Team Seven of Heroes II Chapter 1

Jimmy Loong

March 20th 2017

Rewrite

June 1^st 2017

Book 1

1.

Mycroft eased his buttocks to the side but the discomfort of the seat was still there. He had asked for several seat changes but the staff had finally told him that there was limited space in the carriage on the dirigible that was taking him at ten thousand feet to a world he had hardly knew. He took up the folder that was on his lap. It was written on the top with bold letters ‘Top Secret’ and below it ‘Doctor James Watson MD’.

“An old friend and now I am to be his finder. “Mycroft muttered. “Doctor Watson, I presume. Heck! I wondered how I got myself into this.”

It all started a week ago in London when Mycroft was seated at his desk with the wooden block crafted his rank ‘M” on it. He was proud to be the leader of the section of double prefix and only the Queen knows how many there were of M before he became the latest one. He had taken over since the last M disappeared as stated in the official records but he knew where she was then. It was not a great adventure to have known that his sister was M and in collaboration with the Moriarty but he had deduced that it was false. He had buried his sister years ago with Sherlock at his side. The indomitable brother of his was never one to be wrong and more so when it was their long lost sister. He had confronted Sherlock after their thrilling escape on the possibility that M was who she may be.

“Sherlock, she may be…” Mycroft had pleaded to his brother but the later tapped the walking cane on the lips.

“She is dead and will remain as so. If she is who she was, I am not also raising the dead to look for the truth. Our sister had been gone for so long from our breathing life that I have failed to …consider her as any beyond that point.”

“But Sherlock, what if you were wrong?” Mycroft ever insistent but the younger Holmes had shaken his head.

“My ability to resolved intriguing cases had been almost impeccable in the results. I have ….” Sherlock had then paused in his words. He had some cases which eluded his elementary deductions. He once said that he was beaten four times; three times by men and once by a woman. (The Five Orange Pips Case).

“In the Bohemian case, you failed.” Mycroft words drew a glare from Sherlock. “I meant you failed to recover the photograph. Watson once told me that you have confided in him that you may be getting over confident in your…powers?” (Case of the Yellow Face).

“Yes, I did tell Watson during the Musgrave Ritual case that not all my cases were successes. Telling of which where has Watson been since the last adventure of near death. I thought he went back to his practise and wife which was obviously in practical with him but he was not. That was not the case when reported to me by the Baker Streets Boys. The doctor is missing his dosage of loving. Such boredom activity to pleasure one another.” Sherlock sighed. “I find my violin more pleasurable.”

“Well, you won’t know of that after all next to the monks, you are probably the next one in line for the celibate selection.” Mycroft mocked his brother. “Not that I mind of your choice. So where is Doctor Watson?”

With that last recall on the whereabouts of Doctor Watson was why Mycroft found himself on the dirigible. It brought him back to that day in the office where his eyes rested on the stack of folders for his scrutiny. He was to go to Albania but the position of M was vacant. The Minister had rescind the order and made him the next M in the ranking. Mycroft accepted it and soon found the position of M was to know who and who’s in the view of the Government with every evil intention to topple them. They may be some crime lords like Moriarty or the influential cult leader to the cunning diplomat in the embassies. Or the madam in the whore house collecting the spurts of nation secrets.

“M, I am ever glad to see you are still here?” Sir Fleming stepped into the office without much of a tap at the door.

“Your door was open?” Sir Fleming then promoted to the new rank indicated to the door. “I merely assumed you are free to see me.”

“Yes, I am. Please take a seat, Sir Fleming.” Mycroft indicated to the available seat.

“Thank you and I shan’t be long. I have a need to discuss with you on a case involving Doctor James Watson, who is one of your double prefix officers.”

“A convenience of ranks then but the dear doctor was never keen on them. He is…” Sir Fleming interrupted on Mycroft.

“Doctor Watson soon after the …. incident took off on the train to the East. He was last seen in Bombay and then our officers lost him among the crowd. The healer was obviously good at the game. I take it you know not what had happened to him.”

It was then Mycroft took to his attention to shift his weight on his buttocks which he was then feeling the urge to use the restroom but if Fleming takes in interest on a doctor named Watson, it might be more urgent than a full bladder.

“Do you know that Doctor Watson was once a medical officer that treated the Raj of Mysore.” The mention of Mysore twitched the side of Mycroft’s left upper lip. It was what one may call a nerve attack. “The Raj of Mysore is a good friend of the King and …you ought to be figure out the rest.”

“His Majesty is concerned on the Raj.” Mycoft felt the need to show that he was knowledgeable but in his mind then was trying place Mysore on the Indian Continent map.

“Why can’t it be Kent or Manchester?” Mycroft muttered to himself. He may be a globetrotter with his tasks but if he recalled all the places he had been, he would have been a School Master instead.

“The Raj of Mysore was involved in some conflict with other ….local chiefs and more to it. Watson was once engaged to one of his daughter….” Fleming looked at the officer of his section. “Don’t you ever read the reports that reached your desk?”

Mycroft shifted his seated position when he felt the bigger issue was not his bladder but his bowels. He decided to wait it out for the news of Doctor Watson was more shifting in priority. It did not take long for Mycroft to be told of the report on why Doctor Watson was asked.

“The Raj of Mysore was shot at by someone resembling Watson a week ago and a manhunt is one.” That line came with a crunch that echoed the cracking of hazelnut shell with a mallet.

“The King wants to know why and how and …..find the doctor, Mycroft. Now whom shall we send to look for him? I was made to know just now that all your official prefixes are on some mission including that young Scot with an affinity for stirred martini.” Sir Fleming had his right thumb raised at his lower jaws. “Besides you, there are none others with the experiences and expertise to….”

“I will go. It’s good for me to also visit my …officers in the other offices.” And it was how Mycroft ended up days of train travelling and then then the dirigible flight across the mighty Himalayans towards the colony of King George VII.

Unknown to Mycroft then, miles away at the shanty town outside of Bombay, a man dressed in the long wrap around cotton cloth with the loose pants inside for he was not one of the origin limped on his walk past the makeshift homes. He had his head covered with the turban and the set of round rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. He was using the walking stick of his to balance his walk with the wooden sandals on his feet clacking on the ground. He carried a bag slung across his chest and a clay goblet in his left hand.

The limping man ignored the stares at him for he knew that despite his clothed appearance, the shade of his exposed arms though darkened by the sunlight could not hide his ancestral looks. He was soon stopped by a trio of natives dressed in the ‘lungi’; traditional wrap around the waist with the hems at knee length and tucked in the front at the waist. It looked a like a thick loose pants but it held its purpose for the natives. They were naked at their chest but the short handle scythe in their hands was not only for farming.

“तुम कौन हो?” The leader of the trio asked in the native Hindi language. 

“There is no friend of yours here.” The leader replied back in Hindi. “Your kind belonged to the city and not here in our town.” 

“I am sure Sandhu the Trader will not tolerate such manners for his guests.” Watson replied. “Tell him the White Healer is here. Be off immediately before he gets angry.”

“The White Healer is dead. He has not been seen for some time now.” Time was not an essence to the natives there for they lived on until death comes. Watson stood there while his hands reached inside his tunic and withdrew the twin blades with his fingers. He flicked them in his hands with the movement of his wrists and the blades stuck at the leader’s feet. 

“I am the White Healer, and do not attempt to make me reach for my blades again.” Watson spoke up. “Tell Sandhu I come for the return of my favor.”

“