Mycroft Holmes and the Edinburgh Affair

by Janina Woods

  “And here I ran after you for all these years, thinking you saved me because you care. But you never contacted me once out of your own free will, it was always-”

  I grabbed the man by both shoulders and shook him out of his monologue. He stared at me wide-eyed, as if I had hit him.

  “Leonard, please. This has impacted us both much harder than we thought. I had suspected the connection earlier, but to have it confirmed like this... is something altogether different. I won’t force you to have a look at the records with me. In fact, I want you to be as far from all of this as possible. I know how hard that first year after the mission has been for you. I-”

  “If you know, then why weren’t you there? I spent that year almost completely alone!” he said and twisted himself from my grasp. “That didn’t make it any easier!”

  I swallowed. How often had I been in my office during that time, Hawkins just a floor above mine? I had stood behind my door, ready to visit him, but unable to go. How often had I drowned my sorrow on those nights, when I hated myself for not being able to stand up to my demons? Had I really never told him? Looking at the man now, it seemed like I should have. Was it too late?

  “I couldn’t,” I all but whispered. This was too much for me, and the location was too public, but Hawkins deserved the truth.

  “You couldn’t what?”

  “I failed you, Leonard. I took too long to find you. I could’ve been so much faster, had it not been for that stupid head of mine, overthinking, turning around in its desire to prove itself. You... I’ve almost been too late. In a sense, I have been. I have never...” I paused for a second and balled my hands into fists. “I have never forgiven myself for letting it come to this. For making you go through that year of hell, only because I’ve been so slow. I am so, so sorry. I assumed you wouldn’t want to see me. That my presence would only make you remember.”

  As I finished with that monologue of my own, I was somehow unable to look Hawkins in the eye. It took a while for him to react, and at first it seemed almost like he wanted to run from the shop, but then he placed a hand on my arm.

  “Mycroft, you are rubbish at talking,” he said and as I looked up in surprise, I saw him smile at me. “What you’re good at is internalising your problems and taking responsibility for far too many things.”

  “Are you finished?” I groaned.

  “No. It wasn’t your fault I was in that cage. That was all Clarke. It wasn’t your fault they destroyed my arm. Hell, it wasn’t even your fault I was captured. That was very much on myself.” Hawkins sighed and put both hands in his hair, moved them around to make it stand up even more, then leaned back in his chair. “Your part in the whole thing was getting me out of there alive. I don’t even remember much after you pulled me from the water. It’s all hazy until I woke up in that hotel room a few days later.”

  “You ran a high fever,” I reminded him. “We... we thought we might lose you.”

  “My body is tough, even though my mind isn’t,” Hawkins mumbled.

  “It’s a good thing you don’t remember too much. The doctors had to break and set your arm again. I will never forget the screams...”

  Hawkins hummed and picked up his coffee cup, swirled the remnants of the dark liquid around, before waving for another. We sat in silence until both our cups were refilled and I gratefully took another sip of the hot beverage.

  “It seems I could’ve done better during that year... and beyond.”

  “That’s an understatement. But, yes. As much as I see in you my personal hero, I also know your shortcomings.”

  I was feeling at least partially mortified. It was a peculiar day. “If I promise to try to do better, if I come out of this whole drama alive, will you agree to help me now? I swear, I wish I could do it without your help, but my hands are tied, when it comes to the records.”

  “I will help you. And... I’m sorry for acting like that earlier.”

  “No,” I quickly said and shook my head. “You have every right.”

  “I shall remember that.”

  We exited the coffee shop soon after, not in the brightest of spirits, but with a mutual understanding. At least this episode had proven to me that I had two closer friends than I had previously thought. Whatever I chose to make of that information was a thing I would let my future self worry about. For now, we had chosen to hail another cab and go straight to the office of the doctor, who had seen Hawkins after the mission in Edinburgh.

  Doctor Zacharias Fillmore was an old man, but even in his eighty-third year of life, his head was still clear and his tongue was still sharp. If you saw him on the street, with his small body, curved back and gentle features, you would not believe the intellect and vast mind that lay behind the clear blue eyes. With a head of wavy, white hair and a pair of glasses, which were always a bit crooked and too big for his nose, he seemed more like a bumbling grandfather than a practicing doctor of the mind.

  He was very good with people and even I held in man in high regard. For a time, I had been regularly sent to him, after some of my more intense missions, because my superiors believed I needed someone to talk through them, as I always undertook them alone. At first, I had dreaded these instances, but the doctor had turned out to be a perfectly amiable man, who couldn’t quite keep up with my mind, but made up for it in warmth and understanding. I had been glad to know that Hawkins was treated by him, as I knew he was in very good hands.

  Doctor Fillmore’s practice lay close to the Diogenes Club in Whitehall. It was an unusual location for a doctor to open his offices, but his was an unusual clientele. After Challenger’s predecessor had discovered him, it took only a few months until he offered the doctor a whole house for his practice and living arrangements. Fillmore graciously accepted the opportunity and had been available to all members of the Service from that day forth.

  As was his custom, the doctor was open to business only after luncheon, but he was always present in his office in the morning, so we let ourselves in. After the - surprisingly young - secretary announced us, we were let into his rooms. Doctor Fillmore welcomed us from behind a desk of frankly monstrous proportions. The space around him was very tidy and almost sparsely furnished. On the far end of the office stood the desk, and a shelf that covered the back wall. On the other, there was an arrangement of comfortable armchairs. The rest was occupied by large plants - ferns, palms and various others I recognised stemming from a warmer climate. It was, all things considered a very pleasant place to spend one’s time in.

  “Mycroft Holmes! You’re only about 15 hours late to your appointment, good man,” Fillmore greeted me with a sly grin. “That’s actually an improvement over last time.”

  Hawkins looked at me confusedly, and I shook my head.

  “I was... otherwise engaged. My apologies.”

  “No worries. I had another appointment booked for the same time, as I knew you wouldn’t show.”

  While that was a clever thing to do, and I could admire his enterprise, it still stung me in a way it shouldn’t. My feelings must have shown on my face, as the doctor started laughing. He carefully put down his pen, straightened the paper he had been writing on, then leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands together.

  “And Leonard Hawkins,” he continued. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

  “I hope you’re not taking it the wrong way, but I’m glad for that, Doctor Fillmore.”

  “Indeed, indeed. It is the curse of my profession that I should be happiest if I never see a dear patient again. So if you both evidently don’t want to be here, why are you?”

  I cleared my throat and glanced at Hawkins for a second. He nodded his quiet confirmation.

  “I suppose you have heard of the message on the Thames yesterday?” How could he have not?

  “The message that was left for you, yes. A desperate c
ry for attention. Very dramatic. Who sent it?”

  “That’s what we’re here to find out. You see, the case is connected to a certain mission in Edinburgh, eleven years ago.”

  I didn’t have to say more. Doctor Fillmore’s memory was very good, and even if it hadn’t been, I doubt he could have forgotten the year Hawkins had sat in this room, working through his traumatic brush with death. Fillmore immediately eyed my colleague with interest, no doubt judging his expression.

  “So that’s why you’re both here. You need to see my records.”

  “If you would be so kind,” I confirmed.

  It was always pleasant to talk to an individual with intelligence. You had to explain so much less. And if I hated something, it was explaining myself.

  “That’s a bit irregular, Mycroft.” Fillmore rose from his seat. Even standing, he was still a head shorter than me, but his presence made up for it. He turned to look at his shelf, like he was searching for something. After checking the labels on a few ledgers on his right, he shook his head and turned back to us.

  “Must be in storage already. It’s been about nine years since this particular issue has been laid to rest, after all. But, tell me, before we go through the trouble of seeking it out... What do you hope to accomplish, exactly?”

  “We hope to find names and other clues in the notes. My own report of the mission is lacking, and there’s a group of people out there not afraid to murder indiscriminately. The quicker we get to the core of the matter, the better. For the populace of London, for the Secret Service and for myself.”

  Fillmore nodded as he approached us, coming to stand at the side of his desk, leaning against the edge.

  “And what do you think about all that, Leonard? You haven’t said a word yet.”

  I took the doctor’s remark as the reprimand that it was. Indeed I had not encouraged Hawkins to speak out so far.

  “I’m here because I agree with Mycroft’s assessment and would like to give consent for him to sight the records of my sessions relating to the... Edinburgh affair.”

  “Come on, that sounded like a script.” Fillmore shook his head. “Are you really alright with this? You know what’s in those files.”

  Hawkins fidgeted and looked back and forth between me and the doctor several times. I had half a mind to tell the old man to mind his own business, and not make Hawkins doubt himself, when it had taken me a lot of emotional work to bring him here. But a little voice in my head told me that it was the wrong thing to say at the wrong time, so I schooled my features and let my colleague come to terms with himself in his own time.

  “It’s not ideal, I admit that much. But I will not read them, lest they bring back any more unpleasant memories. Mycroft is faster than me, anyway. It’s what needs to be done. I can’t stand here, knowing I hold in my hands the potential key to solving this nightmare, and not do anything.”

  “That’s all very well, but you can’t take it back. Mycroft can’t forget what he will read. The general information, even his own memories, about Edinburgh are one thing. Your personal account is something altogether different.”

  I suppressed a sigh. No negative emotions now. I purposely took a step back to emphasise the room I let Hawkins have to think on his decision.

  “If I’d trust anyone with all that, it would be him.”

  “Very well. Wait for me here.”

  After Doctor Fillmore disappeared from the room, I let my shoulders slump and turned to face Hawkins, who had a peculiar look on his face. He was uncomfortable, that much was clear, and maybe even a bit scared, but there was also a gentle sadness I wasn’t expecting. I opened my mouth to speak, but he simply shook his head.

  “You have apologised enough, Mycroft. Let’s get this over with. You won’t be disappointed when I don’t join you in the research? I don’t want to let you leave here alone, with everything that’s going on, so I’ll wait with Fillmore’s secretary.”

  I could do nothing but agree. It was strange, so strange to have this much trust placed in me. Sure, the agency trusted me to complete their missions, otherwise they wouldn’t give me such high profile work, but this was different. It was almost like it meant more than my work, which was pretty much a ridiculous thing for me to even contemplate. I pushed the idea out of my head just in time for the doctor to reappear. He held up a single, thick folder of dark leather, bound close with a black string.

  “These records will not leave this room, and I won’t leave you alone with them. Everything you do write down to take with you will have to go through my hands first. Is that clear?”

  I agreed to his terms. In fact, I was glad for them. It showed that my own records would be treated with the same respect and secrecy. Hawkins placed a hand on my shoulder and excused himself. It seemed that the mere sight of the folder already made him recall some darker feelings.

  “Are you sure that perhaps I could not sight these for you?” Fillmore asked quickly, just as Hawkins was about to close the door behind him.

  “You wouldn’t know what to look for, but Mycroft does.” Hawkins sighed. “Thank you. It’ll be alright.”

  “Very well. You have one hour before my first patient will call on me. I suggest you make it count.”

  I had not been adequately prepared.

  Objectively, most of my own report about the mission in Edinburgh matched up with Hawkins’ account. But his recollection went into details I didn’t even remember. This emotional recount of the happenings was very different from what was still in my own head, and it was often rather hard to read. It wasn’t a transcript of the actual conversations, but Fillmore had taken a lot of notes.

  The detailed records were a positive thing for the current investigation, but it felt decidedly dirty to read them. Here I was, basically prying Hawkins’ mind open, walking through his personal thoughts to dissect and analyse them. No wonder Fillmore had objected to me reading them.

  I owed Leonard so much for this.

  To narrow everything down, I concentrated on the sessions where they had worked through the actual sequence of events in the harbour. The beginning pretty much matched up with mine, until we had gotten separated on a chase and Hawkins’ nightmare had begun.

  The mission in Edinburgh had been a simple one, on the surface. Uncover an opium smuggling operation, capture or neutralise the responsible parties. The city had a drug problem, and the illegally imported goods didn’t help at all - but most of all we had been after the missing tax. We had tracked down the distributors and cornered them, before they bolted. Of course we had chased the group down, not knowing it had been a trap all along.

  They had separated us by having two people run away in opposite directions, and we had run right into it, like the fools we were. In the end, my quarry had escaped me. And so had Hawkins. Both he, and the man he had pursued, disappeared from the face of the earth.

  Oh, how I had searched for him. I had been frantic. Out of my mind with worry, though at first it had been mostly about the success of the mission. I hadn’t even thought about the harm that could come to him. I had believed he would hold his own.

  How wrong I had been.

  It had cost me over a day to track them down. It cost them a lot of people, as I hadn’t hesitated to get rid anyone, who didn’t give me the information I needed. I figured that my approach would make the rounds and help me to find Hawkins faster. It had worked, in a way. But what I didn’t know, was that they broke his right arm every time they got news of me ending yet another one of their distributors or helpers.

  When I had finally found - and shot my way through - their base in Edinburgh harbour, it had almost been too late. Hawkins had been locked up in a cage, left to drown when the flood came in. His head had barely been over the water surface, clutching to the bars with his uninjured hand, the other arm a bloody mess, twisted beyond recognition.
The fact that he could now use it again was no small miracle.

  The report in front of me detailed every moment of Hawkins’ thoughts while he had been in captivity, and the stress he had been under, as he had been told just why his arm was being broken over and over again. How hard it had been to know that I was coming closer to rescue him with every step, but that those only brought him closer to his own death.

  I put down the paper and slumped back in my chair. For a while I had to close my eyes and rubbed my eyelids, out of concern that a tear would indeed escape me.

  “It’s not an easy thing to comprehend,” I heard Fillmore say quietly from the other side of the room. Not even half an hour had passed, as I had moved through the papers at great speed. It meant greater efficiency, but also more horror per minute for me to process. I now had all information I needed... and much more.

  “I’m finished,” I replied.

  I could’ve answered Fillmore’s implicit question, but I wasn’t here as a patient, and I had done enough emotional labour for today. In fact I had done enough for years. There was a reason I never worked with a partner... anymore. I had already preferred to work alone before Edinburgh, and the incident had only solidified my decision. In the end, it was best if I were only accountable for myself and my own actions. Having someone with me to look after was... challenging, to say the least.

  Fillmore didn’t press the issue as I tidied the papers and put everything back in order. I had produced one sheet of notes. They were single words, put in a certain arrangement on the paper. It wouldn’t make much sense to someone else reading this, having the names, locations and other clues distributed like that, but I had my system. I handed the folder and my notes to the doctor. He made a show of double checking the records and pondered the results of my research.

  “Alright, that should be good. No one, except the people from the investigation is going to see this?” he asked as he handed me back the sheet.

  I folded it and put it in the inner pocket of my suit jacket.