has manic grin while reading accounts
10. Plays the violin? Makes noise on the violin? It seems he does not like the absence of noise, requires something to fill the space
11. Is a boxer and swordsman (Nearly swiped my hat off as I was leaving flat, consistently practises stances, decapitated a wax figure bust of himself (?!?!?!))— possible sportsman?
12. Has a good practical knowledge of British law, more than the average layman if I remember from talking with Seishirou

Chapter Text

4 March, 1884

Just what on earth have I gone and gotten myself into now? Today, it seems that neither Sholmes and I had anything better to do, so we were both sharing breakfast in complete and utter silence.  I was reading this article, The Art of Deduction , and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

It was complete and utter ridiculousness! How on earth could one possibly extrapolate so much information from something so insignificant?! Even if it were true, and that’s a big if, that party trick wouldn’t be very practical!

Surprisingly enough, Sholmes looked up at me, wanting to know what on earth had gotten me into such a state. After I told him what the article was about, he laughed like some deranged hyena. 

“Evidently, it’s not a skill you have refined, Mikotoba,” He laughed, “Have you checked who it was that had written it?”

Luckily, I hadn’t offended my roommate for fuming at his ridiculousness in front of him, but even if I had the foresight to check I would do it again!

Anyway, we had gotten into a heated debate about this so-called “science” (as a man of medicine, I resent comparing this guesswork to my own study), and eventually I blurted out demanding what it is that he does if this skill is so instrumental.

“I thought you would never ask, My Good Doctor!” He grinned and added a flourish with a bow. “I’m a consulting detective, the only one in the world!”

I suppose that explains why he is particularly interested in grisly crimes and poisons.

“There are no crimes and no criminals these days,” he said,  “What is the use of having brains in our profession? I know well that I have it in me to make my name famous. No man lives or has ever lived who has brought the same amount of study and of natural talent to the detection of crime which I have done. And what is the result? There is no crime to detect, or, at most, some bungling villainy with a motive so transparent that even a Scotland Yard official can see through it.”

I will admit that he is a very clever man indeed, but also a terribly conceited one.

Just as a plainly dressed fellow was passing by, glancing at every address on the street, I told Sholmes to put his theory to the test and see what he was on about that morning.

With only one glance, he shrugged and stated, “Retired sergeant, possibly of the Marines,”

How broad and general! Brag and bounce, why don’t you! There’s no way that I could prove him otherwise!

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson knocked to let that very man in! He handed a rather large blue envelope to Sholmes, and said that it was very urgent that he open it not a second later.

Just as Sholmes was doing so, I foolishly asked the fellow what his trade was.

“A sergeant, sir, Royal Marine Light Infantry, sir."

He clicked his heels together, raised his hand in a salute, and was gone.

How I wanted to wipe that evil little grin off of that childish man’s face.

“It’s all rather simple, Mikotoba, really it is,” Sholmes said. “Since it’s simpler to know it than to explain how I was able to dispense my theory, I will instead share my conclusions.

“Even across the street I could see a great blue anchor tattooed on the back of the fellow’s hand. That smacked of the sea,” Sholmes said, “He had a military carriage, however, and regulation side whiskers. There we have the marine.

“He was a man with some amount of self-importance and a certain air of command. You must have observed the way in which he held his head and swung his cane,” he continued. “A steady, respectable, middle-aged man, too, on the face of him— all facts which led me to believe that he had been a sergeant."

“But if he were a sergeant, would he not have a uniform?” I asked.

“He had a stub for a tailor, it must have been out for repairs,” Sholmes answered. “Read the letter to me, Mikotoba, I make it a habit not to clog my head up so early in the morning."

Begrudgingly, I did as he told since he tossed the paper to me, and it was important.

“‘Mr. Sholmes, There has been bad business during the night at 3, Lauriston Gardens, off the Brixton Road. Our man on the beat saw a light there about two in the morning, and as the house was an empty one, suspected that something was amiss,’” I read. “He found the door open, and in the front room, discovered the body of a gentleman, well-dressed, having cards in his pocket bearing the name of ‘Joseph Strangerson, Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.’ 

“‘There had been no robbery, nor is there any evidence as to how the man met his death. There are marks of blood in the room, but there is no wound upon his person. We are at a loss as to how he came into the empty house,’” I continued. “‘The whole affair is a puzzler. If you can come round to the house any time before twelve, you will find me there. I have left everything status quo until then.’

“‘— I'll only take you up on your offer once, and only once’” I concluded, “‘Detective T. Gregson.’”

How horrible! I know that this sort of thing is inevitable in such a large metropolis, but coming across one so early in my study, no, being summoned to one personally by a detective of Scotland Yard! It almost feels like the strangest dream!

“Gregson is the best detective in Scotland Yard,” Sholmes yawned. “The best of an incompetent lot… I’m not sure about whether I shall go. I am the most incurably lazy devil that ever lived.”

“Why, it is just such a chance as you have been longing for!” I said.

“My dear fellow, what does it matter to me?” Sholmes asked. “Supposing I unravel the whole matter, you may be sure that Gregson and Company will pocket all the credit.”

“But he begs you to help him!”

“Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and acknowledges it to me; but he would cut his tongue out before he would admit it,” Sholmes continued before stretching up like a lazy cat. “However, we may as well go and have a look. I shall work it out on my own hook. I may have a good laugh at them if I have nothing else! Come on!”

He wasn’t joking with me, he had actually wanted me to accompany him! Since I wasn’t going to the hospital until that afternoon, I decided that this would be a wonderful opportunity to see forensic investigation in the field.

The ride to Brixton was otherwise uneventful, save for when Sholmes stopped us about one-hundred yards away from our destination, to which he excitedly stared at the ground while he ran to the crime scene, and how I as a doctor should “be more mindful of the wonders of walking about rather than lazing away in a hansom!”

Personally, I was just trying not to step in the puddles in the walkway. 

From what I seem to understand, there are four houses on Brixton, two of which (including the one of the crime) are empty. There was a three foot wall that separated the road from the property, and flower bushes were planted in front. Once Sholmes explained that I was his companion, the detectives let us into the main room where the body was waiting. 

Joseph Strangerson was a man of forty-three to maybe forty-four years of age, middle-sized and broad-shouldered with curly black hair and a short stubble beard.

With the permission of Gregson, who somehow had the stomach to feed on fish and chips, Sholmes and I started to investigate the body. Rigour Mortis had already set in, he was definitely dead in the morning hours, just as the constable had reported. His hands were clenched and his arms thrown abroad, while his lower limbs were interlocked as though his death struggle had been a grievous one. On his rigid face there stood an expression of horror, and as it seemed to me, of hatred, such as I have never seen upon human features, which was increased by his writhing and unnatural posture.

The sight of it alone was enough to make me question if I had made the right choice in a profession.

But that would mean that my sacrifice was worthless and that I have ruined any hope of a closeness with my only child.

I couldn’t say definitively due to the light, and lack of instruments on hand, but there seemed to be a discoloration around the dead man’s lips— a bluish-grey discoloration to be exact.

Sholmes was too preoccupied with the floor around him, which had blood spatter despite the lack of bodily harm to Strangerson.

“Then, of course, this blood belongs to a second individual, presumably the murderer, if murder has been committed, of course,” Sholmes deduced. “It reminds me of the circumstances attendant on the death of Van Jansen, in Utrecht, in the year ’34. Do you remember the case, Gregson?”

“No, sunshine,” Gregson replied, clenching his snack furiously. “Nor am I that old!”

“Read it up, you really should,” Sholmes said, ignoring the slight. “There is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before.”

While the two were squabbling (can a squabble be one-sided?), something had caught my eye. A small gold band, far too small for the victim’s finger, was next to the body. I used my pen to pick up the ring, it was possible that it was a woman’s ring.

Just as I was about to call Gregson over, Sholmes covered my mouth with his hand (absolutely disgusting, by the way, judging by the soil that he neglected to wipe off the leather!) and shook his head. I was going to brush him off, but that look in his steely grey eyes caught me off guard. For once, in the short time that I knew Herlock Sholmes, he was dead serious. Even if I wanted to defy him at that moment, the words would have died on my tongue! He shoved my hand into my pocket, so that the ring could remain in safe-keeping. 

Sholmes continued to carry on like some kind of amateur bloodhound. I had decided to properly introduce myself to poor Gregson, who was all-in-all an agreeable man considering the circumstances. Evidently, he was well aware of the exchange trip, he even worked closely with the very man who had conceived of the exchange program in the first place, the prospect for the position of Director of Prosecution himself, Klint van Zieks! It seems that Gregson is rather impressive in his own right!

Just then, Sholmes laughed triumphantly as he struck a match against his boot and held it to the wall. The paper had fallen away in parts. In this particular corner of the room a large piece had peeled off, leaving a yellow square of coarse plastering. Across this bare space there was scrawled in blood-red letters a single word— RACHE.

“And what does it mean now that you have found it?” I asked.

“Mean? Why, it means that the writer was going to put the female name Rachel, but was disturbed before he or she had time to finish," Gregson exclaimed. "You mark my words, when this case comes to be cleared up you will find that a woman named Rachel has something to do with it. It’s all very well for you to laugh, Mr. Herlock Sholmes. You may be very smart and clever, but the old hound is the best, when all is said and done.”

“I really beg your pardon!” said my companion, who had ruffled the detective’s temper by bursting into an explosion of laughter. “You certainly have the credit of being the first of us to find this out! It bears every mark of having been written by the other participant in last night’s mystery. I have not had time to examine this room yet, but with your permission I shall do so now."

“You will do no such thing at this point,” Gregson replied. “As of now, your services are no longer needed, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to ask you both to leave the scene this instant…!”

Just as I was about to protest, Sholmes simply put his hands in his pockets and meandered nonchalantly. 

“Fine then, carry on Dear Gregson,” Sholmes shrugged. “I did say once that I shall be happy to give you any help I can… in the meantime I would like to speak to the constable who found the body, can you give me his name and address?”

“John Rance,” he said. “He is off duty for the next day. You will find him at 46, Audley Court, Kennington Park Gate.”

"Wonderful, wonderful, let us be off, Mikotoba!” Sholmes said as he was making for the exit. “There has been murder done, and the murderer was a man. He was more than six feet high, was in the prime of life, had small feet for his height, and he wore coarse, square-toed boots. He came here with his victim in a four-wheeled cab, which was drawn by a horse with three old shoes and one new one on his foreleg. In all probability the murderer had a florid face, and the fingernails of his right hand were remarkably long. These are only a few indications, but they may assist you, tah-tah, Gregson!”

The detective was just as stunned as I was, so much so that he had dropped his fish and chips from the sheer detail that was shared with us. I still think that it was far too precise for it to be entirely accurate, but I suppose I will have to wait and see just as with the sergeant from that morning! There is no way that any earthly man can have such a knowledge as precise as this!

“If this man was murdered, how was it done?” Gregson sputtered.

“I cannot say exactly what, but I am positively sure that this is poison, Detective,” I explained. “The man had a unique discoloration around his mouth, but of course, I don’t have anything to test its origin.”

“One other thing, Gregson,” Sholmes added, turning round at the door, “‘Rache,’ is the German for ‘revenge;’ so don’t waste your time looking for any 'Miss Rachel'.”

Madman, absolutely and positively a madman, but a clever one at that!

As we rode the hansom back home, Sholmes and I had discussed matters of the case that I had recorded in my casebook. As I can best remember them I can surmise them in this way:

FOR THE CAB:

There was a cab that made two ruts with wheels close to the curb. No rain for the prior week, apart from last night, meaning the wheels that left the impression were present at the same time. Marks of horse’s hooves were present, one outline was more defined compared to the rest, implying that it was new. Conclusion: This was the cab that brought the two individuals to the house.

FOR THE HEIGHT:

Large length of stride judging by disturbed clay on the walkway to the house. Further empowered by height at which the writing was on the wall, men typically write at eye level. Sholmes’ eye level was around the same height, thus the murderer was about six feet, give or take.

FOR THE AGE:

Connected to length of stride, it appeared to be effortless, therefore the man was not old, or as Sholmes put it, “he can’t be quite in the sere and yellow”

FOR THE FINGERNAILS:

Writing was created by a forefinger caked in blood, plaster was scratched slightly with the drag of the letters, this wouldn’t have occurred had the nail been trimmed. Likewise, the writing was consistent with the tilt that one would use with the right-hand.

FOR THE FLORID FACE:

Sholmes was merely surmising, I added that it is possible the murderer is not of good health judging by the blood which appears to be his own. He used quite a lot, it may be possible that he is out of sorts for the next few days.

“Strangerson and Square-toes came in the same cab, and they walked down the pathway together as friendly as possible, arm-in-arm, in all probability,” Sholmes surmised. “When they got inside they walked up and down the room, or rather, Strangerson stood still while Square-toes walked up and down.”

“If your theory regarding his strides is correct, judging by the increased length of his strides, he grew more and more excited,” I added. “He was then talking all the while, and working himself up into a fury… then the tragedy occurred!”

“And that is all we can possibly know for now, the rest is mere surmise and conjecture,” Sholmes replied. “We have a good working basis, however, on which to start.”

Unfortunately, that was all that the two of us could possibly do in regards to the mystery, we were both totally invested at this point in time. I had made my way back to St. Synner’s hospital where Dr. Wilson was planning to instruct Stevens and I the intricacies of poison detection and toxicology on the deceased. Imagine my shock when one of the orderlies wheeled in the very body of Joseph Strangerson himself into that morgue! I would have fainted myself at the sheer serendipity! Thank the heavens for Detective Tobias Gregson!

I was also overjoyed to find out that my hypothesis was correct in regards to Strangerson’s untimely demise. Under Dr. Wilson’s instruction, Stevens cut out a part of the inner cheek from his mouth, of which she dissolved in a hydrochloric acid solution. Afterwards, I inserted a copper strip, which was covered with a dark coating, indicating a poisonous heavy metal’s presence.

If there was a way that I could capture a snapshot of Sholmes’ face when I finally pulled one over on him… 

Chapter Text

5 March, 1884

If there’s anyone who is possibly more disagreeable than Herlock Sholmes, John Rance may quite possibly be that very man. I was sure that Gregson informed Rance that we were both coming to talk to him, but evidently not. We were waiting about an hour for Rance to get out of bed and meet us in the parlour.

John Rance was a weasley old man who looked about ninety pounds, soaking wet. He had a red nose with a thin wiry white moustache that stuck out in every direction.

“I made my report at the office,” The man grunted, clearly irritable at being disturbed from his slumber.

“We ought to hear it from your own lips,” Sholmes replied.

“Fine then, I’ll tell it to ye from the beginnin’, my time was from ten at night to six in the mornin’, got it?” Rance started. “At one o’clock, it started to rain, and I met Henry Murcher, another bobby, and we stood together at the corner of Henrietta Street a-talkin’...”

“Did this Murcher fellow also see the scene?” I asked.

“No,”

“Please go on,” Sholmes said. “And don’t deviate please.”

“Alright, alright, don’t get yer bloomers in a twist! I’m gettin’ there!” Rance grunted. “About two, or a little after, I thought I would take a look down Brixton Road. It was dirty and lonely, not a soul was out, but a cab or two did pass me by… 

“I was a-strollin’ down, thinkin’ about how handy a pint would be right about now,” Rance continued. “When suddenly a light caught me eye in that there abandoned house!

“Why I then went to the door an—”

“You stopped, and then walked back to the garden gate,” Sholmes interrupted as a matter of factly. “What did you do that for?”

“Why, that’s true, sir!” He gasped. “Though how you came to know it, only Heaven knows. Ye see, when I got up to the door it was so still and lonesome, that I thought I’d be none worse for wear! I ain’t a-feared of anythin' on this side o’ the grave; but I thought that maybe it was him that died o’ the typhoid inspecting the drains what killed him!”

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Sholmes said. 

I quickly replied so as to diffuse the situation, “Anyway, there was no one on the street?” 

“Not a livin’ soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. Then I pulled myself together and went  back and pushed the door open. All was quiet inside, so I went into the room where the light was a-burnin’,” Rance continued. “There was a candle flickerin’ on the mantelpiece, a red wax one, and by its light I saw—”

“Yes, yes, I know all that you saw, you walked around the room several times,” Sholmes interrupted. “You knelt down by the body, and then you walked through and tried the kitchen, get on with it man!”

Rance turned as white as a sheet as he jumped up to his feet and staggered back.

“Where the hell did you hide to see all that you did?!” he exclaimed. “Seems to me that you know a whole lot more than you should!”

“He’s just a very observant detective, Mr. Rance, please don’t lose yourself,” I added.

Rance returned to his seat, without however losing his mystified expression. “I went back to the gate and sounded my whistle. That brought Murcher and two more to the spot.”

“Was the street empty then?”

“Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any good goes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen many a drunk chap in my time,” he said, “but never anyone so cryin’ drunk as that cove. He was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin’ up against the railings, and a-singin’ at the pitch of his lungs about Columbine’s New-fangled Banner, or some such stuff. He couldn’t stand, far less help.”

“What sort of a man was he?!” Sholmes demanded.

“He was an uncommon drunk sort of man,” he said. “He’d have found himself in the station if we hadn’t been so taken up.”

“His face, his dress, didn’t you notice them?” Sholmes broke in impatiently.

“I should think I did notice them, seeing that I had to prop him up— me and Murcher between us. He was a long chap, with a red face, the lower part muffled 'round—”

“That will do,” Sholmes said. “What became of him?”

“We’d enough to do without lookin’ after him,” the policeman said, in an aggrieved voice. “I’ll wager he found his way home all right.”

“How was he dressed?” Sholmes asked.

“A brown overcoat.”

“Had he a whip in his hand?” I asked. 

“A whip? No?

“He must have left it behind,” muttered my companion. “You didn’t happen to see or hear a cab after that?”

“No.”

“There’s a half-sovereign for you,” Sholmes grumbled before getting up. “I am afraid, Rance, that you will never rise in the force and that head of yours should be better used as an ornament. The man whom you held in your hands is the man who holds the clue of this mystery, and whom we are seeking. There is no use arguing about it now, I tell you that it is so. Come along, Doctor.”

I was utterly aghast at my companion’s bluntness. I know that he’s a disagreeable man, but I had never been witness to such a flagrant display of such awful behaviour from the man! The childish man stormed off while I tried to scold him, despite the rather colourful curses from our bewildered informant.

“I simply told him nothing but the truth, Mikotoba!” Sholmes rolled his eyes. “I truly don’t understand why you’re still going on about this!”

“It was awful and needlessly cruel! He was just telling us what he witnessed!”

Sholmes threw his hands in the air and stepped out of the hansom.

“What the deuce is that good for when our clue slipped out like that!” Sholmes shouted. “Go back to Baker Street without me, I’ve got some business!”

He certainly didn’t need to tell me twice!

I spent the rest of the day sulking in my own quarters, reading up on the medical textbooks Dr. Wilson personally gave to me. They are quite possibly the dullest textbooks to have ever existed, but I have to force myself to read them all the same. My mind had wandered while I studied, and I speculated as to what Genshin or Seishirou were doing. I find it rather surprising that I hadn’t seen Genshin at all during this investigation, granted, London is a large city and there are probably countless other crimes in which he is otherwise preoccupied.

Good heavens, I’m thinking exactly like Sholmes.

Anyway, after our spat, Sholmes returned to Baker Street just after suppertime to shove a newspaper article in my face.

“Excuse my using of your name,” he said. “If I used my own, some of these dunderheads would recognize it, and want to meddle in the affair.”

Evidently, when we departed the day prior, Sholmes had made a mad dash for the nearest newspaper to post in the Found Column. The criminal would have no idea that this ring could connect him, as far as he’s concerned it’s only a matter between him and a goodhearted doctor who wanted to do a kind deed! He was desperate enough to return to the scene according to Rance’s observation, therefore he would rather die than part with this ring.

I must admit, Sholmes gets credit where it's due. Perhaps there is an actual method to his madness! 

Almost as nearly as it struck eight o’clock, an old woman made her way to our lodging, she wore a dark cloak and kept her head down as she hunched forward.

“Does Dr. Mikotoba live here?” She asked. “I come in the matter of the lost ring.”

“Yes, yes, please come in,” I nodded, careful not to get too good a look at her, as per Sholmes’ instructions. “May I ask your address?” 

She shook her head, “The ring is not mine, but my girl, Sally’s, she lives at 3, Mayfield Place, Peckham… I must thank you for your notice, she was married not long ago and her husband is a steward upon a union boat, a smart clean lad so long as he’s at sea…”

“May I ask your names?” 

“Mine is Sawyer, hers is Dennis,” The woman answered. “My Sally will be a happy woman on this night!”

After exchanging the property back to the woman, we waited until she was out of the flat. Upon seeing her hailing a cab from his perch by the window, Sholmes and I quickly darted out onto the road as soon as it started off.

On a silent count of three, we somehow managed to sneak onto the luggage carrier in the back of the vehicle while the driver at front was none the wiser. When the carriage was starting to slow, Sholmes and I jumped off and returned to the walking path as if we were strolling by. We had observed as the carriage driver pulled to a stop and opened the door for the woman. After a few moments of no one coming out, the driver peeked inside and felt around as he let out as many curses as he could for he was robbed of a final fare. 

Somehow, this old woman had figured out that she was followed and jumped out while the vehicle was in motion and disappearing in our pursuit!

I felt bad for the poor driver so I snuck three shillings into his bag as a form of compensation.

Sholmes, however, was nearly ecstatic at this prospect, despite losing our one sole clue to the killer.

“There’s the scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it!” Sholmes laughed. “This old woman, or should I say disguised young man, may have one this round, but our fight is nowhere near finished yet!”

“I will admit that there is no way an old woman could have performed such a feat,” I replied. “But there’s no way that height could have been faked, even if the man was hunched over he would still be considerably shorter than the six foot man we’re looking for.”

“My point exactly, Mikotoba, this shows that the man we are after is not as lonely as we had initially presumed,” Sholmes replied. “But rather, our man has friends who would also risk as much as he!” 

I wonder if my own friends would be so foolhardy or careless as our man’s fellow. Perhaps Sholmes is right about this scarlet thread, we’re getting closer to the end of the mystery, but where on earth will we end up?

Chapter Text

6 March, 1884

I woke up to the clamouring of about a half dozen street boys running around the sitting room of our flat. They were all grabbing as many biscuits and sweets that their little hands could find, faster than Mrs. Hudson could bring them out. The youngest were five, maybe six, and the oldest ones were thirteen or fourteen.

Sholmes marched in and clicked his heels while shouting, “‘Tention!”, causing the boys to line up from tallest to shortest in a perfectly straight line and at attention.

“Close your mouth, Doctor, you’ll catch flies,” Mrs. Hudson told me, “These are just the street boys that Mr. Sholmes uses on occasion!”

“In the future, you shall send up Wiggins alone to report, and the rest of you shall wait in the street,” Sholmes yawned, despite his facade. “Have you found it yet, Wiggins?”

A boy, who was ten or eleven at most, shook his head and swiped his fingers against his cap, “No sir, not yet, but we will!”

“Hardly expected that you would yet, but remember, the foreleg is the new shoe!” Sholmes replied. “Keep on at it boys, here are your wages and come back with better news!”

As soon as my companion flicked one shilling for each boy, they scampered out of the flat and billowed out onto the street in different directions to tail hansoms and cabs alike. 

“Those are the Baker Street Irregulars, the most brilliant and brightest it has to offer,” Sholmes explained. “There’s more work out of one of those little beggars than out of a dozen of the force, the mere sight of an official seals men’s lips. These youngsters, however, go everywhere and hear everything and they are as sharp as needles, too!”

“And I presume, a greater use to you than Scotland Yard?” I asked.

“Finally, you’re getting on my level, Mikotoba, my good man!”

It was then that, out of all the people I hadn’t expected that day, Genshin ran into the suite. His face was red and his hair stuck to his skin as he had run all the way to our flat and needed to brace himself on the wall. 

“Gregson told me that you’d be here, Yujin!” He huffed. “He wanted me to tell you and some Sholmes fellow the news of the case, and his thanks for your assistance!”

“This is the Sholmes fellow in the very flesh,” My companion primped, surely glad of his endeavours from yesterday. “I presume the Yard has finally gotten on the right track?”

“What are you talking about, ‘right track’?” Genshin asked. “We have the man under lock and key!”

“Then who is he?” I asked.

“Arthur Carpentier is his name, and a sublieutenant in Her Majesty’s Navy to boot!” Genshin said. “We had taken the dead man’s hat and traced it to a hat shop, the hatter then said he had sent a boy to deliver it to Strangerson who was residing at Carpentier’s boarding establishment.

“We then called upon Madame Carpentier who, alongside her daughter, was pale and distressed. The younger one was red around the eyes and her lip was trembling, so I knew that something was amiss,” Genshin continued. “I asked ‘Have you heard anything regarding the death of your former boarder, Mr. Joseph Strangerson?’, and you know what she said?”

“Bully! Go on!” Sholmes replied, even if his expression hadn’t matched his enthusiasm .

“The mother nodded, and before she could get a word out, her daughter burst into tears!”

“Poor thing, she must have been rather disturbed,” I said.

“Not just that, turns out they had thrown Strangerson out the night before the murder because of his obscene drinking, and he’d put himself on the daughter, Alice,” Genshin said. “The night it happened, he stank of whiskey and leaned in close, 'You are of age,' he said, 'and there is no law to stop you. I have enough money to spare. Never mind the old girl here, but come along with me now straight away. You shall live like a princess.'... evidently, he didn’t anticipate the Carpentier son to pay a visit after his deployment.”

“Motive enough, I suppose,” Sholmes mumbled. “Not entirely devoid of interest…”

Just then, Gregson finally entered the flat, he did not share Genshin’s enthusiasm or vigour. He looked up glumly and said that another murder had taken place, with the same exact details, down to the letter of RACHE, and it happened while Carpentier was detained earlier that very morning.

“What else is interesting is that this victim, Josiah Ryker, is Strangerson’s secretary,” Gregson stated. “And he was murdered at Halliday’s Private Hotel at about six this morning.” 

Sholmes practically jumped up with excitement as he gathered as many instruments as he could into a large trunk and instructed me to carry it for him, (Evidently, I look stronger, or so his lazy logic dictates). Wiggins had called up a hansom for us both while Gregson and Genshin went their own way to the scene of the crime. Sholmes paid the boy an extra shilling to hold the cab down for us while we went inside the hotel.

Just the same as its sister, the scene of Ryker’s murder was just as identical as Strangerson’s. The only difference was that Ryker hadn’t gotten into rigour yet. His limbs were weak and malleable, but the way his fingers curled had intrigued me greatly. The discolouration of poison was also present, just the same as Strangerson. 

“The man was seen,” Gregson said.  “A milk boy, passing on his way to the dairy, happened to walk down the lane which leads from the back of the hotel. He noticed that a ladder, which was usually set upon the ground, was raised against one of the windows of the second floor, which was wide open. 

“After passing, he looked back and saw a man descend the ladder. He came down so quietly and openly that the boy imagined him to be some carpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. He took no particular notice of him, beyond thinking in his own mind that it was early for him to be at work,” Gregson continued. “He said that the man was tall, had a reddish face, and was dressed in a long, brown coat. He must have stayed in the room some little time after the murder, for we found blood-stained water in the basin, where he had washed his hands.”

That was it! That was our very man who had committed both murders, and we’re finally able to pull this scarlet thread away piece by piece and pull by pull!

While the detectives were busy at work taking account of every paper and bill, none of which had been burgled or otherwise disturbed, Sholmes and I were looking for any trace of a weapon. It was then that I had come across a single telegram, dated from Cleveland about a month ago, and containing the words, ‘J. H. is in Europe.’ There was no name appended to this message.

Sholmes, meanwhile, was fiddling with a pill box that was next to a glass of water on the windowsill.

We traded our findings, and I noticed that these pills in particular were light, it was possible that they were water soluble due to their proximity to the glass of water. 

Just then, Genshin let out a yelp as he fell back onto the floor. An emaciated dog with mangy fur and a broken tail had somehow gotten in on the crime scene from the back street. It was a pitiful sight, my heart sank just looking at the emaciated creature, it was just skin and bones at this point.

“Get that blasted mutt out of here before it makes a mess!” Gregson shouted.

“Tut, tut, Gregson, if I may have a moment, please?” Sholmes said, as he placed one of the pills in the glass, watching as it dissolved perfectly before placing it on the floor in front of the dog.

It sniffed before lapping up the liquid before it seized and collapsed onto the floor, as if it were struck by lightning that very second.

Perhaps it was a mercy that the poor animal died so fast.

“There you have it, gentleman, this is the very murder weapon!” Sholmes announced. “And before you lose yourself, Gregson, it would have been a bigger crime to let the mutt live on in that condition for it to die later in some rat infested alley.”

Gregson, who is evidently very much the animal lover, wrapped up the dog in his overcoat, mumbling how he was going to, “give this poor beast a proper burial”, and he was oblivious to Sholmes swiping a pair of his handcuffs from his belt. 

“Well, there’s nothing more to glean from this crime scene, but at the very least, there will be no more murders of this sort!” Sholmes announced.

“How can you possibly be so sure?” I had asked. 

“Simple enough in regards to the mens’ identities, they are both Americans who have no other ties to this continent other than a ‘J.H.’” Sholmes shrugged as he started to the cab where Wiggins was waiting. “Oh, Cabbie, do be a chap and help my associate with that large trunk…!”

If it were not for the way this plan had unfolded, I would have killed him myself for making me lug around such a heavy load and never even open it up or use what was inside.

The fellow came forward with a somewhat sullen, defiant air, and put down his hands to assist. At that instant there was a sharp click, the jangling of metal, and Herlock Sholmes sprang to his feet again.

“Gentlemen,” he cried, with flashing eyes, “Let me introduce you to Mr. Jefferson Hope, the murderer of Joseph Strangerson and Josiah Ryker!”

Like a madman, our culprit used all of his force to shove Sholmes to the ground, thrashing away despite the inability to use his hands. He headbutted and kicked and bit at Sholmes, Gregson, and even Genshin as he attempted to gain his freedom. He had even knocked me back, causing me to develop a most horrible black eye later that evening.

Thinking fast, I undid my belt and shouted for some help. Sholmes understood exactly what I had intended to do and instructed Gregson to help tackle the behemoth to the ground. Genshin undid his belt, just the same, and helped hold Hope’s legs down as we tied the leather to his legs to bind them. 

As soon as the ordeal was over, an extra pair of bobbies helped Gregson and Genshin pick up Hope and carry him off to be carted away to the gaol.

That evening, Sholmes had helped me retrieve ice for my eye. He intends on seeing this mystery out to the very end, and I can’t help but feel a similar obligation. I just hope that my eye won’t be swollen shut when we both visit Jefferson Hope first thing tomorrow morning…

Chapter Text

7 March, 1884

I never imagined that I could ever feel so awful for a man’s circumstances, or such hatred towards the men that he had murdered. Sholmes and I were already making our way to the gaol where Hope was being held when we came across a bobby that was headed our way.

Evidently, Hope called for us personally, he had something he wished to confess.

“Wouldn’t that be far better suited for a priest?” Sholmes inquired. 

“He requested you and the doctor specifically, sir.”

The gaol is quite possibly the darkest pit in the heart of London. I had never seen so many criminals up close, and in such a varying degree of severity; from murderers to pickpockets to drunkards, but they were all locked up just the same. 

Jefferson Hope was pale and a husk of the giant that we had encountered the day before. Now that I had the chance to properly view him, I was marvelled at how close Sholmes’ description was to the living man himself. He was about Sholmes’ height, and the florid face was all the same. The source of the blood that he used to write his motive was evident, the man had blood dripping down the corner of his mouth. 

“Well, Hope, we’re here at last,” Sholmes said. “What have you to say?”

“I’ve got a good deal to say,” our prisoner said slowly. “I want to tell you gentlemen all about it.” 

“Hadn’t you better reserve that for your trial?” I asked. 

“I may never be tried,” he answered. “You needn’t look startled. It isn’t suicide I am thinking of,” He turned his fierce dark eyes upon me, “Put your hand here,” he said, with a smile, motioning with his manacled wrists towards his chest.   

When I did, I noticed that he had an irregular heartbeat; and not only that, but a weak one as well. As I listened, I could hear his laboured breathing, he was exerting himself just by breathing! Suddenly, a painful fit of coughing erupted through the man, he lurched forward and some blood had even spattered on the edge of my sleeve.

He dismissed me as I reached for my bag, “I went to a doctor last week about it, and he told me that it is bound to burst soon enough. It has been getting worse for years. I got it from overexposure and underfeeding among the Salt Lake Mountains. 

“I’ve done my work now, and I don’t care how soon I go,” Hope concluded grimly, “But I should like to leave some account of the business behind me. I don’t want to be remembered as a common cutthroat.”

It was then that he had started his tragic tale. Twenty-some years ago, Hope was a young man who lived in the United States, he had travelled westwards on the frontier to find his fortune in the silver mines of Nevada. 

It was then that he had come across a young woman, one Lucy Ferrier, who was tending to her cattle on her father’s farm. It was as if two souls had finally conjoined after an eternity apart; he was a lucky man too, since her father had approved of their hopeful union. 

Hope departed from his betrothed to earn a more stable keep, a feat that he anticipated would only take two months. However, there were nefarious powers at play for they were all in what he had called, ‘Mormon Country’. Evidently, Old Ferrier and his daughter were saved from a perilous and painful demise from starvation and thirst by the migrating folk, their leader, The Prophet, promised to save them if they would follow their laws and commandments.

Ferrier would sooner die than let his daughter become one of a harem of Mormon wives, which had caused great danger to the man. While Hope was gone, both Strangerson and Ryker, who were both two powerful men in the church, accosted Ferrier for his daughter’s hand, despite their own pick of wives! What greedy and selfish men indeed...

Ferrier called upon Hope as soon as possible, they only had one month until one of them would force poor Lucy’s decision (as if she had any to begin with due to these evil brutes!) 

It was a risky journey doomed to fail, a group of Mormon vigilantes, ‘The Avenging Angels”, had tracked them down and waited until Hope was searching for water to kill Ferrier and kidnap Lucy. Hope travelled through the desert by his lonesome, returning to Salt Lake City, but it was too late. His poor Lucy was forced to marry Strangerson and become his eighth wife, and the poor girl died of a broken heart a month later. Hope had stolen the ring off of her finger in hopes that the monster responsible for her misery would see it in his final moments.

I almost have to admire Jefferson Hope for what he did, he had travelled from the western edge of the United States, to St. Petersburg, and finally to London. Whenever I try to go to sleep, I’m unable to find any rest. I can’t stop thinking about my poor Ayame. My heart breaks when I see her face in my mind’s eye. I can’t bear to imagine what a horrible fate had happened to poor Lucy Ferrier. If some monster did that to Ayame, I know that I would throw out the oath, my profession be damned, and find whoever had stolen her life away.

My poor Susato, I can’t bear to imagine Ferrier’s position either. I can’t bear to stomach the horror he felt when they stole her away from him. 

That poor girl, I hope that no one would even dare think of doing the same to my poor child.

Chapter Text

10 March, 1884

I write this entry with a heavy heart. Genshin came to 221b early this morning. Jefferson Hope was found dead in his cell at around midnight with a calm and serene smile across his face. It seems that his heart has finally given out now that his mission is finally completed (I pray that it was a quick and merciful death after his horrific ordeal). I truly hope that he can find his beloved in much better circumstances in the next life… 

I might be going mad, but I swear that even Sholmes is morose upon hearing the news, he hadn’t even held his Stradivarius at all today. 

There’s one aspect of this case that I’ve been unable to wrap my head around. I can’t stop thinking about the disappearing old woman. Perhaps she wasn’t actually old, and I never did get a good look at her face. It can’t have been Hope, there’s no way a man of his stature could have shrunk himself and appeared so feeble, no matter how sickly he was at the time. I believe Sholmes was right, he did have friends, but unfortunately it’s too late to ask the man now.

Chapter Text

31 March 1884

I finally received a letter from home, and my heart is heavy. Today is my birthday, I am twenty-seven years old, and it’s my first one without my family. I’m horribly and completely alone… it’s enough to drive a man insane. It’s storming like mad, some of the backstreets that haven’t been paved are already starting to flood. I’d much rather stay inside than catch a death of cold. Genshin and Seishirou visited today, but it wasn’t for long due to their other duties. I can’t blame them for not wanting to stay either, I could barely bring myself out of bed this morning, I’ve been nothing but a wet towel.

Evidently, Mrs. Hudson had caught wind of today, and she personally baked a cake for me. I have no idea why she placed candles on it, but to each their own. It was a wonderful dessert and the only good thing about today.

I got into a bit of an argument with Sholmes. He noticed my lethargy and general disposition and decided to perform his blasted ‘Dance of Deduction’ on me. It was invasive and unwarranted, but I wasn’t infuriated at the fact that he did it; I was more upset about what he had been able to say.

“I can see that you’re clutching the letter fervently,” He said. “Judging from the seal on the envelope, it clearly comes from abroad…

“Your face fell as soon as you read it, clearly from a loved one you left behind,” He continued. “And you are learning that life is still going on despite your absence…

“You must have no fear, man! You must keep going on! When in London, keep a stiff upper lip!” Sholmes concluded. “She clearly still holds affection for you since she still sent a letter!”

That just hit too close to my heart, and I don’t regret snapping like I did.

“My wife is dead, this is a letter from my mother,” I replied. “And I miss my infant daughter.”

Without another word, I left the sitting room and stormed off to my room in the attic and locked my door. Perhaps I was harsh, but his ‘deductions’ were invasive, so I had felt justified.

9 March, 1884

My Son,

I’m relieved to hear that you are safe and sound in London, I was terribly worried for you until I finally received a proper letter from you. Susato is growing well, she’s got the rosiest and plumpest cheeks I’ve ever seen in any babe, and she most certainly is a happy one.

It’s starting to warm up here, so I took Susato out on a stroll. Many of the young women here absolutely adored her, she’s already a very popular and agreeable little thing. She’s been growing wonderfully since you had last seen her, and she’s already a clever little mite. Do you remember Mizuki Chihiro? Susato reached out for her pendant when she was being held by her, clutching the jewel and cooing at it,  what a curious little girl! Your funds will be well used for her schooling, I most certainly believe it!

I hope that this letter will arrive soon around your birthday. This is the first birthday of yours in which we are separated, and as your mother, I cannot help but miss you terribly. You are grown, but you will always still be my child, no matter what. Please don’t spend the day alone, I beg that you try to find some happiness and to take care of yourself. You are a strong man, and you have made a heavy sacrifice, that is more than most fathers can say.

We wait eagerly for your next letter, please stay safe in that city,

Your Mother

Chapter Text

4 April, 1884

I haven’t seen Sholmes in a few days. There are some occasional visitors to the flat accosting Sholmes, but he’s been keeping such strange hours that Mrs. Hudson had to turn them away. I suppose I’ve gone and upset the man since the incident a few days ago. I can’t complain either, he’s also been listless since the Hope case, mumbling under his breath about “boredom” and “absolute and complete disinterest” while dragging that blasted bow against his violin. It’s been so incessant that even the cat that rests by my window starts to yowl when he starts it up late at night.

Since I haven’t been dragged into any more of Sholmes’ misadventures, I’ve been focusing more and more on my studies. So far, it’s mostly just lectures at the moment, there have been no strange murders or unexplained deaths as of yet. I’ve never been particularly intolerant of lectures, it’s quite a lot of work that we have to undergo through our education, a fact of life even, but Dr. Wilson certainly has a way to go off on tangents. Upon discussing the matter of decomposition, he went on this aside regarding an event in which he and his wife were walking in the park and they had come across a dead mallard that was hit with a rock by some delinquents. While his wife had chased them down, even dragging one by the ear apparently, Wilson had observed the duck, noticing that flies were already surrounding the poor creature’s eyes.

Admittedly the abnormal detail in which my mentor went into this was a bit unsettling, it even made Stevens squeamish ( her , of all people!). At least I don’t feel too horrible about interrupting him and asking a question that was in our textbook.

I think Sholmes’ madness is rubbing off on me, during suppertime, I had spent the evening suturing the peels of my orange back together. It’s not too shabby, if I can admit it myself, but I think I may need to send another letter soon to keep my mind from drifting.

Chapter Text

21 April, 1884

I have been frightfully busy since I was able to write in this journal. In the past weeks, I have had the opportunity to observe Dr. Wilson performing an autopsy! It’s rather controversial here, and I can definitely see why. Apparently the patient was a rather eccentric man in life who had insisted upon donating his body for endeavours such as these.

Of course, he reminded me instantly of Sholmes.

Stevens and I weren’t able to actually do anything yet, we were simply told to observe and take notes. The smell of the preservative chemicals was nearly overwhelming, and I think it absolutely destroyed my appetite for the week. According to my notes, the blood has had time to settle at the base of the body, meaning that if Dr. Wilson hit an artery while making his incision, there won’t be a horrific mess as there would have been had the victim been alive. I know I ought never to talk in detail about this sort of thing other than with Stevens or Dr. Wilson (Maybe Sholmes, but only if he doesn’t look gleeful), but I can’t help but feel so intrigued and fascinated! There’s so much potential that a cadaver can tell investigators, even if there was no crime, it can certainly help ascertain the cause of death! This gentleman had small tumours developing in his lungs, according to Dr. Wilson’s notes at the time of death, he had often complained of trouble breathing as well as chest pains when he was alive. It’s possible that this man could have had a particularly aggressive form of cancer, or, perhaps we can compare these results with those of other people who died in a similar manner and identify a disease as well as prevention!

I shouldn’t get ahead of myself again, I’m only a student as of yet, and I haven’t actually performed the autopsy myself. I would personally rather work with the living, but I can see why Stevens is so passionate about this part of medicine!

I’ve received a letter from back home today, it seems that it takes about three weeks to a month to correspond, and so far I have been able to stick with my budget. I wish to see Susato again, but I can’t ask my mother to spend so much on a dozen photographs. I will have to cherish the one I have until she is able to send me more, or until I see my poor girl again.

4 April, 1884

My Son,

I hope your studies are well, and I’m glad to hear that you have been able to find an agreeable flatmate while you are in that city. From what you tell me, this man seems strange but harmless enough; however, the trick he pulled on you and that lovely landlady was rotten enough! Oh well, I’m sure you’ve lectured the man enough already.

Susato has grown a lot, and gained some weight too, a very good sign indeed! She’s 6starting to roll onto her back and tummy by herself, what a strong and agile baby girl! She’s even starting to babble, she’s been saying ‘ba-baa’ quite a lot, I like to think that she is saying ‘obaa’. I’ve read your letter to her nearly every night, so that Susato knows that she has a father who loves her dearly.

We miss you dearly, please write back to us soon,

Your Mother

Chapter Text

3 May, 1884

The most peculiar thing happened to me while I was walking to the hospital today. I may be paranoid, and this may be a result of living with Sholmes, but I had the strangest feeling that I was being watched. 

For the past week, I noticed a hunched man hobbling up and down the streets where I had made a comfortable route. He was always ten paces behind me, and he would click his stick against the cobblestone. At first, I thought he was a blind beggar, there are often a handful near hospitals where patrons are more likely to feel charitable, but I’m starting to think that this is all an act. It had rained last night, so there were puddles. A hansom was driving by quickly, just as it turned the corner, I jumped back in an attempt to avoid the mud. Strangely, before I jumped, the man jumped back too, as if he were anticipating the splash. There’s only one conclusion I could come up with on the spot— the man was not blind, and the error of jumping back a split second before I did proved it to me!

Then, I was conducting some rounds with Dr. Wilson in the hospital proper. I was checking over a patient’s record, while Dr. Wilson was conducting a nasal exam, when I saw the reflection of a nurse in his head mirror. Normally, I would have thought nothing of it, but she was staring at me so intensely, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up on end.

The first chance I could, I dashed to the doorway from where she was, to find a scarlet ‘S’ made of lipstick on the wood! I tried to wipe up the mess, but it seems the pigment had time to stain. 

As I started my walk home, I decided to take an unexpected route. Upon this sudden change, I saw a flash of golden hair dipping into the alley. I waited a few moments before approaching it, to make sure whoever it was was none the wiser that I had played them for a fool. Consider my shock when I see that there was nothing left behind except for a wig!

I know I’m terribly paranoid, but I think someone is trying to follow me.

Chapter Text

17 May, 1884

I’m going to murder the man myself, rent be damned! I’ve had enough of these antics, it’s horrible for my heart! I’ve had it, I swear, I’ve had it! The identity of the so-called ‘stalker’ is just Sholmes!

This morning, we were woken by a frightful scream coming from below the flat. I instantly recognized it as poor Mrs. Hudson, so I ran as fast as I could to see how I could help her. The moment I saw her, the poor old woman turned white and clamped onto me with the strength of ten men. I tried as best as I could to calm her, because she couldn’t get another word in edgewise, instead she pointed at her ajar door into the flat. I instructed her to stay outside while I went in to examine what had happened inside. I could see that her bedchamber was open, and from what I could see it was an absolute mess inside.

“Some horrible creature broke in!” Mrs. Hudson said, finally gathering her resolve. “I saw the awful man leaving the window with one of my dresses!”

Of course, I was taken aback by this statement. None of her jewellery had been tampered with, nor had her moneybox been taken out of the armoire, just a blue dress of hers. 

“What a dreadful wretch, frightening an old woman like that!” She shouted. “What would someone want with one of my dresses?!”

It was then that Sholmes just meandered down the hall, enjoying an apple and asking about the commotion. Mrs. Hudson explained what I was doing, and with one look inside, he simply shrugged his shoulders and laughed loudly (and what a laugh, I’ll never forget it!)

“Why, Mrs. Hudson, there’s nothing to worry about, it will all resolve itself by day’s end!”

He then left, only inquiring about breakfast and nothing more. I had stayed behind to help Mrs. Hudson clean up the mess that the burglar had left behind, and I most certainly didn’t tell Sholmes about the extra pastries she was planning on serving today.

That incident this morning nearly escaped my mind when I went to a nearby pub to meet with Genshin and Seishirou. They’re both doing very well for themselves; Genshin has been working closely with a hopeful for the Director of Prosecutions, while Seishirou has been working closely with the Lord Chief Justice himself. I admit, I am extremely jealous of them both. It seems their lodging has been more favourable than mine…

Anyway, just as we were served our first round of pints, Seishirou and Genshin were already snickering at something behind me.

“Who knew we were sitting with such an eligible bachelor?” Seishirou guffawed.

“Don’t look now, but there’s some lady in blue that’s been staring at you intently!” Genshin added.

Despite their poking and prodding (and as if I can just forget about Ayame?! Good heavens, they’re hopeless…), I turned and nearly screamed.

Right there, at the bar, was a woman who covered her face with a fan. However, the dress matched exactly the description that Mrs. Hudson had given to me that morning! I covered my face with my hat and hunched over the table, hoping and praying that I hadn’t been spotted. 

Unfortunately, judging by how awful my friends are at stifling their glee at my expense, we were approached. 

“Really, man, how many blasted disguises must I go through for you to catch on?!” Sholmes asked. 

“When you learn how to wear a wig properly, Sholmes…” I snipped back. 

“So I forget a pin or two, I’d like to have it back sometime, by-the-by!” Sholmes continued before twirling in the stolen dress. “Though I have to admit, I never considered the possibility of blue against my complexion!”

“Why did you have to steal the landlady’s dress?” There was no hiding my mortification, I could see confusion and, dare I say, amusement in my friends’ faces through my fingers.

My face was red hot, but my anger was ten times stronger!

“Really now, I made it terribly easy with that ‘S’ in the wood!” Sholmes blathered on. “Don’t you think it clever of me? Disguises are such a wonderful thing!”

“And I thought the escape from the asylum in this morning’s paper was unsuccessful,” Jigoku muttered.

“As for your query about the dress, I’ve been absolutely bored out of my mind!” Sholmes said. “Absolutely bored, and nothing has been able to catch my fancy! And as I told Mrs. Hudson, the matter will be resolved by day’s end!”

It was then that I had noticed how dilated Sholmes’ eyes were, how full of energy he suddenly had compared to the past few weeks. I remember thinking back to what he told me the day we had met, how he gets down in the ‘dumps’. Unfortunately, I believe this is the worst that these ‘dumps’ have to offer, and it’s far worse than my imagination could have possibly conceived.

As quietly as I possibly could, I demanded to know how much he had managed to consume, and he simply said, “The joy of the seven percent solution!”

With an inflated sense of bravado, he marched up to the biggest man he could see and demanded a bout of fisticuffs. Rightfully thinking that the man was inebriated, he refused until Sholmes emptied his glass and slammed it bottom up onto the table. Evidently there’s some unspoken rule, or the man was (rightfully) cross with Sholmes for wasting the drink.

Even in his state, Sholmes can put up a decent fight ( Dare I say I was impressed at how fast he could move in a dress? ). Other patrons started cheering and got in on the brawl once one of them bumped into their drinks, including Seishirou who had managed to crack a tabletop.

I can at least say that I am grateful to Genshin for helping me drag Sholmes out of this mess. I do hope that this incident doesn’t reflect poorly on any of us.

Somehow we returned home without getting Mrs. Hudson’s attention, it would be very awkward to explain why Sholmes was in her stolen dress. I can hear him retching and heaving in the water closet. Luckily, it seems he will be fine save for nursing a rather horrible headache during the next morning.

I never want to see these ‘dumps’ again, as a physician and as Sholmes’ flatmate (Dare I say friend? Or am I desperately lonely?), he wasn’t like himself at all.

Good heavens, this man will kill himself out of boredom’s sake if I leave him out of my sight.

Chapter Text

20 May, 1884

After a three day round of convincing, I managed to get through to Sholmes. I brought Sholmes with me today to the morgue. Dr. Wilson had been assigned to a case of an apparent suicide, or, we were told to determine a cause of death so that he will be issued a death certificate. I assisted Dr. Wilson while Stevens took notes and read out the case file to us.

“Wallace Elliot, aged forty-four years, of Southwark, London,” She recited. “Found floating in the River Thames at four forty-five in the morning of the twentieth of May eighteen hundred and eighty-four.”

“No entry wounds indicating foul play,” Dr. Wilson added, instructing Stevens to write down ‘suicide’ as the cause of death.

However, before she could put pen to paper, Sholmes tutted, “This man was murdered, it’s painfully obvious, don’t you agree, Mikotoba?”

I really wish that he wouldn’t drag me into this, it especially wasn’t worth the pointed glare from Dr. Wilson. 

When I asked him why he insisted upon murder, Sholmes simply replied, “Take a look upon his neck, and you’ll find something that shouldn’t be there.” 

Sure enough he was correct, there was a strange anomaly around Mr. Elliot’s neck, a set of bruises indicating that someone was behind him.

“You’re right, man!” I gasped out of disbelief. “How on earth did you find this, Sholmes?”

“Quite simple, my good man, I was looking for it,”

“Just who are you, sir?” Stevens asked. “I was not aware of any new students in our program.”

With great grandiosity and flourish, Sholmes posed as if he were but an actor on the stage.

“The name is Herlock Sholmes, and I assure you that I am no student,” He grinned. “In fact, I am a consulting detective… the only one in the world!”

Turning to Dr. Wilson, Sholmes continued, “Tell me, Doctor, does this man have any surviving family?”

“What on earth are you asking me for?” Dr. Wilson sputtered. “It’s none of my business here as the attending physician!”

“It seems he has a twin brother, as well as a number of nieces and nephews,” Stevens added. “Those are the beneficiaries…”

“Doctor, send for Gregson, tell him it was Sholmes,” He said before handing me a few strands of black hair. “As for you, I want you to take these strands and store them. These are our man’s, I’ll be sure of it when you find those unique characteristics under the microscope, and he will have big meaty hands!”

He would be right, compared to our dead man’s flaxen hair, these strands would be rather out of place.

“You suspect that the patient reached behind him and took these?” I asked. “That he was snuck up on?”

“Precisely so, Mikotoba, precisely so!” Sholmes nodded. “Which leads me to believe that our man was not killed in the Thames, but dumped there!”

I don’t think that Dr. Wilson was amused by being lectured to by someone such as Sholmes, but he reluctantly had the death ruled as ‘inconclusive’, warranting further investigation by the Yard.

As if he were invigorated by a new sense of purpose, Sholmes bade his farewells, insisting that, “In a week’s time, and that is my generous estimate, the Yard will have the man and his face will be in the Illustrated!”

Chapter Text

25 May, 1884

I will give Sholmes the credit where it’s due. It only took four days from his insistence and a fifth for it to be published in the newspaper. I was speaking with Genshin today, it seems that the culprit’s trial will take place tomorrow and that Prosecutor van Zieks says it is an open-and-shut case.

Chapter Text

2 June, 1884

12 May, 1884

My Son,

It’s about to be summer soon, and the flowers are blooming wonderfully. Susato is a very sociable girl; I was taking her to the market to run errands, and she waved at the fruit vendor we see, Tanaka-San, you remember him don’t you? He was so delighted by her that he gave me a bundle of free apples, how kind of him!

I ground the apples and mashed them up for her, she’s getting big enough for solid food and her pearly teeth are starting to come in! She’s a bright little thing, watching her grow makes me nostalgic for when you were her age, where has the time gone?

I think Susato is enjoying the flowers just as much as I am. Just last week, I was having tea outside with her, when a gentle breeze passed by. A sakura petal landed square on her forehead, and it just made her giggle in delight! I like to think that it was lovely Ayame who put it there, I see so much of her in Susato’s eyes.

Until I hear from you again,
Your Mother

Chapter Text

3 June, 1884

Sholmes had spent the majority of the day in silence, hunched over his chemical vessels brewing a particularly malodorous product (Thank heavens for windows with latches). His head was sunk upon his breast, and he looked as if he were some strange bird with an ash colored puff as plumage.

I came back after some time of leisure, and without a second word or even looking up, Sholmes said, “Well, Mikotoba, you seem to have had a successful surgery, upon which you had a celebration?”

I gave a start of astonishment, he’s slowly getting back to his curious faculties, I find that it keeps him rather grounded. I may understand the necessity, but it’s always rather shocking when he starts these sudden intrusions into my most intimate thoughts. 

“How on earth do you know that?” I asked.

He turned around upon his stool, a mad gleam in his eyes as he held a steaming test-tube up in the air with a set of tongs.

“My, Mikotoba, have you confessed yourself taken aback?”

“I have,”

“I ought to make you sign a paper to that effect,”

“Why?”

“Because in five minutes, you will say that is all so absurdly simple!”

He propped his test-tube back into the rack and jumped up with a spontaneous flourish, almost as if he were a professor lecturing his class as he paced back and forth across the flat.

“It is not difficult to construct a series of inferences, each dependent upon its predecessor, and each simple in itself— if, after doing so, one simply knocks out all the central inferences and presents one’s audience with the starting-point and the conclusion!

“One may produce a startling, though possibly a gaudy effect,” Sholmes continued, before finally settling into his lounge chair by lifting his entire body to sit cross-legged. “Now, it really was not difficult, by an inspection of the groove between your left forefinger and thumb.”

“I see no connection,”

“Very likely not, but I can quickly show you a close connection! Here are the missing links of the most simple chain!” Sholmes said. “First, you had chalk between your left finger and thumb, second, I know you put chalk there when you play billiards to steady the cue, thirdly, you never play billiards unless you have enough liquid courage, fourth, you never drink unless it’s for a special occasion, warranting celebration with your fellow exchange students, and lastly, you never celebrate unless it is regarding a living patient whose surgery was successful!”

“How absurdly simple!” I cried.

“Quite so, every problem becomes childish once one explains it,” He said as he tossed a sheet of paper onto the table. “See what you can make of that, Mikotoba.”

I half expected this to be a trick of some sort, but it was just a simple sheet of paper with some curious stick men on it. I brought it to the light, just to make sure that there weren’t any hidden fancies.

“Sholmes, this is just a child’s drawing,” I said, giving up.

“Oh, that’s your idea…!”

“What else should it be?”

“Well, we will be having a guest in the near minutes, that I can assure you,” Sholmes said as he turned once more to his chemicals. “This little conundrum came by the first post, and he was to follow by the next train.”

Before I could inquire as to who this ‘he’ was supposed to be, the bell rang, almost as if it were on cue. I could hear Mrs. Hudson greeted the guest, but it wasn’t long until a heavy step was heard upon the stairs, and an instant later there entered a tall, ruddy, clean-shaven gentleman, whose clear eyes and florid cheeks told of a life led far from the fogs of Baker Street.

“This is Mr. Hilton Cubitt of Ridling Thorpe Manor, Norfolk, Mr. Sholmes,” Mrs. Hudson said. “He says he has a most dire matter to discuss with you.”

We both rose to shake hands with our guest, who was rather shaken and frigid. His eyes flickered nervously when he saw the scrap of paper with the strange markings in my hand.

“Well, Mr. Sholmes, what do you make of these?” He cried. “They told me you were fond of strange mysteries, and I don’t think you can find a stranger one more than that! I sent the paper ahead so that you might have time to study it!”

“It is certainly a curious production, at first sight it would appear to be some childish prank with the number of absurd little figures dancing upon the paper which they are drawn,” Sholmes said. “Why should you attribute any importance to such an ordinary object?”

“I never should, Mr. Sholmes, but my wife does, it is frightening her to death!” Cubitt said. “She says nothing but I can see the terror in her eyes! That’s why I want to get to the bottom of this matter!”

Sholmes sighed and fell back into his chair, motioning for the man to make his case while I offered him a seat in my stead.

“I'll begin at the time of my marriage last year; but I want to say first of all that, though I am not a rich man, my people have been at Ridling Thorpe for a matter of five centuries, and there is no better known family in the county of Norfolk,” He started. “Last year I came up to London for the Jubilee, and I stopped at a boarding-house in Russell Square, because Parker, the vicar of our parish, was staying in it. There was an American young lady there— Patrick was the name— Elsie Patrick…”

I will admit that as he trailed off, I was incredibly jealous of the man. He spoke about her with such admiration and adoration, he would do whatever it would take to set aside her fears and anxieties. To him, he is the most lucky and blessed man with her in his life, and I suppose she is just as lucky to have such a dutiful husband as he is. 

If Ayame were still alive, I wonder if I would have gone on this trip in the first place. I don’t know if I can truly answer that, would I still be justifying this to myself about her benefit as I have with Susato’s?

Is it my destiny to be jealous of every man I come across?

“In some way we became friends, until before my month was up I was as much in love as a man could be,” Cubitt sighed. “We were quietly married at a registry office, and we returned to Norfolk as a wedded couple.”

“That is a rather fast engagement, if I may say, Mr. Cubit,” I added.

“You may think it very mad that a man of a good old family should marry a wife in this fashion, knowing nothing of her past or of her people; but if you saw her and knew her it would help you to understand,” Cubitt replied. “If you only knew her, you would understand! And she was rather straight about it too, I can’t say that she did not give me every chance of getting out of it if I wished to do so…”

“How so?” Sholmes asked.

“Why, it was the day before our wedding,” He answered. “‘I have had very disagreeable associations in my life. I wish to forget all about them. I would rather never allude to the past, for it is very painful to me. If you take me, Hilton, you will take a woman who has nothing that she needs to be personally ashamed of; but you will have to be content with my word for it, and to allow me to be silent as to all that passed up to the time when I became yours. If these conditions are too hard, then go back to Norfolk and leave me to the lonely life in which you found me’

“I assured her that I was content to take her on her own terms,” Cubitt finished. “And I have been as good as my word!”

“That is all very well and good, Mr. Cubitt, now to your business here,” Sholmes said. “What is the meaning of your dire urgency?”

“Well, we have been married for about a year now, a most blissful and happy year until about a month ago,” Cubitt answered. “That was when my Elsie received a letter from America. She turned deadly white and threw it into the fire, refusing to make any allusion to it.”

Bereaved, the man hunched over with his hands covering his face, “She made no allusion to it afterwards, and I made none, for a promise is a promise; but she has never known an easy hour from that moment!” He bemoaned. “There is always a look of fear upon her face— a look as if she were waiting and expecting…

“She would do better to trust me! She would find that I was her best friend, but until she speaks I can say nothing!” He sighed. “Mind you, she is a truthful woman, and whatever trouble there may have been in her past life, it has been no fault of hers!”

He quickly gathered himself, as any proper English gentleman would, and cleared his throat, “Now for the strange part of the story, it happened about a week ago, Tuesday, when I found on one of the window sills these absurd little figures,” He said. “I was convinced that it was the stable boy, but the lad swore he knew nothing of it, just that it came sometime in the night, so I had them washed out with water.”

“And what of your wife?” I asked. “Did she know about these markings?”

“Oh yes, she took it very seriously, to my surprise!” Cubitt nodded. “She took it so seriously that she begged me to let her see them if any more came to pass… when I showed her the paper that I had sent to you, she had dropped in a dead faint!

“Since then, she has looked like a woman in a dream, half dazed and with terror lurking in her eyes…” Cubitt cried. “That was why I had written to you, Mr. Sholmes, this was not a matter that I could take to the police, for they would have laughed at me! I know that you would tell me what to do!”

Fishing out a wallet, he started to pull out many bills, much to my astonishment!

“I am not a rich man; but if there is any danger threatening my dearest wife, I would spend my last copper to shield her if need be!”

After a few moments of silence, Sholmes opened his eyes and stared at Mr. Cubitt inquisitively, “Don’t you think, Mr. Cubitt, that your best plan would be to make a direct appeal to your wife, and to ask her to share her secret with you?”

“A promise is a promise, Mr. Sholmes,” He insisted. “If Elsie wished to tell me, she would. If not, it is not for me to force her confidence, but I am justified in taking my own line— and I will!”

Taking his Stradivarius and running the bow across the strings, Sholmes leaned back, “Very well then, Mr. Cubitt, I will try to help you to the best of my abilities,” He said.

“Have you heard of any strangers in your neighbourhood?” I asked.

“No, but there are several pubs far away,” Cubitt replied. “And the farmers take in lodgers.”

“Pity that we don’t have the dancing men done in chalk on the window sill,” Sholmes muttered. “Mr. Cubitt, your best bet would be to return to Norfolk, and to keep a keen eye out for any more of these scribbles. You are to send me as many exact copies as you can, and make a discreet inquiry to strangers in the neighbourhood…

“I’m afraid that it is impossible to solve this mystery with only this slip of paper,” Sholmes said. “Come back when you have fresh evidence, that is the best advice I can give you, Mr. Hilton Cubitt.”

Mr. Cubitt left shortly after, and I was most shocked to see Sholmes sitting idly by, wondering when Mrs. Hudson would bring the tea in. He was so desperate for something to do, and now that something comes by, he sits as if it hadn’t happened?!

When I asked him about this, even if he were intending on going to Norfolk himself, he looked at me as if I spouted off in gibberish.

“It’s quite simple really, if word of my presence floats up in Norfolk, Mrs. Cubitt will certainly hear and put two-and-two together,” He said. “It’s far less of a headache to wait, and wait we shall.”

Chapter Text

5 June, 1884

Mem. , Do not fall asleep at St. Synners’ during the graveyard shift. Maria will find you, and she will have broken into the storage and taken a scalpel or ten, and she will want to be just like her mother.

Mindless sketching keeps a tired mind at bay.

Chapter Text

7 June, 1884

Mr. Cubitt has sent another telegram with another cipher disclosed inside, just as perplexing as its sister. I found myself delighted with the two figures on their heads, I would never have thought of that on my own.

Since Mr. Cubitt’s visit, Sholmes had dragged out a chalkboard and had it set up in the centre of the living area. Tacking on both slips and copying their inscriptions, he stared at them intently. 

I must admit, despite his aloof nature; when he puts his mind to it, Sholmes truly can clean up his act. If only there were a case every moment of every day to keep him in this state. 

“Tell me, Mikotoba, what letter appears the most in the English Language?” He asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Tell me, what letter appears the most in the English Language?” Sholmes repeated. “Well?”

“How in good heavens am I supposed to know that?” I huffed. “That’s the same as asking me how many words there are!”

“A daunting task, of course, but nary impossible!” Sholmes puffed his chest. “We only have twenty-six letters to risk, give me your best shot, man!”

I grabbed the nearest newspaper and looked it over a few times, just to entertain the man, before giving up, “Let me guess, is it the letter ‘A’? Or ‘S’?” 

“No, look harder…”

“Vowel or consonant?”

“Obviously a vowel, what else!” Sholmes sighed. “It is a major part of many words and omitting it is thought to most folk as difficult!”

I have no idea if this is some sort of English schoolboy parlour trick, or a hazing ritual on the part of Sholmes, especially when I saw that crooked grin of his. The man was barely containing his laughter at this point! I noticed that he was mumbling the same phrase under his breath as he stared at the dancing men.

‘It is a major part of many words and omitting it is thought to most folk as difficult!’

“Sholmes,” I replied. “Is it possible that the most common letter in the English Language is ‘E’?”

“Precisely! And I think I might have a clue!” Sholmes laughed giddily. “It’s enough with these ciphers, I might not know how many are full words, but this is a foothold at least!”

He pointed to his recreation, “Tell me, Mikotoba, if you were likely going to write something that could very well have the letter ‘E’, you would want the most simple symbol, yes?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to write something tedious over and over,” I nodded.

It was no surprise that we both came to the same conclusion at what that possible letter ‘E’ may be, it would be none other than:

Cipher One, if we are correct:

_ _ _ E _ E _ _ E _ _ _ _ E _

Cipher Two:

_ _ E _ _ _ _ E _

Chapter Text

17 June, 1884

Mrs. Hudson left for the week to visit a relative. I tried my best to maintain the apartment so that she wouldn’t have anything to worry about while she was absent. I was in the middle of dusting the hallway when the door started to ring, followed by incessant knocking. Once I started to open it, none other than Mr. Cubitt was before me, already forcing himself in and red faced as ever. He was a sweating mess and he ranted and raved while throwing his hands in the air and shoving an envelope into my hands.

“Mikotoba, it’s you, thank goodness!” He sighed. “I’ve got a fresh set of men for you, and I made sure that they were copied exactly as I found them! This whole affair is ruining me!”

“Mr. Cubitt, please slow down, what just happened?” I asked, trying my best to lead him into the suite. “Please sit, drink brandy, it will help with your nerves.”

“Three days ago, a message was left scrawled upon paper, and placed under a pebble upon the sundial, it was after that I decided to lie in wait,” He stared. “So I got out my revolver and sat up in my study which overlooks the lawn and garden.

“About two in the morning, I was seated by the window when I heard footsteps behind me, and there was my wife in her dressing gown. She implored me to come to bed,” Cubitt continued. “I told her that I wished to see who played such cruel tricks upon us, and she insisted that it was some senseless practical joke! And that I should not take any notice of it!”

“How was your wife when she asked you this?” I prodded. “What was her demeanour?”

“She was saying that we ought to travel to escape this nuisance, but it’s ridiculous! Driven out of our own house by some practical joker?! We should have the whole county laughing at us!” Cubitt replied. “It was then that her face turned white as a sheet, and her hand tightened upon my shoulder. I turned to see that someone was moving in the shadow of the toolhouse.

“I was rushing out, seizing my pistol, when my wife threw her arms around me and held me with convulsive strength,” He said. “I tried to get her off, but she clung to me most desperately! By the time I was clear, the figure was gone, but he left a trace of his presence, which I had the sense to snatch up!”

He took a long swig of the brandy, I was afraid that he would drink too much and force himself into a lethargic stupor.

"It's getting on my nerves, this business, Dr. Mikotoba. It's bad enough to feel that you are surrounded by the unseen, unknown folk who have some kind of design upon you,” Cubitt sighed. “But when, in addition to that, you know that it is just killing your wife by inches, then it becomes as much as flesh and blood can endure. She's wearing away under it— just wearing away before my eyes…"

Heaven only knows that I’m still haunted by that every night. There are some sights that I will never forget, and that sad day will be one of them.

“I have nothing more to say, except that I was angry with my wife for having held me back when I might have caught that skulking rascal…” Cubitt said. “She said that she feared that I might come to harm, and shamefully for an instant, it had crossed my mind that perhaps what she really feared was that he might come to harm…

“I’m ashamed of myself, I really am, when I saw the urgency in her eyes, I knew she meant it for me, that she was trying to protect me…” He shuddered. “My own inclination is to put half a dozen of my farm lads in the shrubbery, and give this fellow a lesson he will never forget!”

“My deepest sympathies, Mr. Cubitt,” I said.

Downing the rest of the brandy, Cubitt got up and bade me farewell, insisting that he had to go back to Norfolk for his wife’s nerves.

On my lonesome, I started to draw out the ciphers near the ones that Sholmes had already laid out, filling in the letter ‘E’ for whatever could apply. I couldn’t believe how immersed I was until Sholmes slapping a hand on my shoulder nearly gave me a heart attack.

“Finally! A useful message!” He grinned. “Now we can finally get somewhere!”

“What do you mean, Sholmes?”

He held up one of the ciphers that Cubitt had given me, and pointed at the figures.

“There are no flags in this one, that means it’s a sole word!” He explained, adding dashes at the word boundaries of the remaining three.

“So that will give us two phrases consisting of two words and one of four?”

“This single reply is our lynchpin, I can tell…!” Sholmes mused. “Two ‘E’s coming second and fourth in a word of five letters…”

I reached for a dictionary and started to look through the pages before my companion stopped me.

“No need to tire yourself out with that, there are only three words I’m thinking of,” He replied. “‘SEVER’, ‘LEVER’ or ‘NEVER’... there can be no question that this is a reply to an appeal of some sorts, we can find out what symbols represent ‘N’, ‘V’, and ‘R’ can be!”

I stared at the other cipher I had received from Cubitt, and noticed a phrase with two ‘E’s as the first and last letters with three between them.

“Sholmes, what do you wager that this word says ‘ELSIE’?” I asked. “Surely these appeals come from someone that had been rather close with her in her early life?”

“Now we need a four letter word that ends in the letter ‘E’,” Sholmes muttered. “It must be a command if ‘ELSIE’ follows it… perhaps it is saying, ‘COME ELSIE’?

At this point, one of the first ciphers had nearly been filled up in this fashion:

_ M/ _ E R E/ _ _E/ S L _ N E _

We both came to the fast conclusion that the only letter that can start out this phrase could be ‘A’, while ‘H’ is apparent in the second word:

A M/ H E R E/ A _ E/ S L A N E _

And Sholmes filled in the obvious vacancies in the name due to his hobby of reading up on the census records:

A M/ H E R E/ A B E/ S L A N E Y

Which had done the majority of the final cipher in our possession, this last one neither of us could really be sure of other than the letter ‘T’:

A T/ E L R I _ E S

Chapter Text

19 June, 1884

Today was eventful, even before sun up. One thing I can say about Sholmes is that he at least tries to be considerate after I have worked a certain number of midnight shifts at St. Syner’s, that cannot be said for this morning. The man gave me a start when he practically jumped up on top of me while I was in a deep sleep. He shook me wildly, his eyes were like that of a wild animal, and his clothes were dishevelled— just seeing the moonlight illuminating him made my heart stutter and my throat close up.

“We have let this affair go far enough!” He said as he pulled me up by my nightshirt. “Get dressed, man! The train to North Walsham leaves at five!”

“What the hell are you on, Sholmes?!” I yawned, my mind hadn’t quite awakened yet. “What is with you?! What time is it even?!”

“It’s nearly four, now get up! We’ve no time to waste!” Sholmes shouted, managing to pull me out of bed himself. “Our presence is most urgently needed!”

I had thought this was yet another one of his episodes, but when I saw how ghoulish he looked, how dark his eyes were, how he seemed to tremble despite his strength, I knew that something was wrong. 

This was what Herlock Sholmes looked like when he was absolutely, positively, terrified out of his mind. 

After I had gotten dressed (yet Sholmes, would refuse to leave the room, he would just yell at me to hurry up), I barely had time to grab my hat from it’s hook before he grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the flat, tacking on a note for Mrs. Hudson while a hansom was waiting for us at the door.

The train ride lasted three agonising hours, which Sholmes wouldn’t stop moving. Watching him shift back and forth in his seat, switching which legs to cross, even lying across the bench at one point in quick succession made me dizzy just watching. He was still pallid, and a cold sweat broke out on his brow. 

“It is essential that we should not lose an hour in letting Hilton Cubitt know how matters stand,” Sholmes said grimly. “For it is a singular and dangerous web in which our simple Norfolk squire is entangled…”

So it’s proven that this seemingly childish and bizarre prank was much more sinister and horrific than either of us had realised. I only wish for a happier ending, but this dark crisis has an unfortunate, tragic, and bitter end.

When we had arrived at North Walsham, and mentioned the name of Ridling Thorpe, the station master hurried towards us.

“Another set of detectives from London?” He asked. “I could have sworn the Yard came by just an hour before you!”

A look of annoyance passed over Sholmes’ face, “What makes you think of such a thing?” He snapped.

“Inspector Gregson had just passed through,” The station master replied before glancing at my medical bag. “Oh! You must be the surgeon, she’s not dead yet, you may be in time to save the poor girl, even if it’s for the gallows…”

Sholmes brow was darkened with anxiety.

“Who? What has happened, sir?” I asked before Sholmes could fly off in a fury. “We are headed to the Manor, but we have heard nothing of what has passed…”

“It’s a terrible business, sirs,” The station-master said, taking off his cap to pay his respects. “They are shot, both Mr. Cubitt and his wife… she shot him and then herself, so the servants say. He’s dead and her life is barely hanging on by a thread!”

Without a word, we dispatched for a carriage, and during the long seven mile drive, he never opened his mouth. He held his knees against his chest and stared at the floor, I’d never seen him so despondent. I had seen him on his highest of highs, but now this sudden realisation of his worst fears left him in a blank melancholy. He leaned back in his seat, lost in gloomy speculation.

We were driven to the front door of Ridling Thorpe Manor to be greeted by Inspector Gregson, who was already snacking on some fish and chips.

“Ah, I should have known it was you two…” He said. “We were dispatched because Cubitt had been seen going to and from London recently, I should have guessed you would show up sooner or later…”

“Inspector, what happened here?” I asked. “How long has the Yard been here?”

“Some of the Norfolk inspectors answered the call from some servants, I just arrived an hour ago,” Gregson replied. “The crime was committed at three this morning…”

“I anticipated it, we had come in the hope of preventing it,” Sholmes sighed. “Evidently not fast enough…”

“Oh? You’ve got something we don’t, Sholmes?” 

“Only the evidence of some dancing men, as it is too late to prevent this tragedy, I am very anxious to use the knowledge that I already possess to ensure that justice be done,” Sholmes said. “I beg of you, Inspector, please let me assist you in your investigation! Or at least let us onto the scene!”

“We’re almost done anyway, it’s open and shut, so I can't think that you would hurt much else, come with me,” 

We followed Gregson into the Manor, upon which we saw the local surgeon coming down from Mrs. Cubitt’s room. He reported that her injuries were serious, but not necessarily fatal. The bullet had passed through the front of her brain, and it will be some time until she regains her consciousness. The station master’s story seemed to be corroborated by the surgeon’s findings— She had shot herself with the same gun that had claimed Mr. Cubitt’s life, as there was a sole pistol with two empty barrels found in the study.

“Has he been moved?” Sholmes asked.

“We have moved nothing save for the lady,” The surgeon replied. “We could not leave her lying wounded upon the floor.”

“He’s been here since four o’clock, no one’s touched anything,” Gregson said.

“Who called for you?” I asked.

“The housemaid, Miss Saunders,” Gregson replied. “She and Mrs. King, the cook, both gave the alarm.”

“Where are they now?” Sholmes asked. “We had better hear their story at once…”

Gregson sent a bobby to retrieve the two women who had told their story to us once more. They were both roused from their sleep by the sound of an explosion, which was followed a minute later by a second one. Mrs. King had rushed to Miss Saunders and they descended the stairs together. The door to the study was open, and a candle was burning upon the table, the room was full of smoke and smelled of powder. Their master lay upon his face in the centre of the room, dead. Near the window, his wife was slumped, her head was leaning against the wall and her face was bloody. She had laboured breathing, and was incapable of saying anything. 

Both women insisted that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Cubitt quarrelled, they were a very united couple (And I am inclined to believe the same with the reverence the late man had for her).

“The study door, as well as the main entrance, was locked from the inside as per protocol,” Gregson said. “No one could have escaped from the house.”

After I had taken note of the womens’ testimony, Gregson finally led us to the study. It proved to be a small and modest chamber, lined on three sides with books, and with a writing table facing the sole window, that looked upon the garden. 

My heart sank when I finally saw the unfortunate body of Mr. Cubitt, it’s so cruel to think that the kind and loving man I had seen just two days ago was now robbed of his very life.

“Judging from his disordered dress, he was hastily awakened,” Sholmes stated. “Gregson, may we turn the body, I don’t see an exit wound.”

The body had already set into rigour mortis at this point, his limbs were fixed in their position, and he was still warm, making sense with the time of death. The bullet had been fired at him from the front, marking an anterior entry. Judging from the quantity of blood, he was shot in the heart, with great certainty, I can say that his death was painless and instantaneous. Neither of us could find power on his clothing or hands, indicating that the shot had come from some distance.

“Mikotoba, check the man’s feet for me,” Sholmes instructed, collecting a sample of dirt from the carpet.

“How strange, his slippers are spotless…”

“And I suppose the lady’s slippers are just the same?”

“How on earth did dirt get in here?!” Gregson sputtered.

Sholmes strolled to the window and rubbed a handkerchief against the window sill, “Tell me about the bullets, Gregson,” Sholmes said. “Oh, I believe Mr. Cubitt’s body can now be removed.”

“Clearly the bullet is still in Mr. Cubitt’s heart, accounting for the lack of exit wound,” I said. “Has the bullet been recovered from the lady?”

“A serious operation will be necessary before that can be done,” The surgeon explained. “I am waiting for a specialist to arrive before then.”

“Now wait a minute, Sholmes! Two have been fired and two wounds inflicted!” Gregson said. “There are still four cartridges in the revolver, each bullet is accounted for!”

“So it would seem, but can you also account for the bullet lodged in the edge of this window?” Sholmes said, pointing a long thin finger at the hole leading to a mess of burnt copper metal in the centre of it.

“Bloody hell!” Gregson gasped.

“How did you see that, Sholmes?!” I asked.

“Simple, I was looking for it,” He said.

“So that means that a third person was present,” I said, rushing to the window, opening its latch to see that a muddy heel print was staining the white wood. “And this is how he had gotten away!”

“Mikotoba, do you recall what the cook and housemaid said had awakened them? As well as the smell of powder in the room and hall?” Sholmes nodded. “I thought it was an extremely important observation.”

“What of it?” Gregson asked.

“It suggested that at the time of firing, the window and door were both open,” Sholmes said. “Otherwise, the fumes of powder could not have blown so rapidly through the house”

“How can you prove that?” The Inspector asked.

“The women said that they had seen the candle, yes?” I replied. “Meaning that it was still lit?”

“Exactly, my friend, exactly!” Sholmes said. “The candle had not been gutted…!”

“But that doesn’t explain why everything was shut in the end?” Gregson added.

“The lady’s first instinct would be to shut and fasten the window after the shot, and the door before her own,” Sholmes said as he was crawling on the floor. “But, hullo! What is this!”

He held up a lady’s handbag, which was discarded under the table. Turning out the contents, he produced twenty fifty pound notes held together by a rubber band!

Gregson immediately took it to preserve for the trial. Then, Sholmes turned to Mrs. King once more.

“Madame, you said you were awakened by a loud explosion,” He started. “When you said that, did you mean that it seemed to you to be louder than the second one?”

“Well, sir, it awakened me from my sleep, so it is hard to judge,” She replied. “But it did seem very loud!”

“Could it be possible that it might have been two shots fired at the same instant?”

Sholmes started to climb out of the window, taking care not to step onto the flowerbed below him.

“Gentlemen, look at the flowers, see how they have been trampled?” He instructed, taking his pipe and moving them aside to reveal two large footprints. 

Then, Sholmes hunted about on the grass and leaves like a retriever after a wounded bird. With a sudden cry of satisfaction, he produced a brazen cylinder.

“Bully! The revolver had an ejector, and here is the third cartridge!” Sholmes said, climbing back in. “Inspector, have no worries, this case is almost complete!”

“But this is a new suspect, how are we supposed to narrow down someone now?!” Gregson sputtered.

“Bring about all the servants in the main hall, I wish to question them!” Sholmes said. “Mikotoba, have you written down the ciphers we have decoded?”

Once everyone was gathered, Sholmes asked them one sole question, “Is there any inn in this neighbourhood known as ‘Elrige’s’?”

The servants all muttered among themselves, none recalling such a place until a stable boy raised his hand and remembered a farmer of that name living a mile or two off in the direction of East Ruston.

“Is it a lonely farm?” Sholmes asked.

“Very lonely, sir,”

“There is a chance that they have not heard of what had happened here,” I said.

Suddenly, a curious grin played over Sholmes’ face. He took hold of my notebook and ripped out a page scrawling out his own cipher. 

“Saddle a horse, lad,” Sholmes told the boy. “Take this note to Mr. Abe Slaney, and only Abe Slaney, and answer no questions he may address to you.”

Once he was sure the boy had left, my friend turned to the Inspector.

“Gregson, telegraph for an escort,” Sholmes continued. “You may have a particularly dangerous prisoner to convey to the county gaol.

“Ladies, Gentlemen, if any visitor calls for Mrs. Cubitt, do not give any information as to her condition,” Sholmes said. “It is of utmost importance that you act as if nothing had ever happened, instead, immediately take him to the drawing room.”

Everyone was dismissed to resume their duties, or presume to resume them to keep up Sholmes’ ruse. Sholmes tossed me a pair of handcuffs and prepared his own pistol as he sat languidly on the lounge chair.

“Sholmes, let us in on whatever you’re going on about now!” Gregson said. “Who on earth is Abe Slaney, and why is he dangerous?!”

“You see, I had wondered that myself, as I had found no such man in any of the census records, but then I remembered that the lady was an American before marriage, and this whole mess started from an American letter,” Sholmes answered. “I managed to pull some strings with a close confidant... and he will never let me live this down... and I was put in contact with one Wilson Hargreave of the New York Police Bureau. When I asked about this man, I learned that he was ‘The most dangerous crook in Chicago’.”

Sholmes turned grim as he got up to stand by the doorway, ushering me to stand on the other side. 

“I received a telegram last night upon which I was able to decode the letters ‘P’, ‘D’, and ‘G’. The last was how I figured out ‘Elrige’s’,” Sholmes said with a low voice. “I used the code that Mikotoba and I figured out to solve this strange phrase with an unprecedented six letters when I realised that it was a most horrifying threat, consistent with Slaney’s criminal persuasion, ‘ELSIE PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD’...

“I was desperate to come to Norfolk at once, ashamed that I thought this case was nothing more than a silly prank,” Sholmes bemoaned. “But unhappily, we arrived only to find that the worst had occurred… a fitting punishment for my guilty conscience…”

It was then that we heard a horse riding up to the Manor, Sholmes forced Gregson to stand behind him while he got the pistol ready. 

I was only able to see the man myself from my position in relation to the window. He was a tall, handsome fellow clad in a suit of grey flannel, with a panama hat, a bristling black beard and flourishing a cane as he walked. He swaggered up the path as if the place belonged to him, and we heard his loud, confident gait at the bell.

We waited in silence for minutes, the kind of minutes that one can never forget, agonising and longer than they ought to have been. 

Then, the door opened, and a man stepped in. In an instant, with a terrifying vengeance in his ice cold eyes, Sholmes clapped the pistol to his head while I slipped the handcuffs over his wrists. It was all done so swiftly that the fellow was helpless before he knew that he had been attacked. 

Slaney glared at me and Sholmes before bursting out into a bitter laugh.

“Well, gentlemen, you have the drop on me this time, I seem to have walked into an awkward situation!” He laughed. “There’s no criminal behaviour here, men, I came to answer a letter…!”

“Unfortunately, Mrs. Cubitt was seriously injured, Mr. Slaney,” Sholmes snarled. “And is at death’s door because of you…”

The man stared at my friend, slack-jawed and eyes wide, before giving out a hoarse cry which rang through the house, causing him to thrash against our grip. 

"You're crazy!" He cried fiercely. "It was him that was hurt, not her! Who would have hurt little Elsie?! I may have threatened her, God forgive me, but I would not have touched a hair of her pretty head. Take it back! Say that she is not hurt!”

“She was found badly wounded by the side of her dead husband,” I said.

He sank with a deep groan onto the ground and buried his face in his manacled hands. For five minutes or so, Slaney was silent. He raised his face once more, his eyes dark and glassy as he spoke with the cold composure of despair.

"I have nothing to hide from you gentlemen," he said, "If I had shot the man, then he had his shot at me, and there's no murder in that. But if you think I could have hurt that woman, then you don't know either me or her. 

“I tell you there was never a man who loved a woman more than I loved her! I had a right to her! She was pledged to me years ago by her father!” He cried. “Who was this Englishman that should come between us?! I tell you that I had the first right to her, and that I was only claiming my own!"

"She broke away from your influence when she found the man that you are," Sholmes said sternly. "She fled from America to avoid you, and she married an honourable gentleman in England.”

“You dodged her and followed her and made her life a misery,” I added. “You incessantly tormented her in order to induce her to abandon the husband whom she loved and respected in order to fly with you, whom she feared and hated.”

“You have ended this by bringing about the death of a nobleman and driving his wife to suicide,” Sholmes brought the man up and handed him to Gregson. “That is your record in this business, Mr. Abe Slanely, and you will answer for it to the law!"

“If Elsie dies, I care nothing of what becomes of me!” Slaney wept. “But I don’t understand how I’m here! If she was as hurt as you say, who wrote this note?!”

Sholmes leaned over with a wolfish grin, “It was I who wrote it to bring you here, and here you are.”

“You wrote it?” Slaney gasped. “There was no one outside of the Joint who knew the secret of the dancing men! The old Boss was more protective of it than he was of Elsie!”

“What one man can invent, another can discover,” I said.

We watched as Gregson and some other officers carried him to the cab that will take him to the gaol. Before it was able to set off, Sholmes grabbed the man by the lapel and held him against the bars.

“If you have any conscience, if you have ever loved her as you say you have, you will tell the truth as to how Mr. Hilton Cubitt died, give your Elsie that one small mercy,” Sholmes grit his teeth. “Give her the mercy so that she knows she was never responsible, directly or indirectly, for her beloved husband’s death!”

With his final farewell, the cab set off with the wretch inside. Sholmes and I watched as it disappeared in the distance, far over the horizon, until it was too small to see anything of any significance.

Sholmes was solemn for the rest of the day, I’ve never seen him so destitute. His harrowing words before Slaney walked into our trap still haunt me— “A fitting punishment for my guilty conscience”

I can’t say that I’m unaffected by this case either, Mr. Cubitt was a kind man, and he loved his wife. After his two visits, I hoped that they would live a happy life after this ordeal, they deserved that at the very least.

Chapter Text

28 June, 1884

I received a letter from home. It seems that both my mother and Susato are flourishing well. I definitely cannot write home about this previous misadventure, otherwise I’m sure I would be called home no matter what. I can’t be too miserable after all, and I can’t bring up any mention of widows for the sake of my own heart.

10 June, 1884

My Son,

Susato is finally crawling, and the world is finally a bigger place! She’s quite the fast little girl, enough to give me a run for my money! I’ve nearly forgotten how much I had to make the home safe for little ones as you were a calm baby, you never know what a curious little one will put her mind to!

At this rate, I’m sure that she will start walking soon, let’s pray that the rush of crawling will have mellowed out by then! I am glad to hear that you are getting much experience under the watchful eye of the English doctor, although I am perplexed as to why a little girl is also present. Surely a hospital is no place for a child to wander!

Mizuki Chihiro and her mother stopped by to deliver some prepared meals, they both also stayed for tea. It is wonderful having company by, and the fresh food is always a blessing, but I do wish that they wouldn’t always come unannounced. I’m always terrified that the house is messy, or that Susato is in the middle of her nap! They do both seem rather insistent, and I don’t think they necessarily come to keep a lonely old woman company. No one has said anything yet, and I will not unless you do.

Please write soon,

Your poor unprepared mother

Chapter Text

1 July, 1884

I am happy to hear that Elsie Cubitt is slowly making a recovery, and I do try to visit her when I can at St. Syner’s since she was transferred over last week. However, there has been some damage to her brain, a linguist from Oxford is currently observing her and helping her recover her speech capabilities. He says that she is suffering from some form of aphasia that inhibits her production, but she seems to comprehend what is being said to her.

She exhibits what the linguist calls ‘Telegraphic Speech’ which only consists of two or three words at a time, and her speech has slowed significantly. It is possible that she may need a caretaker to help her with day to day activities should the need arise.

It’s almost overwhelming to think about how precious and fragile the human brain can be. 

Two days ago, Sholmes and I were specifically summoned by her after an hour or two trying to understand what she had meant (I believe it was something like “Hilton… letter… man, man… two…”).

I can’t help but be a doctor, but I am glad to see that she is getting colour in her face, considering her blood loss and the ordeal. She smiled greatly when she saw me and Sholmes and was so elated that she tried to get out of her bed and walk over to us. 

We had spent the afternoon with her; I think I’m starting to understand more and more of what she means, thank goodness! Sholmes still couldn’t look her in the eyes, he had a dark cloud over his shoulders. The poor man hasn’t been the same since that day at Ridling Thorpe Manor, I had to drag him out of bed just to have him come to the hospital that day.

Elsie Cubitt gently took his hands, jerking him from his stupor, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“Mrs. Cubitt…” Sholmes finally said, placing his hand over hers. “I am truly sorry for your loss, and I am sorry for not acting as fast as I ought to have…”

She shook her head, “No fault…”

“I think I have to agree, Sholmes,” I added. “The code was designed to appear so innocuous that no one would pay it any mind, am I correct Mrs. Cubitt?”

She nodded and turned back to Sholmes, “Hilton… no more… sad and… sad… and,” She replied. “Man… bad bad man… no more… no more… red... live… lived… red.”

“You are relieved?” I said, sensing her frustration, earning a nod in her approval.

“I assure you, Mrs. Cubitt, out of respect for you and your husband’s memory, I will never hesitate ever again,” Sholmes said. “I will not let another tragedy like this happen to anyone else if I can help it…”

“Young… young and young… kind… no fault…” She assured him with a sad smile. “No fault… no… kind… be kind…”

Eventually, Dr. Wilson needed my assistance, so we had both left her to rest and recover.

After I visited her this morning, she mentioned something about helping others in her position as well as the poor. I think Elsie Cubitt is resigned to living the rest of her life as a widow to care for the late Mr. Cubitt’s estate, and for her sake I hope it is peaceful and fulfilling.

Chapter Text

17 July, 1884

27 June, 1884

My Son,

By the time this will reach you, Susato will have four teeth! I found out recently that she is rather fond of satsuma oranges, those are one of the solid foods that I have introduced to her that she gets particularly excited for. She has also been rather shy lately, whenever we go out to the market or into the town, she tends to turn her head away— usually at men with large hats!

I am sure that she will grow out of this phase soon, and I will be absolutely determined to make sure that she knows you! 

Thank you for sending the scarf with your last letter, it’s a beautiful shade of pink, and I think Susato enjoys playing with it too! I will be sure to show it off proudly at the Tanabata festival, I truly am lucky to have a thoughtful and generous son!

In more sombre news, I realise what date is coming up soon, especially when you get this letter. I know the pain of being a widow, especially when that date comes up, and my heart truly goes out to you. Promise me that you will not do anything hasty, nor dangerous, even when your mind goes to the darkest of places.

Study hard and stay well in London,

Your Mother

Chapter Text

26 July, 1884

Today is— was— Ayame’s birthday.

I placed a sign on my door for Mrs. Hudson and Sholmes, expressing that I absolutely do not wish to be disturbed at all today. My blinds are drawn and the heat has made the room stuffy, but I don’t think I have the strength to put in the effort of opening the window. I am thankful that both Mrs. Hudson and Sholmes have the tact to respect my wishes. However, it seems that Mrs. Hudson is too much of a busybody, as she offered to bring me tea or water once or twice before Sholmes quietly ushered her off.

I wish I had work today, perhaps it would have taken my mind off of today. No, unfortunately my thoughts are too loud and dreary. I didn’t want to wake up today, I would have been satisfied with that. Everything is so extreme in London; extreme heights of buildings that anyone can access, extreme traffic where the oddly timed step could spell doom with a horse’s hoof, extreme depths from the River Thames that rumbles at my feet. It’s exhausting trying to drown out their calls to me, I wish I was myself again; I wish that these past seven months have just been an awful nightmare.

Isn’t it a disgrace? My daughter is well, my mother is taken care of, I’m getting the opportunity of a lifetime and I am selfishly wishing none of it had ever happened. My mother insists that I am “generous”, but I’m just a coward that can only think of himself. I suppose if I never woke up today, I would just be another disappointment in her life, and I wouldn’t want poor Mrs. Hudson to have to come across that sight either.

Sholmes pushed a note under my door sometime after suppertime, I think I heard the grandfather clock chime seven times? Perhaps he has some sensitivities after all, I would hate to see how Mrs. Hudson is if Sholmes of all people is concerned for my well being.

Chapter Text

7 August, 1884

I was invited to Dr. Wilson’s home to celebrate his birthday tonight about a week ago, as Stevens told me, it seems to be a tradition of his to invite his coworkers and occasional students for a formal dinner party. I hope it wasn’t too impolite to ask if I could bring Sholmes along, but Wilson had apparently read some columns Sholmes had written in the paper some time ago and was excited to talk about his medical views— I suppose that’s one way to oblige a man on his birthday?

When I told Sholmes the news, he was pleasantly surprised, but insisted on bringing his best mind and put out the pipe he was smoking as well as locking it in a drawer. I haven’t seen him touch it at all, nor has the drawer been disturbed.

I must admit, Herlock Sholmes can certainly clean himself up whenever he wants, he simply is wont to do it sparsely.

When I asked him what brought on this sudden behaviour, he simply told me, “This is not only a colleague of yours, Mikotoba, but one who demands your respect. I would be erroneous if I made a fool of myself when you have personally gone out of your way to include me,”

The usual guests were who I would expect— Myself and Sholmes, Stevens and little Maria, but there was another guest I hadn’t been acquainted with before that evening.

He was a tall and imposing man, practically a giant towering over me! And he had such an iron grip on his cane, I was worried that he would think it was just an extended version of his arm, and the way he had commanded the room! Once Mrs. Wilson came out with her roasted pork (“World Famous” according to her husband), this guest recited the time perfectly from his stopwatch (Two hours, twenty-five minutes, and thirty nine seconds— apparently fifteen minutes and twelve seconds faster than the previous year).

“Hah! What a clever little party trick, my good man!” Wilson bellowed with laughter, “Keeps Old Mary on her toes here!”

I suppose I must have looked incredibly lost, because Stevens leaned over and whispered to me, “That is Prosecutor Mael Stronghart, remember him well, he’s one of the highest prosecutors in the land.”

He then turned to us and stared at us so intensely, I thought we were going to somehow evaporate right there! With the intensity he had in his eyes, it made me feel like a schoolboy who was going to be scolded for talking during a lecture. 

“Wilson, these are two new faces,” Stronghart said, referring to Sholmes and me. “I don’t think we have been acquainted.”

“I’m Yujin Mikotoba, sir, I’m studying under Dr. Wilson’s guidance,” I explained, probably faster than necessary. “This is my fellow border, Mr. Herlock Sholmes, he’s got a fantastic interest in the forensic sciences.”

“You remember, he’s that bloke who wrote the column on detecting blood!” Wilson added. “I’m so glad you asked to bring him, Mikotoba, I had been wanting to talk with him about it!”

“Hah! So you truly think that each human being has a specific build up in their blood, even proposing different types?” Stronghart mused. “Sounds rather fantastical to me, blood is blood after all…”

“Do not be mistaken, Prosecutor, this is merely a hypothesis,” Sholmes retorted. “And as for its fantastical nature, there are many things that exist that are unseen to the naked eye, such as bacteria, perhaps the same works with blood.”

“You have to admit, Stronghart, it would be a wonderful thought experiment, at the very least,” Wilson added.

Overall, the dinner was a quiet affair, although I think that poor Mrs. Wilson was put off by Maria’s intense stare— I could have sworn that there was a sigh of relief coming from the woman when they were the first to disperse. For the rest of the evening, we had settled into the parlour with wine and gin in hand. Mrs. Wilson had asked me about my own travels, as she had travelled in her youth, so we spoke while her husband, Stronghart, and Sholmes discussed their own interests in the forensic sciences.

All was well until Sholmes and Stronghart got into a rather heated debate, about what I cannot say, but they were both terribly passionate about it nonetheless.

“Sloppy detective work is precisely why the Yard is in the shape it is now!” Sholmes exclaimed. “It’s positively draconian, and it destroys any faith the people who suffer the most under it have left!”

“All crime must be judged swiftly and thoroughly,” Stronghart replied, completely unbothered. “Failing to do so would result in a weakened state, and render the entire system useless if the Yard spends too much time chasing down meaningless leads like dirt on a path.”

“If the dirt was disturbed, that means someone was present, each sample has a unique composition, and I know that because I have personally recorded it!” Sholmes argued. “I agree that no one can dawdle when solving a crime, time is of the essence, but making an example of the first lead you have creates more discord and fear!”

“Niccolo Machiavelli once stated, ‘It would be best to be both loved and feared,’” Stronghart said. “The ends in creating an efficient state justify the means if it results in the continuance of a ruler’s state, one must have darkness with light and it is best that the prince maintains it.

“There are no virtues without vices, idealism has no place in a state but realism and empiricism,” Stronghart continued. “This isn’t cruelty, but rather a harsh reality.”

“It’s madness, and that thinking is what will cause the Yard to crumble!” Sholmes sputtered.

That was when I realised how red his face had gotten, not from exertion or passion but from alcohol, and judging by the now half empty bottle of gin on the cabinet, he had more than enough. Excusing myself, I desperately went to collect Sholmes before he stumbled, or worse, expelled supper all over Stronghart’s shoes. 

“My, what a spirited debate, I almost couldn’t breathe for a moment!” Wilson remarked.

“And it is awfully late, we really ought to go before our landlady gets worried,” I stammered. “Thank you for having us over, Dr. Wilson, and it was a pleasure, Prosecutor Stronghart.”

“Some parting words of advice, Mr. Sholmes,” Stronghart said. “A leader must make the decisions no one else can, no matter how dark paragons like yourself may believe them to be.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good bet that we don’t have leaders that think like you do in our courts,” Sholmes spat out. “Then no one would get anything done, what with worrying about who’s going to ‘justify’ their ‘means’.”

Despite my shushing him, and attempts to apologise for my friend’s inebriation, Stronghart simply laughed it off, with a deep bellow. 

“A lot can change in five or ten years, Mr. Sholmes,” he said. “Nothing is certain, but I can definitely say this debate was rather good fun.”  

Bidding our goodbyes, I called for a hansom, and tried to keep Sholmes satiated until it arrived. 

“To tell you the truth, friend Mikotoba, out of all my eccentricities,” Sholmes slurred. “I’ve never considered alcohol before.”

“You’re telling me that this is your first time drinking?!” I gasped.

Sholmes nodded and leaned against the wall, holding his head in his hands, “And the last time,” he groaned. “I’ll stick with my own concoctions, thank you very much!”

As I helped him inside, Sholmes groaned like a child down with a terrible illness as he curled into a tiny ball against the cab wall. Luckily, the ride wasn’t very long, but the bumps and cracks in the street made Sholmes turn greener and greener with every inch we rode.

Once we finally returned to 221b, he was drowsy beyond all comprehension— to the point where he was beyond delirious and needed my help in walking up the stairs to his own room.

Sholmes’ room was very much like his usual self. Although I only stayed long enough to make sure he was in the bacchian position, and comfortably under his quilt— the piles of books, papers, and other knick-knacks and trinkets nearly reached the ceiling itself!

A fitting room for its occupant indeed.

Chapter Text

26 August, 1884

31 July, 1884

My Son,

Your Aunt has come to visit both me and Susato recently, I’m afraid that the journey was rather taxing for her. She wishes to apologise for not seeing you off back in December, but I know that you won’t hold it against her. The poor woman is frightfully smaller and bonier than the last time we had seen her. She was utterly delighted to finally meet little Susato, I was half afraid that she would leave with her in her arms!

Speaking of Susato, she has figured out how to stand up! I think she may walk earlier than I had anticipated, oh how I wish to take that snapshot of the moment and bottle it up for you! Susato enjoys looking at the photographs you were able to send to us, and I read her your letters every night as if they were bedtime stories to her!

Do you remember Grandfather Korekuta, the antique’s dealer? Apparently last week, someone tried to rob his shop! It was such a frightful business that he decided he was going to move to the capital city— when I asked him why, he told me that more people would buy antiques (especially the western tourists from Europe and even the United States!), and that he would feel more secure due to having more of the police force around.

I suppose I will have to find a new spot to look at beautiful pottery from the past!

I look forward to your next letter,

Your despondent Mother

Chapter Text

12 September, 1884

The stars must have aligned perfectly to allow me to see my friends tonight. Seishirou seems to be adjusting well with his work in the supreme court, and Genshin has even testified in a trial! I haven’t told them about the mysteries I’ve solved with Sholmes, nor do I think that they would believe me. I wouldn’t blame them, I never thought I would do something so extraordinary as that! I’m afraid that it might have only been for those two occurrences that I would ever do something like that, as Sholmes is keeping more to himself and answering the occasional call by himself.

It’s no worry, I did come here to work in the morgue— I never anticipated being the one to put our findings into practice after all!

However, as the evening started to close, we heard talk of a prizefighting ring that was nearly headway just a few blocks from us. Genshin was aghast, as he had broken up some fights while on the beat. Seishirou, on the other hand, was morbidly curious and insisted that we at least watch a round or two— he did promise, at Genshin’s insistence, to help break up the fight if it got too out of hand.

So there we were, watching two men go at it bare-knuckled until one was knocked unconscious— if only I had the sense to bring my medical bag with me, I’m sure the losing man would have appreciated it!

It was to my horror, at the third round we watched, that I saw none other than Sholmes step up to the makeshift ring. His opponent was nearly three times his size, I could hardly bring myself to see such a bloodbath! 

I watched as Sholmes started with a quick flick of his hand, distracting his opponent. When his opponent swung wildly, he countered it with a right hook against his left cheek before striking him again with both hands. Fast, like a bee, Sholmes used his elbows to block his opponent’s jabs and strikes before swinging hard at the unlucky fellow’s abdomen.

To say that Sholmes’ opponent was discombobulated would be an understatement!

“Say, Yujin, wasn’t that the bloke who you said was your border?” Seishirou muttered.

It was then that I did, quite possibly, the most ridiculous thing I have ever done in my life.

Without a second thought, I snatched Genshin’s whistle from his neck and shouted that the police were coming their way, waving my hands like a lunatic! 

Everyone seemed to believe my bluff, and started to scatter wildly into the night. Since us three were students, we ran as fast as we could before anyone would catch us. I would feel bad at tricking my friends, but in all honesty, I would do it again.

Chapter Text

30 September, 1884

Sholmes has gone off to the west of the country for a brief holiday, but he wouldn’t say for what. He simply says, “I’m bored of the city, and I must get a moment’s clarity for the week,” without any further elaboration.

For the first few days, I found the peace relaxing, as did Mrs. Hudson. Today, as we were sharing tea together, we were both unnerved. I suppose living with Sholmes this long has tricked us into fearing the quiet— I should hear a set of pacing footsteps above my head right about now, or maybe the fizzing of his chemical serums on the bunsen burner, or even his violin with his mindless plucking!

I can’t shake the feeling that something awful is going to happen with this dreadful silence, and I hope Sholmes comes back to 221b sooner rather than later!

Chapter Text

7 October, 1884

I was seated at breakfast this morning when Mrs. Hudson rushed in with a telegram specifically for me. My heart nearly dropped, thinking that this was an emergency all the way back home in Japan, but to my surprise it was from the west of England— and from none other than Sholmes himself!

“Dr. Mikotoba, please let me hear you read this!” Mrs. Hudson said. “I’ve been awfully anxious this past week without any word from Mr. Sholmes!”

Mrs. Hudson truly is a mother hen, and it would have been awfully callous to not let her worries dissipate.

‘Have you a couple of days to spare? Shall be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect. Leave Paddington by the 11:15,’ was all that it had to say.

Both Mrs. Hudson and myself were relieved by this message— Sholmes hadn’t gotten himself into any trouble and it was of no dire emergency.

“Paddington, that’s right near Westminster, I’ll hail a cab for you!” Mrs. Hudson said. “Would you like me to check where the eleven fifteen is headed?”

“If you will, thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” I replied as I finished my breakfast quickly to pack. 

I have no idea if a ‘couple of days’ means two, three, or even a week, so I took a gamble by packing four days worth of clothing.

Once I was ready to go, Mrs. Hudson helped me bring my suitcase to the hansom while handing me a map.

“The eleven fifteen is headed for Boscombe, that’s just south of here and to the west,” She instructed. “Do have a safe trip, and make sure Mr. Sholmes takes care of himself once in a while!”

Once I had bought my ticket and settled into a compartment, I was given a newspaper. Right there, on the front page, was talk of a gruesome murder that had occurred in the valley! I knew right then that this was the matter Sholmes had wanted me to assist him in, he was dragging me into yet another case!

The three hour ride had left me famished, but there was no time to get anything when I saw Sholmes running up to me, barely giving me some time to get my belongings off of the train!

“It really is good of you to come, Mikotoba!” Sholmes greeted. “It really does make a considerable difference to me, to have someone whom I can thoroughly rely on!” 

Someone he can thoroughly rely on? Sholmes relies on me of all people? I’m afraid I’m going to get a big head after this— I don’t think of myself as a braggart, but I couldn’t help but walk with a new swagger after this! Herlock Sholmes, the most abrasive and peculiar man in all of London, relies on me !

He instructed our cab driver to take us to a hotel nearby the crime scene so that he could help me understand the peculiarities of this case as well as reprieve me of my suitcase. 

“The largest landed proprietor in these parts is one Mr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned some years ago to the old country,” Sholmes started. “One of the farms which he held, that of Hatherley, was let to a Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was also an ex-Australian.The men had known each other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came to settle down, they should do so as near each other as possible.

“Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became his tenant,” Sholmes continued, “McCarthy has one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner an only daughter of the same age, but neither of them have living wives.

“McCarthy kept two servants—a man and a girl. Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the least,” Sholmes said. “That is as much as I have been able to gather about the families.”

He waited as I scribbled down a set of notes onto my shirt cuff, since the notebook as well as the medical bag it resided in were both tucked safely away with the rest of my clothing.

“McCarthy was the murdered man if I remember correctly from the newspaper?” I asked.

“On the third of October, McCarthy left his house at Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the Boscombe Pool,” Sholmes replied. “He had been out with his serving-man in the morning, and he had told the man that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of importance to keep at three— of which he never came back alive.”

“So it is presumed that the man he was meeting with was the culprit?” I mused. “If it were that simple, you wouldn’t be here, so there must be a catch!”

“Precisely so, my good man, precisely so!” Sholmes nodded. “The man who was erroneously arrested was none other than McCarthy senior’s son, James McCarthy!

“It’s about a quarter mile from Hatherley Farmhouse to the Boscombe Pool, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One was a young girl, the daughter of a caretaker of Turner’s estate I believe, and the other was William Crowder, a gamekeeper in the employ of Turner as well,” Sholmes continued. “Both these witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. Mr. Crowder adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy passing by he had seen the younger McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under his arm.”

“Once again, rather incriminating,” I continued. “So McCarthy Senior had a meeting with his son, who had a gun, and—”

“Hold it right there, Mikotoba, I never said anything about whom McCarthy senior was meeting with!” Sholmes interrupted. “Nor have you given me the chance to tell you how the old man was murdered!”

I sighed and motioned for him to go on, I would rather avoid one of his black moods or a quarrel— especially in a quaint little village like this.

“The coroner reports that McCarthy’s head was bludgeoned in, rather peculiar if the believed weapon was a gun, don’t you think?”

“It is possible to hit someone with one, Sholmes,” I replied. “Especially if the perpetrator didn’t wish to cause a big scene in a small and sleepy town— and look here! There are reports of a gun being found by the body!”

“I will not deny you that, nor the possibility of any blood being washed off of the weapon,” Sholmes conceded. “However, this case is only built on circumstantial evidence, hardly anything concrete, that is what draws my interest!”

Sholmes gave me the key to the hotel room and waited in the cab while I put my suitcase away and retrieved my medical bag. Once we were driven to the farm, I could already see a gaggle of police officers darting in and out of the adjacent woods.

Just as we were about to enter, we were both pulled back by none other than Inspector Gregson.

“Aha! Inspector! I was wondering where you were!” Sholmes grinned. “I would have thought you would be in the heart of the scene itself!”

“I was going to be, but I had one of those feelings,” Gregson grumbled. “I knew that the moment you wouldn’t find me in my office, you would follow me here yourself…”

“In all actuality, Inspector, I was already here in the neighbourhood!” Sholmes laughed. “I just happen to be a little devil that eavesdrops on occasion!”

“Inspector? What’s going on here?” I asked.

“Look, the local police don’t want any more outsiders gawking in here,” Gregson replied. “It’s bad enough on their confidence that I was called here personally by one of the neighbours, they don’t need anyone the likes of you and Sholmes running around here as well!”

I suppose my rise in confidence after being told Sholmes could ‘rely on me’ was enough to paint me with the same brush in Inspector Gregson’s eyes.

“If we aren’t able to go to the crime scene, is there anyone that we’re able to talk to?” I asked. “We promise to stay out of your way.”

“I was about to talk to one of the witnesses, the young girl over there,” Gregson replied. “I can let you see her as long as I am around, but the moment you bother her, I’m throwing the both of you out!”

The young girl, Patience Morris, was about twelve or thirteen. She spent that afternoon outside, picking flowers on the grassy knoll between the pool and her family home. It was then that she had seen both McCarthys Senior and Junior in a bitter quarrel.

“They were yelling, and saying things a lady shouldn’t repeat, that’s what my mum told me!” Patience said. “Then I saw Mr. James raise his hand high over his head, like he was going to beat his old man!”

“He raised his hand? Wasn’t there anything in it?” Gregson asked.

“I don’t remember, all I remember is getting so frightened that I ran back home to tell my mum!” Patience answered. “But then Mr. James came running back to us screaming for help, and his hand was all bloody and everything!”

“Miss Patience, can you remember what hand was bloody?” Sholmes asked.

She held up her right hand and gestured all the way to her wrist, “It was this one, Mister! Even his sleeve was bloody, that’s why I remember!”

Unfortunately, it seemed that questioning the young girl wouldn’t be very insightful, especially as she did not end up seeing the affair nor any strike— the more and more I learned about this case, the more and more I started to agree with Sholmes; all of the evidence against James McCarthy is circumstantial at best.

It was then that a young woman walked up, from the house on the hill. Judging by her affluent dress, as well as the size of the small manor compared to its counterparts, this seemed to be the young woman of the Turner house.

She turned her head to us three and clasped her hands tightly, the poor thing looked absolutely exhausted as if she hadn’t caught a wink of sleep since the incident and she introduced herself as Miss Alice Turner.

“I have nothing but complete gratitude that you answered my telegram, Inspector Gregson,” She said. “I knew that a London officer would help clear this mess up! I only apologise for putting you in such an awkward position with the other officers here…”

Gregson took off his hat and bowed his head to the lady, “I am only happy to put this horrible matter to rest, Miss,”

“And you who might you gentlemen be?”

“My name is Herlock Sholmes, and this is my colleague Dr. Yujin Mikotoba,” Sholmes replied, always happy to add some flourish to his introduction. “We are a pair of consulting detectives, the only ones in the world!”

“So you both are here to assist the Inspector? Oh how wonderful!” She exclaimed. “I know that James didn’t do it. I know it, and I want you to start on your work knowing it, too…!” 

“Madam, madam, please,” Sholmes stammered. “We are simply here to prove that— we are assistants to no one but ourselves!”

“Miss Turner, will you please tell us how you know Mr. McCarthy?” I asked

“We have known each other since we were little children, and I know his faults as no one else does,” She said. “But he is too tenderhearted to hurt a fly! Such a charge is absurd to any one who really knows him!”

“I hope to clear his name, Miss Turner, you may rely upon my partner and I doing all we can,” Sholmes said. “I think that it is very probable that he is innocent.”

“Oh thank heavens!” She cried. “He gives me such high hopes!”

Gregson huffed and tutted at Sholmes, “Madam, do be wary, my colleague is quick in forming his conclusions.”

“If I may ask, Miss Turner, what importance is this case to you?” I asked. “You mentioned that you were close with the accused since you were children?”

“It’s because I am involved, Doctor, in the quarrel I mean,” she replied, her face positively grim and wary. “There is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had many disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that there should be a marriage between us.” 

I watched as her cheeks started to redden and a bashful smile started to creep across her face. 

“James and I have always loved each other as brother and sister— and nothing more— even if that were not the case, he is young and has seen very little of life yet,” She said quietly, “And well, he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them.”

“And your father?” Sholmes asked. “Was he in favour of such a union?”

Miss Turner huffed, her eyebrows bunched together and her lips were drawn into a thin line, “No, he was averse to it as well! It seemed that only Mr. McCarthy was in favour of it!”

“May we call upon your father?” I asked. “Did he know of anyone who had ill will towards Mr. McCarthy?”

“I’m afraid not, Dr. Mikotoba,” She shook her head. “Poor father has been ill, and his physician will not allow him to see anyone…

“I’m sure this evil affair will break his poor heart!” She wept. “Mr. McCarthy is his one true friend, the only one who knew him back in the old days in Victoria!”

“Where they had made their fortunes in the gold mines?” Sholmes asked.

“Yes, precisely, Mr. Sholmes!” She nodded. “I wish to help you further, but I really shouldn’t leave father alone for too long…”

“Have no worries, Miss Turner, I will call upon you tomorrow for good news!” Sholmes said. “You have been an instrumental help to us!”

She smiled tearfully and clasped Sholmes’ hands, “How you are an angel sent from heaven itself!” She cried. “Do visit James for me, tell him that I know him to be innocent!”

As soon as Miss Turner was out of earshot, Gregson turned and waggled his finger at the both of us— his face was nearly purple with how much he had sputtered and huffed at us!

“I’m ashamed of you, Sholmes!” Gregson scolded. “And for that matter, you too, Doctor! You of all people ought to know better than to raise that poor girl’s hopes up! I’m not soft-hearted, but I consider this cruel!”

I nearly scolded Sholmes myself when he ignored the Inspector and dragged me off mid lecture. He certainly made no haste to see the man locked up inside of the county gaol.

There was James McCarthy, huddled up in a dark and damp corner, clutching to his coat for dear life as he shivered inside. His face was pallid and his eyes were heavy and dark, as if sleep was mere moments from whisking him away whether he wanted it or not.

“Are you here to question me once more?” He asked, his voice was raspy.

“We bring word from Miss Alice Turner, stand up man,” Sholmes ordered. “She believes in your innocence with all her heart, and we are here to help prove it!”

He looked up at us listlessly, his eyes were glasslike and foggy. Fearing the worst, I motioned for him to let me examine him. Other than a sour mood and the melancholy that comes from losing a parent, I could find nothing physically wrong with the lad.

He recited all that he was able to recall from that night, swearing that with all the times he had to repeat it, the incident was burned into his memory. For starters, the young man was away at Bristol for three days— he returned on the night of the murder.

“My father wasn’t home when I returned, I thought he was working in the fields,” he explained. “So I went to Boscombe Pool to clear my head.

“I came across Mr. Crowder who had mentioned that my father was up aways ahead,” He continued. “So I thought I should tell him I’ve arrived back home.

“That was when I heard him shout, ‘Cooee!’ in the woods…” 

The sudden shout inside that small gaol cell caught both Sholmes and I off guard, we both jumped back as even the metal bars seemed to rattle. It was Australian in nature, relying on a high pitch to start before what I can only describe as scooping down before returning to a high pitch once more. The goal is to hold out the final syllable as long and as loud as possible. I suppose if I were lost in the woods, it would certainly be useful for me!

I wonder if Sholmes is going to start screaming that while we’re running Mrs. Hudson’s errands?

“My father was shocked to see me,” He said. “I clearly wasn’t the one he was trying to call”

After the young McCarthy’s sudden intrusion, he and his father started to quarrel— like Miss Turner said, it was about the union McCarthy Senior was so adamant to push forward. In order to prevent any further altercation, McCarthy Junior started off, hoping to cut the argument short. He was halfway to his home when he heard his father cry out.

“I ran back as fast as my feet could carry, and when I saw my father in that heap, I dropped my gun and rushed to hold him,” He said. “His head was all bloody, right before he died, he said something about a rat… I have no idea what he was talking about… my father died in my arms…”

“So when he passed, you ran to get help, is that correct?” Sholmes asked.

“Yeah, but now that I think about it, something is strange…”

“Strange? How so?” I asked.

“I remember seeing something grey nearby when I found my old man,” He replied. “I can’t remember what, maybe it was a piece of cloth or something— but when we came back for my father, it was gone!”

It was already dark when we finished our meeting with James McCarthy, so we both felt it was appropriate to retire to the hotel and get supper. Gregson was gracious enough to send a memo informing us that he managed to convince the Boscombe officers to let us look tomorrow morning.

Sholmes insisted we eat our supper inside our room, in case there were prying ears in a small sleepy hollow like this— especially since there was still a murderer about. We compared our notes and discussed our findings, even as the gas lamp started to flicker. I don’t know if this is juvenile or brash, but I have to admit that I felt this rush of energy coursing through me as we talked! I don’t know what this feeling is, but perhaps this is the high that Sholmes is always chasing!

“I think it’s more than obvious to assume that McCarthy was struck on the back of the head, that will account for the blood loss,” I said. “However, that doesn’t explain his delirium, are you sure that there is no prior medical explanation for this?”

“Just as the younger McCarthy said, this delirium is out of character, and he recalls no such event prior,” Sholmes replied. “What if it wasn’t delirium then?”

“Head trauma can cause a great number of things…”

Sholmes mused, almost sing-song in nature, “A rat… a rat… a rat in Australia…”

“But why on earth would he talk about a rat in his dying moments?!”

“No idea, however there are two important points that can be gleaned from today’s investigation!” Sholmes tutted. “Number one, McCarthy was meeting someone who was not his son, and two, this someone  also knows the significance of this ‘cooee’!”

Even as I am finishing this entry, Sholmes is busy pouring over a set of encyclopaedias that he had brought over from a nearby library. I hope this pillow can blot out the light, and I hope he finishes up whatever he is doing in a reasonable timeframe.

Chapter Text

8 October, 1884

It was nine o’clock when the carriage Gregson had sent retrieved us. There were significantly less officers on the scene, and Gregson was there to guide us through the woods.

“I’ve just received word from Miss Turner, and it’s not good news,” Gregson said. “Mr. John Turner’s health has taken a turn for the worse…”

“He’s an older man, if I presume correctly?” Sholmes asked.

“About sixty, yes,” Gregson nodded. “His health has been shattered due to living abroad, and somehow news of this case got to him.”

Mr. Turner was possibly Mr. McCarthy’s greatest benefactor as well as sole friend in this area— Not only did he help him with whatever matters that had arisen, but he gave McCarthy Hatherley farm for free!

How lucky I would have been if Mr. Turner was my own benefactor when I first arrived.

“Everybody here knows about Mr. Turner’s kindness to Mr. McCarthy, it was rather famous,” 

Sholmes laughed shrilly, “Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that this McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his son to Turner’s daughter?” Sholmes asked. “Of whom, presumably, is the heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow?”

“It is also strange, since we know that Mr. Turner himself objected to the match,” I added. “His own daughter told us so herself.”

“I find it hard enough to tackle facts on their own,” Gregson said. “Not to mention juggling and chasing away your nonsensical theories and fancies, Sholmes!”

“You are right,” Sholmes replied demurely. “The Yard does find it most difficult to handle the facts.”

Gregson clenched his fish and chips tightly and glared at Sholmes, “It looks like I’ve grasped one fact that you find difficult to get a hold of!”

“And that is?” Sholmes yawned.

“That McCarthy Senior met his death from McCarthy Junior and that all theories to the contrary are nothing but moonshine!”

“Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog,” Sholmes remarked, keen to always have the last word.

The three of us went to the farmhouse first, where McCarthy’s maid presented both McCarthys’ boots to us— the boots that McCarthy Senior wore on the night of his murder, and a set that belonged to his son.

I watched as Sholmes put one boot of each on before jumping into a patch of soil. He took his goggles and stared at the footprints intently while muttering to himself. On McCarthy Senior’s other boot, he scraped off a generous sample of dried mud and collected it into a glass tube before placing it securely in his knapsack.

He then instructed me to measure both sets of boots carefully and to write them down for him before darting off to the Boscombe pool.

Like a bloodhound, Sholmes bent low to the forest floor and traced out the scene carefully. His face was flushed and his eyes shone out with a steely glitter. His entire body was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long, sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick, impatient snarl in reply.

He tossed me another test tube with which I had to collect samples of the earth as well. It was damp, marshy ground, as is all that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either side. Sometimes Sholmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and once he made quite a little detour into the meadow.

Gregson was handed a rake and started to sift through the reeds and grass when Sholmes shrieked like nothing I had ever heard before.

“Good God, man, what are you doing?!” 

“I thought that there might be a weapon or something nearby!” Gregson replied.

Sholmes groaned and ran his hands through his hair as a vein popped in his forehead.

"Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo and traipsed all over it!" He bemoaned. “How simple indeed!”

He pulled me close, grumbling to himself, before thanking me for having the sense to keep my steps small and close together.

We examined the marker where the body was found, sure enough there was a bootprint that matched McCarthy Senior’s exactly.

“Look how this set is stagnant, Mikotoba,” Sholmes instructed, following the path carefully by darting back and forth. “It seems this set of footprints was pacing!”

“That does fall in line with the theory that McCarthy Senior was intending to meet with someone,” I replied. “Perhaps he was pacing to work off his nerves? That this meeting had the highest of stakes?”

Sholmes rushed to the other side, approaching from the path we took from Hatherley Farm. I told him the measurements I had gotten from James McCarthy’s boots, and watched as Sholmes pumped his fists up in the air.

“Look how these tracks are not aligned perfectly!” Sholmes said. “The owner of these boots, McCarthy Junior, clearly approached twice…!”

He pointed at one set, where the toe was deeper and the heel practically nonexistent, “And here we can see that he was running! Supported by the longer strides as well!”

The both of us examined the rest of the scene thoroughly, hoping to find another set that wasn’t either McCarthys’ or the distinctive set from the officers. Near the edge of the wood, I was about to take a step to the left when Sholmes pulled me back suddenly.

I had nearly stepped on one of the most important clues to prove James McCarthy’s innocence— an unfamiliar set of footprints opposite his own! The set had a deeper indent in the toe, but that was likely intentional with how short the stride was, as well as the sticks and foliage nearby. The unfamiliar set was both larger and wider than either McCarthy, and I thought that the shape was unusual; it looked like the boots were square-toed!

Sholmes and I carefully followed the tracks until it led us to a birch tree. We couldn’t find any trace of the bootprints after that, so we were at a loss. While Sholmes was looking intently at the stones by the trunk, my eye was captured by a piece of grey fibres. I carefully collected it and placed it in one of the glass vials Sholmes had given me— this proves the existence of the disappearing grey cloth!

“What a peculiar stone, don’t you think?” Sholmes mused as he lifted a thin rock about the size of my palm. “This break here is also unique.”

“What’s so special about it?” I asked. “It looks like any other rock.

“The fact that there are no markings on it, or even any moss,” Sholmes replied. “Either it was placed here, or it was dropped here…”

“You’re not saying what I think you are saying!” I gasped. “You don’t think this is it?!”

“It is innocuous to the untrained eye, but I believe so!” Sholmes nodded. “This is part of the murder weapon!”

He then took a pencil onto his shirt cuff and scribbled something down on it. He then detached the paper cuff and whistled for Gregson to come over and deliver it to the addressee. 

After our investigation on the scene, Sholmes and I shared a luncheon back at the hotel once more. He set up a set of encyclopaedias as well as a dictionary.

“Mikotoba, last night I took it upon myself to read up on what this ‘Cooee’ may entail,” He said while thumbing through the dictionary. “I had searched for a dictionary with English Idioms across the empire, and once I found the section detailing that of Australia, I knew I struck gold!”

“So ‘Cooee’ is a distinctly Australian cry that other Australians would understand immediately,” I answered.

“Exactly so, however, it could not have been meant for his son as McCarthy had no way of knowing when the former returned from Bristol,” Sholmes nodded. “Therefore we can assume that the person McCarthy intended to meet with was a fellow Australian!”

He then opened up the encyclopaedia and opened it to a map of Australia. He covered one half of the page with his hand. He motioned to the southern edge and instructed me to read it out loud.

“A rat,”

He then lifted up his hand and instructed me to read it once more.

“Ballarat,”

“McCarthy wasn’t delirious, he knew what he was talking about!” Sholmes said. “It just so happened that his son only caught the last two syllables of his dying statement.”

“So we are looking for an Australian from Ballarat, who has access to McCarthy’s property and was familiar enough to the man to meet with him,” I added. “But Sholmes, that can only be one possible man!”

“And he will arrive before the hour is up!”

Just then, there was a heavy knock upon our door. Like a child who was anticipating a present, Sholmes jumped up and leaped over the furniture just to reach the door and swung it open with such abandon that he nearly ripped it from the hinges!

The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His slow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of decrepitude. His hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and his enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual strength of body and of character. With his ash-white face, blue tinged lips and nostrils, and unique gait to his step it was clear to me at a glance that he was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease.

This was the mysterious John Turner himself, and Sholmes had personally called for him.

“Pray, sit down on the sofa,” Sholmes instructed.

“You wished to see me here to avoid scandal,” Turner coughed, looking up with weary eyes. “So you figured it out?”

“I would not have the young man come to harm, I would have spoken out myself if I needed to,” He sighed. “Oh my poor girl, it would break her heart if I didn’t, but now it seems this matter will break her heart too…”

“Neither of us are official agents, Mr. Turner, it will not come to that point,” Sholmes reassured him. “We simply want to know what had happened that night, for the sake of an innocent man’s life.”

Turner sighed and coughed before answering, “I am a dying man. I have had diabetes for years now and it is to the point of my doctor doubting that I will live to see the end of the month.”

“You would rather die under your own roof than that of a gaol,” I replied, earning a nod from the man.

Sholmes handed him a notepad and instructed him to write down the facts of that day. I was to stand as a witness so that Sholmes could present it before a court if the need arises.

“Before I explain everything to you, I must make it clear that you didn’t know McCarthy like I did,” Turner started. “He was the devil incarnate, with his evil grip on me for nearly twenty years. I hope neither of you suffer under a parasite like him.

“I had come to Australia in the early sixties to make something of myself— I was a hotblooded chap back then, hell and high water,” He continued. “I was reckless and I got in with some bad companions, what you would call highway robbers. It was the Ballarat Gang and Black Jack of Ballarat was my name.

“One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and we lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six troopers and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of their saddles at the first volley, but three of our boys were killed as well,” He said. “I put my pistol to the head of the wagon driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I wish to the Lord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every feature.

“We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our way over to England without being suspected,” He said. “There I parted from my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and respectable life.

“I bought this estate and I set myself to do a little good with my money, to make up for the way in which I had earned it. I married, too, and though my wife died young she left me my dear little Alice,” Turner smiled sadly. “Even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word, I turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All was going well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me.”

“That was when he started to extort you,” Sholmes mused. “All of your kind deeds, helping him out, even giving him Hatherley farm— that was all because he threatened to expose you for your past.”

“It was the final straw when he insisted on his son marrying my daughter,” Turner recoiled. “That was when the threat changed— he threatened to ruin me by telling everything to my dear Alice!

“I did intend to meet with him, but then I heard him talking with his son, and he started to bring up my dear Alice!” He said. “Talking about her like she was a common woman from the streets! There was no more room for civility, I would destroy our cursed bond that night! I was already a dying and desperate man, I would not let that damned McCarthy sink his claws into the one good thing I brought into this world!”

He produced the second half of the broken murder weapon, a boomerang from his time in Australia, complete with McCarthy’s stained blood.

“Well, it is not for me to judge you,” said Sholmes as the old man signed the statement which had been drawn out. “I pray that we may never be exposed to such a temptation.”

“Mr. Turner, if I may say something as a doctor myself?” I added. “While there may be repercussions for your actions, I can also put in a word for you to have leniency based on your condition.”

With one last farewell, John Turner hobbled out of our hotel room and departed. I know he murdered a man, and murdered some men before long ago in another country, but I can’t help but pity the poor wretch. I should hope I’m never under such a cruel and unfeeling thumb like McCarthy Senior’s.

Chapter Text

9 October, 1884

James McCarthy was acquitted during court on the strength of a number of objections which had been drawn out by Sholmes and submitted to the defending counsel. There is every prospect that the son and daughter may come to live their own lives happily in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their past.

As for John Turner, I was able to convince the court to let him live out his sentence in the comfort of his own home due to his failing health. I don’t think he will live long enough to feel stifled by the house arrest, which is a small mercy in itself.

While we were on the train ride home, Sholmes stared at the window in deep contemplation. I suppose he will always get in a mood like this after each case— what goes up must always come down eventually. It was already nightfall, and there wasn’t really much else to do other than wait to arrive in London again.

That was, until Sholmes broke the silence between us.

“Mr. Turner did what he did for his daughter’s sake, he was desperate to keep her from suffering the way he did,” He started off quietly. “I remember you mentioned you have a daughter too… what is she like?”

I don’t know what I could have said at that moment, I suppose this case was also getting to Sholmes— say what you will about the man, but he puts his everything in whatever he does, he cannot go halfway, he is incapable of that. 

I told him honestly, I don’t have any idea what my own daughter is like other than from the letters I get from my mother.

“She’s going to be one year old soon, I can’t hardly believe it,” I said. “She’s going to be one year old and not know my face or remember my voice…”

I don’t know if it was just how lonely I felt in that train car or if the realisation that it has been almost one year since my life changed forever, but something inside of me broke. The next thing I knew, I was a hunched over blubbering and sobbing mess while I had told him everything— I told him about how Ayame and I were so excited to start our own family, how she had been so peculiar about the right blankets, how she wanted to make the baby’s own nursery, how she wanted nothing but the best.

We were going to be a family, and now we’re all separated. My poor Ayame was so excited to be a mother, it’s not fair how she was robbed of that. If we could change positions, I’d give my life to her every time!

And now I will miss so much more. I’m going to miss my daughter’s first words, and her first steps. I won’t see her learn or grow, I won’t be able to celebrate every tradition with her, especially her Shichi Go San. I was practically gone even before I made this decision, I was gone the day she was born. What kind of father leaves for so long and calls it his duty?

“What’s worse is that I’m on this exchange trip, we need the money, but it’s unbearable!” I sobbed. “I hate myself so much for this, but I don’t have any other option!”

“You’ve made a sacrifice that most wouldn’t understand,” Sholmes said, placing a hand on my back. “I cannot pretend to understand the angst you’re suffering through, but know that I sympathise greatly with you…”

I am thankful that neither of us tried to further any more discussion after that. He simply held me steady, I was close enough to lose myself in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and languid breathing, while he let me be, which was the greatest mercy of all.

There’s something cathartic about finally letting down one’s barriers— I don’t think I’ve cried this much since I was a young boy, to the point where even my limbs ache and gasping for air feels like a dagger to the throat. I suppose there is some comfort that I finally let it out in front of Sholmes, I’m afraid Genshin or Seishirou would try to talk me out of this, but Sholmes simply let me be.

Chapter Text

10 October, 1884

19 September, 1884

My Son,

Soon you will be able to see how much little Susato has grown. I will probably send another letter before I get a reply to this one to be sure that you will receive the photograph in time. I was cleaning out the house last week when I came across some of your old textbooks, when you were first starting out university! Susato was so delighted by them, happy and content to turn the pages— I am sure that she will be just as studious and curious as her clever father!

In unhappy news, your Aunt has passed away in her sleep. It seems that her health has caught up to her and now she is laid to rest. I will miss her terribly, as she was my elder sister after all, but now I know she will not be ill any longer.

I was reading more about London, and it is nearly wintertime for you. Some of the westerners here say that it is much colder in December than it is in January or February, do promise to stay warm and to take care of yourself!

A mother always frets, no matter how grown her son is nor how grey her hair has become. 

I cannot wait to hear from you once more,

Your Mother

Chapter Text

21 October, 1884

Maria has decided that she tolerates me enough to let me hold onto one of her stuffed animals while I work. It is a very sweet gesture, save for the stuffed organs that have been haphazardly shoved inside. The stitchwork is too elegant to be a three year old’s— I suppose Stevens’ handiwork explains quite a lot about the pair.

Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a word come out of that child’s mouth… It really isn’t any of my business, I’m told that some children can be shy— or perhaps antisocial in Maria’s case.

Prosecutor Stronghart stopped by the hospital for a visit as we have a patient that was injured in a crime and may serve as a witness in the upcoming trial. I found it noteworthy that he and Stevens seemed rather cold to each other…

Chapter Text

10 November, 1884

I can’t bear to bring myself out of this bed. I sent a note to Dr. Wilson yesterday to tell him that I was nursing a cold and did not want to spread the contagion in the hospital— I would feel horrible for lying so blatantly, but I honestly could not bring myself to care to be completely honest. 

At least the bed is comfortable, and the blankets are able to blot out the light.

Earlier, I heard Sholmes and Mrs. Hudson talking, their voices were low and hushed; it was a sure sign that he was telling her what had overcome me. I’m too exhausted to be upset at Sholmes, and at least it saves me the awkward explanation for the poor woman. 

The letter from my mother with Susato’s photograph inside came, just as I had expected, but what I hadn’t expected was Sholmes personally delivering it to me. He asked if I would like to open it myself or if I would prefer if he read it out loud for me. I tried to play the silent game, but he still sat at my bedside. When I turned to face him, I saw that the edge of the envelope wasn’t tampered with— he had kept his word to wait for my consent, and carefully unsealed it when I finally gave it.

He was silent at first, it seemed that Susato’s photograph was the first thing he had seen upon opening the letter. I held it as he read me the letter (he’s lucky that my mother wanted to practise her English penmanship!)— it’s almost uncanny to see how much of Ayame’s face is in Susato’s; they even have the same look in their eyes! 

She’s grown so much since I had last seen her, it’s almost overwhelming to think that the little bundle in the photograph I brought with me is starting to sit up on her own, walk on her own, talk on her own! She’s already such an independent little girl, and I am missing it.

“Would you like me to prepare a frame for that photograph?” Sholmes asked upon finishing the letter. “Your girl, Susato, she’s a very lovely child.”

I let him hold the other photograph as well, and I had even shown him my Ayame.

“It’s unfair to see how much life has changed back home, to lose so much,” I sighed. “I think I would rather keep these photographs with me, so that I can look at them when I need them the most.” 

He stayed for a while longer, making sure that I ate something or drank water— how funny, I’m the doctor and he is the layman, and he’s taking better care of me than someone who ought to know better.

He takes better care of me than he does himself… 

“I wanted to apologise for my earlier conduct, shortly after the first case you had assisted me on,” Sholmes said. “You had helped me so greatly, and I had been insensitive…”

It took me a moment to remember what he was talking about, I scarcely remember writing something down of being furious with him after the Jefferson Hope case, but it had all but escaped my mind!

“Good God, Sholmes, you still remember that?”

“It was awful, especially now as I see how it still affects you so,” Sholmes continued. “I merely wanted to show off my deductive ability, because you still thought it a fancy folly at the time, and I did not stop to consider what the consequences of my actions would bring— I want to apologise, because we are friends, yes?”

Even after nearly one year living with this man, I can still be surprised from time to time— the man has a far gentler soul than he, or anyone else really, gives himself credit for!

Still, it is nice to have a friend in this city, especially with how remarkably lonely it is. I am truly thankful to have the honour of being Herlock Sholmes’ friend.

20 October, 1884

My Son,

I hope this letter finds you safe and well. Although I am sending this some time before little Susato’s birthday, I’m hoping that it will arrive as planned. It was quite the adventure getting Susato to sit still for the photograph. I thought you would love a picture of just her, so I did not hold her.

Eventually, I held one of her favourite toys above the photographer so that she would sit still long enough for the picture to be taken of her. Isn’t she absolutely lovely in this photograph? She’s like a beautiful little doll, just like her mother!

I can hardly believe that she will be one year old, where has all this time gone? I’m sure her photograph will make her the most admired little girl in all of London, do be sure to show it to Jigoku-San and Asougi-San as well! I may not know much about the style of London, but I know that little Susato is the prettiest little babe that I have ever set my eyes on— and if anyone tries to tell you otherwise, you show them that photograph as proof!

She is not very talkative, quite similar to you when you were a little baby yourself, but her voice sounds just like a lovely bird. She does not just coo, but it seems that she sings like a lark.

We all miss you terribly, especially now as the anniversary approaches. However, I hope this letter creates a happy moment for you on that day, that you will still find something to smile for when you see your daughter’s face.

We both cherish you greatly, and I look forward to hearing from you soon,

Your nostalgic Mother

Chapter Text

25 December, 1884

Evidently there’s a distinction between east and west on when Christmas is celebrated. Mrs. Hudson personally knit both Sholmes and myself a set of wool scarves for the holiday, an awfully kind and generous gift!

I felt horrible for not preparing anything in advance, not only due to my own misunderstanding but due to my work in St. Syner’s. She insisted that it was no fuss, and that every store would be closed today anyway.

Thank goodness for Sholmes and his forward thinking— he had stopped by Mrs. Hudson’s favourite confectionery and bought her a box of chocolates from Belgium. At least I was able to write a note myself…

My many compliments to Mrs. H, however! She'd prepared a delicious supper for tonight— roasted ham and stuffing with pudding as a dessert! If there's anyone more qualified for any kind of sainthood, it's Mrs. Hudson, I can hardly believe that she did this by herself! I really do wish that I had known so that I could help her!

Chapter Text

2 January, 1885

I had the opportunity to watch an autopsy being performed by Dr. Wilson. This was the body of a drowning victim that was found last night shortly after the new year celebrations. Wilson found that the windpipe was crushed, enough so to produce bruising on the neck antemortem. There was enough force to cause some of the adjacent bones to fracture, namely the collar bones and hairline fractures on the cervical vertebrae.

It’s evident enough that our John Doe was involved in a scuffle that ended fatally, the only question is if there was any evidence left behind or if this case would end unsolved— I do hope that someone recognizes his death mask soon; it would be horrible to not be recognized, especially in death.

13 December, 1884

My Son,

There is a very high chance that you will receive this letter in the new year, isn’t that exciting! I also want to tell you that Susato enjoys the stuffed rabbit that you sent her with your last letter. She goes everywhere with it and has such adorable little conversations with the toy.

I’m sure you will be delighted to hear how curious your little girl has become— It seems that every day she’s asking me “What is this?” and “What is that?”, I’m sure she will start asking “Why?” soon enough!

I think Susato has started to make a friend as well! There is a family with a girl the same age as Susato, the Membami family! Do you remember them? Membami-san wanted to go to university to study medicine before falling ill with cholera from that awful outbreak that took your brother and father from us, and nearly you as well. Now he runs the tea shop with his elder brother, though he does ask about your studies from time to time. 

Anyway, his wife, Membami Haori, and I met in the market with the girls a while back. We both felt it would be nice if they befriended each other, and they seem to be getting along very well! The little girl’s name is Rei and she’s a quiet little thing, she reminds me so much of your dear brother before he got ill, rest his soul. However, I do hope that Susato won’t be the only one choosing what they will play!

Do write back soon,

Your mother.

Chapter Text

6 January, 1885

Sholmes was lying on the sofa mindlessly dragging his bow across his stradivarius while in yet another one of his foul moods. He was also smoking from his pipe, but it doesn’t smell anything like tobacco— I had better not question this. 

It was otherwise uneventful today, until Mrs. Hudson burst in with a homemade cake and insisted on celebrating Sholmes’ birthday. 

“You’ve loafed around like a log long enough, Mr. Sholmes!” She scolded. “You haven’t eaten a single morsel for days on end and I have had enough!”

“Mrs. Hudson, can you not tell that it is yet another bleak day in a series of bleak days,” Sholmes moped. “There’s nothing to occupy my mind anymore, have all the blackened hearts of criminals shrivelled up in such a short time? Is there even a point in living longer without anything to do?”

“Mr. Sholmes!” She huffed. “You will take better care of yourself this instant, or you will force my hand!”

Sholmes laughed out loud, practically barking as he tossed his head back.

“Very well then, I suppose I have a letter to pen,” Mrs. Hudson threatened. “I’m sure he will be at his usual haunt…!”

At that moment, Sholmes sat back up, ramrod straight and took a seat in front of the cake she brought. She smiled and placed a paper crown on his head, a leftover from Christmas time, and started to sing for him.

I still don’t know the words very well, so I just clapped my hands with her— better not to get on Mrs. Hudson’s bad side after all. 

Sholmes reluctantly blew out the candles and started to eat the cake under her watchful eye. Luckily he stopped pouting once he had finished his slice, as he should! Mrs. Hudson truly is a genius when it comes to the culinary arts, and it was a very delicious cake.

Though, I wonder who she was talking about? Who on earth would Mrs. Hudson invoke to make Sholmes behave?

Chapter Text

19 February, 1885

It has been about a year since I started living at 221b Baker Street, I can’t believe how fast it has been! To think that I was here in this very doorway hoping not to be turned away, I really am grateful to have a good flat— Seishioru told me that he had to move flats after one of the tennents murdered the landlord. Genshin has the best luck out of us all, the van Zieks family has opened their doors to him!

Us three are going to celebrate at a pub, and I have been getting better at billiards! 

23 January, 1885

My Son,

I am so happy to hear how you have been flourishing in London this past year— I am especially fond of hearing about this Mrs. Hudson that you write about! She seems rather spirited, and I’m glad to hear that she has been making sure you are in the best shape.

Poor Susato has had a cold for the past few days, it’s nothing that rest and medicine cannot cure, but I don’t think she’s upset about feeling ill and nauseous— I think she is more upset about not being able to go outside and play with the snow or say hello to little Rei!

Stay safe and stay warm in London,
Your Mother

Chapter Text

1 March, 1885

The boards of St. Syner’s and St. Bartholomew’s have officially decided to host a charity ball to raise funds and awareness for all that the hospitals do for the community. We even have permission from Her Royal Highness to use the Banqueting Hall in Whitehall! The board plans on gathering at the end of April, and Dr. Wilson is set to give a speech for the event! 

I’m afraid that none of the suits I’ve brought with me will be fancy enough for an event like this, I may need to set some time to head to a tailor’s… 

If I’m able, I think I should invite Sholmes if he would like to attend with me. It would be very helpful to attend with a friend, and I’m sure that he would love the subject matter of Wilson’s speech.

The impossible also happened today, Maria said something to me! I was sitting at Dr. Wilson’s desk reading through one of his theses when I felt a little tug on my lab coat! Maria just stares at me and holds up a hand while simply saying, “Candy, please.”

I think this means that she is getting used to me being around?

Mem., Visit Charleston’s Shoppe— Stevens holds in high regard, and I trust her judgement more than my intuition.

Chapter Text

31 March, 1885

I am absolutely shocked at what both Mrs. Hudson and Sholmes have done for me. It was the greatest and kindest surprise that the both of them had come up with yet, I’m truly honoured from the bottom of my heart!

On the day of the announcement, I had headed to the tailor’s and had been paying for a suit in instalments. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to send as much money back home due to it, but I’m sure it will be a temporary burden since I will probably have to attend more of these formal functions.

I had also been working longer hours at the hospital— to the point where I had started to sleep there from time to time! Dr. Wilson was congratulating me on my dedication, if only I were as altruistic as he thought. I went days on end without seeing Sholmes or Mrs. Hudson, the latter personally visited me to bring me a spare set of clothes on a few occasions. Even Stevens remarked that I started to look like one of the corpses… 

Today, Wilson forced me to take two days off and to get some rest. When I returned to 221b, both Sholmes and Mrs. Hudson were waiting for me with a prepared dinner! But that wasn’t the only surprise!

Imagine my shock when I returned to my bedroom to see the custom suit that I had been paying off, as well as a number of bills, pressed and presented to me! Sholmes noticed that I had left my journal open to the previous entry while I was at St. Syner’s and he cooked up a plan to help expedite the process. Mrs. Hudson insisted on helping him and came up with the idea of paying me back for the instalments that I had already paid.

“You’ve always been diligent with the rent, and you’re the best tenant I’ve ever had!” She told me— She insisted that if I am adamant about not keeping the money for myself, then I shall send it back home to my mother and Susato on her behalf.

I don’t know what I deserved to be in the company of such kind and generous people, I suppose, as Sholmes put it, it is “one hell of a birthday gift.”

As soon as I placed it into my wardrobe for safekeeping, I figured I should at least get ready for bed and prepare a letter for home. I was writing where the light was best, in the main parlour, when I saw Sholmes pacing back and forth while reading a short telegram.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to accept your invitation to the ball,” he said plainly. “I’ve already had an affair to attend to when you told me, I’m terribly sorry…”

I cannot lie, I was terribly disappointed to hear the news, but I do understand— I did spring it upon him. I don’t know how to explain it, but it would be a great comfort to me to have had him by my side at this ball, it’s a strange notion that I cannot completely describe. I don’t even know why I’m disappointed, I’m not the one giving a speech or an address, I’m just a foreign exchange student from a far off land…

“Oh yes, it’s a very sorry affair,” Sholmes yawned before heading up the stairs to his own room. “A sorry affair that Herlock Sholmes won’t be able to attend…”

I do hope he didn’t reject my invitation because he thinks it would be boring…

8 March, 1885

My Son, 

What marvellous news to hear that you’ve been invited to a formal ball! It is the talk of the town back home, and I am so incredibly proud to hear of this happy occasion! Do you know if anyone from the royal family will be in attendance? It must be the opportunity of a lifetime! Even if you won’t be able to speak to them, you can certainly say that you have been in the same room as them!

It is also wonderful to have a student from Japan present, although it is a shame you aren’t given the opportunity of a speech— but I am sure that you will earn your chance someday while you are on your sabbatical!

I do not want you to feel guilty about the money you had sent over with your last letter, Susato and I have been living well and we wouldn’t want you to worry about us. You have taken such great care of us, do not feel that you are inadequate or a failure— you are my son, and you are Susato’s father, and you are going to make her so proud of you when she is old enough to understand.

Do write back soon, and tell me all about the glamour!

Your mother

Chapter Text

30 April, 1885

I was unable to sleep at all last night, this is the first of many engagements as a representative of the small forensic science programme in the hospital! We have to make a perfect first impression, especially in front of all the donors for St. Synner’s.

Sholmes had been out since the night prior, apparently, he wouldn’t even tell Mrs. Hudson of all people about what he intended to do that night (although I think she has her own theories, I have a feeling that she knows more about Sholmes than she lets on).

The Banqueting Hall is absolutely stunning, I’ve never been in any place like it before— I wonder if all the palaces and castles in the empire are as beautiful and overwhelming!

The whole venue was filled with Lords and Ladies of all peerages— I nearly stumbled onto an Earl, his glare was terribly frightening! He certainly knows how to make someone feel like a scolded child, and I made it my prerogative to avoid the man (I really wouldn’t want to be thrown out of my first important event!). I can’t recall seeing anyone from the Royal Family— even if I did , I doubt that I would have recognized anyone in it. 

The first half of the evening consisted of a three course meal (I think I gained three pounds just by looking at the selection), I really did try my best to limit myself for it. By chance, my fellow medical examiners and I were seated with Seishirou, Prosecutor Stronghart, Genshin, and two other men that I had not been acquainted with at this point. The one who sat next to Genshin was younger than the other stranger, he being about my age, give or take, and the other man in his late fifties. He had this magnetic draw to him, a smile that just draws the listener in while he speaks— he makes even the most mundane subject seem like it’s the topic of some grand adventure!

“Yujin, Seishirou told me that you’ve already been acquainted with Prosecutor Stronghart,” Genshin said. “Allow me to introduce you to Prosecutor Klint van Zieks.”

This was the man himself, the legend that Genshin speaks so highly of, and who I occasionally read about in the newspaper. He’s so accomplished in the courts, and to think that he’s so young!

I didn’t know what else to say other than stammering, “Inspector Gregson speaks highly of you, mentioned that you are fit to be Director of Prosecutions one day.”

If looks could kill, I’m afraid that Prosecutor Stronghart would have done me in right there.

The older man, who was introduced to me as Chief Justice Hennessy, guffawed and clapped his hand over van Zieks’ back, not unlike a proud father to his son.

“You’re too modest, my boy!” He grinned. “You have a great talent for what you do, and with more years, I’m sure your dear brother will be an instrumental force!”

“Well, Barok is still away at university, but I have no doubt that he will do well as a prosecutor,” van Zieks chuckled. “But I’m equally sure we would both be a force to be reckoned with!”

It was then when the sound of metal hitting the glass goblet rang through the hall. The directors of both St. Syner’s and St. Bartholomew’s started the round of speeches. The heads of each department stood and had a chance to speak, Dr. Wilson’s speech was very optimistic and he shared much scientific insight (He even mentioned the Strangerson case!). I felt that it was a lovely event, although it was much shorter than I expected. 

The rest of the evening was dedicated to conversing, dancing, and other goodwill. I did not really know what else to do in the meanwhile, I will admit that I was never really one for parties (especially as I was dragged to them by Seishirou or Genshin), and so I stood idly by on the sidelines.

Then the strangest thing happened to me, a distinguished man walked up to me. I could tell that he had some importance, if I were to go off of the whispers and quick bows from some gentlemen. He walked up to me as if I were an old friend. He was a tall portly man, something about him seemed vaguely familiar, but I could not place my finger on it.

“Dr. Mikotoba, good evening, don’t you think?” He said before holding out a cigar. “Well, it’s a party, isn’t it?”

I awkwardly fumbled with it before finally accepting the light, I honestly couldn’t get a word in edgewise around this man. I know I had met this man before, perhaps he was one of the chairmen of St. Syner’s? I could not place a name to his face, but with the way that he looked at me with those quizzical eyes, as if he were taking me apart and putting me back together, I felt horribly rude.

“Do not worry, Doctor, I can tell you’re trying to remember me,” He said while he chewed on his cigar. “You’ve never met me, but I know you, and at this rate I am sure that—”

With a crash, a waiter nearly fell on top of me, spilling champagne all over my suit and even onto the floor! The man bowed his head and muttered his apologies while he fumbled with the broken glass and ice. He stomped his foot to extinguish my cigar and pulled me off to the side, insisting that he would help clean me up.

I truly don’t like being a bother, and I tried explaining that he didn’t need to worry about me, but as soon as we got away from the stranger, the shorter man rose and grew a foot right then and there!

“It’s always terrible work for a tall man to walk half-hunched, don’t you agree my friend?” he chuckled.

“Sholmes?! What are you doing here?!” I demanded. “I thought you were unable to go!”

“Make no mistake, I did not lie,” Sholmes huffed. “I said that ‘Herlock Sholmes’ was unable to make it, I’m just a waiter, and have no worries, I will personally tend to the laundering of that suit, many apologies for that… occupational hazard.”

“Occupational hazard?!” I sputtered. 

At least it was a small comfort to hear that Sholmes would take care of this mess. This suit was made of good material, and I am rather fond of it!

“I’m here to do a favour, and it’s nothing to go into detail about,” Sholmes replied.

“Then who was that man, why did he know me in particular?”

Sholmes huffed and cursed under his breath, “A nosy, meddlesome, and tiresome man who lacks ambition and energy on most days!” He then added, “He’s like a shark in the water when he sees one standing idly by, tell me, did you not at all notice the woman in orange who kept staring over her fan at you?”

I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Even if such a woman existed, I wouldn’t dare approach her myself, I think I would forget how to speak in either language I know! I had been so painfully (embarrassingly, at most points) shy, even when I first met Ayame. And even if I wasn’t like that by nature, I don’t even know how to dance in the first place!

Upon hearing my retort, Sholmes just laughed and patted my back, “Perhaps then, my friend, I ought to remedy that!”

He left to get a new platter with champagne flutes and me by my lonesome. I decided to go home after that, and to at least begin the preparations for the laundering process before the stain started to discolour the fabric.

Chapter Text

9 May, 1885

I awoke to the sounds of gunshots in the parlour right below my room. The shock of it caused me to roll out of my bed in a panic. Last night, I had a particularly long lecture and was going to sleep in today, but now I was worried for both Sholmes and Mrs. Hudson’s sakes— I thought an intruder broke in!

Without thinking I rushed down, still in my nightclothes and dressing gown, to see what had happened. The door creaked open just slightly, and I went into a blind panic— I punched the intruder’s stomach, and once he bent down, I used his momentum to propel him down to the ground. I shouted for Mrs. Hudson, but the man underneath me just laughed languidly.

This was no intruder, it was Sholmes, and it was he who had fired the gun inside!

“She’s out doing some early morning shopping, good man,” Sholmes answered. “While I am intrigued by the takedown you’ve exhibited, I would prefer to not spend my pitiful morning pinned down on the floor.”

“Sholmes! What the hell was that noise?!” I shouted. “What are you doing firing a gun in here?!”

Despite the mess, I saw his handiwork on the wall, an insignia ‘V.R.’ (Further research tells me that this stands for ‘Victoria Regina’, I never realised that Sholmes was such a patriot).

I suppose he’s lucky that Mrs. Hudson was out, or I fear that our latest autopsy would be his .

"Pshaw, my dear fellow! What does the public, the great unobservant and utterly blissful public, who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a compositor by his left thumb, care about the finer shades of analysis and deduction!” Sholmes huffed, still waving the revolver around. “The days of the great cases are past. Man, or at least criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality!”

“Sholmes, do you want a gruesome murder?”

“I’m over, my friend, I’m all washed up,” Sholmes sighed before falling back into the lounge chair. “I think that I have touched rock bottom at last, degenerating into an agent for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to young ladies from boarding-schools. This note I had this morning marks my zero-point, I fancy. Read it! Read it, I say!”

He then tossed a crumpled letter to me before continuing on with his sulking.

“‘Dear Mr. Sholmes, I am very anxious to consult you as to whether I should or should not accept a situation which has been offered to me as governess. I shall call at half-past ten tomorrow, if I do not inconvenience you,’” I read out loud. “‘Gratefully yours, Violet Hunter.’”

I did agree with Sholmes, this is a remarkably strange letter, especially as he does not deal with the business of civil affairs.

I checked the clock, it was just that time when Mrs. Hudson walked up with a freckle-faced young woman, about sixteen or seventeen years of age, who was dressed plainly and had the brightest red hair I had ever seen. Sholmes tossed the gun to me and sprinkled some drywall onto my clothing.

“Miss Violet Hunter is here, Mr. Sholmes,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Oh! Doctor, you’re up, would you like some tea?”

The moment she walked over, I broke out in a cold sweat, and started to stutter over my own words. She gasped when she saw the damage and squinted at Sholmes.

“Mr. Sholmes! What did you do to my wall?!”

Sholmes simply stretched like a lazy cat and smiled, “Follow the evidence, dear Nanny!”

She huffed and moved to get a broom and dustpan, meanwhile Sholmes motioned for our guest to take a seat.

“Thank you for agreeing to hear me out, sir,” She started. “I have a most perplexing dilemma, and I have no parents nor kin to turn to, and I thought that you would be kind enough to tell me what I should do.”

Miss Hunter has had the experience of serving as a governess for two years, finding a secure and steady pay with a Colonel at that time, until the man of the house decided to make a sudden move to Nova Scotia and took the children to live with him last March. She has been visiting an agency, Westaways run by a Mrs. Stoper, every day and living off of her last salary for as long and as frugally as possible— which then ushers her present problem today.

“One week ago, I had made my usual visit to Westaways to speak with Mrs. Stoper,” Miss Hunter continued. “A stout man with a very smiling face, and a great heavy chin which rolled down in fold upon fold over his throat, sat at her elbow with a pair of glasses on his nose, looking very earnestly at the ladies who entered.”

“And you had never seen this man before?” Sholmes asked.

She shook her head, “Most clients do not usually sit with Mrs. Stoper, one would simply file an application for her to send one of us their way,” She replied. “This man, however, was looking intently upon every girl who entered. Once Mrs. Stoper rang for me, he jumped up from his chair and insisted ‘This is the one! This will do handsomely!’ and offered me a salary of £100 a year before I had the chance to sit down!”

Both Sholmes and I nearly fell out of our seats. £100! I can hardly imagine what I could spend with £100! I’d bet if I had the chance to donate £100 to St. Syner’s, perhaps they would tell me to give a speech at the next gala!

“He explained that my employment would take place at Hampshire, at the Copper Beeches, on the far side of Winchester, and that my only charge would be a six year old boy— teach him arithmetic, practise the piano, tutor him— and that I would be able to move through the small countryside village at my leisure when my chores were finished,” She continued. “It all sounded so wonderful, a dream come true and the perfect solution to my problem…!”

“However, you believe this is too good to sound true,” Sholmes mused. “And that nagging feeling bothered you so much that you simply needed to have a second opinion.”

“Yes, exactly, there was one condition that he had insisted upon me cutting my hair, I could hardly believe my ears!” Miss Hunter nodded before taking off her hat. “As you may observe, Mr. Sholmes, my hair is somewhat luxuriant, and such a unique shade of chestnut… I’ve been told that it’s artistic, and I can’t dream of sacrificing it in such an off-hand fashion…”

I wonder what sort of job would justify such an outlandish condition? Surely this boy at that age could learn to keep his hands to himself and not pull at ladies’ hair!

“I had declined the position initially, and even earned Mrs. Stoper’s scolding, and decided to go home,” She continued, pulling a letter out from her purse. “The next day, I received this letter, allow me to read it out loud for you:

‘ Dear Miss Hunter,

Miss Stoper has very kindly given me your address, and I write from here to ask you whether you have reconsidered your decision. My wife is very anxious that you should come, for she has been very attracted by my description of you. We are willing to give £30 a quarter, or £120 a year, so as to recompense you for any little inconvenience which our fads may cause you. They are not very exacting, after all. My wife is fond of a particular shade of electric blue, and would like you to wear such a dress indoors in the morning. You need not, however, go to the expense of purchasing one, as we have one formerly belonging to my dear daughter Alice, which would fit you very well.Then, as to sitting here or there, or amusing yourself in any manner indicated, that need cause you no inconvenience. As regards your hair, it is no doubt a pity, especially as I could not help remarking its beauty during our short interview, but I am afraid that I must remain firm upon this point, and I only hope that the increased salary may compensate you for the loss. Your duties, as far as the child is concerned, are very light. Now do try to come, and I shall meet you with the dog-cart at Winchester. Let me know your train.

Yours faithfully, Jephro Rucastle.’

Sholmes sat quietly, smoking his pipe, while he pondered Miss Hunter’s story. He sat in his chair curled up like a ball, with his legs bent and pointing jaggedly out while he brought his hands to rest under his nose. His eyebrows were knit together, bunching up in the centre and quite possibly causing a permanent indent, and his lips were drawn in a thin taut line.

“Well, Miss Hunter, if your mind's made up, then that settles this whole affair, doesn’t it?” He finally said.

“You would not advise me to refuse?”

“I admit that this is not a position that I would like to see my own sister applying for, but I cannot find anything particularly egregious about it, especially not any foul play or the like,” Sholmes said. “Perhaps you yourself have formed some opinion?”

“Well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. Mr. Rucastle seemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. His wife appears to be an eccentric, but otherwise harmless,” She mused. “And the money would help me take care of myself greatly…”

I could not shake this feeling in the back of my mind that something was off about this story. Why would this man insist on paying £100, even £120, when, according to Sholmes, most governesses can easily be paid £40 a year? Why would he insist on such particular demands such as the lady’s hair or dress? What about Miss Hunter stood out to him to insist that she was perfect for the job before she could even share her qualifications?

I have the odd feeling that there’s danger afoot, but I don’t know what— granted, I suppose it would stop being ‘danger’ if I could easily describe it… 

Miss Hunter thanked us both profusely for listening to her account, and that she will write to Rucastle immediately to accept the position. Before she left, I insisted that she write back if anything felt strange or off putting about the Copper Beeches— thankfully she took heed of my advice and swore to do so the moment it dawned on her.

Chapter Text

14 May, 1885

20 April, 1885

My Son,

I suppose the gala will have already come and gone by the time you receive this letter; you simply have to tell me all about it when you write back to me! Did you see anyone from the royal family? Did you see the Queen herself? Does she look like her illustrations?

You will not believe what has come to our village in the last month! A family from London has set up a shop here, and they’re selling western style dresses, suits, and hats! Their accents are sometimes hard to understand, but they seem to have a decent grasp on our language. The hats are also works of art, I can see them in the shop window, and I think Susato likes the feathers most of all!

Speaking of Susato, I think you’ll be delighted to hear that she is the most curious little girl in the world! She’s started to speak more, and her favourite thing to do is ask questions— “Obaa! What is that?” “Obaa! What is this?”, she just loves to learn more and more around her, I can hardly keep up! She’s certainly your daughter, and I’m quickly running out of answers to give to her!

I hope to hear everything,

Your mother

Chapter Text

23 May, 1885

We’ve received a telegram from Miss Hunter! I knew something awful was going to happen, I knew it from that too-good tale! ‘Please be at the ‘Black Swan’ Hotel at Winchester at midday tomorrow. Do come! I am at my wit’s end. HUNTER’. I nearly dislocated poor Sholmes’ shoulder when I dragged him to the train station.

Once we were on the train, I started to relax some more, and it gave me some relief that we were hopefully going to prevent some ill befalling on an innocent woman; I had only wished that we were not too late!

“Are they not fresh and beautiful?” I asked, hoping to bring back some light and levity despite my own anxiety.

But Sholmes shook his head gravely.

“Do you know, Mikotoba,” he said, “That it is one of the curses of a mind with a turn like mine that I must look at everything with reference to my own special subject. You look at these scattered houses, and you are impressed by their beauty. I look at them, and the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their isolation and of which crime may be committed there and how.

“They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief, Mikotoba, founded upon my experience,” He said, upon seeing my shock and horror, “that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than the quiet and beautiful countryside.”

“You horrify me!”

Luckily, we arrived at around eleven, and the hotel Miss Hunter requested to meet at was rather close to the train station. I was able to breathe again when I saw her alive and well, though with hair shorter than mine or even Sholmes’!

“Oh, Mr. Sholmes, Dr. Mikotoba!” She said, just as relieved. “You both are so kind to meet me here, especially in such a short time, I do have to beg your forgiveness— I promised Mr. Rucastle to be back at three o’clock sharp.”

“Let us hear everything in due order then, we shall have plenty of time,” Sholmes said.

Miss Hunter was driven to the Copper Beeches, just as her employer had promised her. The grounds were more of note than the house itself— woods on three sides with the beech trees that named the estate with a field that slopes to the high road.
When they arrived at the grounds, the sharp rattling of a chain frightened Miss Hunter, and a glowing pair of eyes peered through the darkness and something growled at her.

“The Rucastles have a large mastiff on the property, and they only feed him once a day to keep him keen,” She said. “He’s released every night to roam the grounds and to fend off any trespasser… Mr. Rucastle warned me never to step over the threshold at night, and it’s a warning I hold dear to my heart when I see that large shadow at night! It sent a chill to my heart that I do not think any burglar could have hoped to achieve!”

On the first day, Rucastle introduced her to the rest of the house, as well as his two other servants:

JEPHRO RUCASTLE — seemingly jovial, to the point of laughing at his own jokes before he gets them out. Aged about forty five, and a widower. The man of the house.

MRS. RUCASTLE — colourless in mind and feature, nonentity, neither favourable or reverse. Considerably younger than her husband, perhaps thirty. Rucastle’s second wife, married about seven years. The woman of the house.

EDWARD RUCASTLE — the child in Miss Hunter’s care. Not more than six years old, and a bit of a spoiled brat. His whole life appears to be spent in an alternation between savage fits of passion and gloomy intervals of sulking. Giving pain to any creature weaker than himself seems to be his one idea of amusement; shows remarkable talent in planning the capture of mice, little birds, and insects.

ALICE RUCASTLE — Rucastle’s daughter from his first marriage, not presently in the country; possibly residing in Philadelphia in the United States of America. Mrs. Rucastle grows angry at the mention of her stepdaughter, possible animosity?

MR. TOLLER — One of two servants in Rucastle’s employ; loud, drunk, boisterous man who tends to Rucastle’s mastiff.

MRS. TOLLER — Second of two servants, cook. Sour, disagreeable, perfect match for husband. Miss Hunter tries to avoid her.

“Nothing was out of the ordinary until about the third day I was employed, when Mrs. Rucastle came down and whispered something into Mr. Rucastle’s ear,” She said. “He then instructed me to put on the electric blue dress and to join them in the drawing room with my back to the large window facing the field…”

“What would you do during this?” I asked.

“That’s the thing, I wouldn’t do anything, but Mr. Rucastle would tell such jokes and stories that would cause me to laugh myself to weariness!” She said, “Mrs. Rucastle stood idly by, she never laughed or smiled, and she always seemed terribly nervous.

“This would go on for an hour, until Mr. Rucastle gathered himself and told me to change from my dress and to attend to my duties for the day,” She said. “And this has been happening every day until last week.”

“What happened last week?” I asked.

“While I was getting ready for bed, I had dropped my hand mirror and broken it, and that was when I came up with the most clever idea,” She said. “I would hide a shard in a handkerchief and I would look at it to see what was behind me.”

Following through with her plan, Miss Hunter would bring up the handkerchief as a way to mimic wiping her tears away while she peered through the glass— it was then that she saw a strange man standing in the road looking at the estate. Mrs. Rucastle seemed to figure out that Miss Hunter had snuck in a mirror, but did not say anything other than approaching the window and telling her husband that there seemed to be someone in the yard.

“Mr. Rucastle’s demeanour seemed to change from that, he had a stone face, and was positively grim,” Miss Hunter said. “He told me to wave the man off, and then the session ended… I haven’t donned that blue dress or sat in front of that window since. But last night, I saw something that terrified me, and that’s why I asked you to come here.”

It was then that she brought out a coil of long chestnut hair, just the same tint as Miss Hunter’s! The poor woman turned a sickening shade of white as she laid it on the table.

“After I had put the child to bed, I decided to amuse myself by examining the furniture in my room and rearranging my own little things. I had finally found a set of keys to unlock the bottom drawer when I found that,” She said. “Hair just like my own, I thought it was my own, but I had no idea how this had gotten itself locked in the drawer, but I remembered that I had been living in Mr. Rucastle’s daughter’s room, and that my hair was a remarkably similar shade to that little boy’s…”

Soon enough, it was almost three o’clock by the time Miss Hunter finished her tale. Sholmes and I assured her that we would both stay close for the coming days, especially if she found herself needing to leave in the dark of the night for whatever reason.
We then decided to go throughout the town to ask more about the Rucastles. Sholmes was right about the country people— they are a quiet type that would prefer to stay in their own little world, keeping their eyes off of someone else’s business. Of the few people who would speak to us, they all said something remarkably similar: The Rucastles hardly left their estate, especially after Mrs. Rucastle the first died of an unknown illness, and that Alice Rucastle may have run off with a fiance despite her father’s disapproval.

Chapter Text

24 May, 1885

Sholmes and I were preparing to go out into the town to learn more about the Rucastles this morning, when suddenly our door was nearly taken down by Miss Hunter’s thunderous knocking. She was absolutely pale, as if she’d seen death itself, and was a shaking mess. She had not slept a wink at all that night, and she was shaking like she was caught in the rain. She was babbling incoherently, absolutely frightened to death, even while we led her inside and sat her down before she fainted. It even got to the point where I gave her a shot of brandy to gather herself.

“It’s so horrible! I cannot bear another minute in that house, it’s too frightening!” was all that she could muster.

There was one part of the story that she had neglected to share with us, and the terror that had happened to her was at the centre of it! The Rucastle family has a wing of the house that is absolutely off limits— it’s always locked, and no one seems to occupy it.

“Mr. Rucastle explained that photography is his hobby, and that part of the house served as his dark room, but I couldn’t shake this awful feeling I had,” She explained. “Even more so when I saw that Mr. Toller had a key, and he carried a black linen bag inside. The curiosity kept me up, so I decided that I was going to get in there somehow, even if it was to put my mind at ease…”

After our meeting yesterday, Miss Hunter waited until both Mr. and Mrs. Toller were distracted to swipe the key and sneak to the mysterious room. She was faced with a staircase that spiralled up to yet another locked door at the top— however, Toller’s key would not fit inside the lock.

“I tried to look inside to see what was hidden, and I could barely see that the window was boarded up, hardly letting in any light at all,” She continued. “Then, a figure blocked my view, and I was faced with an eye staring straight back at me! I nearly let out a shocked scream, but I did not wish to alert anyone… oh but I had! I had when I heard that horror!”

“What did you hear?” I asked. “What happened next?!”

“I heard this scratching against the wood, like some kind of creature, and this dull pounding…” Miss Hunter said. “I feel horrible for this, but I ran out of that awful wing as fast as I could, but that was when Mr. Rucastle caught me by surprise when I turned around the corner.”

“And what was Mr. Rucastle like? Did he still maintain his usual disposition?” Sholmes asked.

“He smiled at me, but there was none of the warmth that I was used to, his voice was a little too coaxing, but that’s what made it all the more frightening,” she replied. “He told me, and this was when that smile turned into a demonic grin of rage, ‘If you ever put your foot over that threshold again, I’ll throw you to the mastiff.’

“Oh you must help me, I’m so frightened!” She hiccupped between her sobs. “And that poor soul locked up there! I feel so awful for leaving that person all alone with that evil man!”

“But you did just as you ought to have done,” Sholmes said. “You’ve told us all that we needed to know, so that there is now a chance that both you and the prisoner can be saved!”

We then made a plan to be at the estate at seven o’clock, one half hour after the Rucastles left for church. Hopefully, by that time, Toller will be incapacitated. It will be up to Miss Hunter to make it so that Mrs. Toller will not be able to stop us, and I know that she can handle that perfectly.

Although, I’m not entirely sure how I feel about Sholmes’ attire for us both— black knit jumpers with black pants and black caps; I told him that he might as well have given us black masks while he was at it!

Oh dear, I think I gave him an idea now that I think about it.

We managed to lay in wait before the meeting time, especially for Miss Hunter’s signal. It was quiet, so I felt that I would ask Sholmes who he thought the poor prisoner was.

“Isn’t it obvious, Mikotoba, I’m sure that this is the missing daughter herself, Alice Rucastle,” He said. “And poor Miss Hunter was pulled into this mess because she had the misfortune of resembling Miss Rucastle in height, figure, and most importantly, hair.”

“And you think the man Miss Hunter saw was the fiance? And that’s why the dog is let out at night?”

“Precisely so, I don’t think he’s any more fiction than you or I,” Sholmes nodded. “In fact, I believe his insistence on wanting to marry Miss Rucastle is what started this mess.”

“How come? You think that Rucastle would want to oppose his daughter’s union?”

“It’s very likely to do with the matters of money, despite the promised salary, I hardly believe that the family has the means to provide it judging by the condition of the house and what the servants are like,” Sholmes said. “And if you think about the disposition of the child, it tells you all you need to know about the pa— who raised the child…”

I think he hoped I didn’t catch onto that slip. I do hope that a child is more affected by the nurture they receive rather than nature… it took all of my strength to keep my mind from wandering back home. 

When we saw the signal, a flashing light three times in succession, that was when we emerged from our hiding place and entered through the back of the house. Toller was sleeping soundly on the rug, the stench of alcohol billowed from his mouth as he snored, and there were colourful curses coming from the cellar door that was currently locked in place with a chair under the handle. Miss Hunter had grabbed the keyring from Toller and we all ran through the house, into the secret wing, and up the spiral stairs.

Miss Hunter went through every ring that she had, but none of them fit the keyhole— the bastard took it!

I did not want to waste another second. I took a deep breath and told my companions to get out of my way. With all my strength, I kicked the door from its hinges and watched as wood splintered into the air.

Apparently we were not the only ones who had hoped to liberate Miss Rucastle, judging from the broken boards and the knife in the man’s hand, we were met face to face with Miss Rucastle’s fiance— a man who introduced himself as Fowler.

Once we established that we were not foes or any danger at all to the couple, we started to usher them out through the stairwell when the door was thrust violently open. Rucastle, with a face as red as can be, stormed up the stairs shouting and cursing. With a loud bang, and the awful sound of bone shattering, Fowler fell to the ground, causing Miss Rucastle to scream. From what I remember, his leg was in awful shape. I tore a part of the blanket and wrapped it around the wound as tight as possible to slow the bleeding.

Sholmes and I instructed our companions to stay up there until we dealt with Rucastle.

“You thieves! Spies and thieves! I have caught you, have I?!” He shouted, shooting at us as we followed him, “You are in my power! You’ll regret this!”

We were about to turn the corner when a bullet ricocheted off of the wall and struck Sholmes in the bicep. He slumped against the wall, holding onto his wound and hissing. Before I could check on him, he shoved his revolver in my hands and told me to go after him before he set the dog loose.

I reluctantly obeyed him, and just as I was about to leave through the back, I was grabbed by large meaty hands and swung back and forth.

“My God!” He cried, “Someone has let loose the dog!”

“He has already?!” I gasped.

“It’s not been fed in two days!” Toller said, white as a sheet.

We both heard the scream, and I wish I could forget that awful sound. We both ran on the lawn where we were faced with the most awful sight. There, pinned under a hellish black form, was Rucastle thriving in pain and agony as the famished beast tore at his throat. Sharp white teeth glinted in the darkness, stained with blood.

I took Sholmes’ revolver and tried to follow the beast’s head— if I missed, I would become the next meal. I held my breath as I pulled the trigger, and miraculously with one shot, the heaping mass fell onto the body of Rucastle; unfortunately the damage was already done.

I told Toller to collect the police, and to call for an undertaker, then I went inside. Our companions were joined by Mrs. Toller, who sobbed loudly. Sholmes’ breath hitched when he saw me, and he offered me a cigarette saying that I, “looked like hell.”

“It’s an awful pity that you didn’t tell me what you were planning, Miss Hunter,” Mrs. Toller said. “I would have told you that your pains were wasted!”

“What the hell is going on then?!” I rasped.

“I will soon make it clear to you, and I’d have done so before now if I wasn’t locked in the cellar,” she said, “ If there’s police court business over this, you’ll remember that I was the one that stood your friend, and that I was Miss Alice’s friend too.”

With the way that she looked at me, with how gaunt she was and that resolve. It made what had truly happened crystal clear.

I assured her that it was no crime to let a dog out of its kennel…

Chapter Text

1 June, 1885

Busy day at Barley and Son’s Clinic, found cases of arsenic poisoning; three dead so far. Nurses under suspicion— Gregson to conduct internal investigation.

Addition— Maria gave me a crayon drawing, may be a good sign? A slightly demented drawing, but she waited for me to open it?

Sholmes disappeared again, Mrs. Hudson urged me not to worry, she seemed to have confidence in my flatmate’s whereabouts but seems unable to divulge any information at this time.

13 May, 1885

My Son,

I am absolutely delighted to hear all about your studies in London so far, I can hardly believe that it has been over one year since you finally landed there. I’m so thankful that you have found such charitable people to keep you company!

Susato has developed a fear of the dark lately, she cries until I light a candle for her to fall asleep under. At the very least, she can fall asleep quickly so that I do not need to light it long. I’ve tried to satiate her fears with her adorable stuffed lop-eared rabbit, the one that you sent, but she now insists that ‘Usa-Tan’ is also frightened of the dark— what a clever girl, don’t you think?

She’s very adorable with her toy, she carries it with her everywhere we go, and she talks to it as if it were her own child! I never really noticed how articulate she can be, it is almost as if she were a little adult at times! Her little voice is like bells, I wish I could help you hear it more!

The flowers are blooming wonderfully, Susato loves to take them and decorate them in her hair— she looks just like a princess!

With love and care,

Your Mother

Chapter Text

26 June, 1885

Had a busy month since the start of the clinic murders, Scotland Yard arrested the suspect last week— the final five victims were all a part of one family, the Livingwells, and were under the care of the same nurse, Angela d’Mort. The nurse grew careless, initially targeting the weakest patients from the other nurses before turning on her own— there was evidence of four more murders since my previous entry. 

As I was on the scene assisting Dr. Wilson, he arranged for me to testify at the trial this morning on his behalf. This was my first time in the Old Bailey, and its reputation certainly precedes it. It felt more like a palace than anything, to think that this is where both Seishirou and Genshin would spend most of their studies is almost overwhelming to me!

Prosecutor Stronghart was there today, he had me wait in the prosecution’s antechamber until I was summoned to the stand. I was the second man to testify, the first being Gregson. I testified regarding the methods we had used to identify the poison in the victims, as well as the effects the substance had around the mouth where it was ingested. Stronghart was organised and planned on having some of the fellow nurses testifying, but the jurists and the judge presiding all felt that guilt had been clearly established.

Just as I was leaving, Stronghart had caught me and told me that my testimony was what sealed d’Mort’s fate in court, and that court ended, “One hour, thirty-five minutes, and forty-seven seconds” sooner than he expected.

“It is not often that I see you alone,” he said. “I must wonder where that boisterous troubadour you normally shadow must be.”

Evidently, Sholmes left a bigger impression than I had thought. Sholmes still hadn’t returned from wherever it was that he went, and neither Mrs. Hudson nor I have heard from him.

Naturally, I told the prosecutor that he simply was working on a case on his own.

“A shame about this crime, especially for someone of your profession,” He continued. “To throw everything and serve as an antithesis of your calling, my God, how crime corrupts even those who should know better…

“I have nothing but reverence for my work, and for that of the Chief Justice, do not mistake me, Dr. Mikotoba,” He said. “It’s tireless work, but it must be done for the sake of Her Majesty’s dominion.”

With those solemn words, he thanked me once more for testifying, and he noted that he would put in a good word for both me and Seishirou, who had insisted on having me be heard.

Chapter Text

8 July, 1885

Evidently, Sholmes has a brother— his senior by seven years, and apparently greater than he in his observational faculties.

It seems so ordinary, I never even perceived Sholmes having a family given how he’s never brought it up before. It made me wonder what an entire Sholmes family would be like—  is he the outlier or are they frighteningly similar? I suppose it’s rather silly to think that Sholmes simply emerged from the aether… 

It all started one evening when we were discussing another article he had written about the science behind observation. I mentioned that his affinity for observing and deduction was the result of meticulous and dedicated years of study.

“To some extent,” he answered, thoughtfully. “My ancestors were country squires, who appear to have led much the same life as is natural to their class. But, nonetheless, my turn that way is in my veins, and may have come with my grandmother, a French-Canadian artist. Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms.”

“But how do you know that it is hereditary?”

“Because my brother Mycroft possesses it to a larger degree than I do.”

Upon seeing my shock and even astonishment, Sholmes simply laughed (I suppose in this case, it could even be a good opportunity to say ‘Guffaw’!).

“My dear, Mikotoba, though I admire your paragon way of thinking,” He said. “I cannot, no, I refuse to agree with those who rank modesty among the virtues as it is a hindrance to my work— to underestimate yourself is as much a departure from the truth as to over exaggerate your prowess!”

“Then how come he is unknown? I would wager that his skill would make him a brilliant detective,”

“I said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. If the art of the detective began and ended in reasoning from an armchair, my brother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived,” Sholmes replied. “What is to me a means of livelihood is to him the merest hobby of a dilettante, and he is very well known in his own circle."

Sholmes then pulled out his pocket watch and hummed, “The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mycroft one of the queerest men. He’s always there from quarter to five to twenty to eight,” he said. “It’s six now, so if you care for a stroll this beautiful evening I shall be very happy to introduce you to two curiosities.”

We then walked to Pall Mall, and Sholmes told me more about his brother— Mycroft Sholmes possesses an analytical mind unlike any other, and his position in the government is likewise not like any other before it (or even after it, as Sholmes speculates). He would not divulge anything else, which leads me to believe that the man’s work requires all the confidentiality in the world.

When we stood on the steps of the Diogenes Club, Sholmes looked me gravely in the eye.

“There are many men in London who have no wish for the company of their fellows, be it from shyness or misanthropy, but still enjoy comfortable chairs and the latest periodicals,” Sholmes explained. “It was for this convenience that the Diogenes Club was founded, and it now houses the most unsociable and unclubbable men in any town.

“Listen to me carefully, though my brother was one of its founding members, I am not exempt from the rules— no talking, under any circumstances, is permitted inside,” Sholmes continued before holding up three fingers. “Each member is allowed three offences which, in front of the committee, will render the talker an immediate expulsion from the club.

“I find it to have a soothing atmosphere, so do keep that in mind when we step inside,” Sholmes said. “Do not look at any other man, do not speak to any other man, simply walk as if you were blind to others around you.”

“I take it that you already managed to break the rules twice before?” I asked.

Sholmes sighed languidly and lurched forward with a pout, “Is it entirely my fault if I notice something that catches my fancy?!”

He then took me inside, leading me down the ornate hall. As we walked, I noticed some other men, happy in their own secluded worlds, as they read their own papers through the glass panelling. Sholmes led me into a small office chamber that overlooked Pall Mall, with a familiar man looking out onto the street.

It was the man from the gala! To think that he was Sholmes’ brother! That explains why he knew me!

Mycroft, like his brother, had a certain intimidating and unnerving manner about him. While he does not exude the manic energy of his younger brother, there is still something underlying in him, something that I cannot explain nor do I know how to explain exactly. I could see it in his eyes, some unhinged energy dancing underneath the same stormcloud grey eyes. He was slightly younger than me, but he had the air of someone well beyond his years.

“Dr. Mikotoba,” he said. “It’s much better to properly become acquainted.”

He motioned for us to join him by the large bow window overlooking the street, pointing out two men below.

“Look at these two fellows below us, Hurley,” He said. “The billiard-marker and the other, tell me what you make of him.”

Sholmes peered out of the window and pursed his lips. Staring at the shorter man, he pointed up and clicked his tongue.

“That’s obvious, he’s a soldier, and recently retired at that,”

“Of course, must have served in India judging by the stark contrast of his face compared to his neck, what a nasty sunburn indeed,” The Elder Sholmes mused. “Noncommishioned, don’t you agree?”

“Royal Artillery,”

“And a widower at that,”

“Oh yes, with a young child, see over on the fence, the lad kicking at the pebble on the way?” Sholmes (the younger) said. 

“Children, dear boy, children,” Sholmes the Elder chuckled.

(I think it would be easier if I assigned each a number, Sholmes 1 and Sholmes 2, but I have no idea how to give it to them. Do I call Herlock Sholmes ‘Sholmes 1’ since I’ve known him longer, or should I give that to Mycroft Sholmes as he’s the elder? I suppose it would be simpler to call my friend by his name and his brother Sholmes.)

Their rapid fire observations made my head spin, and my heart palpitated irregularly as my face started to heat. I cannot put a finger to it, but I felt a rush unlike any other watching two minds in such a rapid fire manner. I felt like a ping pong ball just watching them go back to back with each other.

I must have laughed, just simply out of bewilderment, because they both looked at me inquisitively.

“Is it out of the question to say that a man who stands with the expression of authority, and perfect posture, with sunbaked skin is a soldier, more than a private, and not long from India?” Herlock asked.

“The fact that he’s still wearing his ammunition boots shows that he has not left the service long,” Sholmes observed.

“He wears his hat on the side, judging by the lighter skin on that side of his brow,” Herlock added. “He’s too heavy to be a sapper, so artillery it is.”

“And judging by his attire, he’s in a state of mourning, the boy is wearing black as well,” Sholmes replied. “Especially as he’s been doing his own shopping, he’s been buying things for children.”

“There you are with the children!” Herlock huffed. “Where are you getting this second child?!”

Sholmes chuckled, “You rush through these things far too much, Hurley, and that’s how you miss the broader picture.”

He pointed out what was in the man’s hand, a baby’s rattle as well as a child’s picture book, and made a point that it was clear that there was another child to be thought of in the picture.

It was such a brilliant observation that even Herlock was impressed with it!

It was then that a short wiry middle aged man with thick black hair and a thick black beard entered the chamber. Sholmes started to speak before Herlock shushed him and grinned manically.

“Not so fast, dear brother, why end the fun so fast?” Herlock said. “Especially when you’ve been pestering me about my investigative partner…!”

Evidently, Sholmes was interested in my previous adventures with Herlock, and he told Herlock to bring me along so that he can see me at work. Before I could even blink, Herlock snapped his fingers and pointed at our new guest.

“I can tell that you have a purpose in coming here today, in fact, I can see that all the answers can come from the notebook snug in your pocket!” Herlock said. “And judging by the graphite stains on your hand, you are clearly a reporter by trade, here to get a scoop!”

The man was absolutely confused, but the Elder Sholmes simply laughed and watched as his brother seemed to dance about the room.

“Your profession has served you uncharacteristically well, that you’re able to afford such a high quality suit,” Herlock continued. “And I can only assume that is simply because you are sponsored by my dear brother!”

“It’s true that I know Mr. Sholmes but—”

Herlock ignored him and snatched a letter out from the man’s breast pocket. He opened it, mumbling as he read through it, before he had a fox-like grin and crumpled it up into a mess.

“And you have in your possession a letter, a love letter perhaps!” Herlock snickered. “Therefore I conclude that you are here to dig about more of an illicit affair that has taken place!”

“What on earth?!” The man stuttered, his face was bright red.

I even admit that my face felt flushed when Herlock brought that up, even more as I’m writing this now.

“What other ridiculousness!” The man gasped, glancing back at Sholmes, who was barely able to contain his laughter.

“And that glance!  My brother is in on this affair as well! A glance is worth a thousand words!” Herlock continued, and when the man gripped his wrists, he then shouted. “Ah! What a masterful technique, as a fellow sportsman myself, I can tell when a man is prepared to block!”

He then jumped into the fisticuffs position, ready to brawl at a moment’s notice, “So my brother has brought you here to spar with me, eh?” He said. “Very well, I accept! Mycroft knows I can never resist a challenge!”

That was when Sholmes nearly buckled over in laughter, tears threatening to run down from him, and our guest stood dumbfounded at the display.

“That is absolutely incorrect!” The stranger sputtered.

“Hurley, if I wanted someone to spar you, surely I would choose a better venue than my personal office?” Sholmes chuckled.

“But it is indeed a possibility,” Herlock said, clicking his tongue.

“An impossible possibility!” our guest replied. 

“Ah yes, but once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable,” Herlock replied. “That is what must be the truth!”

Just as our guest was about to speak, Sholmes shook his head and said, “Just a moment, Mr. Melas, entertain me and my brother just a moment more, I would quite like to hear Dr. Mikotoba’s thoughts on this matter.

With Mr. Melas’ permission, he allowed me to look through his notebook— while a great many words were written in a foreign alphabet, he had scribbled some using the one that I was able to recognize from my textbooks as the romanization of Greek, I recognized a few words from my own medical textbooks.

“This looks like you’re more used to writing in Greek rather than with the English alphabet,” I mused. “And if I’m correct by your accent, you were not born in Britain, am I right in assuming that you are Greek?”

“Yes! I’m from Crete, I work as an interpreter in a number of hotels and government offices!” Melas said.

“I can tell that it must be a high paying position, and I can assume that is how you’ve been acquainted with Mr. Sholmes?” 

“That and another thing, I live on the floor above him,” he said. “We’re neighbours!”

“So that letter was a means of summoning you here?”

“I told him to bring it so that he can get in without bothering our patrons,” Sholmes added.

I then took a second glance at his face, seeing a faded bruise just under his right eye, as well as a series of rope burns on his wrists.

“That is precisely why I am here! I’m here to ask for counsel regarding the strangest event!” He said when I inquired more about his injuries.

“What wonderful work indeed, if I may say so myself,” Sholmes said, motioning for Melas to take a seat. “Today is Wednesday, you said this happened to you on Monday evening?”

“Precisely so!” Melas nodded. “If it is not too presumptuous, I do hold the great privilege of serving as the chief interpreter of the Greek language here in London, I’m even known by name! Anyway, it was late in the evening when I was summoned to a nearby hotel, it is not unusual for me to be called at strange hours, I’m quite used to it actually…

“The man who called for me is Mr. Harold Latimer, and I was practically shoved into a covered carriage, it was not a normal taxi by any means,” Melas continued. “Even the windows were covered in parchment, there was no way to look out at all, which gave me such a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach,” He said. “I demanded to know what the meaning of this was, but he smiled and simply said, ‘The fact is that I have no intention that you should see what the place is to which we are driving. It might possibly be inconvenient to me if you could find your way there again’. Imagine my shock! I was ready to do my work, just the same as any other honest man, and before I realised it, I was being kidnapped!”

“Most interesting, tell me, Melas, what was this Latimer fellow like?” Herlock hummed. “What can you remember of him? What did he look like? Was he carrying anything?”

Melas shook his head, “I was too terrified to look at him, he was holding a lead bludgeon, and I was sure that he wanted me to notice it,” He replied. “But he was younger than me, perhaps thirty at the most, and he was much broader and taller than me, that was how I knew escape from him would be a fool’s mission.”

“Did he say anything else to you, Mr. Melas?” I asked.

“Oh yes, at the end of the two hour ride, before he opened the door, he took me by my constrained wrists and forced me to look at him,” Melas said. “‘It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt, but we’ll make it up to you. I must warn you, however, Mr. Melas, that if at any time tonight you attempt to raise an alarm or do anything which is against my interests, you will find it a very serious thing. I beg you to remember that no one knows where you are, and that, whether you are in this carriage or in my house, you are equally in my power’. He patted me on the face, and must have had a ring which caused this bruise under my eye…

“He covered my head with a sack before taking me inside a manor— There was a coloured gas-lamp inside which was turned so low that I could see very little,” Melas continued, “In the dim light I could make out that the person who had opened the door was a small, mean looking, middle aged man with rounded shoulders. As he turned towards us the glint of the light showed me that he was wearing glasses.

“I never caught this strange man’s name, but he told me that they had another Greek “guest” and that I was to interpret everything that he would say, and I should take this seriously if I value my life,” He said before shuddering. “He had the most sinister laugh imaginable, it was high pitched and unnerving, it felt like someone placed icy fingers upon my neck…!

“The man brought in my fellow prisoner, he was in such awful condition— he was emaciated and deathly pale with protruding eyes, they had gauze over his mouth, and he was only permitted to write in order to communicate,” Melas explained. “I was instructed to ask this man about some papers, though the significance means nothing to me…”

I noticed how Sholmes gripped his cane tightly, so tight that I could see the bones protruding from his knuckles— evidently, they were important to him and whatever work he does.

Melas explained that he was able to deduce that their captors had no understanding of Greek whatsoever, and in a clever and dangerous attempt, he started to add more sentences to his questions in order to find out more about the Greek man, he would ask as so:

‘You can do no good by this obstinacy. (Who are you?)’

    ‘I care not. (I am a stranger in London).’

    ‘Your fate will be upon your own head. (How long have you been here?)’

    ‘Let it be so. (Three weeks).’

    ‘The property can never be yours. (What ails you?)’

    ‘It shall not go to villains. (They are starving me).’

    ‘You shall go free if you hand them over. (What house is this?)’

    ‘I will never. (I do not know).’

    ‘You are not doing her any service. (What is your name?)’

    ‘Let me hear her say so. (Kratides).’

    ‘You shall see her if you comply. (Where are you from?)’

    ‘Then I shall never see her. (Athens).’

“I wanted to ask more about this woman when she suddenly entered the room, a woman with a heavy Greek accent came for Mr. Latimer. She had such an intimacy with him that I assumed they were to be married,” Melas said. “That was when she saw Kratides and gasped, calling him Paul, and mindlessly rushing to him while she spoke in rushed Greek before getting dragged out by the man in glasses.

“I believe that Kratides is this woman’s brother, and she had no idea he was being kept in such awful conditions, especially if you saw the horror on her face,” he concluded. “After she was dragged out, Latimer escorted me back to the carriage and threatened me once more, warning me to stay away from the police.”

“Luckily for you, my good man, we are not the police!” Herlock laughed.

“Indeed, when you came to me this morning, I knew that it would be a case most suited for my brother,” Sholmes nodded. “Thank you for coming on such a short notice, I do not wish to take up more of your evening…”

After Mr. Melas had left, Herlock turned to his brother and crossed his arms.

“It is not often that you come to me and request my services, Mycroft,” Herlock said. “I assume that this is of the utmost importance, and yet, it’s so terribly classified?”

“Quite right, dear boy, quite right… I am not at liberty to divulge the specific details, but I will share with you and Dr. Mikotoba to the best of my abilities that I am able,” Sholmes said. “There is reason to believe that these brutes are a part of a fringe political group that has been of grave interest to my work, and hearing Mr. Melas’ story has made me believe that this mysterious manor is the current whereabouts of two of the agents in my employ.”

All this talk of agents and espionage is enough to make my hands shake as I write this down. Herlock still has not told me the nature of his brother’s work, but I can only assume that it may be a secret service of sorts!

“Hurley, as you know, the king of Greece is the brother in law to Prince Albert Edward, our country as well as the Russian Empire is intimately connected to that of Greece, if this group gains access to these documents, the stability of these three nations could collapse, and propel the whole of Europe into a war unlike any ever seen before,” Sholmes explained. “It is of the utmost importance that this group is stopped, and I know that I can trust you to handle this task…”

For the rest of the evening, Herlock and I journeyed to Bayswater, where there is a substantial Greek population. Most of the shops were closed by that time, and we could hear chanting coming from the cathedral, meaning that most of the residents wouldn’t be able to speak with us at this time. 

Of the residents who were out at the hour, few would speak to us, speaking quickly in Greek before rushing off. It wasn’t until an older woman dropped her groceries in front of us that we were able to speak with someone for longer than a few seconds. She introduced herself as Mrs. Fotopoulos, a widow who lived just around the corner. She let us help her carry her groceries home, and she insisted on making us tea for the trouble.

“Mrs. Fotopoulos, how long have you lived here?” Herlock asked.

“I came with my Isodor about twenty years ago, young man,” She replied. “We raised our daughter here her whole life.”

“Would it be incorrect to assume that you know most people in this neighbourhood then?”

“I would not say it would be,”

“We’re looking for a man named Paul Kratides,” I explained. “He would have arrived about three weeks ago?”

Mrs. Fotopoulos gasped and stared at us both before rushing to the window, checking outside, and shutting the curtains. She crossed herself and muttered something in her native language before returning to us.

“That man is the brother of one of the girls my Toula works with!” She said, “Her name is Sophy Kratides, and she arrived here one year ago to work as a seamstress…”

“When was the last time that you remember seeing her?” I asked.

“I can’t remember, but my Toula says that she has not been at work for about a month,” she answered. “The poor girl, she was close with a man, he wasn’t Greek! He was tall, taller than you, and a broad man, and he looked down at everyone with such contempt!”

“Do you know who this man was?”

“Of course, his name is Harold Latimer! Oh dear, do you think something awful has happened to Poor Sophy?!”

“If she is in danger, we will help her to the best of our abilities, this I promise,” Herlock reassured the woman. “Did Mr. Kratides approve of this?”

She shook her head, “He believed that his sister would end up hurt, that she needed to return home immediately, but there was something strange before he left…”

“Strange? How so?” Herlock asked.

“He kept cursing ‘that organisation’, he wouldn’t say anything more, I have no idea what he was talking about…”

“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Fotopoulos,” I told her. “Have a safe evening, and goodbye.”

We kept to ourselves as we returned to 221b, we didn’t even call for a cab. Herlock was silent as he checked that the windows were securely locked and the curtains were closed into place. I still haven’t been able to catch a wink of sleep, and I’m using a candle to illuminate me as I write. I can’t help but feel that I’m being watched, and I don’t want the gas lamp to risk anything— perhaps they are right when they say ignorance is bliss, despite this unnerving feeling of knowing nothing—  it’s possible that the truth is even more terrifying.

Chapter Text

9 July, 1885

I just saw something horrific, so awful and terrifying. My hands are still shaking as I write, the awful scene plays over and over in my mind, the look on that man’s face… I saw terror in his eyes, and I will never forget what it looks like for the rest of my life.

It’s best to start at the beginning, if I do that, I can process that horrific conclusion— perhaps I can stop feeling sick to my stomach at the end of this entry.

I had only a few hours worth of sleep; even after last night’s entry, I still couldn’t will myself to rest.
This morning, I awoke to Herlock poking and prodding me before pulling me out of my bed in a hurried manner. I was still groggy, but he was telling me to get dressed, that time was of the essence before he dashed out again. I had barely enough time to make myself halfway presentable when he yelled for me to join him in the sitting room once more. Sholmes was waiting for us both, and his face was grim. He handed me the letter below, and told me to read it out loud:

“I found this slipped under the doorway of my office, I suggest you hold onto this for me,” Sholmes said. “No one is permitted inside without my express approval, and no suspicious persons have been seen or taken into notice by any of the staff in Whitehall… it’s rather bothersome, but the entire building has been placed under a lockdown of sorts…”

“Something tells me that you’ve received another letter like this before, Brother,” Herlock said.

“Two, in fact, but there is a more pressing matter concerning Mr. Melas,” Sholmes replied. “I fear that he may possibly be in danger, no one can confirm that he returned to his home last night since our meeting.”

“What makes you believe that?” I asked.

“It is important in my work to, let’s say, cross the ‘t’s’ and dot the ‘i’s’, Dr. Mikotoba,” He simply said. “That is all you need be concerned with at the moment,”

Sholmes had already had a cab prepared with us, and when we arrived at Pall Mall, Mr. Melas was already gone because a gentleman had called for him.

“Can you tell me where?” Sholmes asked. “Or tell me who?”

“I don’t know Mr. Sholmes, I never met the man in my life,” The housekeeper replied. “I only know that he and Mr. Melas drove away in a carriage last night, before bedtime.”

“What did the man look like? Can you describe him to us?” Herlock asked. “Was he a tall, broad, handsome young man?”

She shook her head, “No sir, he was a little gentleman with glasses and the most peculiar giggle.”

“Damn! Time is of the essence now that these men have Melas again!” Herlock cursed.

“I can’t imagine that they will let him go once more if they suspect anything wrong…” I muttered.

Herlock instructed his brother to gather the Yard, while we would go on ahead to The Myrtles. We were able to borrow a hansom and sped down the street as fast as the horses could gallop.

When we arrived at the manor, it was dark on the inside, with no signs of any inhabitants. The Yard’s carriages pulled in behind us, with both Sholmes and Gregson leading the party.

Gregson and his men immediately knocked on the door, alerting that the Yard was present. After a bout of silence, the officers took hold of a battering ram and started their assault on it— it wouldn’t budge, and Herlock took hold of my sleeve and led me around the grounds to one of the grand windows

“Grab hold of a rock, I’m afraid we don’t have time to sit around!” He said.

Together, we smashed the glass in enough for us to enter the dining room. What we did not expect was the corpse of the man in glasses slumped over his meal, with numerous stab wounds in his back. 

“The unlucky bastard never saw it coming,” Herlock remarked. 

We then opened the front door to let Sholmes, Gregson, and the rest of the Yard inside. Gregson stared at the both of us unfounded and waved his finger, as if he were scolding some young children who had stolen from the sweets jar.

“It’s a mercy that you gentlemen are on the side of the force, rather than the other way around!” He remarked. 

Then a dull thump and a moaning sound, coming from upstairs, echoed right above our heads. The smell got increasingly worse when we came across yet another locked door. Wasting no more time, Herlock kicked it open, sending wood splintering everywhere and landing us all in a coughing fit as the gas inside poured out. Luckily, the bobbies had enough of the clarity of mind to take their batons and smash the other windows to let the gas out.

With a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged them out into the hall, where Gregson had the windows open as well. Both of them were blue-lipped with swollen, congested faces and protruding eyes.  Their features were so distorted that, save for his black beard and stout figure, we might have failed to recognise that very Greek interpreter who had parted from us only a day before at the Diogenes Club.

His hands and feet were securely strapped together, and he bore over one eye the marks of a violent blow. The other, who was secured in a similar fashion, was a tall man in the last stage of emaciation, with several strips of sticking-plaster arranged in a grotesque pattern over his face. He had ceased to moan as we laid him down, and a glance showed me that for him at least our aid had come too late— his body was stiff and cold to the touch. 

“He’s been dead for hours, long before any of us were able to arrive, likely sometime around midnight,” I said, when I saw my friend’s dejected face. “He did not die because we were stuck behind a door…”

Mr. Melas, however, still lived— in an hour or so, with the aid of ammonia and brandy I had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes, and of knowing that my hand had drawn him back from death’s grip.

It was midday when he was finally in good enough condition to speak to us. 

“He gave your name, I thought it was you!” Mr. Melas coughed as he turned to face the elder Sholmes. “I did as you said, I only answered for you…!”

“It is alright, Mr. Melas, what has happened is no fault of your own,” Sholmes replied. “I apologise for your ordeal…”

“Are you able to remember anything from last night?” I asked while I checked him over for a concussion. “Nothing is unimportant.”

“That man threatened me when I opened the door, I was fearful that my death would be instant if I did not do what he wanted,” Melas said. “He and that Mr. Latimer brought me back here, to serve as an interpreter, and the interview was much more violent than the last…

“They beat Kratides, they forced me to watch!” he choked. “The man in glasses hit my head, and tied me up, but I did not lose consciousness!

“I waited alone for many hours, even as the sun rose, until I heard the most awful scream, and someone shouting, it was that woman!” Melas continued.

“Sophy Kratides… so she was present this whole time,” Herlock mused.

“She screamed, and I heard Latimer dragging her upstairs, telling her to pack her belongings,” Melas said. “He shouted about dealing with tricky women once they flee the country…”

“Ahem, Mr. Sholmes… er…” Gregson said, when both Sholmes brothers turned to him, he added, “Mr. Sholmes the Elder.”

“What is it, inspector?” He asked.

“We’ve identified the man downstairs, he’s a regular downtown, Wilson Kemp…” Gregson said. “Never thought he would get up in a mess like this, he seemed like such a small fry…”

“Inspector, please get on with it,” Herlock replied. “What are you holding?”

“Oh! This, yes, we found it in his pocket,” He gasped. “A ticket stub for ‘Budapest’!”

As we started for the train station printed on the stub, the weather started to turn for the worse— the sky was black, and rain poured down, making the roads muddy with a thin layer of water for extra measure. Thunder rumbled overhead, and lightning struck in the distance.

Sholmes got clearance for Herlock and I to go on ahead without difficulty. The moment we were able to board the train bound for Dover, Herlock led me to the staff car.

“It would be best not to cause any alarm, don’t you think?” He said, while we were in the middle of changing into the spare porter uniforms. “Nothing more inconspicuous like two workers, yeah?”

Evidently, I had put the porter’s hat on backwards— before I had the chance to walk out to the restaurant car, Herlock pulled me back and fixed it before making sure my collar was straightened for extra measure.

“Her Majesty’s railwaymen must always be perfectly pressed,” Herlock said with a chuckle while he smoothed out my jacket.

The staff’s car was already cramped, there was hardly any room for us to move around— it shouldn’t have been out of the ordinary to be close to him knowing this, but it was that moment that the car felt smaller than it should have. Strike me down now! I know the symptoms all too well; a quickening heartbeat, a flushed face, lightheadedness. I’m a traitor! I’m a madman! What has come over me?!

After coming up with a hand signal (fist under the platter followed by two fingers in the direction of our targets), Herlock and I wandered through the restaurant car— nearly on opposite sides, but never out of the other’s eyeline.

I heard a woman speaking in a low voice, trying not to bring any attention to herself. She had a thick accent, but a good control of her second language— but I couldn’t help but notice the look in her eyes when she saw Herlock. 

Her companion was also skittish, looking around as if he were looking for someone, or more like if someone was looking for him. He was our man, just as tall and broad as described by Mr. Melas.

I suppose he had a feeling that he was being watched, because he then forcefully extracted the woman from her seat and all but dragged her out to the passenger cabins. I tilted my silver platter to the light to get Herlock’s attention and hastily gave him our signal before tailing the pair (and praying that neither would see me).

Thank goodness Herlock joined with me shortly after, it felt like agony having to wait alone in the dark hall.

After checking the stub once more, Herlock held three fingers up. We bounded for cabin three— I opened the door, and before Latimer had a chance to grab it, Herlock took the neighbouring seat and I stood in the doorway with my hand against the slit.

Herlock said something in Greek, what he later would tell me was “Do you know my brother, Mycroft?”, to which she replied back in her native tongue what I would assume was something along the lines of “Yes”.

“Who the devil are you?!” Latimer sputtered, “There had better be a bloody good explanation for this!”

“Thank you, Miss Kratides, and do sit still, Mr. Latimer,” Herlock said. “And come in, Mikotoba, this will take some time.”

I shut the door behind me, it is a decision that I don’t know if I regret now that I’m forced to recall the coming events.

“Do not answer a word to anything that these men say,” Latimer hissed. “If they were police, they would have identified themselves…”

“The police, now why is that?” Herlock smirked. “Mr. Latimer, were you expecting to see them?”

“I don’t know who the hell you are, or how you know my name, but this ends now,” Latimer growled while pulling out a gun. 

With a flash of lightning, it all happened too fast. As I write it now, I can’t help but remember everything— what I did, what I didn’t do, what I should have noticed…

While Latimer was focused on us, he should have kept his eye on his companion. Sophy Kratides had her hand on the latch of the outer door. She clicked it open the moment Latimer pulled out the gun. He pointed it at me first. Sholmes pushed his way in front of me. I should have moved, done something.

I don’t remember if it was thunder, or the gun, but the next thing I knew Sophy Kratides screamed. There was nothing in her eyes, nothing but anger and resentment. She used her own leverage to push Latimer against the outer door, and he was swinging in the downpour.

His screams were awful, he begged us to help him. I stepped forward without thinking, but Herlock pulled me back. Completely and utterly helpless, I held onto his hand tightly for dear life. I know I would have perished if I tried, and he knew that fact well, but it kills me that I didn’t do anything.

I suppose I’m grateful that Herlock held strong against my own protestations. Given how lanky he is, I was shocked to think about how firm his grip was… granted, he is more of an athlete than he lets on. He was an anchor, strong and consistent even while I held on for dear life.

Latimer’s hands were drenched, and he slipped from the wood. He screamed, the sound of his body as it was crushed under the screeching track is one I will never forget. The three of us didn’t move until the train stopped, and even then we stared at that broken door, shattered glass littered the floor.

Sholmes found us, he didn’t say a thing as he personally escorted us back to Baker Street— I suppose that’s a little mercy…

I hope that ghosts don’t exist, especially vengeful ghosts…

Chapter Text

11 July, 1885

I dreamt about Ayame again. I’m a damned coward— I told myself that I wouldn’t be on this trip if she were still alive, but I don’t know if I even believe that anymore. I don’t know what I believe anymore.

In my dream, we were back home, staring out at the koi pond in the back, and it was almost sunset. I remember exactly what day that was, and my heart breaks all the same. It was the day she told me that she was pregnant…

She went to the physician on her own, kept the whole thing secret because it was around my final examinations before earning my doctorate. She had felt nauseous for some time, and noticed that she was putting on some weight. My mother was the only other person who had noticed what was going on, and she kept the secret well until after the examination.

I wish I could say that I was an attentive husband, or even noticed anything that lived outside of my textbooks, but I was too preoccupied with my own ambitions— she insisted that she wanted me to not worry about her on top of my studies, and that awful and selfish part of me was glad that she never pressed further.

Ayame couldn’t stop smiling that day, she had tears in her eyes and she held onto me tightly before she could muster the courage to tell me. I was forced to look deeper than I had before in that dream— I don’t know if this is my guilt or shame, but I could see something else inside. She tried to hide it, but I could see that sense of fear, that nervousness. Did she put more thought into the worst that could happen than I ever did? Did she fear that every day, and was too frightened to tell me? Did she suffer alone?

Did she tell me, and I was too obtuse to even pay attention?

I tell myself that I’m here for Susato’s benefit, that if Ayame were still here, I wouldn’t have had to go in the first place, but what if that is just a lie I tell myself to stay sane? I’m afraid that I could have been convinced to go on this trip anyway, that it’s just an excuse for me to run away. 

It’s possible that whatever came over me on the train would still have happened if she were still alive, the thought of it is terrifying. I don’t want to believe that I would betray Ayame like that.

There’s only one thing I must do now, I refuse to let this trip ruin my life any further. This trip has taken too much out of me, it’s taken too much out of my mother, and I will not let it rob anything more from Susato.

Ayame is irreplaceable , no one will ever be her , and no one ever will !

Chapter Text

12 July, 1885

I was only able to meet with Seshirou today, Genshin was handling an investigation for a case that will be appearing in court tomorrow. I feel bad that I am springing my news to him before something big, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome any more than I already have.

I tried to break the news to him as gently as I could in one of our favourite pubs.

To say that he was upset would be an understatement.

“What do you mean you’re going home?!” he demanded. “What are you going to do when you get back early?! Have you even told your mother?!”

“I’m going to send this letter before I leave, and it will arrive earlier than I will,” I said. “It will be too late for her to try and stop me.”

Now that I think about this, it was a rather idiotic thing to hold up the letter, even if I was meaning to stop by the post office after this. The next thing I knew, Seishirou took the letter out of my hands and ripped it up, before discarding the rest in an ashtray and pressing the butt of his cigarette into it to let the larger pieces smoulder. 

“You’re not doing something you’ll regret later!” Seishirou scolded me. “What the hell brought this on?!”

“None of the wealth in the world is worth anything if I miss the first ten years of my daughter’s life!” I told him. “Ten years, Seishirou! That’s already one third of our lives!”

“And you’re just running away like a coward?!” He baulked. “Did you once think that this stunt may threaten my, or Genshin’s, studies as well?!”

“What the devil are you going on about?!”

“Prosecutor Stronghart and I were discussing the exchange, our home promised three students and Great Britain promised the same,” He explained. “If you leave now, Britain may recall the student in your place back… then our homeland will likely feel insulted and recall me and Genshin!”

“I can see the reasoning behind the British student,” I admitted. “But even you have to agree that the reasoning for calling you and Genshin back is shoddy!”

“We’re supposed to be a team! Us against the world, we didn’t leave Genshin behind when he had a son!” 

“That’s different, and you know it!”

“How so?!”

I bit the bullet and told him about what had happened on the train, or as much as I could have without causing another incident for Mycroft Sholmes. Once I started, I just couldn’t stop, and then I found myself sharing more than I had ever hoped to dream

To my surprise, Seishirou just laughed and clapped his hand against my back (causing me to choke on my pint).

“Yujin, you sly dog!” he laughed. “If I know anything about you, I know she’s charmed as well!”

Something about his laugh and smile seemed off. I cannot exactly explain what it is, sadness? Disappointment? Jealousy?

No, I shouldn’t go on, I shouldn’t think so little of my friend like he’s some common cad; he truly means well, even if he’s misguided. At least it seems I’m not as much of an open book as I thought, a little misdirection wouldn’t cause any harm to anyone.

My god, I’m thinking just like him .

“You still don’t get it!” I told him. “I can’t do that to Ayame!”

There was something that flashed in his eyes again, and he sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Yujin… you’re my closest friend in the world, you’re the smartest man I know, but this is ridiculous,” He said. “Before you throttle me, listen to what I have to say…

“Just because you met that woman, doesn’t mean you never loved Ayame, and she wouldn’t want you to throw away everything because of her,” He continued. “This isn’t just some study trip, this is your career! This is taking care of your daughter! And she might make you happy too! Why should you throw that away?!”

I suppose his heart is in the right place, but dear heavens he’s so off the mark.

But the prospect of Herlock Sholmes running around Japan does sound somewhat hilarious— would he even remember our language, or would he just forget it? I really need to stop thinking about this before I tear myself in two, I cannot bear the thought of it. I cannot let this go on, it’s going to drive me mad, those maddening and brilliant eyes…

“My mind is made up, Seishirou, I’m sorry,” I said. “I will be at the Bailey to apologise to Prosecutor van Zieks personally…”

“Hmph, I hope Genshin can knock some sense into you…”

He’ll hate me for a month or two, hell, they both will, but I’m sure they’ll move on by then.

Chapter Text

13 July 1885

Damn my friends, they make compelling points. 

I was in the Old Bailey, hoping to catch Prosecutor van Zieks before the trial would begin. Seishirou and Genshin cornered me in the antechamber, it seems Genshin was more upset than Seishirou (and I didn’t think that was possible). 

“Yujin, what are you doing?!” Genshin asked. “You can’t leave now!”

“My mind is made up, I’m sorry I have to leave you both upset,” I apologised.

“Fine then, if you’re so keen on leaving,” Seishirou huffed. “Show us your ticket.”

“What?!”

“You heard him, we want to see it,” Genshin nodded. 

I was planning on buying a ticket after meeting with Prosecutor van Zieks, and then I would send my letter after that. Was it a good plan? Definitely not, but I didn’t want to be at 221b longer than I needed to be in case I ran into Mrs. Hudson or him before I could explain anything.

To be completely honest, I was nervous about breaking the news to them both— I think Mrs. Hudson would understand my plight, she would understand the most why I had to go.

Herlock on the other hand is a complete guess. He seems more approachable than he was back then, and I don’t want to upset him. I haven’t seen him since that day, I’ve been avoiding him because I’m too cowardly to explain why.

“You haven’t bought it yet, have you?” Genshin asked.

“Because you don’t want to go either!” Seishirou added. “You want someone to stop you!”

It was the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard! I made up my mind, why on earth would anything change that?! How could I just be so flippant and fickle, like some kind of piece of paper in the wind?!

And damn it all, Seishirou was right.

It was that moment when Prosecutor van Zieks walked inside, he was rather dumbfounded to have walked in the middle of our quarrel, but he was otherwise unfazed.

“Oh, Genshin, is this who you were telling me about?” He asked.

“Yes, we’re trying to reason with him!” Genshin replied. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into him!”

van Zieks was quiet for a moment, he stood tall like a statue, and his face was completely stoic. I’m not envious of anyone in the defendant’s chair, especially if he is leading the prosecution— that look from him nearly compelled me to confess every wrongdoing I had, ever since I was a young child!

He then asked for Genshin and Seishirou to leave us both in peace, so that we may talk in private. I was relieved when they finally left (and I’m sure they were eavesdropping), even if some part of me didn’t want to be alone.

“I understand that you do not take this matter lightly, Dr. Mikotoba,” He started. “And that this is something that you have put much careful thought into before taking the time to speak with me.”

“That is true, I have a daughter back home, her mother passed away before I left for this programme,” I explained. “I recognize the commitment for this study, but she was only a baby when I left, and I don’t think I can truly afford being separated for much longer…”

“I see, you are nervous that the risk is greater than the reward,” He mused. “I feel that I can understand your plight, I know more about what it is like than most would think.

“I have a younger brother, I’m sure you might have heard mention of him here or there,” van Zieks said. “He is ten years my junior, and ever since he was young, he was like a shadow at my side… or I suppose a duckling would be more apt… 

“I was fifteen years old when our father had passed away, and our mother succumbed to her grief eleven years later,” he continued. “On that day, I was forced to not only stand as the man of the household, but to be an anchor for my mother’s grief and serve as a shining light for my brother…”

“My deepest condolences,”

“Thank you… it was because of that tragedy that I had studied hard, and earned a position in our courts at a young age,” van Zieks said. “I was no longer the brother who could leisurely laze away the hours, I had to serve a father’s role as well, and it did affect him at such a young age, the pressure nearly made me give up!”

“It did?”

van Zieks nodded and smiled at me, there was still sadness in his eyes, “I never got the chance to grieve, but that doesn’t matter anymore,” He said. “The past can never truly be replaced, but there was something that I did for Barok when he would be old enough to understand…”

“What was that, if I may ask?”

“I wrote letters for him, and I saved them for him,” He replied. “I wrote down every lesson that I wanted to teach him, how I was proud of him, that I did care about him no matter what…

“I will not pretend that our situation is identical, I was not separated from my family between an ocean, but it helped me to keep going no matter what,” van Zieks said. “Do take this in consideration, and if your choice has not faltered, I will not hold it against you.

“On the contrary, I will support your decision, and I will work tirelessly to make the transition as painless as possible…!” He said. “I do implore you to consider this…”

Soon enough, a bailiff cleared his throat and addressed Prosecutor van Zieks, court was about to begin.

“Please pardon the discourtesy, but I hope we may have the chance to speak more in the future,” He said as he turned to leave. “From what Genshin has told me, both you and your friend— Seishirou, was it?— he believes that you are both the greatest and most qualified for your positions, as well as being brilliant men in your own right…”

I stood there dumbfounded before leaving the Bailey. I wasn’t ready to return to 221b yet, so I walked around to gather my thoughts (Hyde Park is relaxing and quiet compared to the rest of the city).

It’s a blessing that Prosecutor van Zieks was so understanding, but it’s also as sharp as a blade. Would it truly be right to leave now? Would it be right to stay? Should I risk knowing my daughter or do I follow this pipe dream?

Perhaps my friends were right in the end, and I’m too cowardly to make my own choices.

It doesn’t matter now, for this next decision will be mine and mine alone; I won’t let anyone push me around otherwise, and I’m going to live with what I decide to do next!

Chapter Text

14 July, 1885

Dearest Susato,

I know that I was not present in your life like most fathers should be; while you were growing up under your grandmother’s care, I was in London. There is not a day that goes by where I do not think of you, or where my love for you wavers. I’m writing this series of letters for you to read when you are older, so that you may understand why I was so distant all that time.

I look at the photos I have of you every day, from the very first moment I wake up to the last thing I do before I fall asleep. I wonder what kind of girl you will grow up to be, and I can already see it in your eyes. In the letters your grandmother sends to me, she tells me that you are a curious and clever little girl— never let that light diminish in your eyes, and never let anyone tell you that not everything has an answer. 

I miss you and your grandmother terribly, just as much as I miss your mother. I’m so sorry that you never had the chance to know her yourself, but I promise I will do everything that I can do to help you in her stead. Your mother was the most gentle and kind woman in the world. She was quiet, but not afraid to speak up and try something new— especially if I was too shy to do so myself. She is where you get your cleverness from, and she loved riddles more than anything else (second only to you of course!). She loved irises as they were her namesake, and wanted to teach you about every flower in the world. I know that she would smile down on you every day, and that you are nothing but her pride and joy.

I love you with all my heart, no matter where I am in this world,

Your Father

Chapter Text

16 July, 1885

It’s been one week since that incident on the train. I had just come back from my shift at St. Syner’s when Mrs. Hudson stopped me with a letter in hand. 

“Dr. Mikotoba, I have a letter from Mycroft Sholmes, he wishes to speak to you at the Diogenes Club!” She said, “You just missed Herlock, but I’m sure you remember the way!”

“He called for us both?”

“Yes, he mentioned you by name, and I should hope he recognizes the effort you put in to help with his problem! Those boys, my goodness…!” Mrs. Hudson sighed, already putting my coat back on my shoulders. “Now, go! I’ll have tea ready for when you boys come back!”

“Mrs. Hudson, you really don’t have to go through the trouble…!”

“It’s no trouble to me, don’t worry…!” She shook her head, before adding, “Oh… Doctor, one more thing…”

“Oh? Yes?”

“Whatever it was Herlock said to you…” She started. “I believe that he did not mean to be malicious… I think he has trouble understanding his tone, I mean… and I do think that you are a good influence on the young man…”

“Mrs. Hudson! I think you have the wrong idea!” I gasped. “We’re not quarrelling, if that is what you’re worried about…!”

“Oh thank heavens!” She cried out. “I’ve kept you long enough! Now go, before it gets dark!”

It was no time at all when I finally made it to the Diogenes Club, and I was lucky to have remembered the route! Both Herlock and Sholmes were waiting, the elder stared out at the street atop his perch with his back to me.

“I’m glad you were able to join us, Dr. Mikotoba,” He said. “I was starting to worry that you would not arrive for the letter…”

“I’ve waited long enough, I want answers about what’s going on,” Herlock said.

Sholmes sighed and motioned for us to take a seat while he climbed down to our level.

“I cannot tell you what the faction wanted, that is a matter of security that I will not divulge to civilians, not even to my own brother,” Sholmes said. “But I suppose it is fair to tell you about Miss Kratides, as she has requested to receive a new alias due to this ordeal…

“Miss Kratides was one of our top agents, and she came on personal loan from the Kingdom of Greece due to her own accolades and experience, her brother, Paul Kratides, had the potential to be just as efficient,” he continued. “He was an artist by trade, and would occasionally create counterfeit paintings to serve as bait on a number of our cases… we did not tell either sibling the level of their involvement so as to not create a conflict of interest… and it seems that Mr. Kratides was a better observer than we initially believed…”

“He had somehow found out that his sister was on a mission out of the country, and that was when he went rogue,” I surmised. “Which explains how sloppy he was, it was due to his anger, and why he kept cursing the organisation…”

Sholmes chuckled and nodded, “I can see why Hurley enjoys having you around, you’re quick on the uptake.”

“And what about that letter, the one you got that told us where the hostages were hidden?” Herlock asked. “You mentioned that you had gotten it before?”

“Yes, in a few other cases, but this was the first that had mentioned you…” He said grimly. “I want you to keep careful, you never know who is watching or why…”

Herlock simply laughed, “What, act afraid of my own shadow because of someone who’s too afraid to show his face or name?” He smirked. “I say let him confront me if he’s that terrified!

“A great detective never runs or hides,” He turned to me and grinned. “And he always has a partner that he can trust with his very life!”

I still feel light headed as I remember that, he trusts me! Herlock Sholmes trusts me! I’m giddy because Herlock Sholmes admitted that he trusts me !

I suppose that the sentiment is equal, if not more. I trust Herlock Sholmes.

“Well! Now that this business is settled!” Sholmes said while clapping his hands together. “I believe that it is time we ought to take a commemorative photo, it’s not every day that I see my little brother play well with others!”

He then pulled a sheet off of a contraption, it was a modified shutter camera unlike anything that I had seen before!

“Do forgive me for borrowing this, dear boy, but you know how I am when something you invent intrigues me,” Sholmes said, “Now gather ‘round, I insist!”

“I hate having my picture taken!” Herlock pouted.

“Smile for the camera, it will be easier if you entertain him,” I whispered.

“To a resolved case without international incident!” Sholmes grinned.

I was sandwiched between the two brothers, and Herlock must have tried to escape at the last second, but I do think that the photograph is a sentimental keepsake! This was by far the most unforgettable case that I’ve had with Herlock so far, and I’m sure that I’ll be roped into more and more before I know it— to be completely transparent, I don’t think that is so awful anymore.

Chapter Text

19 July, 1885

30 June, 1885

My Son,

I don’t think you have anything to worry about, I believe that children can find many ways to continue to grow, and I know that you will be there for dearest Susato. Speaking of the sweet little thing, she’s starting to talk much more, what a gregarious little girl indeed!

Just the other day, I heard a rather impassioned conversation that she had with Usa-Tan, although I cannot remember exactly what it was about. It was rather adorable to see her mimicking the people around her, she reminds me of you each day! It’s a delight to see, and it is rather entertaining to the other grandmothers here at home.

Ever delighted,

Your Mother

Chapter Text

26 July, 1885

Dearest Susato,

Today would have been your Mother’s birthday today. I cannot say how much your grandmother would have divulged by the time you read this, but I will tell you everything that you’ve ever wanted to know. First off, Ayame was a wonderful woman, she was kind and gentle— I never thought that I could ever be worthy of someone as precious as her. 

To start with, I owe it to my friends, Asougi Genshin and Seishirou Jigoku, for pulling me out of my world of books to attend a festival. I was studying so hard to earn a spot at the university, I’d nearly forgotten to be human. They put me up to a game so that I could win some goldfish for the prettiest girl in our village. I suppose it sounds rather silly saying this out loud, but I fell for her the moment I saw her (unfortunately, it was more literal than I would have liked as well!), it was truly love at first sight in all senses of the phrase.

The first thing I noticed about her were those beautiful eyes of hers, the eyes you have yourself. They’re the kind of eyes that you could get lost in, that helped you look inward into your own soul, and they were so full of life. They sparkled like the stars in the sky, and they told you every thought and feeling. Her smile reached her eyes first, and her joy was absolutely contagious in all the best ways. I wanted to give her the sun and the stars, I would fetch the moon for her if she asked for it.

She held you until her final moments, she cradled you and kissed you for as long as she was able. From the very beginning of your life, and even before it had started, your Mother loved you from the bottom of her heart. She gave you your name, and I put life in it to honour the both of you. 

I love you with all my heart, no matter where I am in this world,

Your Father

Chapter Text

9 August, 1885

Dearest Susato,

Whenever I get homesick while I’m in London, I open up this journal and hold out the two photographs that I have of you. It’s bittersweet seeing how much you’ve grown in such a short amount of time, it’s no wonder that parents seem to lament the passage of time. 

After my studies, I was able to go to the park today, and I found a pair of rabbits! They were brown and white, and they had white stars on their foreheads. They appeared to be rather small, so I imagine that they were still young (in fact, I believe the mother rabbit wasn’t too far away from them!). They had found their little home in a piece of shrubbery, and they were happily flopping the hours away. Your Grandmother has already told me about Usa-Tan, I wonder what sorts of adventures you have with the floppy bunny!

I love you with all my heart, no matter where I am in this world,

Your Father

Chapter Text

3 September, 1885

14 August, 1885

My Son,

Susato does look the spitting image of dearest Ayame, however, I can still see so much of you in her! She is the perfect miniature indeed, especially when I had to take her to the physician earlier this week. The poor thing must have come down with some cold, the physician insisted that it was nothing to worry about, and that a tonic will help clear her up quick!

Anyways, I was instructed to give her a spoonful twice a day, once first thing in the morning and one time right before her bedtime. When I went to give her the second dosage, she simply looked up at me with those brown eyes of hers and gently pushed the spoon away with her hand and shook her head while saying, “No thank you, please”. She was so polite and well spoken, what a clever little thing! Eventually, I had to convince her somehow to take the medicine, so I told a little white lie. I told Susato that if she did not take the medicine like she was supposed to, she would stay the same size forever and never grow bigger— I would normally frown upon deceiving a little girl, but she’s started to get better like the physician said she would!

Here’s to hoping that I will not regret a little white lie,

Your Mother

Chapter Text

12 September, 1885

Herlock and I received a letter from Miss Violet Hunter! It truly is wonderful to hear from her again, especially after the events of that awful ordeal a few months back. I have to admit, it’s rather nice to see Herlock smiling as well, hearing from her too, even if he did try to act like he was more preoccupied with his current chemical project.

I truly wish nothing but the best for Miss Hunter, and that she has a prosperous career and future to make up for those horrible weeks.

To Mr. Herlock Sholmes and Dr. Yujin Mikotoba,

I apologise for the tardiness of this letter, and for my long period of silence since what had happened at the Rucastle’s estate. I have found my way to a small little town near the South Downs, and everyone there is rather charming! Luckily, I was offered employment at a girls’ school where I have been given the responsibility of teaching arithmetic and grammar (you will be pleased to learn that I was not instructed to do anything to my hair this time).

I have been remarkably happy in my new position, and my students are truly delightful. I want to thank you both for what you have done for me, and for coming to my rescue when I wrote for you, I am truly indebted to you both— on the, hopefully rare, occasion that there is any other young lady that has a fearful situation such as my own, know that your names will be the first that will come from my mouth as to two wonderful souls who will help them without a doubt in their minds or hearts.

I hope that you are both well in London, and that you both stay safe. If there is anything that I can do to help either of you, should the need arise, please do not hesitate to pen a letter to me— especially as I plan to stay here in Sussex for the time being.

Gratefully yours,

Violet Hunter

Chapter Text

23 September, 1885

Stevens hasn’t come to work, and will likely not be coming for another week. From what Dr. Wilson has told me, Maria has caught a slight fever, therefore Stevens is taking her to family in the countryside for fresh air. I cannot imagine how she is feeling right now, fevers are particularly dangerous for the very young or very elderly. I hope that the poor girl rests up and gets better, especially for Stevens’ sake.

For the time being, Wilson has had me collect inventory on our instruments and formulae. Tedious work, I have no idea how Stevens makes it look easy. At least her organisation system is easy enough to figure out. I tried to organise the flat last night, and nearly gave Herlock a conniption fit (evidently, I’m messing with his ‘system’, who on earth hides tobacco in a persian slipper?! Where even is the other slipper?!)

I mentioned this to Genshin when I was out for drinks with him and Seishirou, evidently Lord van Zieks’ younger brother is the same in that regard— lad throws a tantrum if anyone so much as rearranges his books for him. According to Genshin, the boy seems to do that himself nearly every day, apparently he can’t find a proper order that satisfies him.

Chapter Text

17 October, 1885

Let it be known on this date that Herlock Sholmes is driving me stark-raving mad, and that I’ve accepted this fate. It all started when he nudged me awake from my desk. I had apparently fallen asleep on top of my anatomy textbook (and my back certainly isn’t going to forgive me any time soon). He shook me awake and shoved my coat onto me.

“There’s a new bathhouse that’s opened up,” He said, as if that were all the context I needed.

“Sholmes? What on earth do you need me for then?” I asked. “I’m sure that you are presently able to make the journey yourself…”

“That is the point, Mikotoba! Just because I can doesn’t mean I want to!” Herlock said. “I’ve never been to the place before!”

“You’ve gone to plenty of new places on cases though,”

“That’s different, those were cases ,” Herlock explained. “If I bring you along, I will have someone who will understand my agony if the service is subpar! I very well can’t do that with someone who wouldn’t know the context!”

“And you’re asking me?”

“I very well can’t ask Mrs. Hudson if I value my hide!” He bellowed with laughter.

It was a rather interesting experience, as we signed in, the book keeper took one look at me as he was writing down something for the ledger. Apparently, massages are a part of the services.

The man then turned to me and asked, “Perhaps you want a good-looking attendant?”

I don’t know what came over me, I was absolutely flustered! I told him to just send an attendant, to which he replied, “Then I’ll send you a good-looking attendant,” with a most persistent look.

Evidently, Sholmes was not asked the same, to which he made that emphatically clear back at Baker Street.

First, we were escorted to a warm steam room for the massage, after which we were escorted to two other rooms of varying heat, both hotter than their predecessors. I must admit, it was more soothing than I thought it would be. Then, to counteract the heat, we were to take a cold plunge in the pool. 

To conclude, we were taken to a private chamber to relax as we pleased.

“To be completely honest, my friend,” Herlock started. “I’ve conducted my own research on your homeland!”

“Oh? What do you mean?” I asked.

“In all reality, there’s nothing Turkish about these baths, in fact it is more reminiscent of Rome!” he continued. “I suppose the idea of something being foreign is just too tantalising to the London populace!”

“That’s very interesting, Sholmes, but you were saying?” 

“Come now my friend, where’s the fun in saying things directly?!” Herlock chuckled. “You ought to know me better by now!”

“I’m not getting up and dancing…”

“No need for that, just simple reasoning to keep the brain elastic!”

I couldn’t fault him for the comparison, the Turkish Baths in London did remind me of the sentō we have back home. Despite the homesickness that came over me, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Perhaps the language of rest and relaxation is truly universal no matter what country you are in!

This man is going to drive me mad and I cannot properly explain why. Do I even dare to put a name to this feeling?

Herlock Sholmes healed my homesickness, but I fear I’m going down an all too familiar road.

It’s just as nerve wracking the second time.

Chapter Text

10 November, 1885

Today is a happy day because I received a letter! And more importantly, a photograph of Susato! She’s grown so much since last year, I can hardly believe that she is the same little girl! What an inquisitive look she has, I can’t help but laugh when I see it, perhaps she does take after me in some aspects! I was surprised that Seishirou remembered today’s date, he personally visited the flat to bring me out for drinks. I am lucky to have a friend like him, and the effort is admirable enough.

Even if his idea of distraction is to bring me to some sort of penny show on the particularly rougher part of the East End. 

Genshin also received a photograph from home, it’s hard to believe that young Kazuma has shot up so much in such little time! It looks like he may be up to Genshin’s shoulder by now!

“Hah! You two are too mushy by now!” Seishirou bellowed with laughter. “You won’t see me tied down anytime soon, or ever!”

“Knowing you, my friend, you’ll change your mind when you see a pretty face serving drinks,” Genshin retorted.

“Never, I’m where I’m needed most! With my mind focused in and without distraction!” he said before taking a swig of his ale. “Let it be known that I’m perfectly happy living as a certifiably confirmed bachelor!”

I can’t help but see Herlock giving the same impassioned speech to his own friends ten years from now! Am I somehow a magnet for workaholics dedicated to their particular craft?

21 October, 1885

My Son,

It is hard to believe that yet another year has passed us by, and dear little Susato has grown greatly! As you can see in the photograph, she didn’t want to be separated from Usa-Tan, the poor photographer tried to take it and the poor thing had a horrible fit! I know that she loves her father greatly, especially treasuring a lovely gift that he has thoughtfully given her!

She’s grown stronger and more beautiful by the day, and is such a polite little thing, you would be so proud! Everyone in the market calls her Susa-Chan, and she has the cutest little bow— you would think she was meeting with the Emperor himself with how polite she is!

She’s also quick on her feet, especially when there is a tree to climb. I’ve been successful in keeping her away, but I’m afraid that Susato is taking that as a challenge. Whatever will I do when she can finally run faster than me?

I hope that you are well in London, do treasure this photograph,

Your Mother

Chapter Text

18 December, 1885

A particularly interesting article was published in the morning paper. If the sketch is to be believed, that carbuncle must be a sight to behold! And ￡1000 for its return! That amount of money would set up Susato for the rest of her life! My mother would never have to worry about working ever again! With that kind of money, this Countess is willing to spend it on a stone?!

I fear I may never understand European nobility…

Chapter Text

25 December, 1885

To think that such an adventure would come out of examining an old hat, a wild goose chase of sorts (I must also admit my giddiness when I remembered that this language has an idiom for just this moment!), but I’m getting ahead of myself.

I had just come back to the flat after running some errands for Mrs. Hudson, the temperature was so frightfully cold, it was no place for a lady such as her to be out when Herlock and I were readily available for her! It wasn’t any trouble, she had a small list and I was luckily able to find some grocers that were open early in the morning.

When I returned to Baker Street, I found my flatmate thoroughly engrossed with a beaten up hat that he placed on top of his graduated cylinders (thank goodness it wasn’t the bunsen…). He didn’t move when I called out his name, so I tried once more with a hand on his shoulder. Poor man looked like he’d seen a ghost with how loudly he screamed.

Is it bad that our antics are so commonplace that Mrs. Hudson knows better than to fuss over the commotion by now?

“My apologies, Sholmes, I didn’t know if you heard me,” I said to him. “But whatever on earth are you doing?”

“Nothing of particular interest, Gregson stopped by while you were out,” Herlock explained. “It was a boring case, and I told him to take the goose back to the Yard since there’s no way of locating its owner…”

“The what?”

“Christmas goose, some bloke on George Street got jumped and dropped his hat and goose,” Herlock continued. “Didn’t come back for either, so I told Gregson to just accept the happy accident.”

“That still doesn’t explain the hat,”

“I thought I’d have a bit of fun with it, nothing else has been interesting as of late,” He said before hopping off his seat and motioning for me to join him.

I didn’t have much else to do, so I indulged the man and mimicked his pose as best as I could. I have no idea how on earth he can stay comfortable for so long with his feet on the chair and knees bent— my own legs started to fall asleep after a few minutes!

Herlock handed me the note that was tied around the goose’s neck, ‘For Mrs. Henry Baker’ it said (as if that would narrow it down in a city like London). The initials ‘H.B.’ were also inscribed on the inner band of the hat, presumably ‘Henry Baker’ himself.

“Tell me, Mikotoba, what does this hat tell you?” Herlock asked. “What do you think of this enigmatic chapeau?”

I took hold of it and examined the hat as best as I could. I found that while it was worn, there was evidence of seam mending, implying that it was well cared for; secondly, there were patches that seemed to stick to my fingers, but it was inconsistent, there were dark stains on my fingers that seemed to be dried ink used to even out the colour; finally, due to its age, it may possibly be considered out of fashion, meaning that the owner was likely from the working class who favoured practicality over whatever the fashion plates dictate next.

“That’s it? That’s all you came up with?” Herlock asked as he laid down with the hat over his eyes.

A lesser man would think him rude, but I know Herlock Sholmes by now— there is no malice in his words, not really, but rather a passion that burns beneath him; he yearns to share what he knows.

He ran his finger over the inner band, and managed to find some grey hairs that stuck to the fabric.

“The owner is middle aged, and he likely had his hair cut fairly recently, you can see the blunt ends here,” Herlock said. “And he’s very much on hard times, why else would you keep a hat that’s about to fall apart?”

“Perhaps for sentimental reasons? Someone he cares about gave it to him?” I offered.

“In this weather? You’d be lucky if your ears didn’t freeze off!”  Herlock replied. “And finally, he is a great intellectual…!”

“What makes you say that?”

Barely containing his laughter he sat up straight and grinned while he let the hat settle on his head. It came right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose.

“He has a big head!” Herlock cackled.

It was then that Gregson made his way up into our sitting room with a goose in hand. His face was contorted in the most peculiar way, as if he were trying to force it to be smaller than it was while he waved the poor fowl by the neck.

“Sholmes! What are you getting at with this bloody bird?!” Gregson shouted.

“Whatever do you mean, Inspector?” Herlock yawned, lying back like a lazy cat.

He slammed the goose on top of the trunk that we used as a coffee table and pointed to its throat, where a noticeable lump protruded from its throat.

“The bird’s got a blasted tumour,” Gregson huffed. “I don’t want to get the boys at the yard sick with this thing!”

“It’s a bird, what’s the harm it could bring?” Herlock shrugged. “As long as one isn’t partial to eating it medium rare, I’m sure that it’s perfectly edible!”

“You, Mikotoba, you’re a doctor, what do you think?”

I emphatically reminded the good inspector that I specialise in human anatomy, and that I am not a veterinarian.

Meanwhile, Herlock picked up the goose and examined it from head to tail feather, it was about a third of his size, perfectly white, save for the black feather that was at the base of its tail. Herlock even commented that it was “a solid bit of work”, before grasping it by the neck and forcing the lump out, causing what was inside to shoot out onto the floor with a clatter!

Miraculously, the goose let out a shrill honk and fluttered madly in the air. It somehow made even more of a mess of the flat than it already was, not to mention Herlock’s delight at its revival, while Gregson and I tried to subdue it (Mem.— Geese are evil little bastards whose bites are quite possibly the single worst pain known to man!).

Thank heavens for Mrs. Hudson, thank heavens indeed! While Gregson and I made fools of ourselves, she simply walked up, frying pan in hand, to see the commotion. Without second thought as the wild bird flew towards her, she swung without fail, and the foul fowl was no more.

She then picked it up by the neck and examined it before adding, “I might as well save the meat for supper tonight, I would hate to let a perfectly good goose go to waste…”

“Hmph, fish’n’chips isn’t nearly this troublesome…” Gregson sighed. “Keep the goose, and good riddance to it! Happy Christmas…”

And just like that, Gregson was on his way out. If only he weren’t so premature in his departure to see the curious little egg that came from our feathered fiend— imagine my shock to find in Herlock’s hands, glittering in the firelight the famed blue carbuncle that had been pilfered just a week ago!

“Alas, my dear friend, it seems that the Yard has a habit of jumping too quickly to a conclusion,” He sighed. “I suppose it’s up to us to clear the matter up, or an innocent man will get seven years of hard labour for nothing at all…”

We had made our way to George Street in no time at all, walking arm in arm to shield ourselves from the bitter cold. The street was fairly crowded at the time, I imagine it would have been easier at night when the mugging occurred, but while we asked around we ran into the young lad who led Herlock’s pack of eyes in the streets.

“Wiggins, dear boy, Happy Christmas!” Herlock waved before handing the lad a shilling. “You heard about the incident last night? With the man who was jumped for his goose?”

“I’ve heard it around… better lay some golden eggs if someone wanted to take it that bad!” Wiggins replied. “Might’ve heard some gossip about the poor sod…”

With a cheeky grin, he held out his hand, expecting another coin. Herlock did have another on hand, and so exchanged it for the boy’s help.

“We’re looking for a man named Henry Baker, think you could help us out?” Herlock asked.

“I saw him at Martha's butcher a while ago, he got himself a chunk of ham, I bet I could bring him round here!” he replied, quickly darting off into the crowd seamlessly.

I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself when I saw this large man being dragged by a scrawny boy who barely reached his shoulder. Henry Baker positively matched the man Herlock and I mused about that very morning, down to the greying hair and worn out clothes!

Reluctantly, my friend parted with the man’s hat when it was finally time to return it, even if it made him look ridiculous . 

“Thank goodness you brought this back! My Bessie gave this to me five years ago for our anniversary, and the missus would be upset if she found out I went and lost it!” Baker said. “Now, what’s this important emergency the boy was yammering about?”

“You were robbed of a goose last night, is that correct?” I asked.

“I was! Rather peculiar, but I was on my way home when a man in black beat me over the head for it!” he huffed. “I have a nasty bump that sure smarts!”

“Where did you get the goose?” Herlock asked. “Can you remember?”

“I didn’t go out and buy the goose myself, I got it as a gift!” Baker said. “I’m part of a gentleman’s club, The Alpha, you see, and the leader Hutchinson got it from some bloke in Coventry Garden… Brokebridge…? Beckondige…?”

“Breckenridge?” Wiggins offered.

“Ah! Yes, that was his name! Breckenridge!”

I thanked the man for his time, and squeezed Herlock’s arm to keep him from looking visibly disappointed in the dead end that Baker ended up as. At the very least, he wasn’t completely pointless in our chase.

Before we parted ways with Wiggins, I took off my scarf and wrapped it around the boy’s neck. The poor lad was shaking down to the bone, and his clothes didn’t look very warm, at least he would be able to protect his ears and nose with the scarf.

“Wiggins, gather up the rest of the Irregulars tonight, and meet up at Baker Street,” Herlock said. “I don’t have any favours to ask, but we came across more food than we expected, and you all deserve a hearty meal!”

The boy grinned from ear to ear and promised to gather up the gaggle as fast as possible. With how efficient and street-wise the boy is, it is hard to believe that he’s not even a teenager yet, but at that moment he finally looked his age.

As we passed through the markets, and zigzagged through some slums, we eventually made it to Coventry Garden Market and our mark was as plain as day. Breckenridge was barking orders to a boy to put up the shutters to his stall, likely closing up for the night. He was a large and imposing man, a face that was perpetually red with anger, and a terminally sour attitude to boot. He was less than receptive when Herlock walked up to him asking about geese.

“Damn fool, you wait ‘till now to get some?” Breckenridge laughed. “We’re out, sold out, and I don’t know anyone else who’s got an at this hour!”

“But sir, this is most important!” Herlock huffed. “A man’s life is hanging by a thread and your geese are the only ones who can save him!”

“Get out of here and leave me be, or I’ll call the Yard, you hear?!”

Before Herlock could talk back, I clasped my hand around his shoulder and cleared my throat.

“It’s all my fault, honestly, my friend has a flair for the dramatic,” I said. “We’ve got a wager going on, and he’s desperate for money.”

Talk of bets and wagers got the man’s attention, he honestly reminded me of Seishirou in that regard— so sure to prove something right, wrong, or otherwise.

“See, we’re part of a club, The Alpha, and we were in the middle of a debate about the goose we ate, weren’t we, Old Boy?” I continued. “See, I bet my associate a fiver that the goose we had was countrybred, since it was the highest quality I’ve ever had!”

Herlock, upon realising what I was trying to do, quickly nodded his head and added, “And I say otherwise! It’s townbred, and I know it!”

Breckenridge cocked his head back and laughed before pointing a thick meaty finger at me, “Aren’t you Mr. Cocksure alright! I’m sorry to say this, but you’ve lost!”

“So the geese were townbred!” Herlock gasped.

“Surely you must be mistaken!” I added.

“Take the loss when you’ve got it like a real man, I know my geese better than any club gentleman around, and I know for a fact that they were bred here in the city,” he replied. “I get my geese from one woman, Mrs. Oakshot, and no one else!”

Next thing I knew, I find Herlock’s hand in front of me expectantly waiting for his prize with the most slimy and arrogant grin! I gave the little devil what he wanted, and it’s easy to see where the Irregulars get that habit from!

Herlock and I then went behind a parked hansom to regroup when a man in his thirties passed by us. He held his hands in his pockets and looked around back and forth, the collar of his coat was turned up to obscure his face, and he ran straight towards Breckenridge. We both kept our heads low as we eavesdropped on the frantic stranger, who explained that he was sent by Mrs. Oakshot herself to ask more about the geese he sold.

“I’ve had it up to here with geese, that’s it! They’re out, they’re townbred, and I’ve got no more left, go elsewhere!” he shouted. “We are closed, good night, and Happy Christmas!”

As soon as Breckenridge and his boy left the man in the dust, Herlock and I smiled deviously as we walked behind him. Sure to keep our steps quiet, we both reached out for the man and took hold of his arms. 

Clasping a hand over his mouth, Herlock simply smiled and said, “You ought to listen to our story before you cause more trouble, good sir,”

“See, we’ve also been following the trail of a wild goose,” I added. “And a curious little egg it laid.”

“Of course, it wasn’t an egg, nor was it laid, do you get it?” Herlock continued, causing the man to seize up and gasp sharply, earning a pat on his shoulder. “Good, you’ve got it!”

“Our mutual feathered friend has gone on quite the journey too!” I said. “From being raised at Mrs. Oakshot’s, butchered at Breckenridge’s, sold to a Mr. Hutchinson, given to one Henry Baker, nearly pilfered by an assailant, retrieved by Inspector Gregson, and now cooked by our beloved landlady, Mrs. Hudson, for supper.”

“And now we want to know what you did to the bird before its journey started,” Herlock said before raising the five pound note up in the air and shouting, “A fiver for the man who can get us to 221b Baker Street the fastest!”

As we finally returned home to the warmth of Baker Street, our guest gave up the ruse and revealed himself to be one James Ryder from the Hotel Cosmopolitan!

As we returned home, we forced him down in the chair right in front of the still burning fire to let him warm himself up. James Ryder was a small man, rat faced and skittish all the same. He also spoke rather quickly, almost ran out of breath as he blubbered weak explanations for himself and his business.

When the man assumed we were Scotland Yard, Herlock scoffed at the humour of it.

“I’m no dog of the Yard, and we want some answers,” he said. “In fact, you’ve already given them to us!”

With a vigour in his step, Herlock snapped his fingers and grinned, starting off with, “First we must explain why you were so intent on finding the goose, and not just any other goose!” He said. “In fact, we know that it was this specific goose solely because you knew how it had travelled!”

I let out a gasp, it suddenly came to me, and I had nearly forgotten myself! I had attracted both Herlock and Ryder’s attention, and I must admit that I felt rather foolish. Herlock smiled at me and beckoned me to join him in this dance of his, and I can’t help but admit that the same rush was flowing through me. Despite my own bashfulness, I swayed to and fro, just to satisfy my flatmate.

“We also were on this trail, and from our little ‘bet’, we know that this goose was raised here rather than in the countryside,” I said. “Rather easier to track, if I say so myself…”

“Precisely so, my good companion, precisely so!” Herlock continued, his excitement was like that of a small child about to earn a sweet.

“How do you know if I want the same goose you want?!” Ryder demanded. “It’s nearly Christmas, lots of people want geese or ham for tomorrow’s supper!”

“But our goose is unique! All white save for that black stripe on its tail feather!” Herlock said. “If you’re tracking a goose, it ought to be one that you can find at a glance!”

Ryder grimaced and turned his head, earning another snap from my friend’s fingers.

“And there you go again, Mr. Ryder, there you go again!” Herlock said. “A telltale glance is all that you needed to say!”

I picked up the newspaper that he was staring at, it was yesterday’s, and I hadn’t had the chance to throw it out yet— I had also left the front page out describing, in detail, how there were still no leads to the blue carbuncle’s location.

“You knew that the bird had the carbuncle, that’s why you were so desperate,” I added. “In all reality it wasn’t the goose that you were looking for, but rather what it ate …”

“Which brings us to our second question! How did the gem end up in the fowl?” Herlock asked. “Nearly everyone knows that geese are not particularly fond of stones or jewels!”

I would wager that everyone already knows that, but he was already in such high spirits, so I kept my mouth shut.

“In fact, you had such easy access to these geese that it would not rouse suspicion!” Herlock continued. “In fact, Mrs. Oakshot is actually a relative of yours!”

“My sister! How did you find that out?!” Ryder gasped.

“However did you guess, Sholmes?!” I asked. 

“Why, it’s elementary, you must not only see but observe, Mikotoba,” Herlock answered. “Namely, the card in his pocket, it’s a Christmas card, isn’t it?”

Sure enough, he was right. There was a painted card sticking out from his coat pocket— innocuous enough to miss it if you weren’t specifically looking for it.

“You needed a quick hiding spot for the carbuncle because you were afraid that you would be searched,” I said. “Once someone else was taken in for your crime, you felt it would be safe enough to retrieve your ill gotten gains…”

“But how did I steal the bloody thing in the first place?!” Ryder asked. “As far as I know, you don’t know a thing!”

It was then that I took the newspaper article out from this journal, and I read out his name— it was printed plainly that he was the head attendant, after all.

“And before you tell us that you’re some other James Ryder, I can see your uniform under your coat,” Herlock said. “I have to admit, it’s a perfect opportunity, you organise the workers under your call…”

“But I don’t organise the guests !”

“Of course not, but you could easily find out who they had working under them,” Herlock shrugged. “You needed someone on the inside to help with your scheme…”

The man turned about as red as a beet as Herlock speculated on what kind of person had helped him. Unconsciously, he reached up for his neck, and upon realising that I was watching him, he slammed his hand back into his lap. There was a red waxy spot that was hidden beneath the layers of clothing, and that had smudged upon his hand as well.

I took Herlock’s handkerchief and wiped the red smudge off of his hands, as plain as day it was red wax— lipstick.

“And there we have it, both you and the maid conspired to take the gem, make a profit, and let someone else take the rap for your crime…” Herlock said. “And that is all we have to say, the game is up…!”

Ryder was quiet for a moment, his mouth agape and his eyes were wide. He then staggered forward and clutched the mantelpiece with his right hand. Herlock then unlocked the lockbox to show him the gemstone.

“Yes, it was Catherine Cusak who told me, she’s Her Ladyship’s waiting-maid!” Ryder shook. “The Countess of Morcar has so many jewels and gems and all those glittering things, we never thought in our lives that she would notice one missing! And Horner’s been hard up before, what’s another stint for someone like him?!”

If there’s anything that I loathe more in this world than anything is someone who won’t own up to their actions, sneaking lying snakes that are more than happy to throw someone else under the bus. Even Herlock grimaced as this pathetic man, who was reduced to a blubbering crying mess at this point.

“Get back into your chair!” Herlock said sternly. “It is very good to cringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough of this poor Horner in the dock for a crime of which he knew nothing!” 

“Then I’ll fly! Leave the country, let the charge against him break down!” Ryder rambled. “My sister thought me mad when I saw her today, and I suppose I am! Branded a thief and never touching the wealth which I sold my character for!”

He slumped onto the floor with his face buried in his hands and wailing like a wounded dog.

There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and by the measured tapping of Herlock Sholmes’ finger-tips upon the edge of the table. Then my friend threw open the door. 

“Get out!” He said.

With a rush, clattering upon the stairs, and the loud bang of the front door, the poor wretch was out. I could hardly believe it, after all that he had done, Herlock let him go?!

“I’ve said it before, Mikotoba, I’m not a retainer for the Yard, especially for their deficiencies, it’s one thing if Horner were in danger, but he will be free within the hour…” Herlock said, as he sent Mrs. Hudson out to find Gregson, with a letter and carbuncle in the lockbox. “To send James Ryder to gaol now would make him a gaol-bird for life…”

I suppose, in a way, it was tantamount to saving a soul in Herlock’s vision. He's a much better man than I would ever be .

When Mrs. Hudson returned, I helped her set the table. Neither of us were entirely sure how many guests we would expect, so she decided it would be safer to bring out every plate we could find. Meanwhile, Herlock was fumbling around in the attic, and making a lot of noise as he did so. I thought he was just trying to get out of helping us with our sudden chore, but I was proven wrong when he nearly tumbled down from the attic. As much as I would say I was quick and caught him in time, it may be more accurate to describe me as a fleshy landing pad (my back is already starting to hurt, hours after the fact). A jumble of coats, shirts, pants, and even some shoes, spewed forth from the old weathered trunk he was trying to carry— all young boys’ clothing.

“I had Mycroft go over to the family home,” Herlock said. “They might be old-fashioned now, but they’re warm and good quality…”

He had three more cases up there, and I demanded that he let me help him before he cracked his head open.

Wiggins, true to his word, brought up as many of the street boys that he could find (Some brought their younger brothers and sisters as well), and our flat was filled with the lively chatter of our esteemed guests.

Damn it all, whether you’re a street orphan, a pitiful would-be thief, or a mess like me, there’s one thing that remains uncontested— Herlock Sholmes is a damn good man.

Chapter Text

2 January, 1886

After all the effort that Herlock and I went through for that blasted carbuncle, it's been stolen once again! Perhaps it’s just a lost cause! Maybe it isn’t meant to be owned by anyone! Or some higher being of sorts has a sick sense of humour! Either way, it’s lost, and I think it would be better lost for good!

This morning, a Scottish investigator from the Yard came to our rooms. Herlock assumed that it was someone needing help, but he (rather curtly) asked us of our whereabouts last night. I believe he introduced himself as Inspector Mackenzie.

“Two suspicious blokes were seen leaving the premises of the Lord Cumbers’ manor, where he hosted his annual New Year’s ball, both wearing masks and in evening dress,” The Inspector started. “One was a tall lanky fellow while the other was shorter and far more stout.”

“I can assure you, Inspector, neither Sholmes nor I had left these rooms at all last night,” I tried to explain. “Surely you don’t suspect either of us?”

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much, this is merely a preliminary process,”

“Ah yes, we were the last ones to hand over the carbuncle, hm?” Herlock asked. “You think we might have tried to take it once we weren’t satisfied with the reward?”

“I do find it rather interesting that you sirs demanded for half the reward as a maximum rather than the entire thing,” Mackenzie nodded. “Tell me, did either one of you have it appraised before returning it?”

“How could we have? Most shops of that sort were closed for the holiday!” I answered. 

“And in all honesty, setting the innocent man free was greater than any award, or appraisal, in the world,” Herlock said. “Unfortunately, this is about as far as we can go to help the Yard this time, in my professional opinion of course…”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Hmph, some Yarder you are, don’t you know this address by now?” Herlock asked. “I’ve had plenty of you officers coming here for advice on certain cases, this case is simply that of a burglary— either the gem is all cut up and set into various necklaces and baubles, or it’s due on a ship or train to some museum out of the country…”

“Baubles!”

“I’m sorry we could not have been of better help to your case, Inspector, but we really must ask you to leave,” I said. “Best of luck…” 

Before he left, he turned to us one last time and looked at us once over, “Particularly attached to Sullivan cigarettes?” He asked.

“Pshaw! That is your only clue?” Herlock tutted. “Are you going to ask if either of us play cricket while you’re here?”

And with that, the Inspector was sent packing along to my flatmate’s laughter.

Chapter Text

7 January, 1886

10 December, 1885

My Son,

Susato truly is the most charming and delightful little girl in all of Japan, and I would wager the entire world! We’ve been well since I was last able to write to you, and I think Susato is starting to hit a growth spurt! I suppose she would be about five inches taller than she was in that photograph. It started to snow last week, and we are doing our best to stay warm as well. Both Susato and I seem to be going to bed earlier under warm covers, the little delights in life are wonderful to count, aren’t they?

I do hope your studies aren’t taking away from your own rest, you must remember to take time to eat and rest, you are still a human being after all! And I certainly hope your flatmate hasn’t been getting you caught up in any trouble, do stay safe, I hear that the streets can be particularly vicious to anyone who walks alone (especially at night!)

We look forward to hearing from you soon,

Your Mother

Chapter Text

10 January, 1886

A most peculiar case came to our laboratory today. An unidentified woman washed up from the Thames, her hair was completely white and she had this awful look of horror on her face— even as the hours passed since her death, the silent scream is still present. Cause of death is still uncertain, the autopsy isn’t lending much in the way of answers as to what happened.

Dr. Wilson speculates that she drowned, and the sudden shock of the cold water caused her body to seize up, sealing her fate.

Stevens, on the other hand, believes that the woman may have suffered from an aneurysm of sorts, and was dead before she even hit the water.

I don’t know how else to explain it, but that death can be anything but natural— but we have no proof of that, everything on her autopsy seems to make sense as if we have much to compare our findings with to begin with .

There’s just something so awful about that look on her face, as if she’d seen a demon from the depths of hell itself.

I hope we can find her a name soon enough, ‘The Screaming Lady’ seems rather boorish. Hopefully with the distinctive mole under her nose and the sun and moon tattoos on each of her hands, she’ll be easy enough to identify.

Chapter Text

15 January, 1886

Thank the heavens and everything in between for Courtney Stevens! All yesterday, Wilson and I were sharing pamphlets, handing them to everyone we could in the streets of the East End to see if anyone had recognized her. Wilson was even desperate enough to take the death mask we’d produced door to door.

As we were about to go out again this morning, Stevens simply placed a series of photographs on top of Dr. Wilson’s desk.

“I found our Screaming Lady,” She simply said. “Maria Dimitrescu, a so-called spirit medium, often had issues with the police…”

As I examined those mugshots, I gasped. Even if it were not for the very same mole under her nose, the hands she held up had the same tattoos! However, her hair was a dark shade of black, perhaps even brown, a far cry from the white on her head.

“When were these taken? Are they recent?” I asked.

“About two months ago, though I can’t explain how her hair’s so white either,” She replied.

“You said she was a spirit medium, perhaps she saw something that scared her out of her wits!” Wilson added.

Stevens scoffed at the very notion of ghouls and goblins, rolling her eyes as Dr. Wilson continued.

“I’ve been to a few seances myself, it’s something one ought not to mess with so flippantly!” he explained. “Some folks are able to commune with the dead, my Mary’s been able to converse with her late father on occasion!”

“You’re seriously suggesting that a ghost is what did her in?” Stevens sighed. “How utterly unscientific…”

“On the contrary! The world of spirits is part of the untapped sciences, we simply have no means of studying it in depth with what instruments we possess!” Wilson argued back.

They went on for about an hour or so before turning back at me, wanting to hear my opinions on the matter. Either I tell the truth, that I think ghosts are not real, or I keep Dr. Wilson happy.

In the end, I sided with Stevens, there had to be a proper explanation for this, I can’t think that this woman would tumble into the Thames based on a fright!

Upon seeing Dr. Wilson’s disapproving glare, I quickly added, “Suppose she was a spirit medium, I think she would be used to ghosts and wouldn’t be so easily frightened of them!”

Wilson hummed to himself, nodding and tapping his fingers against the desk, “I suppose that is a good point, perhaps she came face to face with a demon or other malevolent spirit!”

“My child doesn’t even talk about bogeymen like this,” Stevens shook her head.

At least we now have a name to ask about. We all three set out at once to where all the spiritualists set up their shops and stands. Unfortunately for Stevens and I, Wilson was otherwise preoccupied with a very insistent woman who claimed to only need a photograph of someone alongside their name to channel them into our world— I could tell from her accent that she was from Japan! Even down to the purple robes she wore, and a particular emblem on the back! I wish I could remember what her name was, it was something Fey… 

Eventually, we came across a woman who held seances in her parlour room, one Justina Fox, and she would only give us information about Maria Dimitrescu if we would participate in a seance with her.

Begrudgingly, Stevens followed me into the darkened room. After straining my eyes, I noticed that the room was made even darker with the thick black curtains that Fox employed to keep out all light. There was only a round table and red velvet chairs in the centre of the room, and a red candle was burning steadfastly.

As we took our seats, Fox pulled out a piece of paper, a bone that was pointed at the end, and a well of ink.

“Before we begin, we must introduce ourselves to the spirits, it is customary to keep them from becoming corrupted,” She said. “We are to hold hands, and are never to separate until the ritual is complete… releasing yourself prematurely may trap you somewhere between life and death…”

Stevens sat at her right, and I at her left. Once we called out our names and held our hands in a circle, the candle’s flame was extinguished so suddenly. We held hands in the darkness, nearly pitch black, while Justina Fox chanted in a trance. I could hear the scribbles of the bone pen scratching against the parchment.

As she wrote, my foot nearly slipped out from under me as I was stretching my leg, and I felt something strange underneath the table, like a pole.

“Spirits, this humble medium beseeches you!” She called out. “Bring light back to us living three!”

Then, the bone pen fell onto the table, there was a pop, and the candle was back aflame once more! I was astonished to see that the once blank parchment now had scrawled strokes all over it.

Letting go of my hand, she read out what the spirits had written.

“‘My Courtney, it has been so long… I love you dearly… remember… Mother…’” Fox read out.

Stevens simply shook her head and pulled the medium’s hand as hard as she could. Words could not describe the horrified scream I had when it separated from the woman and laid limply in Stevens’ lap.

“My mother did not write that, you did…” She said.

“How dare you! Your mother misses you—”

“I’m sure she does, if ghosts were real,” Stevens answered. “But my mother never spoke a word of English in her life… she was Borginian…”

I glanced under the table and found a marvellous contraption after Herlock’s heart. There was a pole fixed underneath the table that led into the candle. At its base there was a refurbished piano pedal that seemed to be locked into place.

“I suppose that explains the flame…”

Justina Fox took her true arm out from underneath her cloak and started to rip the parchment into shreds.

“Can’t you see that I’ve got to put bread on the table!” She huffed. “What’s wrong with a parlour trick anyhow, it’s not hurting anyone who pays!”

“We performed your seance, now answer our questions,” Stevens snapped. “Unless you want us to go to the yard and tell them how you’ve been scamming people!”

“Fine, fine! I know Dimitrescu, it’s not her real name, it’s actually Mary Dugan, the mediums with foreign names get more patrons, people think they’re more mystical and exotic” Fox said. “I last saw her about a week ago, haven’t seen her since, must have gone and annoyed another gentleman or lady…”

“Oh…? Annoyed?” I asked.

“She was pushy when it came to business, insisting that she could see the future and commune with the departed,” Fox explained. “Got her in with the police a number of times…”

“And did she have white hair when you last saw her?” Stevens asked.

Justina Fox shook her head, “I suppose she had some grey streaks, but white? No, she’s always had dark hair…”

“Is there anything else you remember? What did you last speak about?” I asked.

“We were talking about this new bloke who’d set up shop a while back, The Photographer, and none of the neighbours have ever seen his face or heard his voice,” She replied. “She swore up and down that she finally got a look at him, and that she was going to be filthy rich because of it…”

Once we gathered all the information we could about Dimitrescu, Stevens and I left the parlour. Suffice to say, the Yard certainly has a challenge up ahead— hardly any friends, no known family, and a photographer that no one can seem to trace.

I also am impressed with Stevens’ own investigation, I’m sure Herlock would be just as impressed with her!

Chapter Text

19 January, 1886

Herlock woke me up early today, I was sound asleep in my bed with a well earned rest after trying to coral the yarders and the prosecutor’s office with our case. It’s like pulling out teeth with the bureaucrats up top, no one seems particularly interested in solving Dimitrescu’s murder! Yes, she had trouble with the law, but there is no way that her death was natural, and she still deserves justice! There has to be some strange drug in her system, we just can’t name it!  

“It’s five in the morning…” I said.

“Mrs. Hudson was knocked up, and now I must knock you up,” Herlock replied. “It is of the highest importance…”

“There had better be a fire,”

“Greater! A case!”

Not what I had meant to convey, but I tried to wake myself up as best as I could, and I pulled on my dressing robe to meet with our sudden guest. He was a young man, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties, dressed in fine clothing and he fiddled restlessly with his tophat.

His eyes were exhausted, and it was plain to see that he had not slept for days, perhaps a week or two.

Bless Mrs. Hudson for the fresh coffee she brought up for us.

“I know it is remarkably inconsiderate of my being here at this hour, but I truly am desperate, gentlemen,” He said. “I’m prepared to pay handsomely as compensation, if I must.”

“Lord Hollingsford, please, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Herlock said. “Please, take a seat, have a drink if you must.”

Upon seeing both mine and our guest’s amazement at how he had deduced the man’s name without a proper introduction, Herlock grinned wolfishly as he laid recumbent upon the sofa.

“Mikotoba, you may have observed that our guest has the habit of twisting his hat about when the room is silent,” he said. “I just happened to notice, as well, that after two or three turns clockwise, his hands instinctively switch to a counterclockwise pattern for one cycle, it was only a matter of time that I was able to find your name etched inside…”

“You truly are as brilliant as they say!” Hollingsford gasped. “You even knew my title!”

“Judging by the certain fineness of your clothes, and the fact that they are countrywear, you are a noble who has rushed to London long before the social season is due to start,” Herlock explained. “As well as the notion that your father, the late Right Honourable Lord of Hollingsford was a member of the Diogenes Club…”

“You looked into the roster? I presume your brother has no recollection of this?” I asked.

“If he did not want me to look, he ought not have left it out in the open!” Herlock laughed.

“My late father, my late father!” His Lordship bemoaned. “My late father is what’s causing this mess, or the appearance of him!”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked.

“My mother, Lady Primrose Hollingsford, has always had a fascination with the world between the living and the dead, ever since she was courting my father to begin with,” he explained. “We’ve never had any reason to worry, and my father seemed to never find any trouble with it, just what one would do to entertain guests, nothing more than a mere fancy free!

“Often, during my childhood, she held seances and hosted mediums, hoping to make contact, all in good fun, really!” Hollingsford said. “However, after father passed, rather than joining my sisters and brother on our annual Christmas holiday in the country, she insisted upon staying in the city during the rest of her mourning.”

“And you are concerned that this self imposed asceticism is doing more harm than good,” Herlock added.

Regrettably, the lord nodded and ran his hands through his chestnut hair, “I wish father hadn’t turned such a blind eye to those dark arts! They seem to have consumed her now that he’s left us!”

I took out a spare notepad that was in the pocket of my dressing gown and turned to a fresh page, writing what I was able to do in the moment. At the very least, I may be able to recount more clearly what exactly has been the source of anxiety for Lord Hollingsworth now that I have a much clearer head, and am not dead on my feet.

In Medium’s Alley, there has been a man who Lady Hollingsford only refers to as ‘The Photographer’, who claims to be able to capture ghosts with a camera that he had invented while on tour in the jungles of the Amazon. After partaking in a seance to summon the spirit in question, the man would have his subject sit in his photography studio and wait for the photograph to develop.

“She’s been seeing him far too much for my tastes, and we all agree,” Hollingsford said. “As the eldest, it is my duty to care for my ageing mother, both as the current Lord of Hollingsford and as a son!”

“You’re concerned firstly for the money she has spent,” Herlock said plainly.

Our guest sputtered and dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief before shoving it into the pocket of his overcoat.

“You must understand that our house has been part of the noble class for generations, and we cannot do with losing our fortune at the drop of a hat!” he gasped. “Especially not for childish parlour games! And you both would be concerned if your mother was easily handing over forty-five pounds a week to some man whose name she won’t even divulge!” 

Both Herlock and I baulked at that astronomical fee, even if that ungodly amount was divided for each day, it would still be far too much! 

After we settled everything, Hollingsford left us with three photographs and an initial payment for our services.

When he left, Herlock clapped his hand upon my shoulder.

“There’s not much you should be able to assist me with today,” he said. “Go on and get some more rest!”

Unfortunately, I was unable to fall back asleep, so I decided to properly get dressed and get some fresh air (or what could be considered fresh during this particularly smoggy morning). As I was walking down the street, I nearly knocked a young girl down. She was rather young, possibly one of the Baker Street Irregulars, but there’s so many faces that I can’t recognize, save for Wiggins himself, and had this look in her eyes, like she was a deer ready to dash at any moment. Poor thing was so thin, she must have looked younger than she should have. She had dark skin and thick black hair that was into two distinct puffballs with a white ribbon.

She thanked me quickly and ran off, but not before I realised that my pockets were lighter, and the young girl had managed to make off with my pocketbook! I ran after her, but I made sure to keep quiet so that I wouldn’t scare her off (and in all honesty, I didn’t want to see a young girl dragged off into some gaol, that is no place for her.)

I followed her for another block or two until she went into an alley. I hid behind some crates and watched as she filed through my pocketbook and huffed. She must have seen me when she looked up, the poor thing nearly jumped out of her skin. She placed my pocketbook on the ground and stepped away from it before darting off into one of the abandoned buildings. I had waited a moment, just to make sure she was gone before retrieving my belongings.

Strangely enough, nothing was missing from my pocketbook! All of my bills were accounted for, and my most recent letters were still inside! I’ve never heard of a pickpocket pilfering nothing but time. What a strange young girl indeed…

Chapter Text

20 January, 1886

I told Herlock about that strange girl, and we both endeavoured to follow her movements to find out more information about her; it’s obvious enough that she’s looking for something in particular, and even  more obvious that someone else is putting this child up to task for it.

Once it was evening, shortly after supper, we’d made off to find the girl in one of the busiest parts of the East End. I understand why Herlock put me in a disguise, we can’t risk her recognizing me, but I very much detest the false beard. We were both dressed as labourers, and I carried most of our supplies as we set off in the direction of our next “project”.

We were out for about an hour or so when I tapped Herlock’s shoulder, I’d found the girl at last. She’d done her trick once again, running into a well-dressed gentleman and swiping something from his pocket.

“I’ve seen you here lots of times, mister!” She said. “A really nice man gave me a picture of my mummy! Would you like to see her?”

Her victim stood flustered but nodded and obliged the girl. She took out a folded photograph and held it up to the man’s face and smiled.

“He’s a photographer! But he managed to take a picture of me and her, even after she went to heaven!” She said. “He’s a really magical guy, mister!”

After giving the man directions to her photographer’s shop, she skipped away merrily and unknowingly led us down that familiar alley, where all the spiritualists, conduits, and mediums had set up their shops and wares. We watched as she tapped thrice upon a boarded up window of a dark flat. One of the boards was pulled from its place and the young girl put a golden locket in through the hole. She cupped her hands over her mouth and whispered something.

“Very good, Emmie, very good,” The stranger said, handing her three shillings. “You know what to do next…”

She nodded and dashed about the street before approaching a pair of women and showing her photograph once more.

“Say what you will about her methods, but she’s a very good actress,” Herlock mused. “Perhaps it is time to play their game, we must put on a show of our own!”

I nodded. This business, taking advantage of those who were in mourning, who have loved ones of their own, it’s barbaric! 

Herlock left me behind to consult with Lord Hollingsworth about what he knew about this so-called spiritual photographer. He left me with a series of instructions to gather supplies for our trap. When I asked him why I was set up to be the bait, he simply smiled.

“You’re far more genuine than I, my friend, the rawness and reality of your mourning is far more impactful than my own imagination,” said he. 

I do hope he doesn’t see me as a pitiful snivelling fool, nor am I amused with the idea of bringing my own sorrow into that charlatan’s business of sorrows, but I suppose I can see where my friend is getting at.

I set about to Whitechapel, sure that I would find Genshin there. On the way, I passed by the medium’s shop that I had visited with Stevens. There was a large group of policemen cordoning off the area and guiding away any bystanders passing by. I called out for Genshin as I was being pushed away, and he luckily convinced the officers to let me be.

“Yujin, what are you doing here?” he asked. “Things are hectic at the moment…”

“What’s happened here?”

“A break in, most likely,” he replied. “And then a murder, she was the owner of this flat, she operated a business of communicating with the dead, Miss Justina Fox…”

It’s almost bizarre to think about, I’d only seen her barely a week before and now she was murdered! There’s this feeling that I can’t shake, I don’t have any evidence beside it.

“This wasn’t a break in,” I said. “Someone set out to murder this woman…”

Genshin sighed and started to lead me off, he mentioned how I spent too much time with Herlock with murder on the brain, but I stopped him.

“Stevens and I spoke with her about another case, the Screaming Lady, and now she’s dead too…” I said. “This can’t be coincidence, she’s been murdered because she’s been talking about what had happened!”

Genshin’s face turned white and he just stared at me. I was half convinced he was going to call me mad before he crossed his arms and nodded.

“The place looks to be a mess, things are tossed around here and there, but there’s also a lot that just isn’t gone, like her jewellery…” Genshin said. “It’s like someone wanted us to think this was a robbery gone wrong…”

I told him that Herlock and I were following a young girl, who we believe to be the eyes and ears of this man, and that we had intended to set a trap for him. I was put off when Genshin held his head and laughed. Upon seeing my confusion, he stroked his chin.

“I suppose that explains the ridiculous beard…!”

I yanked that damn thing off and stomped it with my foot, absolutely pulverising the ridiculous thing! I will never grow a beard, I will die before that happens!

“Sholmes and I intend to catch him soon, we’ll bring him to the police if we are able, but please keep this quiet, I’m begging you, Genshin,”

“Alright, I’ll do what I can, do you need anything else?”

“I need your ring,”

As soon as I came back to Baker Street, Herlock was already waiting for me, setting a suit at the foot of my bed and gathering fake glasses and sideburns as well as a prosthetic nose. I’d flipped through the newspaper looking for an image of a woman to cut out while he told me my new backstory.

“Well, Mr. Ormond Sacker, you’ve got a big day ahead of you,” he said. “A big day for you and poor departed Rosamund…!”

Chapter Text

21 January, 1886

There’s not much else to do but write while the night goes on. Especially when there is no one else here to pass the time by talking with.

Damn that twisted man, damn his camera, and damn his very name. I have nothing but hatred and fury for the name of John Clay!

Herlock and I both rose in the early hours of the morning today. I had cut up a soap advertisement, just so that it would look like a plausible photograph thanks to some of Herlock’s art supplies. Mercifully, he decided to forgo the false beard and gave me a false moustache and heavy pince-nez glasses that made my eyes look far too large for my face, resting them upon a bulbous nose. He added some sort of powder to my hair so that it was grey rather than black, and he lined my face with so much makeup that not even I could distinguish myself from the aged Ormond Sacker I was set to play.

I’m rather surprised Herlock’s never tried to conduct work in a theatre before, I’m sure he would flourish greatly should the need arise.

He had an old suit from his brother laid out for me, brown tweed with a green bowtie. I fumbled so much trying to tie the accursed article, Herlock took mercy on me and tied it himself. It was rather amusing seeing his face contort as he unravelled the knot that I created, his eyes squinting as he pulled ever so carefully, those long fingers dexterously trying to retrace my steps.

“All you must do is walk, do not look as if you are aware of your surroundings,” He instructed. “You’re sure to catch our pickpocket’s attention with that!”

All day I was walking out like a fool, aimlessly waiting for the opportunity to strike. I had nearly given up when I felt a tug at my coat.

“You dropped this, Mister,” Emmie said, holding up my pocketbook.

“Oh! Thank you, young miss!” 

I was frightened that she had recognized me with how quiet she was before she hopped away, skipping through the crowd and waving goodbye to me. I took one glance at my pocketbook and saw that she’d taken away the bait. I had made my way over to that stop from the night before. I was greeted by a tall man dressed entirely in black, even down to the black domino mask obscuring his eyes.

“Welcome to my humble studio, sir,” he said. “How may I help you today?”

“I’m told you take photographs,” I said. “I’m told that you take photographs with spirits… I hope you can help me?”

I placed three notes onto the counter, and the man’s eyes lit up in an instant. He took me into the back of the studio, in a pitch black room where he lit a candle and instructed me to hold it at the level of my chest. Together, we called out for ‘Constance Sacker’ three times. Once the ritual was over, he instructed me to stay still, and to not move or risk ruining the entire process. There was this low hum as I waited, and the room became cold. Something pressed against my shoulder, like cold icy hands, but I didn’t dare move and risk the ire of the photographer.

Once the photograph was taken, I was rushed out and told to wait. It was already dark when I finally was alone, and when I glanced out of the window, I saw Herlock waiting with Genshin, Gregson, and another officer nearby. I tipped my hat and I received a flash of light, likely from Herlock’s goggles, in reply.

Finally, the photographer emerged from his dark room and he handed me a thin plate. My hand trembles even as I recount this, that horrible feeling is coming up again, and now I only have myself and myself alone to partake in this misery.

I recognized myself, in that stupid and foolish getup, it looked more realistic than I thought at first, but it wasn’t that advertisement behind me. Somehow, that bastard had Ayame’s photograph, and somehow put her faded face behind me. The weak light of the candle could bring deniability to someone else, especially the mother of our client, but I could not stand for it.

I do not regret what I did next.

It all happened so fast, but the next thing I knew, I was on top of the man. There was a large gash on the side of his face, right in the soft part of his cheek, which I imagine must have been from Genshin’s ring. He screamed and tried to wrestle me off of him, but I caught him by surprise. My face was hot, I couldn’t stop screaming. At one point, the false moustache had even fallen to the floor.

In the next instant, Gregson and Herlock pulled me off of the cause of my ire. He then tore off his mask and practically snarled at Gregson and the other officer.

“Enough of that! Enough!” Gregson shouted.

“Lying, scheming, bastard !” I cried. “How dare you?!”

Herlock tried to hold me back, I was a man gone mad, his face turned as white as a sheet once he saw the photograph.

“Your larceny has gone too far,” said he. “And this latest trick will cost you…”

Brushing the other officer’s hand aside, the photographer adjusted his tie and looked down upon me with nothing but disdain in his eyes.

“You fool, you will pay for this!” He sneered. “How dare you burst in here like some menagerie of bumbling buffoons! I’ve never committed a single crime…!”

Just as Herlock was about to speak, the man laughed. 

“You don’t even know who I am!” said he. “I’ll have you know that my name is John Clay, and these officers know better than to entertain slander such as this!”

The officer who had helped John Clay up sputtered, his face turning bright red, and he tipped his cap before pulling out a pair of shackles, and tightening them around my wrists.

“What on earth are you doing?!” Herlock gasped.

“You can see that animal left his mark!” Clay said, pointing to his wound. “I want him arrested! Locked up! Throw away the key for all I care!”

Against Herlock’s fruitless protests, and Gregson’s rueful glances, a cab was prepared for me, and I was on the other side of it. For what it’s worth, it wasn’t too much of a hassle, I was simply led away to a cell and told to wait for what my fate would become next. 

Herlock stood helplessly as we drove away, he shouted to me, running after the cart, “I’ll get you out of this mess, I swear!” he shouted, over and over. He looked so small, helpless and powerless. If I have any regrets, it’s for how it affected him, and that alone.

It’s nearly midnight, the guards have been more than generous with my candlelight. I suppose I will have to rest for a while in gaol until morning. I don’t even have Ayame’s photograph to keep me company…

Chapter Text

22 January, 1886

They let me out at around midday, give or take. Herlock had paid the bail as soon as he could, but they insisted upon holding me throughout the night and morning. By the time I was led out into the reception area, I was greeted with Genshin and Seishirou.

“What on earth were you thinking, man?!” Seishirou asked. 

“When I let you and Sholmes take care of that man, I didn’t mean for you to take his seat in the cell…” Genshin sighed.

They’d both insisted on taking me to a new pub, The Drunken Cock, for dinner. I can at least thank them for the hot meal, I hadn’t had anything at all yesterday nor last night, nor do I think I would have had the appetite then.

After a round of scolding from my friends, all I could muster up in reply was, “Where’s Sholmes?”

Seishirou slammed his pint onto the countertop, alarming the bartender in the process. His face was red as he frowned.

“After all of this, getting you into this mess, you still are asking about that idiot?!” 

“He’s my flatmate, and he’s my friend,” I replied.

“I sent him home before you were let out,” Genshin said. “He’s lucky my ring didn’t end up as evidence…”

“ I was the one who threw the first blow…”

“It shouldn’t have come to this!” Genshin sighed. “We’re all lucky that nothing’s coming from this! Especially after van Zieks convinced Darrington not to press any further charges!”

“Who the hell is Darrington?!”

“ Lord Abener Darrington, the sixteenth Earl of High Hurst, and the great uncle of the man you attacked…” Genshin sighed.

What a joy indeed! I’d upset someone of the nobility, just wonderful indeed!

Eventually, I had excused myself, and returned to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson cried out in joy when I’d finally walked through that threshold, and before I knew it, she’d rushed me to my chair in front of the fireplace and gave me a fresh cup of tea.

“You’re freezing! This will freshen you up, oh yes!” She fawned, pacing through the sitting room, gathering blankets and pillows to wrap me up. “How horrible, locking you up like some kind of criminal!”

Herlock was silent, staring out at the window below, his hands buried securely in the pockets of his dressing gown. He had his pipe in his mouth, stewing in the shadows as his eyebrows were knit together. Once Mrs. Hudson let us be, he turned to me glumly.

“I’m sorry,” he simply said.

“I’d got in that place on my own, it’s not your fault,” 

“No… before that… I shouldn’t have let you take him on,” Herlock said. “I shouldn’t have crafted that story… it was far too genuine…”

“What’s happened, happened,” I said. “While we have Darrington to worry about, I’m sure we could gather enough evidence to prove what Clay was doing! Gregson could back us up—”

“It’s too late for that…” Herlock said. “John Clay was sent to the continent, he’s going to lay low for a while… and everyone else will forget about the two victims…”

“It can’t be true!”

Herlock just stared back at me glumly, the dark circles under his eyes seemed just a bit heavier, and his face just a bit more gaunt. His shoulders sagged forward and he seemed grey, just entirely grey. He insisted upon shouldering the blame, but we both know that it’s not true; it was my fault, my outburst, that let John Clay run free.

It was then that the front bell rang out. Mrs. Hudson answered it, and she announced to us that we had an important guest.

Emmie walked in behind her, looking smaller and frailer than she had before, and her eyes were affixed to the ground.

“I… I’m here to tell you everything I know…” She said.

She took her seat upon the settee and clutched at the skirt of her dress, “I saw it, I saw that lady, he didn’t know that I saw it, but now he’s gone…” she said.

Her name was Emmie Brant, and she worked at the Darrington estate as an apprentice laundress. For the last three years, John Clay and Emmie worked together to orchestrate a number of schemes.

“He was nice to me, always was, and he called me clever too!” The young girl said. “My Mum died when I was a baby, and my auntie took care of me… she was really Mum’s friend, but she was basically family…

“When we started the spirit photography shop, he always dressed me up to look younger, told me to act younger, but I’m not really that young,” Emmie said. “I’m actually ten years old! Almost eleven!”

“What happened that night…?” Herlock asked. “The night that Maria Dimitrescu died?”

Emmie’s smile faded and she wrapped her arms around herself tightly. She closed her eyes and sniffled. 

“I never thought… he was always nice to me… the way she screamed…!” she shivered.

I immediately wrapped a blanket around the poor girl, and Mrs. Hudson brought her some tea. We were all quiet, none of us dared to speak before she was ready.

“She followed me once, she saw everything I did and where I went, and then she tried to blackmail him,” Emmie said. “She wanted a cut of what he was bringing in, so he told her to come over one night to negotiate the terms… I saw him slipping something into her drink when she wasn’t looking, and then she started screaming about demons… she ran out and towards the riverfront to get air, and he followed her… once she was close, he pushed her…!”

It was horrific, and to think that someone so young, someone who had trusted him was there to witness it all! I can’t think of anything crueller than that… 

“He was really stressed that week, when she first found out, he told me to send something in the post, but he didn’t tell me where it was going…” Emmie said. “I thought it was strange, how was the recipient supposed to get their mail if the postman didn’t know where it was supposed to go…?”

“Do you remember anything else strange about the mail?” Herlock asked.

“He received a letter and some vial the next day, when he wasn’t looking, I peeked inside of the envelope, only a little bit!” Emmie said. “The first thing I read was ‘burn this as soon as possible’, and I didn’t get to read the rest…”

It was peculiar indeed, evidently John Clay had friends, or allies more likely, much like Jefferson Hope did just a few years back, not to mention, those strange M letters that Mycroft Sholmes had received. It’s all too familiar, all too similar, it can’t be a coincidence, can it?
After we’d had supper, Mrs. Hudson ordered Herlock to help her clear out a spare room so that Emmie could have a proper space to sleep— after everything the poor girl had gone through, she most certainly needs a proper bed, and a proper home. 

“Emmie, may I ask where you learned to read?” I asked.

The young girl simply shrugged, “I just kind of figured it out, sometimes Mr. Clay would have me go through the part of the paper called the ob-i-tu-ar-y,” She sounded out each syllable carefully. “Sometimes the same sorts of names and phrases would pop up… ‘John’... ‘Mary’... ‘survived by’... one day I read out a sentence, and then another and another…”

“You learned to read English all by yourself?!”

“I can even write my name!” Emmie grinned. “But I still can’t figure out how to make the letters loop fancily , like how Mr. Clay and his family members can with their names…!”

I told her that what she did was very impressive, and I said that I never learned how to read or write in English until I was older than she was, to which she burst out into a fit of giggles.

“How did it take you that long?” She asked.

“Well, this isn’t my first language, I had to learn it in school,” I said. “I’m from a land very far away from London, called Japan…”

She asked to hear me say something in Japanese, so I simply said ‘It’s very nice to have you over as a guest’, which even delighted Herlock!

“I’ve always wanted to go to school,” Emmie said. “Mr. Clay always said he thought it was boring… but I want to give it a try, even once…”

A bright mind like that deserves the chance to learn more. I think I might send a letter to Miss Hunter, to see if she may have any idea on how to help Emmie…

Whilst Herlock and Mrs. Hudson were clearing out the room, the young girl pulled me aside and held out something for me. She looked terribly guilty, and there was a sort of apologetic air about her person. I gasped when I looked at what she had given me, for it was Ayame’s photograph.

“I recognized the advertisement, so I took this photograph instead, I’m really sorry that I did…” She said quietly.

I thanked her for returning it to me, and I accepted her apology— the fault was mine for having it in there in the first place.

“She’s a very pretty lady…” Emmie said. “What’s her name?”

“She was my wife,” I replied. “Her name was Ayame… it means ‘iris’ in our language…”

A dark shadow washed over the young girl. I had not intended to make her feel even more guilty than she already had, but I’m afraid she understood exactly what was behind my words.

I handed her my handkerchief and gently patted her shoulder. She smiled up at me tearfully and wrapped her arms around me tightly. Emmie really truly is a gentle child, I hope that life will be kinder to her and her family more than anything.

And I hope that John Clay will never know peace after taking advantage of her adoration of him, or dare to show his face in London again…

Chapter Text

23 January, 1886

Herlock yanked my blankets from me this morning, the chill of London winter making itself ever present. He waved a telegram that we’d received, and told me to get ready as soon as possible:

Dear Dr. Mikotoba,

I am on the first train to London, and I will be present at apartment 221b Baker Street as soon as I arrive.

Ever yours,
Violet Hunter

I’d stumbled down the stairs where Mrs. Hudson waited for us with two fresh cups of coffee. I watched in horror as Herlock drowned his cup with cream and at least four spoonfuls of sugar— I don’t think it could count as coffee at that point.

Soon enough, Miss Hunter was at our door, her hair was now chin length since we’d seen her last.

Immediately, she insisted upon covering all of Emmie’s expenses, to which Herlock emphatically disagreed. They bickered back and forth amongst each other, and the ruckus had woken Emmie up.

“What’s the big commotion…?” she yawned.

“Mr. Sholmes is talking with a very nice lady, dearest,” Mrs. Hudson said. “They want you to be able to go to school! Isn’t that marvellous, dear?”

Poor Emmie was too shocked to say anything else, she simply blinked at me.

“Mr. Sholmes and I have helped Miss Hunter before, she was in a scary situation like you were,” I said. “You’re a very smart young girl, Emmie, I thought it might help you to be in a place where you can be around other girls your age and continue to learn even more…”

“S-School?” She gasped.

“Of course, the choice is yours, I won’t force you, and I’ll make sure neither Mr. Holmes nor Miss Hunter can force you,” I said. 

Slowly, the young girl smiled. She drummed her fingers against the table and said, “I can read real books too, can’t I? And I can go visit Auntie and teach her to read too, right?”

“The future is yours, however you see fit,” I said.

Finally, Herlock and Miss Hunter reached an agreement— Miss Hunter would cover the cost of Emmie’s books and necessities for classes, while Herlock would cover the cost of tuition.

“I promise to write,” Emmie said. “And one day I’ll write my name fancily like Mr. Clay does!”

“I look forward to that, truly…!” I said.

“It was a true delight hosting you, remember to stay out of trouble now!” Herlock added.

We bade them both farewell as the two entered the cab. Miss Hunter hopes to prepare Emmie for school in time for the summer term. I wish nothing but the best for her, and I’m more than confident that she will flourish.

At least something good has come from this horrible case…

Chapter Text

9 February, 1886

Courtney has decided that we are friends now, not that I would protest, she truly is a brilliant colleague. She and Maria worked together to make cookies, and Maria insisted that they be brought to me first. She really is a delightful child once she warms up to you, and she most definitely is her mother’s daughter.

19 January, 1886

My Son,

As loath as I am to admit it, and I do want to be as supportive of your endeavours as possible, I do thank you for failing to share the finer details of your work. Do not misunderstand me of course, it is very important what you do, so you must study well!

As for that strange photographer, I must say that it sounds rather enchanting, if otherwise too good to be true. I think it may be best to avoid those sorts of people, you never know what they might try to sell you, and the horrible means they may use to trick you. You have a good head on your shoulders, but I urge you to be careful, you still have a very tender heart.

The snow is thick here, and recently Susato and I had the opportunity to enjoy a western delicacy! Gingerbread cookies! They were rather delicious, and the gingerbread men and women were decorated to look like they were dressed in the latest fashions! Poor Susato burst out into tears when she saw an older child bite the head off of his gingerbread man, so I made sure that there were no people in the tin that I took home.

Do stay warm in London, and remember to bundle up!

Your Mother

Chapter Text

18 February, 1886

A most interesting conundrum has come up in our studies. It all started last week, shortly after the spiritualist incident, when Dr. Wilson, Courtney, and I were summoned to a crime scene, however that was far from the unusual part. The victim was an opera singer, one Louisa Adler, who was found in her dressing room, poisoned. The most confounding problem, however, is that we cannot figure out what she was poisoned with or how!

What we can determine is that she was not dead long before her discovery, only a few hours given her stiffness— we were still able to move her, but barely. Miss Adler had finished a performance of ‘The Mikado’, and wished to rest. She was curled up in the foetal position, her back was arched and there seems to be evidence of muscle spasms occurring before death. During the autopsy, we were able to collect a sample of some sort of white spore at the back of the throat. It provided the most interesting structure of poisoning that I have ever seen to date! Even after testing another one of the spore samples, it was still rather reactive and emitted a strange scent, reminiscent of old wool! And yet! It is an undetectable and otherwise unknown poison! It’s far too organic to be a synthetic creation, and there isn’t anything consistent with our records of poisons— far too fast acting to be arsenic or cyanide, and the structure doesn’t match.

Dr. Wilson brought up the possibility of this poison being American in origin, particularly from the jungles of the Amazon, or perhaps another poison of a tropical variety found in the Pacific.

I must remember that this is a tragic case, a life was taken away, and there’s a murderer out on the streets— even if the prospect of an otherwise unknown poison is present, we have a duty to uphold.

It is just incidental that we are able to discover something new, one can’t help but find curiosity in all the possibilities of this poison, if there can be a way to make it less potent or even  prevent its deadliness!  

By the time I had returned to Baker Street, Herlock was already out, he’d pinned a note to my door (I do wish he would use something other than a knife, it’s unsettling). He was to be out for the time being, visiting the Diogenes Club to discuss the estate with his brother.

“He emphatically told me to keep you here, Dr. Mikotoba,” said Mrs. Hudson. “I’ve no clue as to why he’s been so secretive as of late, but I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about if his brother is there!”

I decided to follow his wishes, if it’s a family matter, there really is no use of my being there, and Herlock tends to be cryptic in all of his dealings— however, I cannot help but share Mrs. Hudson’s worries for his behaviour as of late. I found a hypodermic needle laying about in the open, but there doesn’t seem to be any signs of usage…

Mem.— Speak with Herlock about cleaning up after himself.

Chapter Text

19 February, 1886

I found Herlock this evening perched upon his familiar chair, staring into the blazing fireplace, and smoking from his pipe. He drew his knees up to his chest, that familiar posture of his, and he stuck his neck out as he drummed against his knees with those long fingers of his.

Although his arched back was to the door, without even a turn of the head, he called out to me, “At last, Mikotoba, you’re finally here!”

“How on earth did you know that?” I asked, the door was already open.

“I listened to your footfalls and counted them, the creak of the stairs is quite distinctive,” he answered. “You see, but you do not observe…”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“How many times have you seen the steps which lead up to this flat?” he asked.

“Often? Hundreds of times?” I answered.

“Then how many are there?”

“I fail to see the importance of the number of steps, Sholmes…”

“Quite so, my friend, quite so,” He nodded. “You have not observed, and yet you have seen! That is my point!”

He tossed an envelope to me before adding, “There are exactly seventeen steps, because I have both seen and observed,” said he. “This came by, read it aloud.”

There was not a date nor signature nor address.

“‘There will call upon you tonight, at a quarter to eight o’clock,’” I recited, “‘a gentleman and lady who desire to consult with you upon a matter of the very deepest moment. Your rumoured services concerning a Greek interpreter have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with matters which are of great importance and greater discretion. This account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitors wear masks.’”

“A most interesting mystery indeed,” My friend puffed. “Tell me, Mikotoba, the note itself! What do you deduce from it?”

I held the paper in my hands and studied it carefully, from the writing to the very construction of the paper itself.

“Remarkably thick, stiff too,” I said. “This can’t be bought under half-a-crown…!”

“Peculiar indeed, hold it up to the light, Mikotoba, and read the monogram,”

I did so at once and baulked at the strange symbols! It was nothing like I had ever seen before! This is approximately what I remember:

࿈⏆♬ ⥾※꛷⍣ ⍣✄☋⥾❢

“I’ve never seen anything like this! Is this some kind of code?” I asked. “Have you studied this before?”

My friend laughed and threw his head back before replying, “It is no code, Mikotoba, no code at all! Simply another language, this isn’t English paper at all!”

“Then what is it? What kind of language is this?”

Herlock languidly rose from his beloved chair and rifled through his work desk. He climbed up on top of the tabletop and peered through the very tallest shelves of his bookcase and dropped a heavy encyclopaedia onto the floor with a loud thunk (Mem.— find a suitable gift for Mrs. Hudson’s patience and coolheadedness)

In his efforts to show off, Herlock’s foot slipped out from under him. Had I not made a dash to catch him, he might have seriously injured himself.

I hope this will teach him not to climb on the furniture anymore, I won’t always be there to serve as a landing cushion for him to fall on top of, nor do I wish to be said landing cushion!

After the tumble, he simply rolled onto his stomach and flipped through the pages of the encyclopaedia until he found the ‘B’ section. He simply pointed to one word— a country in the central part of the continent, ‘Borginia’.

“There’s even a few samples of the writing system, it’s a language isolate, truly marvellous!” Herlock said. “You may find some familiar symbols in the transcription of Borginia in the Borginian language, ◉⏆☋⇬♐︎⍣♐︎※.”

Soon enough, the clock chimed eight times, and horses’ hooves marched up below our window onto Baker Street. Two horses, and according to Herlock, they were well bred expensive horses as well. I had moved to leave the sitting room when Herlock pulled me back and sat me upon the settee.

“Stay where you are, I am lost without my Boswell,  for your notes are better than mine,” He said. “This promises to be interesting!”

“But your clients—”

“Nevermind them! I want your help!” said he.

Damn this man, he will ruin me one day. Does he have any idea what he says? Does he care or even notice, despite noticing everything else?

After a sharp pull at our bell, we heard Mrs. Hudson leading our guests up to our rooms. Once she opened the door, two gargantuan people, well over six feet tall, marched in authoritatively and loudly! 

The man was dressed with such richness that I had never seen up close before, and I doubt I’ll ever see it again in my lifetime. He wore heavy furs that lined his double-breasted coat, and topped it all with a heavy blue cloak with flame coloured silk lining the inside of it and pinned in place with a brilliant emerald.

His companion, a woman, was dressed with the same dark furs and had long blonde hair that was coiled up in braids and tied in place on top of her head. She even had ostentatious emeralds decorating her ears, I’m surprised they managed to stay in place on the sides of her head with how heavy they looked!

They both wore black domino masks, and stared at me in particular. The lady barely held her disdain back, and she unfolded her lace fan to cover her face.

Herlock and I both rose, and offered our guests a seat, the lady muttered something to the man in their native tongue, and he snorted as he laughed. My patience with this rude couple was growing ever more thin.

“You, valet, get us some tea, we have travelled for a long journey,” The lady ordered.

“And leave this room when you are finished,” The man added. “This is a matter of gravity, and we require to speak with Mr. Herlock Sholmes alone.”

I felt my face grow hot, and my arms started to shake. I held my tongue, and rose to go, however, I would not go to fetch tea for them (I was more than happy to allow myself that one petty jab).

I felt Herlock grabbing my wrist and linking his arm in mine, “It is both or none,” He said. “Whatever you say to me, you can say to my friend and colleague Doctor Yujin Mikotoba, otherwise I may have to ask you both to leave and look elsewhere for someone to help you with your grave problem, Your Grace…”

The man gasped and stood aghast, staring at Herlock. The Lady fanned herself so violently, her earrings looked as if they were about to fly off. They both tore away at their masks and tossed them aside.

“You are right, how on earth did you see it!” He cried. “Very well, I will not hide it anymore, I am Maximillian Otto Fontaine Blathering von Gottsreich the Second, Archduke of Borginia!”

“And I am Wilmaette Yekaterina Anastasia Blathering von Gottsreich, Archduchess of Borginia!” His companion added. “How did you know?!”

“I assure you, Your Grace, neither of you needed to speak for me to find the truth of your identities,” Herlock said. “Now, go on, tell us the truth… we cannot be of any help if you continue this charade.”

I would dare say that they barely attempted to hide their identities, and that no deduction truly was necessary.

“Very well then, I will briefly explain our troubles, some five years ago, I had made the acquaintance of a well known adventuress by the name of Irene Adler,” The Archduke said. “She was a fiery American, most foreign of any subject in our small country, and an extraordinary specimen!”

“And an even more horrid louse!” His wife added. “An evil, vindictive, and awful creature! That horrible woman!”

“I must admit that we were… acquainted… and it was a rather foolish endeavour as the heir apparent,” he continued, his face turning bright red. “I wrote some compromising letters, and I must have them back!”

“Was there a secret marriage?” Herlock asked. “Any legal papers or certificates of any sorts?”

“No, no, I would not be such a buffoon!” 

“She has been harassing us and extorting us!” The Archduchess said. “One word from her, and we will lose everything!”

“It seems unlikely that a word from a foreigner in your country could risk so much,” I said. “Especially if she doesn’t contain any form of legality, one could easily say that she wrote the letters herself.”

“She has my paper!” He bemoaned. “My own seal!”

“Stolen,” Herlock said. “Imitated.”

“His photograph!” She said.

“Bought,” Herlock yawned.

“They were both in the accursed photograph,” The Archduchess added, snarling at her husband, who sheepishly covered his face.

“Ah, very bad indeed,” Herlock coughed, even his own face was turning pink.

“I’m sure she didn’t visit any charlatan photographers either,” I muttered. “Perhaps it can be recovered?”

“We have tried and failed!” He said.

“Then Your Grace must pay, I’m sure it can be bought,” Herlock said.

“She refuses!” She replied.

“Then it must be stolen,” Herlock shrugged.

“Five attempts have been made! Twice we have paid burglars to ransack her home, and one pair stole from us instead!” The Archduke said. “Once, we’ve diverted her luggage while she travelled, and twice she has been waylaid, and still no result!”

I would like to commend the second pair of burglars, I cannot help but laugh even as I write this down.

Herlock, meanwhile, laughed and paced across our sitting room giddily, “A pretty little problem indeed,” He said. “Very well then! We will both take your case! Good night, I trust we will have news soon enough!”

The Archduke and Archduchess smiled and both reached to shake Herlock’s hand, but he turned away quickly and made his way out towards his own bedroom. I simply opened the door for them to be escorted out by Mrs. Hudson.

Part of me wishes that this Irene Adler would publish the photograph and have it all done with.

Chapter Text

20 February, 1886

Herlock woke me up early for me to set out to work. He and I set out to the address that the Archduke had given us, where I was to serve as a plumber to get a lay of the house. Last night, after our guests left us, he had snuck out from our rooms to examine our hunting grounds so to speak. 

“They won’t turn you away, I know it!” He reassured me. “I’ve made sure of it!”

I was afraid to ask what exactly my friend had done to the poor woman’s pipes, and judging by the mad look in his eyes, he was more than proud of his handiwork.

He says that he cannot risk being recognized as the vandal at Adler’s home, and that it would make more sense for me to go, but I think he just doesn’t want to clean up the mess he made.

I was properly disguised and ‘mucked up’ as a proper plumber and sent on my way to Adler’s home. When I knocked upon the door, a young man around my age answered it. He had a great shock of red hair and was shorter than me, but was dressed finely even down to his heeled boots.

When I told him that I was sent to inspect the pipes of homes in this area he clasped his hand on my shoulder and led me inside.

“Couldn’t have gotten here any sooner! The pipes burst last night!” He said. “My name’s Godfrey Norton, if you need anything, anything at all, you come to me first thing, alright?”

When he asked for my name, I must admit that I panicked. Herlock and I never considered the possibility of someone asking that of all things! The best I was able to come up with on the spot was, ‘Eugene Michael-Tobie’.

Just then, a woman dressed entirely in white, from her large white hat and thick mesh veil to even her boots, walked past us and opened a lace parasol as she stepped outside.

“That’s Miss Adler, the lady of the house,” Norton explained. “She likes the fresh air, takes a walk for two hours in Hyde Park, might be best if you work while she’s out…”

“She’s rather elegant,” I said.

“Oh, she’s turned all the men’s heads down in that part, the daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet,” Norton said. “Until they realise she’s not her sister.”

“Sister?”

Norton glowered, his face turned dark and he took his hat and rested it upon his chest.

“She’s gone now… murdered…”

There was absolutely no way that I could properly map out the entire house in just two hours. I may have to come back for numerous trips, but it seems that Herlock can at least observe Adler while she’s at the park.

I was able to make a preliminary map for Herlock, even if I did have to stop and pretend that I knew what I was doing whenever Norton dropped in on me. As soon as my two hours were up, I was escorted out of the house by a stoic maid, who was eastern like me, alongside Norton.

“Mr. Michael-Tobie, it’s time to leave,” She said with an accent, but I couldn’t quite pick up where from exactly. “Miss Adler doesn’t like to be disturbed in her leisure time.”

I walked a few blocks past our flat, just in case I was being followed (no thanks to the Archduke and Archduchess making a big theatrical show of things). I slipped into The Drunken Cock right out of the backdoor without anyone calling out to me. Once I was in the alleyway, I took off my disguise as Herlock instructed and hid it inside my medical bag, which he had stowed away for me.

I finally returned home and conversed with Herlock over supper.

“I wasn’t able to reach the second floor, but I was able to look into the cellar since that was where most of the damage was,” I explained. “I’ll need more time, but you’ll be able to follow Adler’s movements more closely.”

“You’d both better be careful, I’ve never heard of a servant giving a stranger hints so willy-nilly,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Mr. Sholmes, even you have to admit that it’s rather too easy!”

“And all the more riskier! With the greater reward!” Herlock shrugged. “Be sure not to touch anything, Mikotoba, they might try to finger you as a common burglar…”

At the very least, I hope to make more progress tomorrow…

Chapter Text

21 February, 1886

She came into the laboratory. She was in the laboratory. Irene Adler was summoned by the authorities to visit the laboratory!

Before she was to arrive, Courtney and I had to properly dress Louisa Adler’s corpse, so as to not bring too much of a shock to Miss Adler. Seeing her up close, it’s hard to see how she had gotten wrapped up in the business of that annoying Borginian Archduke— She was dressed plainly, in a brown tweed dress with a matching overcoat and black cap on top of her straw coloured hair. She carried a crocodile leather handbag. Adler was accompanied by a woman who wore black, it was the same maid who escorted me out of the house! By all means, she was a mousy woman who a pompous man like the Archduke wouldn’t spare a second glance at.

Once Dr. Wilson explained what we were doing, she only gave a nod of approval, and he beckoned for us to lift the sheet. Both Genshin and Gregson were with her, and the latter stepped behind her, ready to catch her if she fell.

Strangely enough, she stood silently, not even wavering a bit— I find it strange, one must have the fortitude to stomach my line of work, but a layman wouldn’t necessarily have it. There’s something particular about this woman, and strikingly familiar.

“Oh poor Lulu,” She sighed. “How did it happen?”

“Shouldn’t be any harm in telling you, the doc is better suited to explain the details,” Gregson said, munching on his fish’n’chips.

I can’t believe he has the stomach to eat in our laboratory, either he’s very brave or very foolish.  

“We believe she may have been poisoned, as you can see by the discoloration around her lips,” Wilson explained. “We’re not at this time able to discern exactly what she was poisoned with.”

“What was the state of the body when she was discovered?” Adler asked. “Likewise, what sorts of symptoms did she exhibit? What are the characteristics, post-mortem?”

“She was completely stiff, but not dead for too long, and she was found curled up into a tiny ball,” Wilson replied. “It was likely that she exhibited seizures as well as muscle contractions, and as for the presentation—”

All while Wilson answered her questions, Adler’s companion furiously took out a notebook and started to jot something down.

“And another thing,” Irene Adler started.

“You’re right, another thing indeed,” Genshin interrupted. “Miss Adler, we usually ask the questions… have you had any experience with this before?”

She laughed and smiled at him, “Oh, I forget myself, I forget that I’m not back home!” She replied. “Old habits die hard, I am a journalist after all, asking questions is my bread and butter!”

She extended a hand to her companion, who nodded her head and replied, “My name is Joo-Won Seok, I’m Irene’s assistant,”

“More than that! You’re my dearest friend! I wouldn’t have written half of my articles without you!” Adler said. “In fact, I owe my life to her!”

She really is rather thrilling, travelling from the United States to as far as Korea and the European continent! She just pulls you in while she speaks, it’s almost like a case with Herlock!

“Miss Adler, did your sister have any enemies? Any rivals?” I asked.

She tilted her head and looked at me for just a moment, her lips were pursed and she tapped her finger against her cheek. It was a strange feeling being dissected under her gaze, something about her is terribly familiar and I cannot quite explain why. I only hope that there’s no way that her companion, Joo-Won, recognized me.

“No idea! Our schedules were so packed, we hardly could find time to meet up!” Adler shrugged.

Gregson and Genshin continued on with interviewing Irene Adler, and once they were satisfied, bid us all farewell. 

Once Wilson’s afternoon lecture was finished, I rushed as fast as I could to our flat so that Herlock could properly ‘muck me up’, and once more I became ‘Eugene Michael-Tobie’. I collected my tools and headed once more to Irene Adler’s home.

Norton was the one who opened the door and showed me inside.

“We’re still getting a leak upstairs,” he said. “Hopefully you can work your magic again, yeah?”

“I’ll do whatever I can,” I answered.

He led me to one of the water closets, and left me to my own devices. I worked for a few moments until I was sure that he walked away from me. I managed to sneak over to a study, it was rather meticulously organised. There were countless newspapers that were collected in a scrapbook, all written by Irene Adler. I found an article that depicted the Archduke of Borginia, written in that same perplexing script.
The strangest thing, however, was a small ball hidden under glass. It was white, but it shimmered in the light, little rainbows emerged from the fibres. There were notes underneath the display, but they were written in the Korean script, and was about as comprehensible to me as Borginian… 

I recognized the style of paper, it was identical to the yellow paper that Joo-Won used. I took hold of one of the notes, bewildered when I realised that the diagram was nearly identical to the samples I had collected from Louisa Adler at St. Syner’s!

The door slammed shut, nearly giving me a heart attack. Joo-Won stood silently, her eyes narrowed and she stood in the doorway, essentially trapping me.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” was all that she said.

“I found signs of water damage, I was concerned that a pipe had burst,” I stammered.

“Surely there aren’t any pipes in Irene’s typewriter? Or her desk…?” She huffed.

“I didn’t mean to snoop, and I don’t want to cause any trouble—”

“You’re causing it anyway,”

Without any hesitation, she took hold of my braces and practically dragged me out of the room and down the stairs. She kicked open the front door and pushed me out, all while Godfrey Norton watched the debacle.

“We won’t be requiring your services anymore,” Norton said. “If you come back, the police will be summoned.”

And just like that, the door was slammed in my face.

I made my way home, and I was careful to follow Herlock’s instructions to the letter, and met him at the Drunken Cock. I waited at the corner table for him to join me. It was then that an inebriated sailor took a swig of his pint while singing. He had a scruffy black beard and wore an eyepatch as he hobbled on a crutch.

“Move on over boyo, let an old man rest his leg,” He croaked.

“Pardon me, but I’m waiting for someone,” I said.

“You better learn to respect your elders, son!” He huffed, sitting down anyway. “Five months at sea, and a young man won’t let an old seadog rest!”

He leaned in, wiggling his bushy eyebrows and lifting his eyepatch to reveal an eye that was perfectly fine— and a pair of eyes that had an all too familiar twinkle.

“Or recognize a friend that’s here like he promised…” Herlock said.

“Sholmes!” I gasped. “You’re absolutely unrecognisable!” 

“I should hope that a disguise would work,” He said, stretching his arms. “Half the work is shaving down a foot or two from my height…”

I briefly told him of the encounter at the laboratory and my findings in Adler’s study.

I placed the note page that I had in my pocket and pointed at the diagram.

“This is the sample we found in Louisa Adler’s poisoning… it seems that her sister knew more about her death than what she let on,” I said. “She’s involved, and I want to know exactly what it was that poisoned her!”

Herlock looked intently at the note page, his eyes squinted as he sounded out the sounds and syllables of what was written in Borginian.

“‘Borginian… Cloak…?’” He mused. “Or perhaps it says ‘cover’? I must admit that the finer details of the language allude me.”

“We’ll have to act fast,” I said. “I think that Norton fellow will tell Irene Adler about my snooping, and I’m sure Joo-Won won’t hesitate either…”

“I agree wholeheartedly, and I shall most certainly want your cooperation,” Herlock said.

“I shall be delighted,” I replied.

“You don’t mind breaking the law?”

“Not in the least,”

“Nor running the chance of arrest?”

“Not in a good cause,”

“Oh, the cause is excellent!”

“Then I am your man,”

“You’re a reliable man, Miktoba, a reliable man,” Herlock laughed, clapping a hand upon my shoulder.

We both felt that any further discussion should be had away from prying eyes and listening ears. Herlock insisted that he would come up with a plan to extract the photograph from Irene Adler come morning time. When we had reached Baker Street, and had stopped at the door, Herlock fished around his pockets to find the key. I felt the brush of someone passing by my shoulder, and briefly heard:

“Good night, Mr. Eugene Michael-Tobie,”

I looked around, there were still plenty of people on the pavement, but I saw a young man in an ulster coat pushing past, I couldn’t get a good view, the lights were too dim.

“Hum, I wonder who the deuce that could have been…” Herlock mused.

Chapter Text

22 February, 1886

It was eight in the morning when we set out on our mission. Herlock had emerged from his room in a completely different demeanour, for one, he was significantly aged— not only did he wear a white wig and white whiskers on his cheeks, he managed to use prosthetics to simulate wrinkles. He wore gold rimmed spectacles and was dressed entirely in black and with a wide brimmed black hat to top it all off. Clasping his hands together he spoke with a higher effect, more nasally too.

“God be with you, dear child,” He smiled, every bit of ‘Herlock Sholmes’ was replaced with a simple clergyman.

“How are we going to pull this off, Sholmes?”

“I’ve handled the finer details while you were asleep, all of the scenes have been set!” He told me. “It will be perfect, but you are to promise me one thing, and that you must follow it to the letter, I insist on this!”

“And what is that?”

“You are not to interfere, come what may,” He said. “The plan hinges on this entirely.”

“Interfere?! What on earth are you planning?!”

“Only an inciting incident, nothing more, and nothing you need to panic over!” Herlock said. “You must promise to play your part perfectly…!”

“Fine, I trust you,”

“Perfect…! I’ll be able to get into the house without incident by then, give me four or five minutes and the sitting room window will be open,” Herlock explained. “As soon as it’s open, you must hide in the bushes below and wait for my signal.”

He balled his hand into a fist and released it as it soared over his head.

“Throw that in the room, and raise the cry of fire,” He said, handing me a small roll from his pocket.

“Sholmes, what on earth is this?!”

“Just a plumber’s smoke rocket, nothing harmful,” Herlock said quickly. “It’s used to expose openings in piping, but for our purposes, it will retrieve us that photograph.”

“You truly believe it’s in the house? But it was burgled?”

“The Archduke’s men simply didn’t know how to look,”

“And how will we look amid the smoke?”

“We won’t do anything,” Herlock smiled devilishly. “ Irene Adler will show us!”

I gasped, suddenly, it all made sense! She would sooner die than let that photograph, and her evidence, be destroyed!
We set out at once, and we waited for Adler’s carriage to return from Hyde Park. The street was filled— there was a group of shabbily dressed men smoking and laughing with each other, two guardsmen were flirting with a nurse, young men were lounging on their porches with cigars in their mouths— by all means, it was a regular day upon the avenue.

As Adler’s carriage came round the curve of the avenue, one of the loafers at the corner dashed to the carriage and attempted to pry the door open, another man rushed to do the same, and elbowed the first man in the face.

It was then that a quarrel broke out, fiery curses and fists were already flying, alerting the two guardsmen. By then, as the guardsmen were trying to pry the fighting men apart, a crowd enveloped the carriage, trapping Irene Adler and Joo-Won, in the fray.

Herlock then ran inside of the firestorm, swinging his arms.

“My brothers, good men, please stop this needless violence!” He cried. “For goodness sake, and all that is well, stop!”

One of the loafers, a short man with curly yellow hair, brandished a knife and moved towards Herlock. The instant I caught the cold glimpse of that metal, my blood ran cold. I knew that I swore to Herlock that I wouldn’t get involved, that everything was to go as he planned, but I couldn’t just stand by and let him die. I rushed the man with the knife and took hold of his wrist. I planted my feet firmly upon the ground, and with all of my strength, I lifted Herlock’s would-be attacker in the air and tossed him onto the street.

Once he was winded, I climbed on top of him and I squeezed my hand around his wrist once more with all my strength.

“Drop it!” I hissed. “Drop the blasted knife!”

He wiggled and squirmed beneath me, he was a scrawny man.

“Oi, Miko, I know I don’t look that different!” He whined. “My sister told me that  you can hardly see the moustache, and that it’s not much to brag about yet!”

Horrified, I helped the poor boy up. From a preliminary glance, I could tell that I hadn’t broken anything (Thank goodness!), but I’m sure I’ve left some horrible bruises (Poor boy!). True to his sister’s word, I wouldn’t have known that he had a moustache unless he had pointed it out specifically. He retrieved his knife and poked the blade with his finger, causing it to retract into the handle.

“ Wiggins ?! What are you doing?!”

“Haven’t you ever seen a prop knife before?” He asked. “I wasn’t going to actually stab him!”

“And risk arrest?!” I baulked.

Herlock glanced over at us and brought a hand to his temple, he cried out and fell to the ground with blood running freely down his face.

“He needed to be injured somehow,” Wiggins said. “It’s how he’ll get in!”

This would have all been wonderful to know BEFOREHAND , but apparently, I was not to be privy. Was he expecting me to just sit by and let him get injured?! I don’t regret what I did, only that I did it to poor Wiggins.  

The guardsmen managed to force the crowd back and examined Herlock. Adler jumped out from the carriage and joined them, all while Joo-Won was scribbling notes onto her notepad.

“Is he alive or dead?!” Adler asked.

“There’s a lot of blood, there’s no way we can get him to the hospital in time!” One guardsman told her.

“Lie him down in the sitting room,” Joo-Won said. “Lie him down on the sofa.”

“Yes, we can take care of him, I must give him my thanks!” Adler nodded.

I told Wiggins to head to Baker Street at once, and that I would perform a checkup as soon as Herlock and I pulled the plan off and made away with that accursed photograph. I settled underneath the bushes and waited for the window to open. Once it did so, I kept an eye on Herlock and waited for his signal. Sure enough, as soon as he gave it, I tossed the small rocket into the room and watched as smoke billowed out. I was about to fulfil my role when I saw a spark fly out. Before I could gather my senses, the curtains immediately caught fire, and the wallpaper started to smoulder as well. Then, there was a horrific explosion in the sitting room, nearly knocking me onto the ground.

I cried out to Herlock, and when I received no answer, I took hold of a rock and bashed the glass in and ran to get my friend out of there. I found him slumped over the sofa, his face was positively green as he gasped for air. I took him in my arms, and together we crawled on the floor, just below the smoke

“Shouldn’t have been a real fire!” Herlock coughed.

Just then, there was this terrible explosion, right above our heads, in the study on the next floor. I covered Herlock’s head, in case any debris fell on top of us. There was an awful sizzling sound in front of us. Even though the dust burnt my eyes, I forced them open, only to see that I was face to face with a lit fuse. It was in that moment that I knew fear, that I truly knew fear— This was planned , the previous burglaries yielded nothing, but these bombs were planted to destroy Irene Adler and everything, or everyone, inside with her!

Then, a black boot stomped the spark, thus extinguishing it. I heard the sound of metal clicking and gulped as the barrel of a revolver pointed in my face.

Irene Adler and Joo-Won stood over us, handkerchiefs covering their noses and mouths.

“Fancy seeing you again, Doctor,” Adler said. “Now you’ve done it! You’ve mucked up everything I had!”

“Irene, we need to go if we’re going to salvage anything…” Joo-Won said.

“Oh we will, and you two idiots are going to help us,” Adler said as she dragged me up, she pressed her gun against my back. “Hands where I can see them, or else.”

Once Herlock was standing up, they led us down into the cellar. Keeping her gun and eyes trained on me, Adler pressed her hands against the bricks until one of them sank inside the wall. With a slow drag, part of the wall sank back.

“Push it,” She ordered.

Naturally, I did as she commanded, and with all my might, I pushed the bricks. Once the opening was wide enough for us, we stepped inside of the dark crevice. It was only a moment while Joo-Won closed the wall behind us, but Herlock stumbled and lost his balance. I only managed to catch him in the nick of time, or he might have hit his head in the darkness. A shot ricocheted against the bricks as the women screamed at us.

“Stop! Don’t shoot!” Herlock coughed. “Just dizzy…”

“Fair enough… Joo-Won, keep them in check,” Adler said, tossing her gun to her companion before opening her lighter. “I’ll lead the way.”  

We travelled in a line, Irene Adler lighting the way, and Joo-Won keeping her guns pointed at our backs. I could hear rushing water nearby, as well as boat horns. When Adler opened the door at the end of the hallway, the midday sun burned our eyes. Once I could see clearly, I looked into Herlock’s eyes. They were slightly dilated, but he didn’t show any signs of a concussion (thankfully). He took a deep breath of fresh air and patted my shoulders.

“Thank you, Mikotoba, truly…”

“Yes, thank you both for ruining everything!” Adler huffed before pulling the damned photograph out from her handbag. “I suppose this is what you were looking for?!”

“I admire the way you hid it, a secret hideaway in the mantle, very clever,” Herlock said. 

“An old smuggler’s house has its uses,” Joo-Won said.

“And you both will be very useful… you’re going to help us,” Adler nodded. “And the first thing you will do is take us to your flat, it’s the least you can do after burning my home down!”

Irene Adler did have a point, and there was nothing we could do with Joo-Won pointing her guns against our backs. We took them to Baker Street at once, and they took refuge in our attic. Before locking themselves up, they sent us on our way to the market with a purse full of money and a shopping list.

I think Mrs. Hudson had too much fun watching us flounder around trying, and miserably struggling, to find the clothing they demanded.

I have many foul words I would love nothing more than to say to the Archduke and Archduchess of Borginia… 

Luckily, Wiggins remembered to stop by Baker Street when we finally returned. He’s lucky, no broken bones, he doesn’t seem to have a concussion, but he will have some awful bruises. He’s staying the night, and as Irene Adler and Joo-Won have taken lodging in the attic, I’ll take the sofa so that Wiggins can sleep in a proper bed.

Chapter Text

25 February, 1886

Herlock and I have noticed a pair of guardsmen dressed in blue and gold marching up and down Baker Street near our rooms ever since the fire we set burnt down Adler’s home. Our “guests” have been holed up in our attic, and they’ve blocked out the windows. They only let Mrs. Hudson inside to bring them their food (not that I would blame them, since it was technically mine and Herlock’s fault that they are in this mess…). I’ve even noticed that one of the guardsmen has followed me to St. Syner’s hospital, even when I took the long path, he was always twenty paces behind me.

Even more infuriatingly, Director van Zieks paid a visit to the morgue, ordering us to close the Louisa Adler case!

“I’m sorry, Dr. Mikotoba, but this is far above me,” he simply said. “I have direct orders from Her Royal Majesty herself.”

“We’ll simply have to rule the poor woman’s death as accidental then,” Dr. Wilson sighed. 

Just like that! With one signature, we’re stopped in our tracks! Her death was not accidental, we all know that! And those spores! I want to know more about them more than anything! There’s no way I can risk taking the samples from the laboratory, especially not with Dr. Wilson locking them away…

Even Courtney was in a sour mood, she’d broken three scalpels after van Zieks left!

Nonetheless, I started home, I was just about to turn onto Baker Street, and the guardsman was there. I have a feeling our clients are behind this, I’m sure they’ve figured out who set that damned house ablaze by now.

I don’t think Irene Adler would have been so foolish as to plant fuses in her own home, but I can’t think of why someone would go to such lengths over a photograph! What is the Archduke really hiding?!  

Chapter Text

26 February, 1886

I still cannot believe that we won’t be working on Louisa Adler’s case today, the shutdown still feels so fresh, and to think that it came from The Crown itself! Dr. Wilson simply lectured Courtney and I for the morning, and we were left on our own to clean up the laboratory afterwards.

Just as I was about to leave for the rest of my evening, little Maria tugged on my coat and handed me a rag doll. There was a y-incision down the chest, and there were large x’s where the button eyes should have been.

“Mama says you need to practise your cutting,” She said before scampering off.

I put the doll in my pocket and headed back home where Herlock was moping about while Mrs. Hudson entertained Irene Adler and Joo-Won.

“Mikotoba, thank goodness!” He groaned. “You’ve come just in time… I’m dying…”

“Don’t mind him, Dr. Mikotoba,” said Mrs. Hudson. “I told him to put the violin away during suppertime if he wasn’t going to play real music.”

“Your instrument is out of tune,” Joo-Won added. “It’s slightly flat.”

I set my coat upon its hook and Maria’s doll fell out of my pocket. Adler nearly choked on her soup when she saw me picking it up. Waving her spoon at me she asked, “What is that… object?”

“My colleague’s daughter gave it to me, apparently she’s not satisfied with my incisions,” I replied. “All things considered, this is likely the least off-putting thing Maria’s given me…”

It was then that Herlock jumped up from the settee and reached for the ragdoll. He examined it carefully and smiled.

“Someone get me a knife!”

Joo-Won made for the knife impaling the letters on the mantle of the fireplace, nearly causing Herlock to burst into a fit.

“Do not touch the mantle knife!”

Upon Mrs. Hudson clearing her throat and shooting a particularly fierce glare his way, Herlock sheepishly added, “ Please do not touch the mantle knife…”

“Much better, let me get my sewing kit, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said.

She left for her rooms briefly before running back to us with a small leather carrying case. She opened it up and took out a small forked blade and plucked at one of the stitches. Once it was cut, she simply pulled the thread out and revealed a large gash down the centre of the doll. Inside, small black beans filled it up, but even more curiously were microscope slides!

Herlock grinned wolfishly as he held up a single bean between his fingers

“This bounced off of your shoe and skidded towards me,” He said. “When one creates a doll, one would preferably not want the stuffing to fall out…”

“These slides! These were the samples that I’d collected from Louisa Adler!” I gasped.

Courtney, you brilliant woman!

“You found those in my sister…?” Irene Adler gasped. “So that’s how they did it…”

“I suppose we ought to tell them, if the Borginian Royal Family finds out, it’s their heads next,” Joo-Won added.

Irene Adler nodded and motioned for Herlock and I to follow her up to the attic. We had to walk up the stairs in the dark, so as to not risk suspicion from the Borginian guardsmen out front. Once we had settled inside, Joo-Won lit a candle and Adler opened a small wooden box. Inside contained a series of black slides as well as the white ball I’d found in her study the day of the fire!

“I don’t know what the Archduke and Archduchess told you, but these are what they really want,” Adler explained. “I’m sure you remember that I’m a journalist, yes?”

She held up the slides, “These are all of my findings, all of my notes, the photographs I’ve taken from a special camera that I’ve designed and invented, as well as every bit of evidence I’ve compiled against the heir-presumptive Archduke Maximillian Otto Fontaine Blathering von Gottsreich of Borginia,” Adler continued. “Whom I’m sure has told you that I was a former lover or some other lie?”

We both nodded.

“That theatrical drivel must be from Archduchess Wilmaette,” Joo-Won added. “She never did care much for Irene in the royal court…”

“Anyway, Joo-Won and I travelled to Borginia and lived there for three years, in 1879, Lord Benedict Paleno from the Duchy of Codophia fell ill and died in a matter of hours,” she continued. 

“I remember that incident, it was quite the headache for Mycroft,” Herlock added. “All things considered, the Chancellor was a healthy man…”

“More importantly, it was convenient for the Borginian crown, as a member of the branch family had married into the Paleno family, and had many supporters,” Adler nodded.

Joo-Won picked up the small white ball, “This is the secret to the mysterious deaths, a Borginian Cocoon,” she said. “It produces a potent toxin, and one that doesn’t require very much to do a lot of damage…”

“And that’s what killed your sister?” I asked.

Irene Adler hugged herself tightly, and Joo-Won covered her mouth. The women were silent, but Adler eventually gathered the strength to nod her head.

“When we announced our leaving, the Archduke gave us many gifts, including a box of chocolates…” Irene Adler whispered. “I was never a fan of sweets, so I gave them to Lulu…”

Swallowing deeply, Adler took out one roll of parchment and unfurled it. In the dim light, it was hard to read, but written down was: 

꛷࿈𐀂☋⏆❦♜ ♏︎⺅⏆᥅꛷✄♏︎

Herlock’s face turned white as he stared at each symbol, parsing their meaning as best as he could.

“That… that cannot possibly say…!” He gasped. 

“‘Mycroft Sholmes…’”Adler nodded. “Joo-Won and I had to warn him, that’s why we escaped to London, but evidently, they were able to figure out what we had done… I was so foolish …”

“There was no way you could have known the depravity of the Archduke,” I said. “Nor their desperation…”

“Mycroft had summoned me before the royals paid us a visit,” Herlock said. “He was looking deeper into the Paleno case, and had asked if I was interested in going to the continent…

“No matter of that, Mikotoba and I will personally make sure this information gets to my brother,” Herlock nodded. “You will expose the truth, no matter what…!”

After putting everything away, Joo-Won extinguished the candle. Herlock and I left to let Irene Adler and Joo-Won retire for the evening, but Adler pulled me aside and put something in my hand.

“I figured I should tell you this before this misadventure ends,” she said. “But the Borginian Royal family aren’t the only ones watching you…”

“I beg your pardon…?” I asked.

“Joo-Won and I had some help planning our burglary, I can’t tell you who they are, I never saw their face, but they gave me this letter the night before I left the country,” Adler explained. “You’d better be careful…”

Chapter Text

27 February, 1886

It was a foolhardy plan, and all the same it worked perfectly!

Shortly after midnight, Herlock and I woke Wiggins up, he was to bring a letter to the elder Sholmes. Meanwhile, we both dressed. I have to commend Mrs. Hudson’s work on such a short notice, especially with such a strange request.

“In order to draw the Borginians away from our guests, we will bring a performance of a lifetime!” Herlock said.

I was to play the part of Joo-Won, and he the role of Adler. They had prepared hats with veils to obscure our faces ahead of time, long before I had played the role of Eugene Michael Tobie even!

“The costume makes the man, or in your case, the woman,” Irene Adler told me as she applied rouge to my face, before lowering her voice and speaking with the familiar gravel of Godfrey Norton, “And even a little bit of paint can change even the most minute of features!”

Herlock took more time to get ready, he is a terrible perfectionist at some points. However, when he finally emerged, I couldn’t help but stare. He wore a magenta dress, and his hair wasn’t nearly as slicked back as he preferred, allowing it to curl more. His lips were pink and in a perpetual pout— He looked so much like the photograph that the Archduke supplied, I swear that I would not be able to decipher which was Herlock Sholmes and Irene Adler, had they both donned the dress.

Herlock was rather a handsome woman, and I feel he may keep these techniques in his arsenal for a future case, I just pray my heart won’t stop in the meantime. Perhaps that is merely why these feelings have lingered on, he’s done this before, surely there’s nothing maddening in me! It’s all perfectly natural, there’s always an explanation!

Damn it all, I’m a fool.

Irene Adler and Joo-Won took our clothes and set out to meet with Sholmes, Herlock explained that they will instead meet with him outside of London so as to not rouse suspicion from the Borginian soldiers. At the very least, it will be better than risking an ambush at the Diogenes Club. I believe they will meet with him in a small sleepy village in Sussex, in an old Sholmes family summer cottage.

They left first, their train left at seven o’clock, we’ve hidden all of Irene Adler’s evidence in my medical bag. Together, Herlock and I waited for three more hours, hoping to give them a head start.

“They will first ride to Hampshire, hopefully this will divert some of the guardsmen,” Herlock said. “Hopefully they will be able to double back to Sussex in a timely manner…”

“I’m sure that more soldiers will follow them once they see us leaving this flat,”  I replied.

“Most definitely, however, time is on our side,” he nodded. “Even if they send a wire, it will take hours for the recipients to reach it, and by then our guests will be on their way to Brother Mycroft…”

He handed me a revolver, and instructed me to hide it in my purse, but to keep my hand on it at all times. We left when the streets were busiest, and we intended to use the crowds as a makeshift shield.

It only worked for a short while, especially when I ran into one of the soldiers. He shouted in his native language and pointed us out when Herlock took hold of my wrist and we ran for our lives.

Together we wove through the marketplace, much to the shock and anger of the vendors.

The soldiers were gaining traction on us when I found a produce stand. With all of my strength, I knocked it over, sending gourds and lettuce, and who knows what other vegetables flying.

I shouted my apologies as Herlock threw a small bag of sovereigns at the distraught man, who was bemoaning the loss of his cabbages.

“Great work, Mikotoba, brilliant!” Herlock cackled.

What we didn’t take into account were the Borginian soldiers lacking any qualms towards firing their rifles in the middle of a crowd.

A bullet sent Herlock’s hat flying, and screams filled the air. Three more shots echoed, and Herlock pulled me down to the ground.

“Those fools!” he gasped.

I turned to assess the damage, but Herlock forced my head forward and motioned for us to keep running.

“We can’t risk it, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Stay close to me, and guard my back…”

I nodded and pulled my weapon out, dropping all pretence of a purse.

We ran together through the streets, four soldiers were on our tail, the adrenaline coursed through my veins and all of my senses were on high alert.

I daresay that I found a sort of thrill in this mess… 

We headed deeper into Whitechapel, and deeper into the slums, where there were less people. It was then that a horrible pain shot through me, as if a red-hot iron was pressed upon my thigh. I fell to the ground screaming, and pressing my hand against the pain, horrified to find it drenched with blood. 

Herlock wrapped his wiry arms around me, and half carried me into an abandoned church. He leaned me against the wall and pulled up my skirts to examine the wound.

“You’re not hurt, say that you’re not hurt!” Herlock gasped.

I bit my sleeve as I probed the wound, I felt no bullet, but it was serious enough to cause blood to gush out, there was no way that I could stand on that leg. I handed Herlock my revolver and ripped up the dress and tied it around my thigh to slow the bleeding.

Herlock kept his arm around me, and held up the revolver, the door was getting kicked in. I was so lightheaded, the next thing I knew, Herlock was screaming and shooting wildly, his heart was thundering, and his hands were shaking.

All four of the soldiers surrounded us, pointing their rifles.

“What on earth?!” The leader, judging by the medals he wore proudly, sputtered. “These aren’t the women?!”

“Checkmate,” Herlock smirked. “Tell the Archduke and Archduchess that they may keep their money, for my partner and I are refusing our services…”

I heard shouting outside, I believe it was Gregson. The last thing I remembered before waking up in the hospital was Genshin rushing to my side, calling my name. My leg is elevated, and I’ve got the Queen’s Guards posted outside of my bedroom. It’s late, and I do hope that no one was seriously hurt in our fray. I can only hope that Irene Adler and Joo-Won safely reached Mycroft Sholmes…

Chapter Text

7 March, 1886

I’ve been forced to lie in bed for the past week, all I’ve needed are stitches, but I can’t risk them coming apart. Herlock’s been keeping me up to date on the happenings of the world. As thanks for my help in this recent situation, Mycroft Sholmes had gifted me a new medical bag and instruments for my troubles (evidently, my old bag had been shot… numerous times…)

Today, however, Herlock and Mrs. Hudson weren’t the only ones who came up to see me. I was given permission to walk a few steps from my bed to the door as needed. I’d hobbled out of bed and took hold of my crutch to answer the door.

“Glad to see you on your feet, Dr. Mikotoba,” Irene smiled. “How have you been?”

“Miss Adler…!” I gasped.

It was rather embarrassing, I looked like a mess, and my room was cluttered. I didn’t have anything to offer, so I pulled out my desk chair to let her have a seat as I sat at the foot of the bed.

“Please don’t feel embarrassed, I thought Mr. Sholmes told you I was coming,” she told me. “Or at the very least, Mrs. Hudson.”

Evidently, they both like to see me suffer.

“I’m glad to see that you are well, when that detective arrived at the cottage, the young one from Japan, when he said you were shot, I thought the worst!” She continued. “I’m just glad that it wasn’t life threatening.”

“Thank you, how was Genshin?” I asked. “Was he alright…?”

“Terribly worried, I’m assuming he’s a close friend?” She asked. “Speaking of, I’ve left a surprise for both you and Mr. Sholmes, and I’ve told him not to open it until you’re able to be there!”

Judging by that catlike smirk, I was almost scared to ask. She offered me her arm and helped me down the stairs so that I could join everyone in the sitting room. Joo-Won was enthusiastically showing the article that Adler had written to Mrs. Hudson, she was far from her usual stoic form— rather giddy, like a child in a confectionery.

“What’s more, von Gottsreich abdicated! He and the former Archduchess are retiring to the northern countryside!” Joo-Won explained. “And because of Irene’s brilliant reporting, the Duchy of Codophia declared independence from Borginia!”

Irene laughed and fanned herself, “Darling, you’re too much! I only did my job!”

Herlock bounced up from his chair and drummed his fingers against the mantle of the fireplace. He reached up for the twine covering the paper parcel.

“He’s here, may I please open it now?!” Herlock groaned.

“Alright, alright, only because I want to see the looks on your faces!” Adler nodded.

Quick as lightning, Herlock ripped off the twine and tore the paper away. Upon seeing our faces, both Irene Adler and Joo-Won buckled over in laughter. Apparently, Adler had her camera on her person the day we set our plan into motion, and discreetly took a picture of Herlock dressed as her. 

Inventions truly are a marvel… 

“A little something to remember us by, and certainly a conversation starter!” Adler said. 

“Irene is taking me to the States, and she will show me around New Jersey, where she grew up,” Joo-Won said. “I’m very much looking forward to it…!”

“Of course, it will be some time before we’ll be able to leave, I’m sure the elder Mr. Sholmes will try to convince me to accept a royal honour, but I’ve frankly had enough of that for a lifetime,” Adler added. “The sooner I get back to my work, the better, perhaps after our sojourn back home, we’ll head to one of the African colonies!”

“Or perhaps the Amazon! I’m sure there’s many stories we could find in the jungle!” Joo-Won added. “But no matter what, we’ll find the truth and share it!”

“You two simply must come over for tea some time, just don’t burn the hotel room down this time around…!”

This has been by far the most interesting adventure I’ve had with Herlock up to this point, even as I look back to the case notes I’ve compiled, it’s definitely something that we’ll be able to recall even decades after this incident! I’ve no doubts that Miss Irene Adler will change the world. I wonder if her articles will be published in our newspapers back home…

Chapter Text

8 March, 1886

I can walk around on my own somewhat by now, however, I cannot put any weight on my leg. Mrs. Hudson and Herlock came home with a cane for me… I'm not quite used to using it, but hopefully this will help.

Genshin and Seishirou stopped by today, and Mrs. Hudson set up tea in my bedroom for us all.

“You certainly have a way of finding trouble,” Genshin simply said.

To which I replied, “I learned from the best.”

Seishirou was silent, he crossed his arms and just stood near the doorway.

“It really could be worse, the bullet could have hit an artery or bone,” I explained. “I’m rather lucky that it only hit flesh.”

“He’s rather lucky you’re alive,” Seishirou huffed. “First you land in jail because of Sholmes, and now this!”

I know that it seems rather strange, especially if one were a stranger looking in on my and Herlock’s cases, but this hasn’t been the first time either Seishirou or Genshin have brought this subject up. I couldn’t just sit back and let them talk about my friend as if he’s forcing me into these situations. I landed where I did during the Clay incident because of my own actions, and Herlock profusely apologised!

And as for this recent skirmish, I just seemed to be in the perfect spot at just the right moment…

“The point is that we are worried about you, Yujin,” Genshin said. “Seishirou and I don’t want to see you hurt or… or worse…”

“And I’m sure as hell not going to let you walk like a damn fool into your own grave!” Seishirou added.

I started to fight back, it made me furious, Herlock wasn’t making me do anything that I did not wish to partake in! I don’t know how else to explain it to my friends!

Genshin raised his hand and stopped me before I could rant and rave further.

“If you need us for any reason, please, don’t be a stranger,” Genshin said. “We’ve been friends for years, all of us… and you would do the same for me or Seishirou…”

He had a point, if I felt either of them were in harm’s way, I would be worried sick… but I know the truth, and I know that Herlock wouldn’t let anything happen to me if he could prevent it.

I love my friends, but they’re too stubborn sometimes… I suppose I’m the exact same…

Chapter Text

26 March, 1886

22 February, 1886

My Son,

I’m glad to hear that you are well, and I hope that the awful man you mentioned in your last letter will be brought to justice very soon! There’s a certain kind of horribleness that comes from tricking innocent people. Speaking of, I’m rather marvelled at how clever Susato has grown up to be! She and little Rei were playing together with some of the other children in our village. One of the older boys had a marble that he kept hidden underneath a bowl and he would switch it around with the other two bowls he had.

Anyway, he said he would give the other children a piece of toffee if they could find the little marble, but the mischievous boy somehow hid the marble in such a way that no matter what bowl the children picked, they wouldn’t find the marble! It’s rather mean spirited, don’t you think? Well, Susato was sitting nearby when that boy and his friends were tricking the younger children, and she saw that the marble rolled away from the boy and she picked it up. She played with it with Rei until he and the other boys realised what was going on with their little trick! When he snatched it out of poor Susato’s hands she held out her hand for a piece of toffee! Some of the other children had already gotten their parents’ attention, and I was about to scold the young man for taking the marble out of her hand, but he did not hesitate to give her what she cleverly earned!

Hopefully this letter will arrive on time, I found a lovely necktie in the market, and I thought you were due for a new one soon!

I hope to hear from you soon,

Your Mother

Chapter Text

31 March, 1886

It’s a wonderful day today, I’d nearly forgotten what today’s date was had it not been for Mrs. Hudson! She prepared a delicious strawberry cake the night before and we had it after supper. It did take quite a while to eat it, for Herlock was nowhere to be seen. There was simply a small wrapped box on top of the large trunk set in front of the settee, where Herlock kept most of his disguises. My name was written on the label. It was starting to get dark by the time Mrs. Hudson urged me to open it.

The moment I did so, I was quite enamoured with what was inside! It was a marvellous pocket watch, a beautiful piece of art! The outer shell had a beautiful engraving, a gear with a sakura flower on the inside! The inner face even exposed the gears and cogs, which were all working brilliantly as it ticked on.

I was so engrossed with the pocket watch, I nearly fell back onto the floor when a soft whirring buzzed in the palm of my hand, and it’s a miracle I didn’t drop it when I heard my friend’s voice.

“Happiest of birthdays, my dear Mikotoba!” He laughed, his voice was rather metallic, and strange, I cannot describe the sensation nor do it justice. “Do feel free to press the button on top.”

As I did so, there was a slight click, and I spoke back into it.

“Aha! So it works, brilliant!” Herlock replied. “I believe the range on these watches are a few kilos, or at least, the same distance between London and Sussex when I had Mycroft test these out.”

“I have to say, this is quite the invention!” I gasped.

“Now, it may do well to let me out of this trunk,” he added. “It’s rather cramped in here, and the air is stale.”

As soon as he divulged that information, both Mrs. Hudson and I rushed to that trunk and opened it as fast as we could. There, Herlock was curled up in a ball, his face was rather flushed and he waved cheekily.

“Given a few more minutes, I suppose I would have been the next case at the morgue, wouldn’t you say?” he laughed.

I do wish he wouldn’t joke about such things, and perhaps that will teach him not to do something so foolish again…

Chapter Text

8 April, 1886

I had just returned to Baker Street from my afternoon lecture with Dr. Wilson when I found a set of travelling bags in the sitting room. Just then, Herlock comes out of my bedroom and sets out yet another travelling bag on the settee, pitifully packing my clothes (more like tossing) inside of it!

“I’ve been sent an invitation from an old schoolmate to attend the Gentlemen v Players match at Lord’s,” He said. “Knowing him, I’m sure he’ll try to wrangle me into the match some way or another…”

“And you’re bringing me along?” I asked.

“But of course I am! I hardly know anyone else who will be there, and I need someone to practise with!”

“Didn’t you say it was an old friend?”

“No, I said an old schoolmate,” said Herlock. “I’ve only had the privilege of befriending one man in the two years I attended college…”

There was this melancholy in his eyes as he thought back to his university days, part of me wanted to pry into this one sole friend— what kind of man would befriend Herlock Sholmes, and I suppose I want to know about what kind of boy he was back before I arrived in the country…

He masterfully changed the subject and threw a cricket ball for me to catch, “I know you still shouldn’t do much on that leg, but I’m sure a couple of bowls won’t do any harm!”

“Anyway, the fresh air will do wonders for you, Dr. Mikotoba,” Mrs. Hudson chimed in. “It’s not healthy to stay in this city for too long after all!”

“In honour of the occasion, and his son, Crowley’s, upcoming majority, Lord Henry Amersteth is hosting a banquet a week after the match,” Herlock continued. “I’ve taken the liberty of having our suits laundered for the occasion!”

“Where will this banquet be?”

“The family estate, Milchester Abbey in Dorset,”

After that, I had some time to pack my belongings properly. Herlock wanted to practise his bowls, but it was far too late to go out at this hour (and to be completely honest, I did not want to leave the pleasant warmth of Baker Street).

The only way to satiate Herlock was to promise that I would go with him to Lord’s first thing in the morning, I never took my friend to be such a perfectionist when it comes to sport…

And I know he will wake me at first light…

Chapter Text

9 April, 1886

Herlock and I spent the entire morning at Lord’s before anyone had come in to set up for the match in the afternoon. It was difficult trying to bowl properly with a cane in hand, but I think I was able to dissuade Herlock’s anxieties for the time being. We had been going at it for so long, we were eventually asked to leave by the venue staff as we were nearing the noon hour.

We were discussing where to have our luncheon when two men walked up (or rather, one ran up enthusiastically as his companion awkwardly tried to keep up) to Herlock. The more enthusiastic man clasped him on the shoulder and grinned. He was tall, lean, and tanned with curly black hair and striking blue eyes. His companion looked barely old enough to be twenty, if even, due to his short stature and admittedly round face. He had straw coloured hair and dark brown eyes, along with an attempt to grow a sparse moustache (though it was only visible in a certain light).

“There’s the man himself, Mr. Herlock Sholmes!” The dark haired man announced. “Glad to see that you still remember me after our school days!”

“A.J. Raffles,” replied Herlock, “As if one could forget the best bowler in all of Eton…”

“Hullo Sholmes!” Raffles’ companion piped up. “Suppose you remember me too? We used to share a dorm?”

The poor lad earned a blank stare from my friend, and as the seconds drew on and on (painfully), he grew more and more dejected.

“Harry Manders…?” He offered.

It was then that a light lit up behind Herlock’s eyes, he raised his finger and clicked his tongue as he finally pieced together that final clue.

“Oh yes! Old Bunny!”

Bunny simply hid his face behind his hands and groaned, “I’m finished, Raffles, I can never show myself on a wicket if that game can still be remembered after all this time!”

“But, Bunny, you’ve set the record for the player with the most outs on average!” Raffles laughed.

“I doubt anyone could beat it,” Herlock added.

I suppose it is better that I don’t question it… what happens in Eton may be better off staying at Eton…

“And who is this fellow, don’t believe you’re from Eton, are you?” Raffles asked.

“I’m Yujin Mikotoba, I’m an exchange student from Japan,” I replied. “I’m Sholmes’ flatmate.”

“At least you have a good excuse to skip out on the match,” Bunny bemoaned. “Raffles has spent all last week trying to get me to embarrass myself on the wicket again!”

“And you’ve spent the last month or so learning the ropes!” Raffles said. “Really now, you can’t let one incident from your adolescence haunt you forever!”

“I can when all anyone can remember me as is ‘Bunny’!” said Bunny.

“Last I heard, you were down in Australia,” Herlock added. “Made quite a name for yourself down there too, a world class bowler!”

Raffles smiled proudly and puffed out his chest. He feigned humility at his own skill as Bunny lauded his friend’s talent as legendary. I suppose one wouldn’t have to brag if he had a rabbit to do all the praising on his behalf.

“Well, I suppose I’ve made well for myself in the Bush,” Raffles replied. “But it was high time to come back to London, I’ve got this lovely flat in the Albany, you really should come by for some whiskey soda! You as well, Mikotoba!”

“And Raffles isn’t the only one of our schoolmates to come back from abroad!” Bunny added. “I heard that Victor Trevor is thinking about coming back to London too!”

It was at that instant that Herlock seemed to stiffen up, his face was pale and there was a sort of dark cloud hanging over him. He was stoic, but silent as Raffles and Bunny went on and on about this Victor Trevor man.

Is this the one sole friend that Herlock made while in Eton? What had happened to alienate them? What did this Victor Trevor do to haunt my friend so horribly?!

Shortly after that, Herlock excused us and we ate in a cafe just outside of Lord’s. Even as we dined, Herlock’s mood was still dark. He hardly looked up from his meal and he didn’t even speak! It even got to the point where he bent a fork, he was grasping it so hard.

I wanted to ask more about this Victor Trevor man, but I just couldn’t find the words, and I didn’t want to upset him further. I decided at that moment to talk about cricket, and he attempted to explain the rules of the game… I don’t think I understand a thing about the sport…!

After our luncheon, we were able to catch some of the Professionals practising on the pitch while the Amateurs gossipped amongst themselves in the stands. The only one of the Gentlemen preparing for the game was Raffles alongside Bunny.

For all of Bunny’s posturing, he was by no means exaggerating— watching Raffles on his own was like something out of this world, his speed alone was enough to captivate his sole spectators. It was as if we were watching a ballet at the theatre the way he moved with such grace, and strength…!

Chapter Text

10 April, 1886

It was a riveting match from start to finish! I could barely follow the game, but even as an outsider, I could not help but feel the adrenaline from the other fans and even the players themselves! A.J. Raffles played for the Gentlemen, and Herlock for the Players. One of the Players’ men had to leave suddenly as his wife had gone into labour.

“Go to her or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life!” Herlock told the man, who had worked himself into a frenzy. “I’ll send your wages to you before the day ends, or my name isn’t Herlock Sholmes!”

Upon hearing my friend’s name, the man started to calm down— it seems that Herlock’s made quite a name for himself among the working class as a man who keeps his word. I can hear him now, “Don’t discount your own contributions, my Dear Mikotoba!” he would say… I have a small Herlock in the back of my own mind it seems!

Bunny managed to weasel his way out of competing with the Gentlemen, much to Raffles’ disappointment, “It wouldn’t be fair to stack the teams when they’re already down a man,” He said. “Besides, someone has to stay behind to explain what’s going on to Mikotoba!”

I affirmed as much, to save the poor boy’s pride at the very least. We sat in a good spot, blessedly in the front section where I did not have to climb many stairs, and away from the sunlight as the match went on. It was slow at first, but as soon as Raffles stepped up to bowl, the game, and Bunny Manders, livened up.

“No subtleties are lost up there, and if ever there was a bowler full of them it’s A.J. Raffles!” He exclaimed. “You don’t have to be a cricketer yourself to appreciate his perfect command of pitch, his beautifully easy action, it’s never varied with the varying pace, by the way, or his great ball on the leg stump— his dropping head ball is genius! What an infinite ingenuity of that versatile attack!”

“He is rather good,” said I.

“‘Good’ doesn’t even begin to cover it! He has this combination of resource and cunning! Of patience and precision! Of headwork and handiwork! It all makes every over an artistic whole!” Bunny baulked. “Raffles is a god amongst cricketers!”

I’ll have to take his word for it, for I know nothing of the distinction between gods and rabbits…

As Bunny watched Raffles with an eagle’s eye, I managed to follow Herlock’s own movements as he approached the wicket. While Raffles was grounded, focused more on precision, Herlock was light on his feet and focused on speed and power. While his skills weren’t as solid as the rest of his team, for they did rely on the sport as their living, he certainly was able to hold his own.

And even I knew that the Gentlemen would not have even half the glory that they gained without A.J. Raffles.

What was an early morning match went on for hours, even as the sun started to set. It was thanks to Raffles that the Gentlemen won out as the victors of the game. The Amateurs, all excited, lauded their laurels, while Bunny and I approached our companions.

“That was brilliant Raffles, absolutely brilliant!” said Bunny. “Possibly your best work yet!”

“Bunny, you never fail to flatter me, it was all just simple art,” Raffles replied. “So, Sholmes, care to join us for supper?”

“It’s only fair, loser’s treat, I suppose” Herlock shrugged.

We had all taken an omnibus to this little Italian restaurant just outside of Raffles’ rooms in the Albany. It was rather high end, I nearly fainted when I saw the price of the appetisers alone! Herlock insisted upon covering the entire meal, I tried to give him enough to cover my own portion, but he would have none of it.

It’s a kind act, but I feel rather helpless by accepting it, like I’m some kind of leech…

Eventually Herlock, Raffles, and Bunny all started to talk about their Eton days, more accurately, Raffles reminisced and Bunny echoed him.

“I used to be Raffles’ fag when we were in school, I’d black his boots, brush his clothes, bring tea,” Bunny explained. “Just usual everyday errands.”

“And the greatest alibi that’s ever graced the halls of Eaton!” Raffles guffawed, Bunny meanwhile was turning a bright shade of red as he gulped down his wine. “Why, you were my greatest accomplice!”

“I seem to recall that you were particularly talented with the ‘five point challenge’,” Herlock added. “They never did manage to prove who it was that stuck the headmaster’s wig onto Henry VI, did they?”

Raffles simply smirked and raised his glass, some stories are meant to stay silent I suppose…

“And you, Mikotoba, you’re a doctor right?” Bunny asked. “How have you been adjusting to London? I bet it’s unlike any other place, right?”

“It’s definitely different, that is true,” I replied.

“What sorts of things are you here to study?” Bunny asked. “I suppose it’s rather exciting to come here!”

“It’s surprisingly quiet, a little uneventful, until a certain flatmate finds an interesting case of course,” I chuckled. “Though I don’t think my studies are something that would be fit for supper…”

“Come now, I’m sure we can handle it!” said Raffles.

“Well, it’s forensics, crime scene investigation of sorts,” I stammered. “Really, that’s what I’m here to study."

Herlock cut into his steak and simply said, “Cadavers mostly, in the morgue, and autopsies,” before eating the rest of his meal.

For the first time that evening, Raffles and Bunny were absolutely speechless. Herlock Sholmes truly is a man of many, many, talents…

Chapter Text

13 April, 1886

He’s been holed up in his room for three hours, it’s almost midnight. I never meant to upset him… I think he’s still awake, I’ve tried looking inside, but he’s just in his chair staring out at the street below.

I cannot properly judge if he has a sleeve garter on or if that is what I think it is…

I only meant to ask him more about this Victor Trevor, I truly didn’t think I was particularly invasive. We had been in the sitting room, Herlock was conducting one of his experiments (luckily, he remembered to wear the goggles I had brought him from the laboratory this time), and I was finishing up the report I had been putting off that is due at the end of the month. Mrs. Hudson had set the fire, and it was a rather cosy evening in.

I’d been hemming and hawing ever since that day at Lord’s, and I’d finally gathered the courage to ask, really, I have no idea why it seemed so daunting!

“Who is Victor Trevor?” I asked.

Just then, Herlock dropped the vials he was holding, it seemed he was working on a new gadget of his (some sort of pistol?), and the glass shattered at his feet with a bright green puff of air. We’d both rushed to the windows and opened them as much as we were able. I helped Herlock fan the vapour outside where it would hopefully dissipate in the air outside. There was a distinct smell of sulphur.

I’d stammered out many apologies, stumbling over my words as I cleaned the glass up on the floor before cursing as I’d cut my finger on a large piece of glass.

He shushed me and pulled out a plaster and alcohol from one of his drawers.

“I thought I told you already,” said he. “A friend from Eton…”

I nodded and replied, “Yes, your only friend, from what you’ve emphatically told me.”

“What else is there to say?”

There was that dark cloud over him, that dark look in his eye, all the colour seeping from his face, and the way he had closed himself off! I listed each and every one of my observations, as I thought that would be the best way to get his attention, especially if I used his own methods! He was stoic as I rambled, but there was a distant look in his eyes, he was literally looking off in the distance, practically transported off in some other place. I could feel my blood rising, he could at least pretend to listen to me as I’m worried sick about him.

“I don’t want to poke and prod, but something is upsetting you,” I said. “Something clearly happened!”

“It’s all of the past,” he replied quietly.

“Clearly he did something…!”

Herlock looked me in the eye, there was a sort of glumness in them, and he sighed. It was like a piece of elastic had finally snapped, and he stood limply, his shoulders were heavy and the bags under his eyes even heavier. He raked his hand through his hair and shook his head.

“It isn’t a matter of what he did,” Herlock said.

I stared at him dumbly, the meaning of his words had finally struck me, as did the guilt and sorrow in his voice. Before I could ask what he meant, he yawned and bade me good-night.

My goodness, I’ve gone and done it…

Chapter Text

16 April, 1886

It’s been raining for three days at this point, Herlock and I left Baker Street early in the morning in an attempt to beat out the downpour, but our efforts were in vain. We’ve arrived, but due to the quality of the roads, we won’t be able to drive up to the Amersteth estate until tomorrow morning. The cab driver dropped us both off at a small inn, and due to the last minute change of plans, we had just barely snagged a small double bed for the night.

As soon as we had settled in, Herlock and I went down to the common area for supper. Imagine my shock when a resounding, “Herlock Sholmes!” echoed behind us as we sat down at our table.

Raffles ran over to us, with Bunny in tow, and pulled up a chair at our table.

“Fancy seeing you both here, rained out as well?” he asked. “Jolly good that we’re not here for cricket, eh?”

“We managed to get the last room here, what luck!” Bunny added.

We had exchanged pleasantries, and while Herlock and Raffles partook in small talk, I merely listened alongside them. Bunny, however, seemed skittish. He glanced behind his shoulder towards the door. The rain was still pouring outside, and there were occasional rolls of thunder as well as flashes of lightning.

Eventually, Raffles took notice of his companion’s restlessness and clapped his hand onto the lad’s shoulder. He let out a raucous laughter and turned to me and Herlock.

“Always was jumpy around lightning, even back in Eton!” Raffles said. “Isn’t that right, Bunny?”

Bunny stammered and let out some halfhearted excuses before glancing at a man seated by the door.

“It’s not that! It’s that man over there!” Bunny protested. “He’s been staring at everyone who’s been coming in, and it looks like he’s been watching us here too…!”

Herlock and I stole a glance at the man in black. He held his hat close to his brow, and he kept his coat closed and his collars were turned up, blocking out the rain and cold. He was the only man sitting in that part of the tavern, and judging by the water stains on the floorboards, there was a reason for that. He only had a cup of coffee sitting untouched as his arms were folded.

“Awful spot to have supper,” Herlock nodded. “He’s been here all evening, when he leans forward, the back of his chair is more dry than he.”

“And he’s only had some coffee, he’s trying to stay awake and alert,” I added. “He’s looking for someone…”

Raffles clapped his hands, “Hah, so it seems you’ve brought your flatmate in on your trick!” He said. “It was always brilliant watching you dance up and down the boys dormitory showing off, an amazing party trick!”

“It’s no trick, it’s a precise science!” Herlock huffed, before rising from his seat and extending his hand towards me. “But no matter, We’ll get to the bottom of this, eh, Mikotoba?”

I don’t know whether it was from my own curiosity, or for that look of determination in Herlock’s eyes, but I rose from my own seat and tapped my feet against the floorboards of the tavern, commanding attention from everyone inside. In response, Herlock snapped his fingers and spun on his heel before pointing at the man in black.

“It’s clear from your demeanour that while you are a stranger to these parts, your presence is far from ordinary,” Herlock started. “You’re a man on a mission, and by only by revealing your true identity, can we deduce your true purpose in this tavern!”

“You are taking notice of everyone who enters here tonight, apart from the staff of this tavern,” I said. “The smell of coffee is strong, as you’ve been drinking it all evening to stay alert enough to look for anything out of the ordinary… and I suppose that is why you’re most fixated on our table.”

“A funny thing coincidence is, truly, and yet, it reveals more than anyone can realise,” Herlock said. “Take that coat for example, it’s rather warm in here, no?”

He then forced the man up from his seat, and took out a shining silver badge from the inner pocket.

“While it is freezing outside, it would be rather cumbersome to deal with such a heavy coat in here,” Herlock said. “Which led me to believe that the coat was not for you, but for this!”

From this display, a newspaper fell out from the man’s coat sleeve at my feet. I picked it up, and noted the date printed at the top: It was the date of the 15 ^th of March, 1886!

“Normally, most people wouldn’t carry around a month old paper,” I said, before pointing out to the headline. “Unless the news was particularly interesting that day…”

“Halloa! A jewel heist! Now where have we heard that story before, Mikotoba?”

“I believe it was shortly after last Christmas, when an inspector from Scotland Yard entered our rooms to inquire about the blue carbuncle,”

“Therefore, this brings us to our final conclusion, the identity of that inspector and this man in front of us,” Herlock said. “Is none other than the very same man! One Inspector Mackenzie!”

The man cried out and took off his soggy hat, slamming it upon the table with a squished thud. He was the very same man who huffed and puffed at us back then, and he shook his fist in the air, scolding us for blowing his cover.

“Tell the whole bleeding country, why don’t you?!” Mackenzie roared. “Now shut it before you ruin everything!”

“What on earth is a Yarder doing in such a sleepy hamlet?” Raffles exclaimed “I say, do you think he was invited to the Amersteth as well, Bunny? What luck!”

This comment had earned the ire of our Yard Officer, earning quite the evil eye as Mackenzie grumbled under his breath.

“Of course, it’s more than easy to figure out why Inspector Mackenzie is here,” Herlock shrugged. “Why, you found it yourself, my good Mikotoba…!”

I skimmed over the newspaper article on the theft, there was nothing to be noted of the burglar, who was still at large — there were no witnesses, and no traces left behind, save for the now missing jewels.

“It seems that this burglar is rather skilled, he chose the most optimal time of night to break in,” I replied. “He’s left no traces behind, not even a shoe print, which leads me to believe that he is very skilled at this, that he’s done it before…”

“And more importantly, that he will do it again !” Herlock added. “Out of all the known burglars that the Yard has rounded up, this one is rather elegant and planned, wouldn’t you say, Mackenzie?”

“And with your two’s stomping and gallivanting, you’re ruining the entire plan!” Mackenzie huffed. “Now I’ve lost the element of surprise!”

“And with that, everything is revealed,” Herlock said. “As there was nothing left behind in the jewel heist, you were hoping to get the drop on your man red-handed!”

Crying out in frustration, Mackenzie slammed his hat on and kicked the door open to leave the tavern, the sounds of his cursing and complaints echoed even as he left. The other patrons of the tavern, and even the staff, murmured amongst themselves, talk of burglary was like an electric shock to everyone in the room.

Like a cat that caught the cream, Herlock sat down in front of an impressed Raffles and bewildered Bunny.

“You managed to get all of that from a newspaper and a badge?!” Bunny gasped.

“Rather impressive indeed, you still have that touch!” Raffles added.

“Although, I suppose we’ve accidentally helped any would-be burglars,” I said. “Now that Mackenzie and his men wouldn’t be able to sneak up, I mean…”

“On the contrary, my dear Mikotoba,” Herlock said, stretching his back and resting his hands behind his head. “The burglars will be sloppy, and perhaps a bit careless now that Mackenzie has to rethink his entire strategy, but rethink he will…”

“I’m sorry, did you say burglars ? As in multiple?” Bunny baulked.

“Of course, why do you think the crime scene was so pristine…?” Herlock reasoned. “One man won’t take the time to pay attention, and three’s a crowd, therefore two men keeping accountability of each other is the right answer, there’s two burglars… no one else has realised it yet, of course...”

Chapter Text

17 April, 1886

Once we arrived at the Amersteth estate, Herlock and I were guided to what would be our rooms for the duration of the weekend. The gala wouldn’t start until around six in the evening, so we had a few hours to prepare ourselves until the event, to which Herlock took the pleasure of explaining who was likely to be present, who didn’t like whom and why, as well as a number of other intricacies that unfortunately went over my head.

“It may be better to just simply nod your head and laugh when others do,” Herlock mused. “It is a bit difficult when you’ve not had this drilled into your head from a tender age…”

Just how far does this go, I wonder, first Eton and now these families. I’m rather impressed that the Sholmes brothers seem so… modest… in comparison.

Once Herlock eventually gave up with tutoring me, I took the time to explore the grounds in depth. There’s a wonderful garden beneath our window, we’re about one story above it. I was examining some of the flowers (the irises were beautiful, truly the jewel of the garden!), and I leaned forward to get a better look at it when this man pulled me back and started to scold me. He was middle aged, with a greying brown beard and a brown cap pulled over his face. He ground his teeth against a pipe and spoke out of one side of his mouth.

I tried to explain that I was not intending to trample the flowers, I was only trying to get a look and admire his handiwork, but it only seemed to make him more irate.

He then elected to call me a name that I will not give the dignity of repeating.

I hadn’t worn my evening suit since the gala from last year, but I’m glad that it had survived its misadventure. I must admit, I cannot help but admire how I look in it, I look distinguished somehow… if only one could wear suits like these every day! Though I suppose they would cease in feeling special if that were the case.

I confess that I felt overpowered— there were more persons of pomp, majesty, and dominion than I had ever encountered before. Not to mention, they had this look of spectacle in their eyes whenever I walked past. Eventually, Herlock and I lingered near by the dance floor, where we had chanced upon Bunny and another woman, who had introduced herself as Miss Maggie Melhuish, the daughter of the parish rector.

“Hullo Sholmes, hullo Dr. Mikotoba!” said Bunny.

“Pleasure to meet you both!” Miss Melhuish replied.

“The pleasure is shared,” I bowed politely.

“Where is Raffles?” Herlock asked.

“ It seems that Mr. Raffles had been stolen away by my father and some of the other men at this party,” She explained. “They’re all fanatics of cricket, and it really is an opportunity of a lifetime for my dear father!”

“Shame about the leg injury, I’m sure he would have gone far in the sport ,” Bunny replied.

“ Mr. Sholmes, you’re a detective, aren’t you?” she asked. “Mr. Manders mentioned it in passing…”

Herlock confirmed her question, and insisted that I be recognised for my efforts in his exploits. Upon discovering that I was a foreign exchange student, Miss Melhuish took the opportunity to tell me who everybody was, taking the time to point out a particularly ancient crone dressed from head to toe in dazzling gems and jewels. She was sitting at the banquet table with Lord Amersteth, flourishing her ear-trumpet and drinking champagne. I would bet that if all the lights in the ballroom were to shut off for whatever reason, one could still point her out with all the shimmer and glamour she displayed.

“ That’s quite possibly the oldest woman in all of Britain, or even the world! ” Miss Melhuish said. “That’s the Dowager Marchioness of Melrose, and she is never ever seen without her prized jewels! They say that necklace alone is worth five thousand pounds! ”

I’ ve now long since learned that money seems to be of no object to the people of Great Britain, particularly the landed privileged. I suppose in this aspect, I will always be a foreigner.

Mischievously, the young lady leaned in, and she kept her voice low and hushed.

“Are you afraid of burglars ?”

At that moment, Bunny stood ramrod straight, his face baulked and his eyes were wide. The poor man nearly dropped his champagne as he sputtered. Meanwhile, my friend grinned and mimicked Miss Melhuish. He stroked his chin and smiled crookedly with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Something of interest at last…!” Herlock said. “Always more interesting than genteel gossip, wouldn’t you agree?”

“ Oh yes! As lovely as living in the countryside is, one often yearns for excitement — but of course, Papa wouldn’t want any word of me speaking of this— but burglars!” She replied. “So you mustn’t speak so loud, it’s supposed to be kept a great secret, and proper young ladies such as myself really oughtn’t to tell you at all!”

“ But what is there to tell?” Bunny gasped.

“You must promise not to speak of it…!”

Once she was satisfied that we had each given her our words, she pulled us close and whispered once more, “There are burglars in the neighbourhood!”

Bunny looked as if he was about to faint, like he was a dead man walking. I don’t suppose I can blame him, he seems quite young, the prospect of being somewhat close to unsavoury folk would be overwhelming.

“Have they committed any robberies?” I asked, hoping to ease the young man’s burden.

“ No, not yet,”

“Then how do you know?” Herlock asked.

“They’ve been seen, two well-known London thieves!”

“Did… did you say London?” Bunny stammered before taking a large swig from his champagne, emptying the glass.

I suppose that explains the detective who was keeping watch in the inn. And I suppose our little dance of deduction might have caused these rumors to fester even more so .

“ Aren’t you frightened?” Bunny asked.

“Of course not, there’s strength in numbers, no?” Said Miss Melhuish. “After all, I’ve got nothing a burglar would want to take…!”

A s the evening droned on and on, I ventured outside to a walled off patio, where there were sparsely any people about. Whilst the gala continued without me, I noticed Bunny frantically pulling Raffles aside, likely to tell him about the even greater likelihood of a burglary taking place — the man is about as skittish as his namesake indeed.

We are rather close to the seaside, and I stared out as the moon reflected in the waves. It’s rather peaceful at night, it reminds me a bit of home. I spent countless evenings and nights staring out to sea, thinking about the world outside of home. I suppose now that I’m out, all I can think of at times are home, it’s rather ironic. Even as I write this entry, midnight, give or take, I can’t help but think about home.

It would be morning time, I wonder if Susato is the type of child to rise with the sun or sleep until someone comes to get her up. I wonder if she looks out to sea and thinks about the stranger known as her father… perhaps she’s a bit too young for that, but I’m sure she’s asked about me… or about Ayame…

I was deep in thought when a pack of cigarettes were waved under my nose, snapping me out of my trance. Herlock, who had already lit his, leaned nonchalantly against the stone railing.

“To take off the edge,” was all that he said.

A fair enough point, but a noxious one at that. Normally, I would have refused, but this time I accepted, it’s just one of those nights, I suppose.

“ We’re close to the sea,” I said.

“Rare bit of fresh air,”

“I grew up by the sea…” I continued. “My father made his work by the sea, and I’m sure he would have taught my brother and I the way had he… well…”

“Ah… I see…”

We stood in silence for some minutes, only the sound of the waves and occasional gull would break it. But we simply stood out to stare. It is rather funny how small the ocean makes one feel.

“I walked with my wife by the sea…” I bummed another cigarette from him. “I wonder if my mother takes Susato to the beach side to stare out to sea…”

We stood in silence staring out at the open expanse once more, it was a rare moment of contemplation for the both of us it seemed. Out of the corner of my eye, I examined Herlock. His eyes were dark, almost as if his pupils were dilated, and he was rather jumpy. Herlock is prone to being restless, but this feels different, like he’s a wind up toy being held down by an invisible thumb.

“This is a gala, why don’t you dance? Get your mind off this sort of thing before you go off and drown at sea?” he said quickly.

“I told you, I don’t know how to dance…”

It was then that he clapped his hands together and stamped his foot. With no other way to describe it, he commanded me to place a hand on his shoulder and waist. We had gotten some stares from the few other people on the patio, but it seems that Herlock is perfectly immune to what other people think of him.

I can’t help but admire that the most about him, I wish I had that ability…

We had started with a stilted and pitiful waltz, and I’d gone and stepped on his feet twenty-nine times (according to his calculations). (However given the truth to the seventeen steps, I’m sure he’s right).

As I slowly stopped staring at my own feet, it started to become more like walking, more natural. Some way or another, my feet fell out of rhythm, and I tapped against the stone trying to get back on pace.

“Good touch that is,” Herlock said. “You did it last night too!”

Perhaps Herlock can have his snaps, and I’ll have my taps!

Just then, we heard a noise from beneath the balcony. Herlock and I ran toward the sound — I took the stairs, whilst Herlock vaulted himself over the railing (even without my cane, I am not one for theatrics) .

There was no one there, save for a pipe that was left abandoned. It wasn’t warm, which means it wasn’t used recently.

“Briarwood…” Herlock mused before bringing the pipe to his mouth. “Salty, like the sea, almost baked into the very wood itself…”

Shortly after that, we had retired to our room, the gala is just now winding down… I can’t help but think that the burglar will strike sooner rather than later...

Chapter Text

18 April, 1886— Morning

The commotion started just after two in the morning. Neither Herlock nor I slept, for we were keeping watch of any suspicious happenings outside. It was quiet, very still, when we heard this creaking noise right outside of our window. Like a cat, Herlock leapt over the bed and forced the window open. A small wooden box was hanging by a rope! Without any hesitation, Herlock snatched it, rope and all, before slamming the glass and latching it shut.

“Hide it under the bed, the criminal will try to sneak inside!” Herlock said. “It will be our bait!”

Once I had hidden it between my trunk and the wall, we heard a horrid scream and the sound of three gunshots. It sounded like thunder coming from the stairs down the hall, so we had both stepped outside (as did a number of our fellow guests). A man dressed in black ran down the hall, and he ran straight into me. I heard the cry of 'thief!' from Inspector Mackenzie, so I threw my arms round him in an attempt to keep him from flying off. However, he took advantage of my weakened leg.

The only way I can truly describe the pain that still surges through from his well aimed kick was red hot, as if someone had poked me with a fire poker. The pain was so intense that I immediately fell to the floor, I’m honestly surprised that I did not lose consciousness from all the stars I saw in the corners of my eyes.

Herlock immediately ran to me, catching me as I fell. He rummaged around in his satchel before pulling out a bronze plated pistol and aiming it at the runaway man. A speeding green pellet shot through the air, not quite hitting the intended target.

“Say that you are well Mikotoba!” He cried.

One of the guests handed my cane back to me, and soon enough I was back on my feet.

“Curse it all!” Mackenzie swore, slamming his cap to the floor before turning to the men behind him. “One of you rouse Amersteth up, tell all the staff to be on high alert, no one goes in or out!”

Just then, A.J. Raffles himself emerged from the crowd, still dressed to the nines. He grinned at Mackenzie, who scowled even more upon seeing the cricketer.

“I’ll run to the constable, it won’t be too far, Inspector!” Raffles said.

“The burglar was lowering his goods, there may still be an accomplice running through the grounds,” said I.

Soon enough, Raffles came back with the local constabulary— the grounds have been locked down, and there is nothing else for us to do but to wait until the truth comes to light in the morning.

Chapter Text

18 April, 1886— Midday

It was shortly after breakfast when Inspector Mackenzie announced that one of the thieves had been captured and was in his custody. Due to the nature of the case, no one was permitted to leave the premises until Mackenzie gave the clearance.

Herlock was looking around the halls, taking notice of any guests who had not been staying in their rooms when Raffles came running up to us. The man was pallid and sweat dotted his brow. His hands shook as he breathlessly called for us both — it truly is something rather surreal, seeing a man such as Raffles so frazzled!

“Sholmes, Mikotoba, I need your help!” He said.

“Did something of yours get taken as well?” I asked. “If so, I believe that Inspector Mackenzie is in the foyer…”

“No, no it’s not that! Curses, Mackenzie, I never took him for such a fool!” Raffles cried out. “The thief! They’re convinced that it was Bunny!”

“What?! That can’t be right at all!” Sholmes gasped. “Come with us immediately!”

We took Raffles into our room and made him sit, I poured him some brandy for his nerves, and once he was finally settled in, he explained his tale.

“Now you see, Bunny, is the picture of innocence, in fact, I say it’s one of his most endearing qualities,” said Raffles. “Anyway, after the gala, he went to clear his head, I suppose he had a bit much to drink… some way or another, they put him down as an accomplice!”

“He was rather nervous at the prospect of a burglar, it might have seemed suspicious…” I muttered.

“That cursed Mackenzie won’t let me through to see him, says I’m too sly and slippery for his tastes!” Raffles added. “Perhaps one of you can talk some sense into him! I know for a fact that Bunny was not the burglar!”

“ Have no worries, Raffles, we’ll get to the bottom of this!” Herlock promised.

We ran down to the foyer, where Inspector Mackenzie was commanding the officers like a ship commanding his fleet. Upon seeing us, he took off his hat and bowed politely.

“I never got a chance to thank you for your attempts,” He said. “How’s the leg?”

“I’m fine, it was only a shock,” I replied.

“Mackenzie, does the suspect have a green mark on his neck?” Herlock asked.

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Does the suspect have a green mark on his neck?!” Herlock repeated. “This is a matter of life and death!”

“What on earth are you going on about?!” Mackenzie sputtered.

It was then that realisation had struck — Herlock hadn’t fired a gun, or at least, a real gun! I suppose that really explains the strange green pellet I saw.

Herlock then unbuttoned his sleeve and forced it up his arm, revealing a menagerie of small dots across his bruised forearm — All were either red, blue, or green!

“Sholmes!” I cried out. “What the hell are those marks?!”

Like a madman, Herlock grinned. He pulled out the bronze pistol that he had been working on and opened its chamber, all but one of the chambers were filled with red, green, or blue pellets.

“It’s an invention of my own design, and I’d been tinkering with it over the past week!” Herlock continued. “I had Wiggins fire, and luckily, all I’ve had to deal with were minor bruises…”

Minor, he says, minor! As if his arm isn’t a strange display of purple and green! (Mem. — oversee Herlock’s inventions, prevent him from becoming his own guinea pig.)

“ The sooner you let us speak with the suspect,” Said Herlock, “the sooner we’ll both be out of your hair, and you’ll have your man!”

M ackenzie simply crossed his arms and laughed at the both of us. He held out a key — dangling it like some sort of forbidden fruit!

“I’m sure ‘my man’ put you to this, that sly little fox!” Mackenzie said. “Sending others in to do his dirty work… you’re fools if you think I’ll give away my gambit that easily!”

H erlock and I tried fruitlessly to talk sense into the inspector, but he would not have it. Once he threatened to have us detained, only then did we retreat.

“Fine then, we’ll only need to retrace our steps!” Said Herlock. “Perhaps we ought to take a look at the crime scene itself!”

Once we made our way to the spot beneath our window, Herlock threw himself upon the ground, muttering under his breath about the foolishness of not preserving the scene (or even guarding it!). Following his lead, I lowered myself as best as I was able to examine the bushes. One set was trampled, as if someone had walked across it. I moved to take a better look, when suddenly, my cane dropped into the ground! I fell forward, slamming my free hand into the brick wall so that I did not hit my head. I looked down to see a perfect square dug into the ground.

It was like a small burial plot, a tiny grave for a tiny little creature… it seems like something little Maria would dig in her mother’s garden!

“ What an odd hole…!” Herlock said.

He then bent down, pinching the soil between his fingers and bringing it to his lips.

“Sholmes! You have no idea what’s in that dirt!” I cried out.
“Briarwood… and an ash that I found is very popular amongst sea men…” he replied, before depositing a chunk of the dirt into an empty vial. “A hint of iron… most interesting!”

The man lives to show off.

“Sholmes,” I said. “Try lowering down that box…!”

Like a mad man, he jumped to his feet and knocked upon a window, scaring the poor maid out of her wits, and even more so when he climbed inside. Within five minutes, Herlock waved down at me.

“Hullo down there, Mikotoba!” He guffawed.

“Lower down the box!” I told him.

Soon enough, he dangled the box from the window, and I watched as he mimicked the slow heave from this morning. As it hit the ground, it fit inside the hole, with little margin of error, and the shrubbery covered it up perfectly.

Who on earth would need an accomplice, with a clever rouse such as this?

When Herlock returned, he immediately produced a knife and started to cut the rope up — he left the knot intact with some slack, and kept it tight round the box, and he coiled the rest and held it around his shoulder.