Sherlock was about to shot out of his room and rush down the hallway, when he was stopped by his brother who pushed him roughly back into the passage. “Don’t even think about going out there, Sherlock,” Mycroft ordered, keeping both his hands on his brother’s shoulders.
All the while Sherlock was hollering, “What do you think you’re doing? I need to see what happened… . Let me go, will you… ?”
“No, you don’t!” Mycroft shut the door behind him with his foot and literally forced Sherlock to retreat into a chair beside the window. “This time you’re staying right here – unless you want to find yourself jailed for planting a bomb at the Majestic.”
“But I didn’t – how could I?”
“You know very well the answer to that question, Sherlock. You were there all night, which would have given you ample time to install a device anywhere in the theatre and detonate it moments ago. If you go out there, the FBI will find a way to detain you…”
“How could they do such a thing? I’ve only given them all the facts they needed to find Adnan and his darn bomb.”
“Listen to me, Sherlock, this is not 1890 or even 1990 – this is the 21st century and the FBI is on the alert day and night for any terrorist activities…”
“I know that…”
“Let me finish!” Mycroft shouted, “Will you?” Sherlock bowed his head and said nothing. “Alright… , as I was saying, the FBI is on your tail because they can’t pin Adnan down and you’re the perfect scapegoat. You had all the answers from the beginning of this affair. Who’s to say that you were not conspiring with Adnan to plant the device for him – the same as he engaged the services of David Penny – tell me?”
Sherlock was, and perhaps for the first time in his life, at his wits’ end. He knew Mycroft was right. He lifted his eyes to him. “All right, I can see your point, but wouldn’t they do the same with Irene since they saw her with me this morning at the theatre?”
“Probably. However, her Bohemian antecedent and feminine intuition will possibly make her wise and careful about what could befall her if she isn’t careful.”
As if on cue, a knock at the door, and Mycroft going to open it, gave way to Irene’s precipitated steps into Sherlock’s room. “Thank God you’re still here,” she said in a breath, going to Sherlock directly. “I thought you might have gone down to the theatre when I didn’t find you”—she turned her face to Mycroft—“in your suite. Have you looked at the television report?” she asked, her gaze travelling from one brother to the other. Distracted by “the woman”, who was now only clad of a terry-cloth robe and barefoot, Sherlock and Mycroft were staring as if mesmerized by her stunning beauty.
Without a word of reply, Mycroft grabbed the remote from atop the television cabinet, opened its doors and clicked on the news channel.
The reports were clear and precise – a small nitro-glycerine device had been detonated in one of the dressing rooms of the Majestic Theatre. The damage had been quickly contained to the downstairs floors beneath the stage, and the fire department had already extinguished all remnant embers in the room. The police and other officers on site were not making any comments at this time, but a complete report was expected by the next scheduled newscast.
“I thought he would do something like that,” Sherlock remarked, regaining his seat by the window. “He had to satisfy the chase, to divert attention, and distract the authorities once again.”
“That nitro-glycerine bomb was not the device he intended to plant at the theatre initially, was it?” Irene asked Sherlock.
“Obviously not, Miss Adler…”
“Will you do me the favour of addressing me by my given name?” Irene cut-in with a teasing smile crossing her lips.
“Alright – Irene – it is obvious that Adnan was not engaged to plant such a small device in that theatre or have it detonated in the middle of the night.”
“If not at the Majestic and not a benign device, then what and where?” Mycroft shouted, visibly annoyed to say the least. “This man is starting to irritate me,” he added superfluously.
Sherlock and Irene looked up at the big man and smiled. Mycroft was nothing like his brother. Sherlock was tall and slender, whereas Mycroft was large and muscular. However, both had the same attitude toward many things in life. Honesty was perhaps the brothers’ main trait of character. Abruptness was another point of resemblance between them, and this characteristic was maybe what brought the next sentence out of Sherlock’s mouth; “Irene Adler, would you do me the honour of marrying me?”
“What? What did you just say?” Irene blurted, standing before Sherlock. “And you choose this time and these circumstances to ask my hand in marriage?” She turned to Mycroft. “What do you think? Should I accept or should I leave him to his miserable and complicated life?”
Mycroft couldn’t help himself; towering over the strikingly gorgeous creature, he exploded in loud laughter. “By all means, my dear, please take him off my hands!”
Irene pushed a rebellious curl of auburn hair behind her ear and returned her attention to a smiling Sherlock. “Alright, Mr. Holmes, yes, I will marry you!”
Within the hour of hearing that a bomb had indeed been detonated at the Majestic Theatre on Broadway, Agent Weisberg was on the phone with Mycroft. He hadn’t been able to contact Sherlock or this new ‘person of interest’ by the name of Irene Adler. In fact, the name had ignited a spark of recall to something he had read when he was a boy. The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle came back to mind. Irene Adler had been mentioned in one of the books… . This is all too weird to be true, he muttered under his breath while waiting for Mycroft to answer his cell phone.
“Mr. Minister, I am very sorry to disturb you once again, but we’ve got a situation…”
“Yes, I know all about it, Agent Weisberg.”
“How? It just happened a half-an-hour ago… .” Weisberg paused. Before describing anything to the minister, he wanted to have some questions answered. “Where are you?” he asked in a tone that was a little brusque for Mycroft’s taste.
“Agent Weisberg, I have no intention to respond to your questioning at any time, but since the answer could provide you with some reassurance in the matter, I’ll tell you. I am in New York with Sherlock Holmes and Miss Irene Adler. And before you ask, we have spent the better part of the night in my suite discussing Mr. Holmes returning to his home town of Wellington in New Zealand.”
“What about this Miss Adler – what do you know about her?”
“Your derogatory tone is quite inappropriate, I can assure you. Miss Adler has been a friend of Sherlock for many years, Agent Weisberg, and they will leave the United States together before…”
“What do you mean Sherlock will be leaving with Miss Adler… ? May I remind you, Mr. Minister, that Mr. Holmes will be a key witness if we ever put our hands on the Adnan fellow, and perhaps he should give us an account of his movements since we’ve last seen him on Broadway?”
“Agent Weisberg, I urge you to listen to what I am about to tell you very carefully. You and your people have decided that Mr. Holmes should bear a New Zealand passport when you first doubted of his nationality. He has a visa that will expire in a few weeks, and he has no intention of renewing it. Therefore, if you wanted to detain him anywhere under any circumstance, I would be the first one to alert our British Prime Minister of your shenanigans – do I make myself clear?”
Chapter Three
Wellington, New Zealand
Not finding evidence that could eventually link Sherlock or Irene to the bombing of the Majestic, and after a series of rather lengthy interviews held at the CIA’s offices in Virginia, they were both left alone and free to prepare their departure to Wellington, New Zealand. In the meantime, Mycroft made sure that Dr. Nebo’s original time machine was destroyed and replaced by the one Irene had used to travel across the centuries. As for the machine Sherlock had used, it was still somewhere in Virginia hidden in a disused warehouse,
well camouflaged under a pile of manufacturing debris. Mycroft thought it could stay where it was for the time being. He had delayed his return to London long enough already, and was at a loss to know where else he could store the darn thing.
It was on an early and frigid December morning that Sherlock and Irene tied the knot in front of an Anglican Minister, and later embarked on their first-class flight to San Francisco onward to Wellington in the evening. Sherlock was as curious as ever about everything that would meet his gaze. The aircraft was of particular interest to him. He could not yet grasp the idea that such a huge bird – for lack of a better word – could take off so easily and stay in flight for so many hours. To say that he and Irene were apprehensive when they engaged their steps into the gangway, would perhaps be an exaggeration, nevertheless, both could not begin to imagine the sensation they were about to experience when the plane would lift them off the ground at such a blazing speed.
When they reached cruising altitude, Irene asked, “Are we still moving?” leaning discreetly toward Sherlock.
“We must be,” he replied, still looking out the window with wonder in his eyes.
“This is amazing, Sherlock. I am all trepidation and can’t stop trembling.”
He turned to her. “There is nothing to fear, my dear. Mycroft assured me that this type of travel is safer than that of a motorcar.”
“It’s not fear that I feel… , it is utmost amazement. I can’t even begin to think all of this is real.”
“What did you feel in the time machine? Was it anything like this?”
“No, not at all. Perhaps because there was nothing to see or feel. It was as if I was in a dark room and sitting in a chair for an hour or so… , but nothing like this.”
“Alright. Maybe we should have something to drink when the steward comes by – would you like a sherry?”
Irene nodded and returned to staring straight ahead. This is not going to be easy, she thought.
Air New Zealand didn’t spare the spoiling. Irene, having relaxed quite a bit after a couple of hours during the flight to San Francisco, had thoroughly enjoyed the journey that landed the couple in Wellington on the southern tip of the North Island. A capital city of only 400,000 people, Wellington has often been dubbed the “cutest little capital in the world”. As soon as they disembarked, Sherlock and Irene were pleasantly surprised by the courteous reception they received. People seemed warm and friendly and they had none of the abrasive characteristics Irene, especially, had noticed in the American behaviour and manners. Sherlock, for his part, seemed more comfortable and more “in his element” – if there would ever be such a setting for him – than he had been in Washington. They collected their luggage soon after landing and were escorted through the arrivals’ lounge and onto the taxi ranks by two lovely and attentive ground attendants who saw to their every need and answered all of their numerous questions.
They had decided to take up lodgings in a Victorian B&B that Mycroft’s office had recommended as the most appropriate for the couple. This little jewel, located near the city and some of the main attractions in town, boasted fair-sized rooms decorated with Colonial-style furnishings that were pleasant and restful to the eye. On the second floor, the house was surrounded of a wrought-iron railed veranda, overlooking a swimming pool at the back of the property.
The temperature was so warm compared to the dreary weather they had left behind in Washington, that the first items to go into the wardrobe were their heavy winter coats. Sherlock had to remind himself that they were now in the southern hemisphere and that summer was near at hand throughout the island. Irene was again at a loss to find something suitable to wear. The people she saw milling about at the airport or even at the B&B were all dressed casually – and her wardrobe contained nothing of the sort. But for now the only thing that occupied her mind was to find a place to eat nearby. She was ravenous. Sally and Neil, the owners of this historic residence were very helpful in that regard. They showed them where they could find a restaurant close by, and after a delightful late lunch, Sherlock and Irene were ready to retire for the evening and maybe for the night. However, they were up at about one o’clock in the morning – jet lag had set in – they were both as awake as one would in the middle of the day. Mycroft had warned them this would happen, but neither had any idea that such a sensation of restlessness could be so strong. They went to the veranda and spent the hours preceding sunrise talking.
“Do you know, Sherlock,” Irene began, “I was not entirely truthful with you… .”
Sherlock lit his pipe, perhaps to hide the smile that was about to appear on his lips. “Not truthful, you say? But, my dear, there are so many things that could be hidden in someone’s past, which are simply to be discovered when time allows – they are not lies per se.”
“How very considerate of you to say so, however, I can no longer let my past lie in the darkness of my secret life.” Irene looked down to her lap.
“A secret life? My dear wife, you do intrigue me now. What could you have hidden behind such a splendid career?”
Not lifting her head, Irene went on, “I had always been attracted by the underworld schemes, I regret to say, but they aroused my curiosity and allowed me to beat senseless law-makers and—breakers at their own villainous games.”
Not looking at her and blowing some smoke toward the star-lit sky, Sherlock seemed to ponder Irene’s revelations before he said, “Is this the reason for you knowing so much about criminal manoeuvres – such as you did in Washington?”
“Maybe it is, Sherlock, but that’s only a minor knowledge of the inner workings of the criminal element with which I was well acquainted some hundred-twenty years ago.”
“And did you know anyone in particular in that century, perhaps a person that I encountered during my career with Scotland Yard?”
Irene remained silent and twirled the handkerchief between her fingers.
“You did know someone, didn’t you?”
Irene nodded. “I am ashamed to say that I knew Professor Moriarty – rather well, I might add. I’m sorry, Sherlock, but the lure of the game was much more than I could resist.” Her pleading eyes met Sherlock’s.
“I knew there had to be someone behind the man I despised, but I certainly did not expect that person to be you, nor did I ever expect this same person to become my wife some day.”
“Is that a reproach?” Irene queried.
“No, my dear, absolutely not. It only confirms what I suspected at the time…”
“Which was?”
“Moriarty was never a man as astute as you are.” He exhaled a breath of smoke out of his pipe. “Besides which, it is a delicious relief to know that I have you at my side now.”
“Are you saying that you consider me as some sort of trophy?”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Sherlock chuckled. “No, my dear, I am only glad to know that I was somewhat smarter than Moriarty. If he had been alone in his malevolent enterprises, I would have been able to match and surpass his cleverness, but with you pointing him in the directions, which you knew could spell my defeat, I had very little chance to succeed.”
After a lengthy pause, Irene said, “Will you forgive me?”
“Of course I would, my dear, if there was anything to forgive, yet I don’t see the point in forgiving your astuteness and your curiosity, or raising the ante in a game that ended with our departure from that century. Do you?”
“I thought you would reproach my association with such a man…”
“No, Irene, not at all.” Sherlock re-lit his pipe. “Such a man is now doomed never to find me and for us never to speak of him again, would you agree?”
“You would not want to return to 1890 to find him and slay him now that you know I am no longer there to guide him?”
“If such was ever to cross my mind, Mrs. Holmes, you would be the first to know. But as it stands today, our dear professor is dead and buried. What’s more, I wouldn’t want to entice the wrath of the gods by un
earthing or resurrecting his presence among the living.”
Irene exhaled a sigh of relief. For a fleeting moment she had thought that her revelation would have re-ignited a fire of vengeance in the heart of her husband and was glad for the outcome of their conversation. She also saw this exile as a means to keep Sherlock away from the time machine that was well hidden from any temptation he might have had to return to the past century. Yet, and in the end, Irene had to admit that she was in love with Sherlock and had been in love with him for years. All things set aside, she was happy to be where she was now.
A few days later, after spending most of their time visiting the city and the gardens, notably the Rose Garden, Sherlock and Irene took the funicular railway that brought them to the top of the Rimutaka Range overlooking the capital. There they visited the Botanic Gardens and took a stroll through the Victoria University of Wellington.
Leaving Irene one afternoon to do her shopping and while walking across the campus of the university, Sherlock inadvertently bumped into someone he thought was an older student.
“Oh, I am very sorry, sir,” the younger man said, stopping beside Sherlock.
“No, no, by all means, my dear fellow – my fault entirely – I didn’t look where I was walking.”
For a fraction of a second both men looked at each other, a sign of recognition lighting the man’s eyes. “Do I know you?” he asked Sherlock. “I apologize for my forwardness, sir, but you look awfully familiar. Have we met?”
“I don’t think that would have been possible, sir, since I have only been in the city for a couple of days.”
Sherlock Holmes in 2012: LORD OF DARKNESS RISING Page 5
