Work Text:
Happy Birthday, Herder… Trad
Herder, quietly shut away in his quarters, was happily tinkering away at a prototype continuous-fire firearm. He tightened a few bolts, humming cheerfully along to a Mozart symphony.
He heard footsteps in the corridors adjoining his room. Three people. Moran’s heavy footsteps, Bond’s light ones (thanks to his platform soles), and Louis’s firm but reassuring stride. The gathering of MI6 agents M, 006 and 007 suggested nothing more than a meeting.
However, they did not stop outside Herder’s room : hardly surprising, as no one wanted to approach him except to request weapons. Bah ! Herder didn’t care. He was happy with his inventions. Alone...
He overheard one of the trio’s conversations – something about a stunning woman they’d apparently seen on their way back. Bond and Moran were begging Louis to settle down, to which the head of MI6 replied with a firm ‘no’. They walked past Herder’s door without paying it any attention.
Herder’s office was, he assumed, in the middle of a busy corridor at Universal Exports : all day long, he could hear the whole gang coming and going, often in groups, sometimes on their own.
After the MI6 trio came something simpler: Moneypenny was hurrying towards the east wing of the building, and judging by the heaviness of her footsteps, she was certainly laden down.
Another period of calm : Herder tapped the butt of the hammer lightly ; at this rate, he’d be finished in no time. He couldn’t wait ! He was eager to throw himself heart and soul into crafting one of the inventions that were the hallmark of his genius.
More footsteps: someone was coming. Fred, judging by the lightness of his step. Herder could barely feel the young man’s vibrations. He was walking quickly, but quietly, in the same direction as Louis, Moran and Bond : he must be late for the meeting. Or he was returning from a mission and was going to give his report : both were possible.
Herder stretched back : that was it, the weapon was finished ! He’d hand it over to the lab the next day. He’d be able to get started on building some invention or other. Well, no, not just any invention – every one of his inventions was a stroke of pure genius! Wasn’t it… ?
The inventor sighed softly. A certain melancholy was washing over him today. He shook his head slightly. He had to perfect his Herderophone.
He stood up and made his way over to the chest where he kept his inventions. After a bit of fumbling with the tip of his foot, he bent down and opened the chest: first, he picked up his Herderator – abandoned because it was ‘useless’, according to his superiors. Oh, there was also the modified firecracker he’d used at Mr Albert’s birthday party !
The birthday party…
Herder smiled cheerfully to banish those thoughts, picking up his Herderophone. It was heavy: he had to sort that out. He returned to his desk, grabbed his screwdriver, and unscrewed the panel concealing the machine’s inner workings.
Oh ? More footsteps ? Hurried ones this time. Two men. A stiff, steady gait : Mycroft. The other, the first one, was walking faster, with urgent steps, perhaps: Albert. Neither man said a word, but Herder could hear their laboured breathing. Where were they going ? They passed Herder’s door on the west side of the house, and the inventor guessed they were heading for Mr Albert’s bedroom. Ah, the lovebirds.
Literally everyone had taken part in Albert’s birthday celebrations to give him the finest of gifts : Mycroft. Even Herder. They were acting as if nothing had happened, but then again, everyone knew. They could at least have told them! Herder was fed up with being disturbed every night by rhythmic moans coming from the neighbouring room.
For it was true that Herder occupied one of the most central rooms in the house ; it was Mr William who’d wanted it that way : except that, because of this location, he could hear everything that was going on in the building ! And he was the only one, for that matter : Mr Albert occupied one of the most remote rooms at Universal Exports.
The blind man sighed very softly, thinking intently about the model of his Herderophone. He didn’t need these pointless thoughts : he had to concentrate.
But he was once again distracted by the sound of footsteps – quiet, measured – accompanied by the distinctive clack of a walking stick : Herder would have sworn that it was Mr William returning from a walk he’d mentioned a few hours earlier. Perhaps he was going to attend the end of the MI6 meeting to give his views. And as mentioned, Mr William’s opinions alone accounted for a good half of the plans.
Well, Herder put down his screwdriver: he wasn’t getting anywhere today. His thoughts drifted to and fro with the comings and goings of people in the building : he couldn’t concentrate enough for one of those strokes of genius for which he was renowned to emerge from his mind.
He placed his fingers on his eyelids, before remembering that he’d taken off his eye patch. His fingers brushed against his scars. His throat tightened.
Bloody hell, he really was all over the place.
(You’ve got to get out of here.)
Haha, come on, he had to get his focus back. He had work to do, after all !
(You’ve got to leave.)
Contrary to everything he kept repeating to himself like a mantra, Herder stood up, grabbed his cane, and opened the door to his room. He was going to leave : he had to leave.
He didn’t usually drink alcohol, but as he walked down the carpeted corridor, his footsteps barely rustling on the carpet, he was overcome by a violent urge to have a drink. Bad idea. He was already blind, you see, so any other sensory distraction would impair him even more!
At the entrance, he grabbed his jacket and put it on, even though it was pointless: it was sweltering outside, but night was falling. The inventor must have remembered the night : as someone who couldn’t see, he had little sense of the passing of time.
Without saying a word to anyone, he was going to go out. Well, it would be a little personal adventure!
(Anyway, they won’t even notice you’re gone.)
He shook his head, letting a smile form on his lips. Humming some random tune, he placed his hand on the door handle, turned it, and stepped out.
The fresh air did him good – and that’s saying something: Herder loved it. He took his headband out of his trouser pocket (he didn’t want to shock the younger generation) and wrapped it round his head. Then he stepped out onto the street, which was almost deserted: hardly surprising, given the heat and the time of day (Herder reckoned it must be around six o’clock).
Right, he’d made up his mind: Herder was going to get absolutely plastered in a nearby pub. To hell with his inability to see ! He needed a drink to… um, to breathe in happiness, of course, as Moran put it so well !
(You’ll drink to ignore the forgetting.)
Herder cheerfully crossed the street, walked along the wall of a house, skilfully dodging a rude man who had his eyes fixed on a female – or so Herder assumed.
Love ? Perhaps this male had fallen in love with a female. Was that what was baffling him so much ? Herder didn’t care. He didn’t know what love was – the love that bound Mr Holmes Senior and Mr Albert so closely, or Mr Sherlock and Mr William.
(You also don’t know what the love is that binds the three Moriarty brothers, or Sherlock and Mycroft.)
Herder froze imperceptibly, bit the inside of his cheek, then moved forward down the street, which seemed to him like a dark black hole.
Black hole : common noun, masculine noun; the final state of a dead star in which the gravitational field is so intense that it prevents any form of matter or radiation from escaping
He suddenly turned into an alleyway he knew to be dimly lit. His footsteps echoing loudly on the cobblestones, he stopped in front of a café-bar known only to the regulars : the Antique. Herder usually only went there for a coffee or some trendy soft drink. But not this time.
(Come on, go and get drunk.)
He pushed open the door and was immediately hit by a mingled aroma of coffee and beer, and by classical music with an Eastern European flavour, the composer of which he didn’t recognise. He was greeted by a thunderous, “Herder ! How are you ?” It was the barman, Éric. Herder forced a smile.
“Yep, man !” he said cheerfully.
From what he could hear, there must have been two or three people slumped at the bar, downing beer after beer whilst clapping along to the music and laughing loudly.
“You rarely come in the evenings,” said the barman as the inventor took ‘his’ seat—that is, on a high stool in the corner of the bar, between the counter and the wall. “Fancy a coffee ?”
Yes. A coffee, that’ll do !
“A beer, please, Mr Éric !”
The barman’s silence spoke volumes : however, he rarely meddled in his customer’s affairs unless they asked him to. So Herder got his beer after a few minutes.
It had been a long time since he’d had a single drop of alcohol ; he wasn’t supposed to drink it, his tolerance had decreased, and he was certain that a pint of beer would be enough to get him drunk.
(And yet, you’re drinking it !)
With alcohol, everything vanished; Moran and Mr Albert were right : he forgot that he was making himself forgotten; he forgot that each of his inventions lay forgotten in a shabby trunk ; he forgot every memory of his painful past ; he forgot that people had forgotten his birthday.
Anniversary : common noun, masculine noun, a day that commemorates an event that took place on the same day one or more years previously (usually giving rise to a celebration)
Another long swig of beer. He wanted to forget.
“Herder, are you all right ?” the barman’s gruff voice snapped him out of his trance.
Another forced smile.
“But of course ! Everything’s fine !”
“You don’t look it, mate.”
A customer chimed in, perhaps a little tipsy :
“Yeah, you look like a thoroughly miserable bloke !” he said, and was immediately met with bursts of laughter from his mates.
(They’re right to make fun of you. You’re worthless, you and your misery.)
“I’m fine, come on now, Mr Éric, what on earth are you on about ! You can see for yourself, can’t you ! ”
“I can see that, yes,” ventured Éric, “and I can assure you that you look thoroughly depressed.”
Herder’s smile faded for a brief moment as he slumped over the bar, resting on his arms, his right hand clenched firmly around the handle of his mug.
(He’s right, and you know it.)
“No, everything’s fine, Mr Éric !” but even he didn’t believe it anymore.
The barman sighed, and Herder heard him pull out a chair. When he heard him again, he was sitting opposite him.
“Anything in particular ?”
“No,” but his voice trembled, “nothing important.”
“So there is something.”
Herder’s smile faded, and he flinched slightly, then took a sip of beer before blurting out :
“Well, it’s my birthday. And nobody in my group remembered.”
A brief silence. Herder buried his face in his arms.
“But anyway,” he continued, “it’s fine, I’m all right ! It’s just a passing phase ; I’ve only come here for a drink because I’m lacking inspiration !”
(You’ve only come here to drown your despair.)
“Happy birthday,” the barman simply said.
Herder froze.
To cry : verb, to shed tears as a result of distressing emotions.
* :]*]:*
Fred was the first to notice that Von Herder had gone missing : it was also he who interrupted the—to say the least—passionate kisses between Mycroft and Albert, the comforting embrace between Sherlock and William, the drinking contest between Bond and Moran, Moneypenny’s tidying up, and the marvellous cooking by Louis, Patterson and Renfield.
Now they were all gathered in the living room, facing a crisis.
A crisis that Moran clearly didn’t believe in.
“Herder’s disappeared ? So what ?” he blurted out.
Everyone shot him a dark look.
“Come on ! I’m just saying that Herder certainly isn’t the member of our team whose disappearance necessarily calls for a general meeting ! ”
“006, who manufactures the weapons you use ?” interjected Mycroft, who was discreetly putting his arm round Albert.
No further comment from Moran.
“But why has he gone missing ?” asked Bond.
No reply. Nobody knew. Come to think of it, nobody knew the inventor intimately. Nobody knew if he had any activities outside MI6 or any hobbies apart from engineering.
“We don’t even know if there’s any real danger…” blurted out Fred, clearly reeling from the realisation they’d all come to.
Albert frowned, clasped his hands together, and dropped the childish demeanour he’d been displaying since they’d been summoned.
“We need to think this through. Herder never goes out without telling us. He must have had a reason for doing so.”
They put forward various theories, and eventually the group turned to the only person who hadn’t said a word since the meeting began : William.
“I think,” he began, “that something must have happened deep within Herder to make him want to leave.” His eyes widened, gleaming with a newfound intensity. “Bond, Louis, go and comb through Herder’s file. See if there’s any date that corresponds to 30 June. Right now. ”
The order rang out, imperious, and Bond and Louis sprang to their feet immediately, in a reflex from days gone by, to rush to the archives. Sherlock rose in turn.
“Liam, if there’s no record of it, it means either that Herder left of his own accord out of boredom, or that he was kidnapped.”
“I know,” William’s voice rang out.
“I’ll look into Von Herder’s possible enemies,” murmured Fred, already on his way out.
Only Moran, William, Sherlock, Albert and Mycroft remained in the room. Everyone else was helping out.
“What if he left of his own accord ?” whispered Albert.
“We must find a way to bring him back. Herder is indispensable to MI6, whatever some people may think.” Mycroft shot a meaningful glance at Moran. “And if William’s obvious regard for his inventions is no longer enough, then we must find another… ‘bait’, dare I say.”
“Any ideas ?” asked Albert.
A brief silence. Sherlock was thinking. William already knew the answer, but he looked at Moran as if he were waiting for something. He sighed :
“What does Herder love more than anything ?”
“Parties !” cried Sherlock – Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Inventions !” roared Moran at the same time.
Needless to say, no one gave Sherlock’s suggestion the slightest consideration.
“That’s it ! We need to invent something so extraordinary that Herder will be forced to come back to perfect our idea!” exclaimed Albert.
“But what would surprise a mechanical genius ?” asked Mycroft.
Another silence.
A long one.
“A revolutionary egg beater ?” suggested Sherlock.
“You’re exhausting, Sherly,” muttered Mycroft.
“Come on, Myc, don’t be so harsh—I was about to suggest a new knitting machine,” said Albert with a slightly embarrassed smile.
No further comments from Mycroft to Sherlock.
“I can think of only one thing,” said William calmly, interrupting Moran, who was muttering something like ‘massage pillow’, “that might surprise this particular inventor.”
“What is it, Liam ?”
William paused dramatically.
“Let’s condense all his own inventions into a single one.”
A long, long silence.
Moran was shocked.
Mycroft was shocked.
And Albert was drinking wine.
“I KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON TODAY !” shouted Louis as he burst into the room.
Sherlock turned his head sharply towards the youngest of the Moriartys.
“What ?!”
Louis bit his lower lip, overcome with intense remorse.
“Today… It’s Von Herder’s birthday. ”
Silence. Shock.
The realisation sank in.
Everyone had forgotten his birthday : that was why Herder had left.
* :]*]:*
Herder was now downing pint after pint. To drown his despair, he had stopped lying to himself.
They’d forgotten him yet again.
Every time, during missions, they’d forget him : this time, during that ‘Event of Death’ (as Mr Albert had called it), with the tea party and all those people, they’d left him to rot in the cellar for two days, before he came out to see if everyone was dead.
That other time, when he was due to go undercover in a prisoner-of-war hospital where cocaine trafficking was suspected, they’d launched the raid without warning him, and he’d been shot in the thigh.
Yet another time, he’d been tasked with gathering intelligence for a mission : he’d spent three days on it, and when he’d returned, the others were already on another operation ; the last one had been wrapped up.
Being forgotten. Being forgotten hurt.
Pain : common noun, feminine noun, suffering caused by a physical injury (a burn, bleeding or any other type of injury). Varies in intensity depending on the circumstances. N.B. : pain can also be emotional
Herder took another sip of beer.
Forgetting, however, would be his salvation. He wanted to forget everything, absolutely everything. He wanted to forget that he had been forgotten.
“Herder, you really ought to stop,” said the barman.
The inventor—no, the drunkard, for that was what he was at that moment—didn’t want to.
“ Tell me, Mr Éric, if you’d had a complicat’ past, and a present where everyone forget’ you, what would you do ?”
The barman, who was wiping a glass (or so Herder thought he was : he was drunk, blind and a Cancer – it all went hand in hand), didn’t reply straight away.
“What sort of difficult past ?”
Herder took off his blindfold.
The barman’s silence spoke volumes. Another sip of beer.
“…I see,” he said simply. “If I’d lived through that… sort of past, and found myself forgotten in the present…”
The barman paused. Herder tried to put his headband back on, but failed.
“I don’t know what I’d do, you see. Maybe I’d try to make a lasting impression,” he said.
Herder laughed.
“But that’s what I’m doin’ ! I come up with inventions so crazy that they’re too… too, how can I put it ? ”
“...Groundbreaking, perhaps ?”
Herder snapped his fingers.
“Yeah, that’s it! I invented the telly, the computer and loads of other things, but I get no recognition !”
The barman said, “I reckon I’d keep trying if I were you. But then again…”
The gruff-voiced man paused cruelly.
“… I think that if the people you’d like to impress don’t come looking for you, all your efforts will have been in vain.”
Herder froze, but he was smiling.
That’s not true.
(It’s true, and you know he’s right.)
Herder’s throat tightened.
What if Mr William, Mr Albert, Messrs Holmes Senior and Junior, 005, 006, 007, M – all of them – hadn’t even noticed he’d gone missing ?
(They’ve forgotten you ; you no longer exist in their minds.)
Abandonment: common noun, masculine noun, the act of leaving someone to fend for themselves, without them necessarily having the independence required for their survival.
* :]*]:*
Albert and William were now busy in Herder’s room, assisted by Mycroft.
“Q is far too clever to leave his plans in plain sight,” murmured the elder Holmes as he ran his hands along the bookshelves filled with metal books printed in a language Herder had invented, which he had dubbed ‘Herder’s writing for the blind’ : metal plates with holes punched in a precise, calculated pattern, a set of holes for each letter. Genius, but no one had realised it.
“His inventions, on the other hand…” muttered Albert as he opened a trunk filled to the brim with metal objects.
William approached it, gave the trunk a cursory glance, then asked Moran, who was standing outside, to take it to the drawing room and analyse its contents with the team.
“Ah ! I’ve found something !” said Albert, who’d been fiddling with a table leg since the start : propped up by a book to stabilise the table, it was more worn than the others.
He’d removed the book to take a look, and a pile of papers had fallen out : Herder, that genius, had hollowed out the inside of the table leg to store his plans there.
“Well done, Al,” murmured Mycroft as he approached him from behind to look at the plans.
Albert’s cheeks flushed.
“But that’s not all of it,” he pointed out. “Von Herder’s modus operandi is always to divide his plans into two parts : one containing the ‘shell’ of the invention, and the other containing the “innards”. All we have here is the “shell”.”
William took the plans.
« I’ll take them next door to analyse them. Carry on searching. »
William disappeared, Mycroft stole a kiss from Albert, and the search resumed ; next door, too, people were hard at work.
Louis and the others had drawn up a list of the inventions in record time, that much was undeniable. The plans William had brought back made it possible to determine their uses.
“So. Let’s recap. Herder, over the last six months – because these only include inventions from the last six months, the rest being stored in government vaults – has invented about fifty things. Half are failed prototypes : that leaves us with fifteen that work and about ten rough drafts.”
Patterson had taken charge of operations, and he was doing a fine job of it.
One by one, he listed the outlandish inventions the inventor had devised, starting with the working ones :
- A device whose plans stated it was called Herder-o-music number 3.14, a tiny machine that emitted faint sonatas when you played with the dial and the button
- A strange box with a screen on top and a joystick, as well as two pairs of buttons underneath, modestly called the Herder console number 5.46
- Two wires, the ends of which were fitted with small protrusions, which eventually merged into a single wire, ending in a tiny piece of very thin metal. After much fiddling, Bond had discovered that this device could be connected to the Herder-o-music, and he was now listening to music that only he could hear. On the diagram, the name : ‘the device for listening alone’, printed in letters that the inventor must have found irritating, as he had crossed out the inscription and scribbled ‘headphones’ in illegible handwriting underneath.
- There was a small, palm-sized device with a screen and a keyboard featuring the entire alphabet below it, plus the full stop : the very replica of a typewriter keyboard. Fred had accidentally pressed a button, and the screen had lit up, greeting the young man with a mini-Herder who was pointing the tip of his cane at a pixelated sign where Louis read ‘Herderophone’.
- A tiny device, with a metal tip and a plastic casing, the purpose of which the agents did not understand until the plans arrived: they discovered this contraption, which Herder had apparently named the HSB key, short for Herder Serial Bus. It connected to the next invention, the…
- … ‘Herderputer’, a sort of tray folded in half, which Moran opened – somewhat warily : he’d already been hit by a tear gas canister because of one of Herder’s inventions a few years earlier - : inside, they discovered a new keyboard, with, just below it, a sort of small platform marked out with grey tape, which turned out to be touch-sensitive when Moran switched the device on.
- Then, something completely different : a sort of metal can, extended by a plastic nozzle, which Moran pressed (Moran = test subject). It squirted out the whipped cream that Herder had asked Louis for a few weeks earlier, right in the middle of Sur Bond, who exclaimed, ‘THAT’S GOOD, BLOODY HELL !’ whilst licking his lips. The shot revealed the name of this invention (“incredible, undeniably so,” said Bond, nodding) : the “whipped cream can”, renamed Herderilly by the inventor himself. In one corner, scrawled in such an illegible, tiny hand that no one paid it any attention : “For Bond and his creamy tastes”
- Moneypenny was amused to discover a soap of delightfully soft texture : carved into the shape of a pi, the soap smelled of the tropics. She vowed to pitch the inventor’s designs to a cosmetics brand. Herder called it the ‘tropical-flavoured’ soap – Moran tried it and thought it was very good.
- Among the inventions, there were also some that didn’t look like inventions at all : they discovered a pair of spectacles in the trunk. Intrigued, Patterson tried them on : he couldn’t see any better than he did with his current spectacles. A note, however, explained the purpose of these glasses with ‘Herder myopia-slowing’ lenses : in the long term, the test subjects’ eyesight deteriorated less rapidly.
- There was also a small notebook: inside was a list of formulas, which their chemical decoder (Renfield, Jack Renfield) hastened to translate: it contained a list of bacteriological weapons used by Eastern countries that the government had failed to clarify, mixed with new shampoo formulas designed to artificially recreate a wide range of scents, from the smell of rubbish bins to the fragrance of Paradise (Moran didn’t believe it), including those of a fine Château de la Tour (Moran immediately believed it even less, especially when a label that nobody had seen read: ‘to be presented to the team on 21 November’). The notebook’s code name : the Herder Register of Fine Scents.
[Author’s note : 21 November is Moran’s birthday, for those who might have forgotten]
- A new recipe for cat kibble with the note ‘to be given to F.P. on 7 October’. Fred started: it was the anniversary of the day he’d met William.
- Another oddly shaped can : you’d come across this particular invention all over the inventor’s room. Moran had volunteered (Louis had forced him to) to press the button that would make something pop out : he’d been hit by a wave of cool air. Very pleasant, especially in the height of summer. The name of the invention that everyone in the room was now clamouring for : the Herder 88.6 Cool Air Ejector. Yet another inscription that William had vaguely noticed in silence : ‘for S.H. and his heat regulation problems’.
- Something very simple : Louis had broken his pepper mill (don’t ask how, I beg you) and had given it to Herder to repair. Herder had gone further: he’d fitted a mechanism so that, when you pressed a button at the end of the object, the pepper would pour out by itself until the pressure was released. And he’d also managed to combine the salt and pepper shakers : all you had to do was turn the cylinder (Mycroft would have recognised the mechanism from the paintball gun) for the pepper to turn into salt.
- This list is getting rather long, isn’t it ? you might be thinking. I agree, but I’m only mentioning the most notable ones ! If I’d started talking about the inventions in the basement, we’d still be here tomorrow. That’s why one of Herder’s inventions catalogued each of his inventions : he’d made a little notebook, with a photo of each invention, its date of creation and its specifications on every page. An inventive register of Herderian inventions.
- And finally, the firecracker he’d used at Albert’s birthday party, the one that scattered confetti everywhere.
Albert and Mycroft, who’d arrived with the plans—which had finally been found in the padding of Herder’s mattress—froze. William looked sad, perhaps.
“Liam, are you all right ?” asked Sherlock, a little worried.
“Herder’s a genius,” he said. “But that’s not all.”
“What do you mean, Will ?” asked Bond.
The one-eyed man stood up, his single eye expressing more regret and sadness than he could ever have felt in a lifetime. Without saying a word, he picked up the intricate inventions one by one and gathered them in a corner of the table : the team watched his lengthy procedure in silence. By the end, William had gathered together more than half of the devices. He stepped back slightly, contemplating his work, then said :
“All these inventions have something special about them. Tell me what it is.”
They all leaned over the pile : but they could see little more than a heap of scrap metal and papers. Seeing their puzzled expressions, William sighed.
“Herder designed or repaired all of these for us. ”
Dead silence.
“He-” Bond’s voice broke.
Another silence.
They all realised they’d forgotten someone who’d been thinking of them. Night and day.
* :]*]:*
“Herder, that’s enough. You’ve had enough to drink,” the barman’s voice rang out.
The inventor, clutching a cold bottle tightly, let out a faint sound.
“I want to forget, Éric, let me…”
“Forget what ?”
“Forget them, just as they’ve forgotten me…”
“Herder, that’s enough. If you carry on like this, I’ll have to throw you out of here. ”
(Can you hear that ? He’s going to throw you out ; you don’t even deserve to be a drunk here. Get out before he throws you out : it’ll hurt less.)
He didn’t want to leave, but he stood up.
“You’re not kicking me out ; I’m leaving of my own accord,” he gasped, his hand clenched tightly around his headband. “Right then, tschüss, Herr Éric !”
He walked out of the bar ; the door slammed shut a little too loudly for his liking. Where to go ? He didn’t know.
Lost : adj., to be lost means to have lost one’s bearings, to be unable to recognise one’s surroundings. It also implies a lack of understanding: to be lost in the middle of a conversation or a lesson means being unable to follow what is being said.
He was staggering now : clearly, being drunk did a blind man no good at all. He let himself wander through the neighbouring streets : he had no idea where he was going. Luckily, because of the time (nine o’clock ? Herder wasn’t sure any more) and the heat (bloody summer), there was no one on the streets, no one to witness his debauchery.
(And no one to be terrified of you. What a shame. I’d have liked to see that.)
Ah, those scars – they were his curse. They terrified everyone, they terrified him, because of the dark past behind them. No, he mustn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t think about the whole story. He felt far too vulnerable right now to be able to do so.
(It’s true that thinking about your wretched little story of a child whose parents had his eyes gouged out would hurt you too much, oh, poor Herder !)
He still didn’t know where to go, in this constant darkness that was the world to him. He walked, truly wandering, his senses clouded by alcohol. Without really meaning to, however, he found himself in front of a dilapidated, abandoned building. He knew it was dilapidated and abandoned. And yet he rather liked this place, stuck in the middle of the East End. Was he already that far from Universal Exports ? Oh well. Herder was now moving forward ; he could hear his footsteps crunching on the rubble.
He couldn’t see the dilapidated building, but – how can I put it ? – he could sense its presence, its structure. It’s hard to explain : just imagine – wait, close your eyes for a moment ; you can sense your surroundings, can’t you ? You picture them in your mind, don’t you ? You ‘see’ what’s around you, you remember the position of every object in space, and so you have a fairly clear mental image of your surroundings. That’s it, that’s what Herder was feeling, even though he’d never actually seen this building once in his life : he was eighteen when he’d been brought here, and he was already blind.
(You should never have come here 16 years ago, you know that, so why are you coming back ?)
“Because that’s where I came back to life,” Herder murmured in response to the voice in his head.
Renaissance : common noun, feminine noun, literally a new birth.
* :]*]:*
“Right then !” said William, clapping his hands, more determined than on any other mission. “Does everyone know their role ?”
Louis raised his hand.
“Miss Moneypenny, Patterson and I will stay here to work out the best manufacturing plan for Herder. Well, for his present,” he added.
There was a brief silence. Remorse washed over them all.
“Mycky, Fred, Albert and I will scour the streets to see if Herder’s in the area,” said Sherlock.
“I’ll check with my contacts to see if any organisation might have kidnapped Herder,” grumbled Moran.
“The old man and I are going to the basement to see if we can find any unexpected clues and interesting inventions,” said Bond calmly.
William nodded gravely.
“I’ll stay here to oversee operations. Does everyone have a microphone ?”
“Absolutely,” they said.
“I’ll handle the information exchange. Now, get a move on, merry band – Herder might be in danger !” he said with the absolute authority of a king – Sherlock’s eyes were shining.
They scattered.
* :]*]:*
Herder sat down amidst the rubble. Alone.
(Lamentable.)
“Honestly, ” he murmured, “I wonder if, perhaps, you aren’t right after all…”
His hand was clenched tightly around his useless headband. If anyone had come by, they would have seen a demon sitting amidst the remains of a hovel.
Once, a poet whom Albert often quoted—Walt Whitman, he thought—had said something like, ‘Do not fall into the worst mistakes : the silence.’ Herder had made that mistake long ago ; he was nothing more than a wretch now.
He was blind, and he was mentally mute : nobody cared about him, as the voice in his head kept telling him so often. Not true, is it ? Not true, is it ?
(Yes, you’ve finally understood.)
Honestly, he would have been better off never having been born: he was useless, blind, and he didn’t even meet the standards society imposed on him—namely, to have a female partner and have children, and to behave properly at all times ! He was incapable of it: he didn’t understand love ; it seemed to him like something utterly impossible. He’d always been alone; people found him repulsive : Herder couldn’t care less. He preferred the hum of machines to the clamour of human voices…
(What about William, then ?)
Mr William ? That was different. Mr William didn’t make any unnecessary noise when walking or speaking; he respected Herder and his machines, and admired them. He brought Herder a touch of happiness that vanished four years ago, and which Herder has been unable to recapture.
(What about Louis, then ?)
Louis ? Who’s that ? Ah, the voice in his head had been talking about M. He was his boss, and he liked him : M was generous, for a boss, he supposed.
(What about Albert, then ?)
Mr Albert ? Herder liked him well enough. Mr Albert took a genuine interest in his inventions ; he was kind, he respected Herder, and Herder respected him in return. His only flaw lay in his obsession with always wanting to tidy up the mess : Herder lived in a mess. Would Mr Albert have wanted to tidy him up, knowing that ?
(What about Moran, then ?)
Sebastian Moran, yes, MI6 Agent 006. He was noisy, he walked noisily, but Herder didn’t particularly dislike him. Even if he did damage his prototypes, that idiot…
(What about Fred, then ?)
Herder rather liked 005. He was quiet, didn’t talk just for the sake of it, and walked without a sound. That was enough.
(What about Bond, then ?)
Oh, 007. He had such respect for his work, even going so far as to help him polish them! Herder liked him, even though he tended to gravitate towards people other than Herder. Leaving him all on his own at a high-society party.
(What about Jack, then ?)
To be honest, Herder couldn’t see what the gang saw in that old man. Sure, he was a good cook, but come on… Jack the Ripper ? Him ? So what ? Herder could have done a thousand times better than him.
(What about Patterson, then ?)
Pff, no comment. Herder didn’t like him, but they put up with each other.
(What about Moneypenny, then ?)
A pleasant assistant, at best.
(What about Sherlock Holmes, then ?)
No comment. He didn’t hate Sherlock, but come on, he made too much noise. And perhaps he was a bit too fixated on Mr William to look around him a bit and notice the blind man.
(And John ?)
OH, THAT GENIUS ! Herder adored John Watson, one of the very few who rightly recognised his worth ! The great Conan Doyle recognised his worth; that was certainly enough to satisfy him.
(And the Director ?)
Herder didn’t know what to make of him. He made no sound when he walked, and Herder couldn’t quite form a mental picture of him. But the Director was undoubtedly intelligent – intelligent enough to have hired him as Q.
(In the end, there’s no one particularly interesting here. Why stay ?)
Herder withdrew into a mental silence. That was true – why stay ? He could leave, leave them all behind ; it wouldn’t matter to him, would it ?
Attachment : common noun, masculine noun, referring to a lasting feeling of affection for a person.
Herder did not know why he had stayed for the three years following Mr William’s disappearance. He had felt so alone, so helpless ; he had not created a single thing for three years. The company of machines seemed to him to be almost unbearable. One of Von Herder’s Three Great Existential Crises.
And there he found himself, in the middle of an abandoned house on the outskirts of the East End, a former bookshop, in an even worse state than it had been in recent years. It didn’t are logicals. Feelings aren’t logical. That’s why Herder prefers machines : they are nothing but pure logic, devoid of unnecessary, foolish emotion.
Ah, that dilapidated site… It featured just as often in Von Herder’s nightmares as in his sweetest dreams. It was the place where he’d first met Mr William. He’d been twelve at the time : he’d come here to say goodbye to one of the houses of his childhood, apparently. They’d bumped into each other by chance.
Just as the bookshop was burning.
Ah, the fire. A silent menace, devouring everything, creeping slowly towards him like burning monsters. It wasn’t Herder’s delirium, the fire ; it was more like Mr Albert’s : but, in any case, he had to admit that the fire stirred in him not only fear, certainly, but also a certain comfort. Stockholm syndrome ? Or just the recurring memories of the ashes of his orphanage ?
Fire : common noun, masculine noun, a large blaze that spreads, causing damage.
* :]*]:*
Albert discreetly wiped away a bead of sweat glistening on Mycroft’s temples. They were walking quickly, and the heat was only slowing them down : but Herder might be in danger, and Albert’s determination to save his friend knew no bounds.
Two or three hours had passed since the search began : it was 11 pm. They had split into three groups to search for the inventor: the first consisted of Fred alone. A companion would only have been a hindrance. The second comprised Mycroft and Albert. The ease with which they worked together (largely due to their relationship) made all the difference. And finally, Sherlock and the Baker Street Irregulars, tasked with searching for the blind man.
Fred, on his own, was covering a large part of the city – the entire City. Sherlock and the Irregulars were to comb the streets around the Universal Exports building. Albert and Mycroft were covering the East End.
Mycroft walked quickly, and Albert followed just as swiftly. They didn’t speak – well, not really: but Albert hardly needed words to understand what Mycroft wanted (turn right, stop, go forward, go back). Symbiosis.
At last.
“Albert nii-san ? Can you hear me ?” William’s voice crackled in his ear.
“Five out of five, Will,” he whispered.
“Over here, we’ve finished the plans. We’re trying to put the… thing together, but it’s tricky. Any sign of Herder ?”
“No. Just an old woman who thought she saw him running towards a church. A red herring.”
“I see. Keep looking. Ah, Moran’s telling me over the earpiece that…” William’s voice trailed off, and Albert stopped walking, with Mycroft stopping behind him.
“What’s the matter ?”
“Herder…” William sounded shaken. “Mr Éric, from the Antique – you know, the little bar two streets away from Universal Exports ? ”
“Yes, I see ?”
“He says he served Herder perhaps four hours ago. Herder was apparently drinking.”
Albert’s eyebrows visibly furrowed.
“Wait, drinking – as in drinking alcohol ?”
“Absolutely. And absolutely worrying.”
Albert said, his voice clearly tinged with panic :
“Will, pass this on to the whole team. We’ve need to find Herder.”
Mycroft couldn’t hear the conversation, but the panic in Albert’s voice was enough to send him into a panic.
“Yes, nii-san. Quickly.”
The connection cut out, and Albert said to Mycroft :
“Herder’s drunk, lost somewhere. The teams are searching, but nothing so far.”
“Drunk ?” Mycroft looked deeply shocked.
“Drunk.” Albert started walking again. “We must hurry.”
Mycroft followed him, briefly taking his hand to calm the brown-haired man down.
“In any case,” he whispered, “I understand why you were my M.”
Out of context ? Perhaps. But Albert was suddenly moving faster.
* :]*]:*
Herder couldn’t take it any more.
Time was twisted 0101010000110100101
His engineer’s mind was w4rp3d
He was in p4in, but he wasn’t m0v1ng any more.
N0 0N3 was coming to fetch him.
(They’ve forgotten you again, see ?)
If Herder were a machine, he was <error>
Out of service.
He was a bloody machine out of service.
His lips relaxed into a <smile>.
His cheeks were smeared with <tears>.
He no longer wanted to <feel> the neglect.
He wanted to be a machine.
No one would come to fetch him: waiting was pointless.
“Scheiße, ” he murmured, his head in his hands. “Scheiße auf die Welt. ”
Yes, he was saying ‘fuck’ to the world, to the people who had forgotten him.
Herder was a <nonchalant>, <cheerful> sort, a <happy clown> as they called him behind his back.
Ah-ha.
He would have loved to be that so very much.
Herder sighed.
Plunged into perpetual darkness, who could be a <happy clown>, tell me ? How can one be <happy> when one cannot see the light ?
To Herder, the light had appeared to him as William. William did him justice : that was all he needed. But now, the light had been gone for three years: he could no longer get used to it again.
Herder let out a trembling sigh, a frozen smile on his lips.
He couldn’t remember ever having seen anything in his life. The world was black, black as ebony. He couldn’t picture people in his mind; he scarcely understood human emotions : perhaps, in fact, Herder was a machine. A machine with <feelings>, a machine whose code needed rewriting.
And to rebuild something, he had to destroy it.
The weight of his service weapon in his coat pocket suddenly felt much more tangible.
Until now, Herder had never thought of erasing himself from this world : just imagine, what would he gain by <deleting> himself from this world ? What’s more, the world would lose someone !
(As if—nobody’s looking for you.)
Oh, and that voice, that bloody voice in his head ! Maybe they weren’t looking for him, but who cares ! Herder had just realised that to rebuild himself, he had to <delete> his backup ! That was it, he’d found the answer !
His hand reached for his pocket.
* :]*]:*
Albert was really running now.
A young boy who was crying told him that a man had frightened him, with his eyes all black and strange scars around them !
Mycroft was behind him.
They came to a crossroads, where the lad had – probably – seen Von Herder.
He asked a question, and a young prostitute whispered something like, “Oh, that man? He didn’t turn round when I called him. But you, on the other hand, sweetheart…” Her voice took on a sensual tone.
Mycroft, looking menacing, stepped in front of Albert.
“Madam, I’ll give you a pound if you tell us which way that man went. ”
The prostitute giggled.
“Oh, I see, I see !” A woman of the night certainly guessed everything. “You’re already taken, aren’t you, sweetheart ?”
“Two pounds.” Mycroft’s voice was icy.
The prostitute smiled, then held out a pink-skinned hand, waiting for the money, which Mycroft placed into her palm. She almost snatched it, shoving it unabashedly between her breasts, and declared:
“To the right, at the crossroads. He was walking slowly, like a ghost. Well, judging by his… face, perhaps he was one.”
“Thank you, madam,” said Mycroft, taking Albert by the elbow to lead him away.
The former earl was struggling to stifle a chuckle, despite the urgency of the situation.
“Jealous, Mr Holmes ?”
“Very,” growled the Director, quickening his pace in the direction indicated by the prostitute.
Albert was walking fast, fast, and he eventually realised he recognised this landscape.
“Hello, Will ?” Albert called out.
“Nii-san ?”
“I think we’re going to find Herder.”
A loud crash on the other end.
“Where ?!”
“The East End. Your… old house, the one you and Louis used to live in. ”
Dead silence.
“I’ll pass it on to the team.”
But Albert wasn’t listening anymore. He and Mycroft were already rushing towards Von Herder, who was without his eye bandage, the cold barrel of a pistol pressed against his temple.
“Herder !!!”
* :]*]:*
The cry startled the inventor. He visibly jumped. He vaguely realised that frantic footsteps were rushing towards him: Herder recognised the Director’s designer shoes.
Before he could grasp what was happening, large hands had disarmed him.
“Herder, for goodness’s sake, you gave us such a fright!” Albert almost shouted, throwing his arms round him in a burst of emotion.
“Oh, Mr Albert ?” He adopted his usual cheerful tone, but his voice was unpleasantly hoarse. “Are you all right ?”
In the background, Mycroft was telling William that they’d found him.
“W-What do you mean ? Herder, have you seen yourself ? No, you must…”
Mycroft gently cut him off.
“Al, give him a bit of a break.” He pulled Albert away from Herder slightly, releasing him from his embrace.
“Oh no, Herr Direktor, it’s fine, everything’s fine ! I don’t see…”
“Q.” A cold reprimand that instantly calmed Von Herder. “First of all…”
A brief pause. Herder, looking a little lost, tilted his head to one side. But he felt empty, like a machine without gears.
“Happy birthday,” he said, along with Albert.
Oh.
OH.
Herder was crying.
He understood everything : the purpose of feelings, this life that had left him blind, this life so precious ; he understood love, hate, brotherhood ; he understood sadness, depression; he understood sounds, laughter, joy ; he was crying bloody hell.
How could two simple words shake him so much ?
Oh, Whitman said…
“We are being full of passion…” murmured Herder, his face streaming with tears.
Albert, a little surprised, continued in a breathless whisper :
“Life is desert and oasis.”
Herder’s mind had started working again; bloody hell, he wanted to go home.
Back home.
“Sorry I took so long,” murmured Mycroft. “Q.”
Herder wiped away a tear.
“Mr Albert, Director…” he paused, picking up his half-torn headband. “Please, take me home.”
Albert and Mycroft were there for that very reason.
Home : common noun, masculine noun, a place of refuge where one feels safe.
* :]*]:*
William was pacing up and down near the entrance, along with everyone else. Sherlock had come back with Fred and Moran, and was trying in vain to calm William down, but it was no use : he wouldn’t be calm until Von Herder arrived.
Herder was an absolutely incredible being: it is often said that life does not bestow two gifts upon the same person, but it does happen from time to time. Seeing what Herder was becoming, she had chosen to take away his sight to restore the balance : on the contrary, she had only tipped the scales even further.
Herder was simply incredible: that day, when he’d met him, amidst the ashes of a bookshop, that blind, solitary man, he’d seen something in Herder. And that was what made him bring him into his cause.
Geniuses recognise one another, some say.
That’s not untrue. But it isn’t true either, from William’s point of view.
Anyway.
He needed Herder now : he regarded him as a member of the family, or rather, a best friend, even though they had little contact : he and Herder had always understood each other wonderfully well ; it had always been that way.
So he would wait.
* :]*]:*
(Lots of POV changes but shhh)
They were all plunged into darkness. Louis asked what time it was : Moran replied something like ‘fifty-three past midnight’.
They were waiting.
Patterson was lighting candles with Moneypenny to light up the house.
Fred and Jack were putting the finishing touches to their dreadful concoction of inventions in the living room.
William was still pacing up and down, his brow furrowed.
And then…
“We’re here !” called Albert from the other side of the door. “Please, open up… Our hands are a bit full… ”
William, against all expectations (from the crowd’s point of view, of course), rushed towards the door, nearly tripping, but he steadied himself and flung the door open.
Everyone agreed : Herder looked a sorry sight.
Grey streaks of tears ran down his cheeks despite his calm smile. He looked pale, almost livid ; the headband he was wearing was in tatters ; his hands were chapped despite the heat ; his lips were bleeding slightly from being bitten ; his blond locks were dull; he didn’t exude that characteristic aura of good humour and Herderian cheerfulness.
Moran was stunned.
Fred was trembling.
Moneypenny had tears in her eyes.
William had already half-thrown himself at Von Herder to embrace him as a friend would.
Renfield looked sad. Patterson looked just as sad.
Louis joined his elder brother to relieve him of the shopping that Mycroft had insisted on doing : no birthday without a cake. Renfield, after a brief pat on the shoulder of a bewildered Herder, rushed off to the kitchen.
« Oh, Mr William, calm down, I’m fine ! » he said with a smile.
“You don’t look it, Herder.” William’s voice trembled, and Sherlock rushed over to comfort him. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, you have no idea how scared I was…”
“Hey, wait, you’re forgetting something !” said Albert.
Louis jumped.
“Oh, that’s right… ”
He turned to the team, murmured “one, two, three…” …
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Herder !!!”
* :]*]:*
Herder was completely taken aback.
After everyone had shouted birthday wishes in his face, they’d taken him by the arm and carried him to some unknown place : once on the floor, he realised they were in the living room.
The blind man caught a pleasant scent of orange cake.
“Herder, we’ve—” began Louis.
“Stop, stop ! ” said Albert. “Louis, you’re not going to kick off a party when the guest of honour is all filthy !”
A party ? For Herder ?
“Oh, it doesn’t bother me in the slightest, Mr Albert, you know.”
He was almost certain that seeing him like this was causing Albert considerable stress, so he said :
“But if you’d like, I can get changed !”
He heard a small sigh of relief.
“Please, Herder.”
The inventor flashed him a beaming smile. He certainly did like Mr Albert, despite the emptiness in his chest.
For Herder was not feeling well at all. He had broken down ; the silent guilt of a man whom no one ever asked after was squeezing his heart, and that emptiness in his chest was nothing more than the utter void that comes only after a fit of passionate weeping : you feel nothing anymore ; you feel as though you cannot suffer any more.
But he made his way towards his bedroom all the same, his hand skimming the walls : in his state, he struggled to find his bearings.
He opened the door and immediately sensed that things had been disturbed : he knew this room better than anywhere else in the manor. He knew instinctively that someone had entered his room. Bending down, he brushed against the table leg : the plans were gone. Yet the lingering musky scent of Monsieur Albert’s water of Cologne stopped him from worrying.
Without a word, he made his way to his wardrobe at the far end of the room. His suit must be ash-grey ; he could scarcely bring himself to put on another: suits are restrictive ; they prevent Herder from thinking clearly.
So his hand reached for a T-shirt – the one he usually wore under his work overalls. Without a second thought, he grabbed it, along with what he guessed was a pair of loose-fitting dungarees. He tossed them carelessly onto his bed and gently removed his tattered headband.
Ah, that was a shame: he’d quite liked that headband. Made of imported silk, it had been a gift from his very youth. It was comfortable to wear. But it was ruined: Herder threw it into his bin and gently picked up a small case containing a pair of sunglasses with tinted lenses: he might as well spare others the sight of his scars. He tossed it next to his clothes.
He began by taking off his coat – poor thing, it must have been covered in ash, judging by the smell – which landed on a chair. Then his suit jacket joined it. Followed by the waistcoat. The shirt. The trousers, his belt. He absent-mindedly picked up a clean pair of underpants, pulled them on, followed by his braces. Then the T-shirt. He slipped the braces over his shoulders with a sigh.
Then he sat down on the bed.
Bloody hell.
He was tired.
Very tired.
Did he really have to join the others ?
Yes, he did. He picked up the box, opened it and took out his metal-framed glasses, which he slipped onto his nose.
Herder rarely wore glasses : but then again, he didn’t mind them all that much.
Slowly, he stood up. He let out one last little sigh, then opened the door.
There was a buzz of activity in the living room. And the smell of Renfield’s cake filled the whole house.
He walked slowly, more slowly than he would have thought. He finally reached the entrance : the drawing room was not far away. The rustling of fabric startled him slightly, but he eventually recognised who was there: Mycroft and Albert. Herder was almost certain they had been kissing before he arrived.
Herder wondered what was so extraordinary about a kiss.
He pouted slightly and simply said :
« Mr Holmes Senior, Mr Albert, you know, you’re not fooling anyone. »
« H-Herder ? » Albert jumped – yes, Herder was sure he’d jumped. Amusing.
« Everyone in the house knows you’re… how do you put it, again ? »
“Are you talking about our deep friendship ?” Mycroft ventured, his voice a little hoarse.
Herder shook his head.
“No, not at all ! Friends, even deep ones – well, I don’t know if you’re deep, that’s your business – wouldn’t be snogging like you do, come on ! It’s like Mr William and Mr Holmes Junior : everyone knows they’re… a couple, that’s all, even though they haven’t said a word ! »
Dead silence.
Herder was smiling.
« … Well, » said Mycroft simply.
« Yes, certainly, Mycroft and I have a… peculiar friendship, dare I say, but- »
« Oh, Mr Albert, please ! Everyone knows that. Except Louis, who is, after all, a bit of a fool when it comes to certain things, » he said with a faint smile.
Excuse me, M.
“… Hmm. Right, you’re right,” said Mycroft simply.
“But you know, Mr Holmes Senior, it might upset some people if you don’t tell them, you see, if you… forget to mention it to them.” Herder’s smile faded, and he sighed softly. “Just don’t forget, that’s all.”
Mycroft wasn’t sure any more whether they were really talking about his relationship with Albert, but he nodded anyway.
“Thank you.” A brief silence, then : “The others are waiting for you. Are you coming ?”
Herder heard Mr Albert walk past him just in time.
He smiled slightly and said in a cheerful voice:
“Yes, I’m coming !”
He walked gently behind them, flanked by Mycroft and Albert.
* :]*]:*
William swirled his champagne in his glass.
Herder was delighted to see the effort they had put into bringing together so many of his inventions, and William knew he felt honoured by it, despite all the comments.
They had condensed everything into a single device, the Herderputer : in what seemed like no time at all, Bond had produced further HSB keys incorporating the codes from the other inventions, and integrated them into the Herderator when they were added. He had condensed the registers into a single one : now, Herder had a veritable set of HSB keys.
By some miracle, Moran had managed to fit a microphone onto the Herderator: by attaching the correct HSB key to it, it was thus transformed into a Herderophone.
William was happy : sitting on the sofa with Sherlock by his side, he watched the blind man marvel at the Herderator, screwdriver in hand.
« I’m happy, » he murmured.
« Liam ? »
William blinked.
« Sherly ? »
« Did you say something ? »
“Nothing in particular.” William gave a faint smile : Renfield had returned with his cake, fresh out of the oven. Herder pounced on it – he must have been hungry – and two minutes later, there was nothing left.
“I…” Mycroft cleared his throat, clinking a spoon against his glass, with Albert behind him, slumped on a sofa as if it were his empire, devouring him with his gaze, a glass of Bordeaux in his hand.
Everyone turned towards the eldest of the Holmes brothers – except Von Herder, that eccentric. But he was listening : he was always listening.
“Well… Today is a big day, isn’t it ? Herder is thirty-four. And despite some serious setbacks, he’s finally getting his party.” The Director relaxed. “I want to raise my glass to Von Herder, in recognition of his genius and his indispensability, whether at MI6 or within this very household; I want to raise my glass to a brilliant inventor whom life has robbed of his sight, but who has not let that get him down ; I’d like to raise a toast to the boundless energy, the sharp wit and the skill of the man that is Von Herder. To him !”
“To him !” said everyone, raising their glasses.
Except Herder.
But he was smiling, more so than at any other time.
“Thank you, Director. Thank you, all of you,” he said simply. “But anyway, Mr Holmes Senior, I believe you have something to add, along with Mr Albert, don’t you ?”
He was smiling ostentatiously, and Mycroft looked caught out.
“Yes. Well…” He cleared his throat, and Albert stood up beside him. “I imagine everyone—well, most people—knows, but…” He took a deep breath. “Albert and I are a couple. We’ve been together since his birthday.”
Louis’s expression screamed murder, but before anyone could make a comment, Sherlock sprang to his feet right next to William.
William, who had a bad feeling about this.
“Mycky, you bastard!” he growled.
“Well, what’s the matter, Sherly ?” he said with a beaming smile, casually slipping his arm around Albert’s waist and pulling him close, under Louis’s glare.
“I’ve got something to say too !” bellowed Sherlock like a five-year-old.
Ah, William’s premonition had been spot on. The one-eyed man prayed for some miracle to stop Louis from killing his lover.
“Liam and I are together !” he announced.
Herder was grinning from ear to ear now.
William sighed ; he was going to have to deal with Louis. He stood up, setting his empty champagne glass down on the coffee table. He was about to approach his younger brother, who was radiating a halo of pure anger, but a hand rested on his waist, and Sherlock, mimicking his elder brother, pulled William towards him.
Herder stood up with a smile that was all of te happiness.
“Well, what a buzz ! M, calm down a bit – it’s time to party !”
“Herder ?” said Bond.
“I’ve improved the firecracker !” shouted Herder, brandishing it proudly, and with a loud bang, the whole room was showered with confetti.
The room was in chaos : Bond and Moran’s laughter, Albert’s soft gasps beneath Mycroft’s lips, Sherlock’s laughter as he kissed William.
And Herder was happy.
Happy to have brought about the announcement not of one couple, but of two; to have brought about laughter and joy.
He was happy, and he deserved it.