Mycroft Holmes and the Edinburgh Affair

by Janina Woods

  I didn’t see how, at that moment, but I had to take advantage of the situation. I had always wondered... Thompson seemed agreeable to indulge my curiosity and took a deep breath.

  “I married about three years after I finished my education. I had already started working as a journalist at the newspaper I’m now an editor for. That’s been basically my life, until two months ago. There isn’t really much more to tell, I’m afraid. Judging from what I know about you now, my path has been quite boring.”

  “Any children?” my brother asked.

  “None. I know, it sounds strange. But my wife... she’s unable. I knew when I married her. Took her name to show I’d stand by her. My family wasn’t pleased at first, but they came around. I’m not the oldest child, you know? Besides, I would make a rubbish father.”

  It was strange to hear him talk. His voice had the same quality to it, only now it sounded much rougher. Better. I shook my head.

  “You’re very frank,” Sherlock remarked.

  “I don’t have much to lose, have I? If they find out that I’ve been helping you, I’m dead anyway. And Mycroft knows me so well already, what are these few tidbits on top really worth?”

  I sighed. The situation was too absurd for me to really process at the moment, so I simply accepted it for what it was and willed myself to proceed. But something in me had other ideas.

  “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a wonderful father. You’re the kindest, most gentle person I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.”

  Before I had even finished the sentence, I regretted it. Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically, and the man himself had been stunned into silence and looked to the floor.

  “Forget I said anything. Continue, please.”

  “Right,” Thompson replied in a curious tone, still not meeting my eyes, fingers flexing. “Two months ago, I was approached by a woman, who knew one of my older brothers. I already knew he had died some years ago in Scotland, but even that news had taken a while to reach the family here. We never knew of the circumstances, but had to accept the fact. Well, she told me exactly what happened.”

  Now he did meet my eyes, searching for something in my gaze. “She told me you killed him, Mycroft.”

  I had expected that. It matched with what Sherlock had found out about the victims of the two murders so far. Still, it was different having it said to your face by someone, who had actually been affected.

  “So you’ve come to exact revenge?” I asked.

  “If you would listen to me for a second, you’d remember that I said I’m here to warn you! I don’t even carry a weapon on my person! I wanted to refuse helping the woman, who had also lost someone dear to her in the fight, but she threatened me. Either I’d help her or end up a dead messenger. I believed her words, but others didn’t. When the plan was set into motion, the ones that refused were the ones to be sacrificed, pressuring the rest into contributing. But I didn’t want any part in it. I helped build the message on the Thames that night, and afterwards begged to be assigned as your shadow. I’d follow you where I could and would tell the others confusing information. Unfortunately I couldn’t be everywhere at once.”

  “Your wife has reported you as missing with the Yard.”

  “Ah, yes. I suppose she would. I don’t know how I can ever make this up to her. But I can’t follow you and do my job at the same time.”

  “They told her it was too early to report you after just one day, but you are apparently not one to stray from your routine.”

  “That is true.”

  “A tall tale,” Sherlock once more spoke where I had run out of words. “If Mycroft killed your brother, why are you helping him now?”

  “Because my older brother was a scoundrel. The scum of the earth. He took advantage of my parents and stole a large sum of money from them before disappearing without a trace. He brought only misery to my mother, who tortures herself to this day about what she did wrong. At least in his death he has given her some sort of peace. I don’t want to exact any kind of revenge on Mycroft. In fact, I should be thanking him...”

  “So what have you come to warn me about exactly? Something about my house and explosives?”

  I was well aware that the quality of my voice betrayed the conflicting emotions I was currently exposed to. I’d put my hand in the fire for Alexander Smith. But there was much about Alexander Thompson that I didn’t know, and it wasn’t like me to make these decisions based on anything but cold logic. And logic dictated that I would be a fool to trust him just because he told us a touching story.

  “Your house isn’t guarded and not very well secured. I... I’ve already broken in once, on orders, while you were away on the Continent. While we knew you to be at Newgate, the woman has arranged for a number of powerful explosives to be placed in your cellar. Should you return home, they will be detonated. Your house is still being watched. Going to see Clarke was the last straw,” Thompson confirmed.

  “She told me as much,” I mumbled, thinking about the almost-abduction. “I knew Newgate was being watched.”

  “Yes, well, nobody actually saw you go in or out of the prison. It was Evans. He ran and notified us. He’s been in her pocket for months.”

  I put my face in both hands. Of course the bastard had been bought. He had probably been told that his career in the Service was over already and so he had jumped ship to join the other side prematurely. Maybe under threat, but I had no sympathy left for the man. He had dug his grave. If I had only known... I could‘ve accelerated the process of getting him there.

  Sherlock did something to the man’s head that made Thompson complain, but then declared his efforts finished.

  “The woman you mentioned. Does she have a name?” he asked.

  “She does, though I don’t know if it’s her real one. She just calls herself Sarah.”

  At least my investigation had brought forth the correct name before it had been handed to us. It was but a small consolation.

  “And did she tell you why she put together this merry group?”

  “Everyone participating in this plan had their life in some big or small measure thrust into disarray by Mycroft. We stem from all walks of life, but that’s the one thing we share. You wasted no time in making enemies. None at all. But you have at least one friend left who cares about you, if you’ll have me.”

  I wanted to shout at him to stop talking like this. I wanted to bury myself somewhere until my head had sorted itself. I needed time, but there was none. A deadline had been set. Whatever elaborate plan they had to ruin my reputation, before attempting to take my life, was now interrupted, and my head was up for grabs. And the heads of my family, I reminded myself.

  I couldn’t, I wouldn‘t back down right now. That’s not what Mycroft Holmes would do. He was always a capable strategist, a logical reasoner. The best of the best. The thought of this Sarah making me doubt myself, disgusted me so much, it actually helped me to pull myself together. If there was a group of people out there that wanted to end Mycroft Holmes’ career and everything that he stood for, they would find that there was a man, who wasn’t so easily cracked.

  With reluctance, I looked up at Thompson, who had patiently waited for my thoughts to put themselves in line, and right then I had an idea. If I was gone, there would be no more reason to harm anyone. It wouldn’t hurt me anymore. So I glanced at Sherlock. Maybe...

  “If they want a broken man, who has been pushed into a corner, let’s give him to them. You’ll go to tell Sarah Deville that she’s won.”

  Thompson looked thoroughly shocked, but Sherlock saw through my plan without problem. “You’ll make them think you died. But for how long?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “Very bold. And dangerous. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  “You’re in absolutely no positio
n to veto this plan. Shall I remind you of - ?”

  Sherlock actually shushed me. It was, admittedly, gratifying.

  “You say there are explosives set up in my house?” I directed my question at Thompson.

  “Yes. I would advise against returning there until this all is resolved... if we can resolve it at all.”

  “In that case we shall adjourn to Kensington post haste.”

  “Are you quite mad?” Thompson exclaimed. “I just said that it would be suicide!”

  “Precisely,” Sherlock cut in. “You will deliver a message to the powers that be, telling them that you missed Mycroft, but trailed him to his house. You tell them he seemed out of it, slow, sluggish, probably very drunk. They need to know that-”

  “Mr. Holmes?”

  We all turned towards the door, from where Clifford had called out to... well, probably my brother. He knocked once more for good measure, before Sherlock told him to enter the room. But it wasn’t him, who appeared. It was Hawkins. He looked pale, nervous and incredibly tired. But he was alive.

  “By Jove, Leonard. You scared me,” I sighed and immediately intercepted him before he could properly enter the room.

  And then I did something, that before that day I wouldn’t have thought possible for me: As soon as I reached Hawkins, I wrapped my arms around him to reassure myself of his safety. I needed to physically know that he was alright. Not even Hawkins had been prepared for this reaction, and he just stood there, stiffly, until I let go. But underneath his confusion, I could also see understanding.

  “That wasn’t my intention. I apologise,” he replied, his voice even more tired than he looked. “I wanted to join you on time, but there were complications at the club. Still, you shouldn’t be glad I’m here. Actually...”

  It was only then Hawkins noticed Thompson, still bound to the chair, and stopped talking. The captured man nodded an awkward greeting, which Hawkins returned reluctantly.

  “Who is that?”

  “Alexander Thompson. Pleased to make your acquaintance Mr. Hawkins. I’m sorry for the way my brother treated you. I truly am,” Thompson said before anyone else could react.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “It’s a long story.” I sighed. “I’ll explain it to you at one point, but that’s not now.”

  “Agreed. You wouldn’t have time anyway, as Mr. Hawkins is here to take you into custody. I suppose there is one of the agency cabs waiting outside,” my brother interjected. “They’ve sent him alone, as Challenger expects you to run, but your loyalty to this particular agent might convince you to give yourself up.”

  “The deadline isn’t up yet,” I huffed.

  “It will be soon,” Hawkins replied. “And your brother is right. I’ve been sent to convince you to come quietly. There’s been a new development, and Challenger has deemed you not only a liability, but also under threat yourself. You’re to come with me so we can protect you at headquarters.”

  “Listen to your friend, Mycroft. You should go with him. This plan of yours is mad.”

  I shot Thompson a rather icy stare. He would not be the one to dictate my actions.

  “What new development?” I asked.

  “We got some concerning information from our contacts at several newspapers throughout London. There have been three additional victims with the same number carved into their skin. Seven more missing people, just this afternoon. The murders are being made public, and you are named as the prime suspect,” Hawkins explained. “For everything.”

  “They want me to be known as a vile murderer,” I said. “And it won’t take long until they’ll single out the Service as the organisation that enabled me. Or maybe the public already found out about that connection. And then Scotland Yard will finally snap.”

  “Challenger is ready to cut ties with you. If it comes to a trial, he can’t back you up. The risk would be too great. This is all on you now.”

  Silence settled into the room like an uninvited guest. No one was quite sure what to say. I hated these situations, so I quickly decided to act instead of losing myself in my head. There had been quite enough of that today. From the mantle of the fireplace I pulled the knife, which Sherlock used to collect his correspondence, and with a few quick cuts, I had freed Thompson from the chair. He rubbed his wrists, where they had been bound to each other.

  “I’ve decided to trust you,” I said. “You will accompany me for now.”

  “Nothing would give me more pleasure,” Thompson replied.

  Hawkins wasn’t amused.

  “Accompany you where exactly? You are aware that you don’t have any other option but to follow me to headquarters right now, if you want to keep working for the Service, Mycroft!” Hawkins almost shouted. His voice had already taken on a desperate tinge. “Please, I don’t want you to lose your place in the agency!”

  “We need to cut off the head of this web. We need to lure her into false security, so they stop the malicious attacks on my family and these innocent citizens. If I don’t disappear, they will continue, and I can’t risk the safety of everything and everyone in the Secret Service just for my life. This is bigger than me. I need to die tonight. This has to end.”

  “What if it doesn’t work? What if they don’t believe him?” Sherlock asked.

  “That’s a risk I have to take. But you must understand that I need to try. Dr. Watson is already in a bed, injured through my own fault. It’s only chance that put him there, and not my brother. And it’s an even bigger chance that prevented any fatal injury. I am not willing to take that risk again. I will not put you, Hawkins or even Lou in the crossfire, because someone decides they could hurt me by harming you.”

  Hawkins stared at me as if I had both just broken his heart and saved his life at the same time.

  “Why is it you always put me in these situations?” He cried. “But I get it. Fine. I suppose you were gone by the time I got here. It’s not my fault Challenger held me up for so long.”

  “Thank you, my friend,” I replied with all the gratitude I could muster. “I hope this won’t reflect negatively on you.”

  Hawkins took a while to compose himself. “Knowing that you might never return to the Service already does. Please, just... promise me you will do everything in your power to avoid actually dying.”

  “I haven’t planned on doing so, though I want to make the world believe it for a while. Thompson will inform us when there’s to be an assembly after my death. I believe the shared cause will make the participants want to celebrate.”

  Thompson nodded, surprise obvious. “That has been planned. Though it’s a bit... macabre.”

  “It’s oddly fitting that I would inspire people to be merry only in death.” I felt three gazes on me, all in various states of disapproval. It surprised me to find Sherlock with the biggest frown.

  “Please. It’s not like anyone in the agency would actually miss me,” I shook my head. “Well, I would miss myself, so there’s one, I guess. We should agree on a time to meet after the news of my death has circulated tomorrow. Hawkins, I’d like you to also inform Lou, but none of the other agents. Especially not Challenger.”

  “So that’s it? We assemble a merry group of our own and then what? Exact revenge?” Sherlock huffed. “I won’t do it.”

  “Do you have a better idea?” I glared at my brother.

  “Not yet a full-fledged plan, no. But if we proceed like you always do, we’ll simply set the stage for another incident just like this one. This time, we’ll have to approach it as if we were as limited in our possibilities as any inspector of the Yard.”

  I had to laugh despite the situation.

  “Preposterous. I won’t let myself be chained down like that. Not now. Not when so much is at stake. We need to use all available options.”

  “There’s much mo
re at stake than you realise, brother. Remember what we talked about before Thompson came to. Maybe this simple action could save your-”

  “Be quiet,” I hissed. “If you want to make me out as such a devil, fine. Brood over your plan as long as you like. At least the beginning is set. Tonight, my house will be a thing of the past. We shall meet tomorrow night, at six, at the safe house behind the Vaudeville Theatre. It’s the closest to the river, where we can mingle with the fair revellers to blend into the crowd. We’ll need to walk along the Thames reach the party in my honour.”

  “How did you know...?” Thompson asked, wide-eyed. “I haven’t even told you where-”

  “It’s obvious. At least two culprits have been seen dressed like workmen from the river. Clarke’s last business was at Edinburgh Harbour. If he still has some ties that allow his associates to build a base in London, they would be tradesmen of the same kind, situated along the shore,” I explained. “If Chapman is involved, the likelihood is even higher. Plus they would need to have a close and convenient storage place for the instruments that were in play for creating that display on the Thames. A lot of ice was melted, after all.”

  “We’ve been meeting in a disused dry dock southeast of London Bridge. In fact I’ve been watching you on the day, when you discovered the writing on the Thames, from a window of that very building.”

  Thompson had the decency to look embarrassed. There were many things I wanted to ask him, but I feared I would react too emotionally right now, so it would have to wait until we were alone. I had already slipped enough and there was no need to expose myself further. It would take years to repair my image, not only in the Secret Service - if I could ever manage that - but especially with those close to me.

  Everyone seemed to be contemplating their next steps. Just when I thought I’d have to again pressure the others into going along, Hawkins let yet another deep sigh escape his lips.

  “Fine. I’ll keep your secret... and I’ll talk to Lou. We’ll be there tomorrow. I’ve known you for too long to doubt your plans. I’ll be going along with whatever you decide is best, as always.”