by Janina Woods
“This is Queen Victoria’s carriage!” he exclaimed and jumped up from the divan as if stung by a whole swarms of bees. “Mycroft...?”
I still wasn’t used to him calling me by my given name, and really saw the use only when my brother and I were in the same room, as to not confuse us. But there was no need for needless hostility. Besides, watching the doctor grow red in the face and jump around like he was standing on coals with naked feet, was amusement enough to pacify any desire to quarrel.
“Calm yourself! We needed a means to reach Dover within the hour and the carriage was present in the station. It’s as simple as that,” I explained and started to pull a number of small packages from the bag, which I had received from Ignatius at the station, and place them onto the writing desk next to me.
“Oh, do sit down. You are making me positively nervous.”
I watched Watson fight with himself for a few seconds, but a sudden jolt of the carriage, as it drove over yet another switch, took care of that problem and made him tumble back down most ungracefully. It was so sudden, I was unable to suppress a chuckle, but had my face back under control when Watson frowned upon me.
“Let me get this straight. The Queen herself owes you a favour?”
“Several in fact,” I said with a decidedly neutral expression. “One less now, I suppose. But who keeps count?”
Watson shook his head. His face was like an open book for me to read - emotions washing over it undisguised. Astonishment, annoyance, contemplation, doubt.
“You have a habit of overthinking.”
“And you have a habit of reading my thoughts.”
“Merely observing. Your face is very... liberal.”
The doctor had the audacity to smile at my comment. “There are times when I can’t tell you and your brother apart.”
Only years of rigorous training helped me avoid a slip in my expression. Comparing me to Sherlock had always been an insult of the highest order. Few people knew about our filial bond, and those who did valued their lives too much to dare make any comment. Watson knew this, of course. I narrowed my eyes briefly, more out of acknowledgement than disapproval, and filed the comment away for later. Watson had his own little room in my head, and the things which had accumulated there over the years would have been his downfall long ago, were my hands not tied.
To change the subject, I pointed to the small packages on the desk, which the doctor had been eyeing with unabashed curiosity. There were two piles, in fact, and I pushed the smaller one towards Watson unceremoniously.
“The matter at hand is an urgent and potentially dangerous one. We have to assume some sort of resistance at our destination. It can never hurt to be prepared, even if we might not need any of these,” I handed Watson one of the boxes, as he seemed to be hesitant to touch them. “I requested a number of items to be put at our disposal for the trip. I would have called for additional backup, but...”
My voice trailed off. There was no need for the doctor to know about my very unsanctioned departure, and I had let on too much already. He frowned, but didn’t pry, and we turned our attention back to the task at hand.
Each of the mystery bundles was a small, wooden box, wrapped in coarse, brown packing paper and fastened with a black string. I opened them all, one by one, just as Watson was doing the same.
Ah, those people... I shook my head. They always want to remind me that their tools were expensive and precious. ‘Dear Mycroft. This item is one of only two in existence. I would like to see it returned to England in one piece.’ As if I would ever...
I read the note, which I found in the biggest box, in the mocking tone Ignatius always adopted, hearing it clearly in my head. There really was no point to it, as I had always brought back at least half of the items they supplied me with. And if one or two exceptionally good ones sometimes ended up in my own pocket... well, that was no one’s business but mine. The Service had sufficient means to produce more tools than I could ever ruin.
“This is a concealed carrying belt for your gun, which I am quite certain you brought with you, carelessly concealed in one of your coat’s pockets,” I said and pushed said belt towards the doctor. One would think he’d take better care of his firearm after serving in the military. “Now this is a regular pocket watch on the front, but if you press the switch on top three times very fast and pull the chain out, you can see it’s attached to a very robust piano wire, useful for all kinds of situations. Here we have a pen, which is filled with ink, but when this part is turned, it can be used as a means to inject a potent poison...”
“Mycroft!” Watson stated with emphasis, body straightening in an instant. “I will not kill a person! I have taken the Hippocratic oath!”
Again I suppressed the obvious urges as the muscles in my body tensed. The deadly pen was still in my hand, and I twirled it several times between my fingers in an effort to release some of the nervous energy that had taken hold of me. I could still dump Watson in Dover...
“Yes, you are a doctor. But you are an army doctor and you carry a gun on your person almost religiously. How many of your patients have you shot before patching them up?”
“The difference between a gun and this pen is that the former provides me with the chance to do exactly that,” Watson said between clenched teeth, as he picked up on my mood and visibly braced himself. “I shoot to incapacitate. Not to kill.”
“With all due respect, Dr. Watson,” I replied and put as much venom in pronouncing the man’s title as I could muster. “My tools, my mission, my rules. You agreed to take my lead, and I will not take you along if all you prove to be is a liability.”
Watson slammed the pocket watch, which he had still held in his hand, back on top of the writing desk and rose to his feet. He looked more than ready to launch into a heated argument, maybe even a physical one.
Then, all of a sudden, the carriage shook violently. A gale so fierce, it made the windows rattle and the whole structure tilt precariously, hit the train with full force. Watson tumbled onto the floor and, out of instinct, I threw myself on top of his form as I saw the items on the desk follow suit. Several heavy things hit my back, but their impact was cushioned by the thick layers of clothing I was still wearing. The wheels of the carriage screeched and it shook again, making the alcohol bottles perform a cacophony of clinking sounds. Expensive drinking glasses fell to the floor and were only saved by the plush carpet laid out beneath.
A shock of pain from my right index finger made me shout something unintelligible as not only the skin on my fingertip, but my whole hand felt as if it were made of liquid fire. I couldn’t conceal it and released a groan of anguish at the unfamiliar and horrifying sensation as I threw myself back, thereby releasing the doctor.
Then the wind calmed down, the short train picked up speed, and the weird feeling in my hand disappeared as quickly as it had arrived - leaving only an irritated tingle. I stared at my skin, but there was no visible sign of any damage or even burns to be seen.
“Are you alright?” Watson uttered with concern as he righted himself up.
“I didn’t hurt myself when the carriage shook,” I answered, truthfully in part. “Merely bumped my knee at an unfortunate angle as I fell.”
The doctor nodded. “Thank you for... shielding me.”
“My rules,” was the simple reply.
I could pinpoint the moment that our earlier argument popped back into the doctor’s head, but the commotion had taken all the wind out of his sail. Neither of us seemed comfortable in acknowledging the second strange happening of the night. I knew I wouldn’t admit to the pain I had felt, thereby making it a real thing that hadn’t happened just in my head. Though the other option wasn’t much better.
“Alright, Mycroft. This time it’s your rules. If Holmes is in danger, I’m the last person who wants to create any problems during his rescue.
”
So there was something good to be had today, after all.
Like Handing a Mouse to a Hungry Cat
The abominable weather seemed intent to stand in our path at every junction. Upon our arrival in Dover, we learned that the wintry gales of a blizzard made a crossing of the channel temporarily impossible, and we had to resign ourselves to wait until they subsided. Our hasty departure had been in vain and all hours saved were now wasted.
Brilliant.
I stood at the seafront and watched the ships being battered by waves that should have had no business being so large and vicious in the safety of the harbour. All my curses did nothing to calm the gales and my voice was drowned out by the roar of the storm. There I was, foolishly thinking that I could bend Nature to my will, when it was all futile. I hated being put in my place like this, no matter by whom. We couldn’t afford to be delayed.
Sherlock had never, in his life, sent a request for help like this. My brother was and had always been an ingenious, secretive and above all self-sufficient person. If I could trust anyone to battle his way through life alone and come out on top every time, it was him. But I also knew that he would rather shoot himself than ask me for support, no matter how freely I would give it. Though, sometimes I wondered if I should offer to do the shooting.
Then Watson approached me, arms raised to shield himself from the worst of the storm, which really was a futile endeavour.
“There is a man, who wants to see you,” the doctor shouted over the wind.
“A man?” No one was supposed to know we were there.
“He seemed insistent. Sent me out to fetch you, even,” Watson stated, clearly bristled about the fact that he had been ordered about like that. “He is waiting in the lobby of our hotel.”
A peculiar feeling overcame me. “Does he perchance happen to have red hair, a wild beard and wear small glasses on a large nose?”
Watson frowned, but nodded all the same. “You know the gentleman?”
“Yes, unfortunately. I had temporarily forgotten about him.” No, that’s not right - I made myself forget him. How did he know...? We hadn’t even been there for more than an hour... Ah, of course, we gave the hotel our real names. What a stupid, stupid mistake. There was no excuse to let my guard down just because we were still on British soil.
“Should I be worried?”
“No, not exactly worried.”
Watson seemed confused and I couldn’t blame him. I prayed that the night wouldn’t take a turn for the worse - though with the way that I was feeling, my patience was already running thin.
The walk from the harbour to the hotel was a short one, but to brave the wind was a challenge all in itself. The heavy snowfall clouded my view and the freezing water on the ground made every step a potential pitfall. Still, we made it to the welcoming warmth of the hotel lobby in one piece, where a pageboy offered to dry and then bring our coats to the room we had bought for the night.
I surveyed the space as we approached the bar in the room next to the lobby, which was furnished in warm tones, with heavy curtains to keep out the cold and many different palm trees to give the place a bit of colour. It held a large number of low tables and chairs - almost all occupied by guests, who were held back by the weather as we were, enjoying a drink or maybe two. The fine aroma of cigars permeated the air as the smoke drifted lazily through the light. Watson was a bit unnerved in these surroundings, but I would accept nothing but the finest lodgings to raise my spirits at least a little.
“So, are we in trouble?” the doctor asked in a small voice, already spying the person, who had sent him on the errand to fetch me. “Because of the carriage, maybe?”
I laughed softly at his train of thoughts. “Not because of that. Follow me, please. And... try to keep quiet.”
The familiar man sat at a table next to the bar. He didn’t look out of place in this establishment, even in his simple, brown suit. A lanky figure, nursing a glass of amber spirit nervously, with a shock of bright red hair, which stood up as if fleeing from his scalp in horror. In hindsight, maybe a smaller hotel... maybe something unregistered might have done as well. But, no. There was no use in prolonging the inevitable.
“Leonard!” I uttered the name as warmly as I could muster, as we approached his table. “A absolute pleasure to meet you here!”
“Mycroft!” he shouted - excited, shocked and gleeful at the same time. “So good to see you! You’re looking well!”
“You must be joking,” I countered. My face must have looked even more tired as I was feeling.
Leonard Hawkins laughed in his own, unique way, sounding like a dry-heaving chicken. He gestured to the empty chairs at his table and just as we took a seat, a waiter placed two drinks in front of us, evidently of the same spirit that Hawkins was enjoying a bit too freely. He looked nervous, and I couldn’t blame him.
“I am delighted to see you, friend. It has been too long.”
“Seven months and twenty-three days,” I stated flatly.
Watson looked back and forth between me and the tall stranger and implored me with his eyes to explain what was going on. I shrugged and took a big gulp of the liquid in my glass, which turned out to be a damn fine cognac, which immediately started to thaw me. At least Hawkins had taste in alcohol.
“Dr. Watson, this is Leonard Hawkins - we share the same employer. He overlooks all business going on in Dover,” I explained while the man puffed himself up. He had all the reasons to do so - to observe the traffic going through Dover and to take care of any problem arising, was a challenge that could only be organised and carried out by the best. It wasn’t because of his job or abilities that I had grown to dislike the man, but for a completely different reason.
“Charmed, Dr. Watson. No need to introduce yourself, I most certainly know of you. Associate to the great detective Sherlock Holmes. And now on the road with the magnificent Mycroft Holmes? My, my...” Hawkins smiled.
Watson nodded curtly. “All circumstantial, I assure you... A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hawkins.”
“Leonard, please. For friends of Mycroft’s, always Leonard.”
“I do not recall informing you of my location,” I said amicably enough while Watson acquainted himself with the cognac. “How did you...”
“It’s my job to know where everyone in this town is,” he answered and smiled broadly.
“Yes, well, if you put it like that.”
Watson seemed content to stay out of the conversation, and I couldn’t blame him. Hawkins had always been a strange bundle of nerves, always just a bit... too much. I had learned to avoid him, but that wasn’t always possible. Despite this, he didn’t recognize any negative feelings I harboured for him. Or maybe he simply ignored them. The redhead waved for the waiter to top off our glasses, even though I refused out of politeness.
“Mycroft, my friend,” the agent said happily, but with a barely perceptible tense edge to his tone. “You know that you are my friend, right?”
“Right.”
“You must know that I am overjoyed to meet you here, no matter the circumstances, and that I would never want for any harm to...”
“Get to the point,” I cut him off. He was clearly torn between his loyalty to the Service and the one to a fellow agent. I already knew why he had sought me out.
“There was a message, you see,” Hawkins stated, nervously, opening the unavoidable part of the conversation on an uneasy note. Everything could hinge on my ability to handle Hawkins right now. Maybe even my brother’s life.
I leaned back into the uncomfortable chair, held the crystal glass up to my eyes and swirled the amber liquid around in a way the light sparkled on its surface, doing my best to look thoroughly unimpressed.
“Headquarters told you to intercept me. Tell me off. Worst case even detain me?” I stated the ob
vious.
“Your trip is unauthorized, and so are your supplies. You could slip through the cracks because we weren’t quick enough to catch up with you in London, and you even managed to fool Craig... but here I am now. Before we have to employ more drastic measures, I was sent here to talk to you.”
“Damn that blizzard!” Watson exclaimed and slammed the glass down onto the table just a little too hard. Fortunately it was already empty. I would’ve hated for this fine spirit to go to waste.
“Now, now,” I smiled. “Don’t be so agitated, dear doctor. Yes, the blizzard prevents us from proceeding, but it also gave me the opportunity to see an old friend again. Isn’t that right, Leonard?”
I hated to resort to this, but the last thing we needed was a holdup right at the beginning of our journey. I smiled at the precious effort of headquarters. They didn’t have any choice but to contact him, as he was the only man who could potentially stop me in time. But to place Hawkins in my path was more like handing a mouse to a hungry cat, as he had long been my self-proclaimed number one admirer.
“I am happy to see you, no matter the circumstances, Mycroft. But this is irregular and I can’t just let it slide.”
Watson narrowed his eyes, but refrained from attempting any intervention on his part, which I was very glad for.
“I will tell you the reason for this unusual trip, and only because I know I can trust you,” I said, my voice sweet, but not overly. It wouldn’t be good to overdo it.
“You can always trust me, Mycroft,” he replied readily. “But I don’t see how this would change anything.”
“Well, you see, the real reason for our hasty departure - and for Dr. Watson’s presence - is that my brother could be in mortal danger. We need to find him posthaste, as his life depends on it. You understand, surely, that I cannot wait for permission in such a dire case, if it’s about my beloved brother!”
