Mycroft Holmes and the Edinburgh Affair

by Janina Woods

  “Sod the promise...”

  Thompson pushed me back onto the bed and we fell into the sheets, kissing like no time had gone by since our university days. I tried to come up with a good reason to push him away, but a heavy knot of sadness had lodged itself so deeply in my chest that I clung to every good feeling that was presenting itself to me. So I found myself buried in the veritable mountain of pillows I had amassed on my bed, with Thompson staring into my eyes.

  “Let me make your last memory of this house a good one,” he whispered.

  I took a deep breath and nodded.

  Any second now the improvised lamp on the other side of the house would light up and someone, somewhere would activate the electric switch that would destroy almost everything I possessed. From Sherlock’s selection of experimental items, I had taken a length of slow burning string, which I had set on fire shortly before leaving the house. It would set into motion a chain reaction, which would light up a room on the ground floor, as if I had returned and turned on a gas lamp. Thompson would’ve reached his colleagues by then, and told them he had trailed me to the house, but that I had entered from the back. If they believed him, they’d trigger the explosion immediately after seeing the light.

  They had no reason not to believe him.

  I didn’t know what I expected to see from my vantage point in the crown of a tree, hidden in the shadow of the moonless darkness. It was almost a comfortable spot to wait, on this sturdy branch, leaning against the trunk. I wasn’t completely hidden from view up here, but this was the last place you expected a person to be on this winter night, so no one would look for me here. People are prone to look downwards as they go, especially when they are in danger of slipping on the icy ground.

  All of a sudden there was a dampened sound in the distance, like a tree falling over in a dense forest, branches catching on others as it goes down, loud and messy. Then there was a slight vibration that I felt just barely. At first I didn’t recognise it, but soon I felt a tremor that seemed to come from the very earth itself, making its way up the trunk. Then it happened all at once.

  The house seemed to shrink, sinking as one into the ground, the roof lowering itself almost slowly, but within seconds the motion grew faster, and parts of the house fell more quickly than others, tearing the whole structure down. The cacophony of breaking wood, glass and other objects reached my ears and brought tears to my eyes. It seemed they had strategically blown out the support walls in the basement, and without those, the house itself didn’t stand a chance.

  I patted the bag with the assorted items I had chosen to bring with me, but my heart ached with everything else I had just lost to the destruction. The house itself had never meant much to me, but it held the only accumulation of things that belonged solely to me. The only place I had called home since my parents had died. The room in which I had sat with Sherlock and cried over their death. I would come back and dig through the ashes to salvage what I could, but for now I had to disappear.

  As the house continued to fall into itself and the dust rose, people streamed into the streets to witness the destruction. The voices turned louder, the confusion bigger. The crowd grew by the minute. All eyes were turned on the ruins, which hadn’t settled yet, and the bits and pieces that kept falling off the pile of rubble into the snow below. I sat above it all, determined to remain in the tree until it was safe for me to leave unseen.

  And in the face of the destruction, I let my tears flow freely, quietly. I felt them trail over my skin, already freezing cold when they were caught by the scarf around my neck.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I had stared at the same dirty spot on the wall with all the anger I could muster, for the last half hour. Beyond the wall, the busy street life of London was in full swing. Somewhere out there, it was a beautiful, sunny day - the first since I had arrived in the city. Somewhere out there, I was also quite dead. And I intended to let everyone keep thinking exactly that, which was why I had stolen myself away to the safe house in the dead of the night, and hadn’t left since. I wasn’t stupid enough to risk everything just for my desire to be outside. No, I was smarter than that.

  That didn’t mean I had to enjoy it.

  The house was narrow, and the two rooms were small and unassuming things, functional at best. In its limited dimensions, the place reminded me of the one we had used in Alexandria. Still, I was glad to find it fully stocked and well-maintained. My knapsack had found a secure place in a cupboard, in the most hidden part of the place I could find, and somehow I had also found a few hours of uneasy sleep.

  It wasn’t even noon yet, and I dreaded the long hours ahead. The rooms were on the third floor of a building adjacent to the church on Maiden Lane, overlooking the street below. The windows were barred - of course - but there were strategic openings to observe the city from this vantage point. The narrow back street was used for getting goods to and from Covent Garden market, and was frequented by a large number of carts, pulled mostly by donkeys and sometimes people, which could barely pass each other with such a large crowd surrounding them. It seemed like the whole city had come alive on this fine day, relishing the rays of the sun, even though it wasn’t any warmer than the previous days.

  I absentmindedly observed a pair of girls, pushing their way through the mass of people. They shouted in their clear voices above the noise and praised the oranges they carried in large baskets that seemed too big for their tiny hands. They trailed through Maiden Lane and then turned right, onto the Strand. Probably wanted to avoid competition with the established costermongers on the market.

  As I eyed the scene below me, it struck me how removed I was from the daily, ordinary life that presented itself. When I was in the city, I was usually cooped up in my office for most of the time. There was nothing and no one for me here, after all. And I wouldn’t sink so low as to ask my brother if I could accompany him to one of his opera nights.

  “But would he really think less of me for wanting to accompany him?” I whispered, to no one in particular. It was a testament to my frail mental state that I was even contemplating such a thing.

  By now, Sherlock would’ve made sure to inquire about me at the Service, for he had supposedly known I was going back to my house the night before, and had been informed of the collapse. Hawkins would suitably break down when he heard that he had been too late to take me in. That he could have prevented my death. They would survey the damage, look for me at my usual haunts. I wondered who would care enough to search properly. Challenger, probably. I was his professional responsibility. Still, I was reasonably sure no one would look for me here. Not this close to home. Sherlock would offer to search and not find me. They would believe him... he was both my brother and London’s best consulting detective, after all.

  My death would not be reported publicly if they went by agency rules. But this time it had been my house that was destroyed, with my name on the deed. I wasn’t some unnamed agent killed on a mission abroad. And said name was all over the papers already. Who knew what the collection of my personal enemies had come up with, in the few hours I hadn’t heard from them. Sherlock would advise Challenger to pronounce me dead to end the threat to the Service, and he would. He would have channels to communicate the matter to the newspapers and restore order.

  At latest by noon, I’d be a dead man to the world. And in that moment I wondered if I should remain dead, even after the conclusion of the incident.

  There was no alcohol to be found in the safe house. Of course there wasn’t. This was not a place to remain for long, or to enjoy oneself. My thoughts drifted to the one bottle I had brought with me from my home in a moment of weakness. My favourite, under which I had found Thompson’s note. He had admitted to hiding it after I asked him. It seemed so long ago now. I sincerely hoped the man was safe. My hand unconsciously drifted to the mark I had obtained on my neck as a reminder of the previous night. />
  The smile that had found its way onto my lips didn’t remain for long, as I heard the sound of the door to the flat. Within seconds, I had jumped away from the window, and into the space behind the wardrobe, which was situated in the small sitting room that doubled as kitchen. I strained my ears to make out what was happening in the room beyond. The door closed again, and a key was turned. So it was someone with legitimate access. That didn’t help my chances, because if it were someone from the agency, I’d be in trouble regardless.

  “Mycroft?” I heard a woman’s voice say quietly and just a bit fearful. “Are you there?”

  All tension dropped from my body, and I stashed the pistol I had drawn back into the inside pocket of my jacket. I smoothed my hair down for good measure and stepped out into the room.

  “Yes, I am,” I replied.

  The answer I got were quick steps and a rather forceful embrace, as Lou threw herself around my neck as soon as she saw me. She clung to my jacket and buried her face into my shoulder. We remained like that for a beat or two, before she drew back and looked into my eyes with a mixture of relief, sadness and a hint of anger.

  “You’re not one bit better than that idiot you call your brother!”

  “That was a low blow, even for you.”

  “You deserved it,” she stated and detached herself from me.

  “Yes, I suppose I do. But I simply took advantage of the situation that presented itself to me. Do you think I would destroy my own house in such a manner if I had another choice? I know everyone believes me to live out of my office, but surely you can credit me with just enough humanity to feel sentimental about my home.”

  “Hawkins had no time to explain in detail. He took me to the side after Challenger briefed the senior agents. He told me where to find you,” Lou sighed. “I know it was reckless to run here immediately... but I had to know.”

  “Reckless, yes. I hope you didn’t take the direct way.”

  “I’ve been in this game for too long.”

  I nodded, but went to look out of the window regardless. For a while, I observed the street below, but there wasn’t any suspicious activity I could recognise. Lou let me have my moment and divested herself of her coat and scarf, as well as the felt hat she had placed on a head of perfectly arranged hair.

  “You entered from the Strand?” I asked, eyes still on the street below.

  “Yes, through the alley behind the theatre. It’s not unusual for cabs to stop there. I figured it would look less suspicious if we didn’t all arrive at the same time. Really, Mycroft, you still talk to me as if I just started yesterday.”

  “My apologies,” I replied and shook my head, then took a seat on a chair next to my colleague. “The whole experience has left me a tad... paranoid.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Can I offer you a cup of tea?” I asked. “I have a lot to tell you, and I think we could both do with something soothing. Though I don’t know how long the tea leaves have been waiting in the kitchen.”

  “That would be lovely. And talk about soothing...”

  Lou searched through the pockets of her coat and presented me with the silver case she kept her cigarettes in. Without asking, she grabbed three and held them out to me.

  “You forgot to pilfer them the last time we met. I suppose your head was otherwise engaged,” she said. “Can’t have you running around without supplies.”

  “You’re not supposed to notice,” I replied, already busying myself with suitable pieces of wood for the stove.

  “Then I’ll just leave the case on the table, and if some of them are missing later, I’ll attribute it to the stressful situation. Or, you know, ghosts.”

  By the time the tea was finally in our mugs, I had filled Lou in on everything that had happened yesterday. I could scarcely believe that it had only been a day. Three days in total to turn my life upside down, so far I was now pronounced dead. Lou had asked only few, clarifying questions, and when the explanation had turned to Thompson and his involvement in the plan, she had ceased talking altogether. I had left out the more... candid details, but could see on her face that she was itching to ask more.

  I had closed my hands around the mug, letting the warmth of the tea seep into my frozen fingers. The flat hadn’t been heated in a long time. Lou seemed to contemplate something, but then shook her head almost imperceptibly.

  “So the plan is to hit them all at once when they get together to celebrate?” she asked.

  “That’s the current version, yes. Depending on either Sherlock’s or Thompson’s input, it might change. But this is the only opportunity we have, and it would be folly not to take it.”

  Lou looked into the mug, then back at me.

  “Your plan is to... take them all out?”

  I took a deep breath. “The accomplices, yes. Not the head. We need to lock her up, like her associate Clarke.”

  “You realise that this is exactly like the situation you faced in Edinburgh? You can’t possibly proceed the same way now and believe it’ll simply be alright? Not after the repercussions-”

  “There’s no choice, Lou,” I cut her off. “We are four people. Five, if Thompson manages to join us. Only three of us have active experience in such situations, and I wouldn’t bet on Hawkins to perform. In fact, with his history I’d rather leave him behind here, where he’s safe. Sherlock can handle himself, but he’s not an agent. And Thompson... is a newspaper editor. We simply don’t have the people available to take everyone in.”

  Lou seemed to contemplate the situation seriously for a while, weighing my arguments in her head. I didn’t expect to change her mind, but it was gratifying to see that my opinion wasn’t immediately discarded.

  “I agree that our chances are not... optimal. How many people will be there?”

  “Thompson has informed me that the circle of accomplices consists of twenty-three people, including Chapman, Deville and himself. That leaves twenty-two against five, if everyone is present. Even if not everyone on their side can handle themselves in a fight, the odds are still stacked against us.”

  “So you want to take them all out at once? With what? A fire? Explosives? Gas?”

  “I have an idea, but I need to talk it through with Thompson. He knows their meeting place best.”

  “And he’ll be here later?”

  “I can only hope...”

  We both took a sip of the rapidly cooling tea to fill the ensuing moment of silence.

  “So, Alexander Thompson?”

  “For goodness sake, just ask what you want to ask.”

  “He’s risking his life for you. And you trusted him within minutes, even so far as to leave the safety of Baker Street alone, with only him as company. He’s instrumental to your plan.”

  “You’re stating the obvious.”

  “I’m sensing some sort of shared history.”

  I put down the mug and turned my gaze towards the table. Lou wasn’t so mean as to press me, but the heavy pause told me that she wouldn’t back down either. I contemplated what to tell her, but my policy of honesty still held up And besides, she had always been the closest to what I could call a friend, and if I couldn’t tell her, who else?

  “We were... involved in university,” I said, without looking up. “Almost for three years, until I graduated. We haven’t met between then and last night. I told you about his brother and why Thompson had decided to help me. As you can see, it wasn’t only a decision born out of the kindness of his heart...”

  It was strange to say this aloud. I hadn’t even accepted the fact myself, but now I had to put it in words, and it made everything feel... real, somehow. Lou had the decency to let me progress at my own pace, so I sat in silence for a while. Finally I pulled myself together enough to express it, but my voice was shaky, on the verge of tears.
r />   “I think he might still be in love with me. And I’m starting to wonder... after all these years...”

  “Mycroft...” Lou said, her voice soft, as if she feared she would startle me.

  “I can’t deal with this right now,” I all but whispered. “It’s too much...”

  This was it. The gates had been opened. There was something about Lou that made me lower all my defences, but it wasn’t only that. The events of last night were still so present in my mind. The soft embrace, the gentle caress. The threat of losing it, all over again.

  I would never, ever be the same person in Lou’s eyes after this day. I would lose all respect of the carefully cultivated image. But in that moment, I was simply too tired to care. I still couldn’t look up to face her - too much was swirling in my head, and I feared it all showed on my face.

  “You’re not expected to be able to deal with everything at once,” she said quietly. “We’ll get through the situation with Deville, and then you’ll have all the time in the world to contemplate everything else.”

  “That’s just it,” I breathed. “As soon as she knows of Alexander’s betrayal, I won’t have to contemplate anything. It’ll be over before it even started and the only thing I’ll have left is regret. I should just order him to stay down...”

  “First you tell me that we’re five people against more than twenty. Now you tell me we have to leave two people behind. Make up your mind.”

  I laughed desperately and wiped away the tears that had managed to sneak out, before I finally faced Lou again.

  “That’s just it: I can’t make up my mind. For once in my life, I am completely clueless as to how I should proceed. I can’t let them get away, but I can’t risk everyone’s life either. I can’t involve the Service, because that might spook Deville’s group and they won’t meet up at all. For all I know, their source within our ranks still feeds them all the details. I can’t proceed on my own, because I need Thompson’s inside information to formulate a plan of attack. And after last night, I can’t even leave these rooms without endangering myself, my brother, the Service or more innocent people, who are only used to send a message...”