Heroes Return VI: Book One London Chapter 9

 

9.

 

The Limehouse district of the East End was the epicenter of the Chinese community then; it was a small, vibrant community of about five hundred people, catering to sailors with boarding houses, laundries, and grocery stores. The population there was a mix of Irish or East End women and the migrants, creating a mixed-race community. They were the earlier migrants who were brought to Britain to load and unload ships in London’s docks and other ports across the country. They were recruited by the East India Company and other British shipping companies. Chinese communities settled in two parts of Limehouse.

People from different parts, like the Shanghainese, lived in Pennyfields, Amoy Place, and Ming Street, while the southerners lived in Limehouse Causeway and Gill Street. Residents rented rooms in terraced houses of multiple occupants, squeezed among the factories and dockyards. The community replicated their own versions of home, including the tea houses, ever popular for a chat over a cup of tea brewed with authentic Chinese tea leaves.

The teahouse held its own identity whether it was in mainland China or London. It was the living area where the patrons could sit there and enjoy their tea or snacks, while conversations were of various topics, from the chaos of the land to the bargaining in the trade deals. Or over differing philosophies on life events. Simply adapted, varied vocal tones, but ever the resilient sanctuary for connection.

The chap seated at the corner, nursing the small cup containing the hot tea, was dressed like a coolie, the derogatory term for a male servant of Chinese descent, and worn on his feet were wooden sandals. He had on a wide conical straw hat that covered his upper face, but the unmistakable thick mustache gave the impression he was not of local descent.

Another figure sat down across from the chap, similarly dressed without the hat, but had on the pigtail for his hair design.

“The dragon resides in the cloud, while the tigers roam the hills.” The new chap spoke out while he took a fresh cup to pour his tea. He spoke with a Chinese dialect accent to blend in.

“If the Heavenly Father permits, where can I locate the cloud that housed the dragon?" The chap with the conical hat spoke with the similar drawl of the accent.

“The dragon remained hidden with the deities there; however, the tigers are devouring anyone looking for the dragon.”

"Perhaps chests of gold may unlock the dragon.” The conical-hat chap whispered. “Location is all I need to know.”

“There is an old saying: the greed of one may be the downfall of mortality.” The other chap said. “My life is precarious now. I must go.”

The chap moved to step up when the huge ‘hook sword' (hooked blade), the weapon that has a hook on the tip and a dagger-like hilt, landed on the table with the blade cutting into the top.

“Small brother Chin, you are not at my seat.” The figure who wielded the sword was short but stoutly built and had on the pigtail that was wound around his neck. He was dressed like any other there, but his snarl on his expression revealed his indulgence was not sipping tea. His accent was authentic Mandarin in tone.

“Brother Cheng, we were leaving.” The one named Chin turned to look at the conical-hat chap. “Shall we?”

“Take one more step, and you will bleed here.” The one named Cheng cautioned them. “I am…"

“Ingratitude to your father.” The one with the conical hat tossed the cup of tea at Cheng. He then stood up and found himself facing three more brutes with similar swords in their hands. The patrons at the neighbouring tables took to their heels on seeing the swords brought to the table.

“I will have your head.” Cheng rubbed the sleep from his eyes and found the punch fist swinging towards him at the jaw. He fell backward from the blow, while the one named Seong, who was the other one there, grabbed the stool he was seated on and wielded it as a weapon.

“Stand back!” Chin held the stool against the other three standing there.

“Perhaps this will work better.” The one with the conical hat leveled the Enfield pistol at them. “I got a six-round cylinder, enough for three of you here.”

“Leave now, Charlie.” The one with the conical hat pushed Chin to leave the teahouse.

It was to the end of Commercial Road before the duo stopped their running. Charlie Song found his pace to do the run despite his middle-age limitations. He leaned on the wall by the corner of the shop offering daily catch seafood.

“Nayland Smith, what on earth provoked you to meet there? We could have done it at Piccadilly or at Shaftesbury.” Charlie heaved in deep breaths. “Simplicity is difficult to achieve?”

“Nay, Charlie. I wanted to be in the depth of the place. Fu Manchu is a devious man. “I never believed him to be dead. He's cruel, callous, brilliant, and the most evil and dangerous man in the world."

“Famous words of yours there, Nayland Smith, and yet you are screwing his daughter.” Charlie smiled. “He is technically your father-in-law.”

“Fa Loh Suee is…. We eloped, and technically, we are not screwing each other. We make love, and for info, she is in America to see some friends. You can call it a sabbatical leave period.” Nayland explained.

“Call it what you may want, Nayland Smith. We were fucked just now.” Charlie leaned out to see if they were pursued by any. 

“I thought you were comfortable there.” Nayland Smith smiled. “I was. I do miss the mainland.”

Nayland Smith was an operative of the Foreign Ministry assigned to the Far East for some years. His role there was to do clandestine tasks on the criminals there, where he met the daughter of the Mandarin crime lord, Fu Manchu. He had a few run-ins with the man and barely escaped with his life. He did, however, win the heart of the daughter and, at his request, gave her sanctuary in London, but his works were still in the Far East.

“After dinner, who cares about the spoon?" Charlie mocked the other on having gotten the daughter; why bother with the father?

“In your society, or rather in my mind, the extended family still matters.” Nayland smiled. “Even though my father-in-law would like to serve me to his tigers.”

“Okay, here is what I may know," Charlie sighed. “I have many sons, and hopefully they will not tear me apart. Back to the man we sought, he is missing or lying low. There is a new threat on the horizon. Have you heard of the Oni Society?”

“Oni Society? Scant notes on them. They were from Japan. I was not posted there. Ian Masterson was the one in the lead.”

“Ian Masterson is missing.” Charlie leaned out to look again. “He went missing alongside the steamer that was ferrying him home.”

“I heard that he is dead, but does that mean I am to replace him? I cannot do that. I am now back in Blighty and will remain here.” Nayland protested.

“That is where you need to know now. Mycroft Holmes is asking you to report back. Me? I am just another coolie at the docks.”

"How did he get my name?” Nayland asked. “You could be the better candidate.”

“I got sons to take care of, and you…. You only got one faraway lady to fantasize on. And no sons yet.”

“Fuck you.” Nayland snapped out.

“Pay me my shilling first. You owed me one.” Charlie Song laughed.

“Soon I will.” Nayland Smith smiled. “When you leave this place.”

Heroes Return VI: Book One London Chapter 8

 

8.

 

It was morning when Watson took the familiar steps up the flight of stairs and then opened the door to the one place he had dreaded returning. He saw Holmes at the fireplace examining what appeared to be an arrow. The latter heard his arrival but did not acknowledge the other.

Watson hung up his coat and was about to remove his shoes when Sherlock voiced his opinion.

“Arrow sizes vary greatly across cultures, ranging from eighteen inches to six feet. The arrow shafts are made from strong, lightweight wood, bamboo, or reeds. The arrowhead or projectile point is the primary functional part of the arrow and plays the largest role in determining its purpose. Some arrows may simply use a sharpened tip of the solid shaft, but it is far more common for separate arrowheads to be made, usually from metal, horn, or some other hard material. Fletchings are found at the back of the arrow and act as airfoils to provide a small amount of force used to stabilize the flight of the arrow. They are designed to keep the arrow pointed in the direction of travel by strongly damping down any tendency to pitch or yaw.”

“The English longbow, namely the Battle of Agincourt, made it well known. It was an English victory in the Hundred Years' War. It took place on 25 October 1415 near Agincourt in northern France.”

“The designs are known as the self-bow, made from a single piece of wood. Traditional English longbows are self-bows made from yew wood. The bowstave is cut from the radius of the tree so that sapwood (on the outside of the tree) becomes the back and forms about one third of the total thickness; the remaining two thirds or so are heartwood. Yew sapwood is good only in tension, while the heartwood is good in compression. The ……”

“You are still not talking to me, Watson? It's elementary, my dear ……” Sherlock was snapped at by the doctor.

“Holmes, I was… attacked on the train going back. My surgeries today must be rescheduled. People may die due to that.” Watson glared at the other. “What did you get me into?”

“It is……. Not my calling.” Sherlock saw the murderous look on Watson’s expression. “I do not know. I meant, why did you attack except that they have associated you with me?"

“Being associated with you marked me for death? I was in the uniform of the Frontier Army, which had me then marked for death by the tribes, or worse, tortured before death. And I was in the service for the Queen and country.” Doctor John Watson sighed. “But with you, I thought we had……. Oh, God. Not all our villains are dead or imprisoned.”

“Do tell me, Watson. How were you attacked?” Sherlock lowered the arrow.

“By a lady, or more specifically, an oriental lady with the skills of a trained killing machine." Watson sat down at his usual seat. “Not my preference.”

“Lady assailant… oriental… Hmmm… I am intrigued.” Sherlock looked to the arrow.

“Holmes, I have retired from murders and killings. I am trying to save lives.” Watson was still infuriated.

“Most absolutely, if I may coin that term. Or most unfortunately, but … I meant to say I was not to know that the case was … involving. All I did was…"

“Spare me that thought.” Watson paused there. “I happened to be in London to get supplies.”

“I shall not…. Intrude but..." Sherlock looked to the doctor. “I do need your… guidance here, Watson. I am……"

“Are you onto your morphine again?” Watson sprang out in anger. “If you are, I am walking out.”

“I am… clean, Watson. Sober clean. I do have my urges... withdrawals, but I focus on the issues that matter. It is working." Sherlock sounded sad then. “It is not the same without you here, though. I gotten……"…"

“End the melodramatics, Holmes.” Watson looked at the other. “You are … an ill patient to me until you are really cured.”

“And you are a doctor.” Sherlock looked at the doorway when Mrs. Hudson arrived with the tray of tea and sandwiches.

“A happy beginning then.” Mrs. Hudson stepped from the doorway. “Tea, anyone? I got sandwiches too.”

“I will be resting… alone in my chamber.” Watson got up.

“Touchy, isn't he?” Mrs. Hudson watched the doctor walk to his chamber. “You are not the best patient to have to care for."

“Bad evening. I will have the sandwiches, please.”

It was not so for the Greystokes, seated across from each other on the long table with the candlesticks and bouquet of morning-picked blooms, and with their guest seated next to Jane’s left side, and the cups of tea turning cold, the air there was colder.

“More tea, my lady. " The maid stepped up with the pot of tea. Jane shook her head, and the maid proceeded towards his lordship. John had gestured his refusal and then looked at the guest.

“Please do…" His Lordship's eyes did not leave the look on the ladyship.

“Let me explain, Lord Greystokes.” Mindy looked at the other across the table.

“John will do.” The man cut in.

“A few weeks ago, Brian told me of the new development in the Far East with the threat of the group called the Oni Society. His section in the Office of the Defense was monitoring the activities of the others in the colonies, which include China and the Southeast, in which Japan had shown great interest. He got reports of the acts of the clan, that their followers were doing their work there, and how some leaders were … controlled by them. He had then reported to the PM Office and to Scotland Yard, but he was asked to focus on other matters.”

“Do you know who Brian was working with?” John asked.

“Yes, Ian Masterson," Mindy replied. “It was Ian who told Brian to lay off.”

“I thought you said…" John cut in.

“Ian Masterson… I am aware of him. He was given the task by the PM, and he told Brian to shift attention. And not be a ninnyhammer…".

“Ninny…" John was baffled and looked to Jane. He looked away in case Jane told him to read about his English historical culture.

“It’s English slang for being a ninny or simpleton.” Mindy eased the concern before she fixed the focus back.

“Ian Masterson wants him to back off. He was asked to focus on the development of the Germans and the Tsar. The former for their offices on the continent were not reporting on schedule. And the Tsar, there were issues of revolts.”

“The Russian Empire did not participate in the formal what they termed it, the ‘Scramble for Africa.' " They were more on Asian expansion, limited naval power, and geographical constraints; Russia was a distance away. Mindy looked at Jane. “It did not stop the Belgians from creating another colony in the Congo State.”

“They desired to create a free state there. Do not get too sentimental over it. I did read the news, Mindy.” Jane retorted back.

“Yes, it was not to throw Brian off. He searched in deep and found a link to my father. He then decided to collate it all with me, but we did not discuss it much here. He had to go home to his family. Poor man.”

“Poor man indeed.” Lord Greystokes snapped out. “Pardon me, ladies. I meant no offense there.”

“This week, we had planned a retreat to the countryside, and then came the mail for him. He was to return to London to attend a meeting.” Mindy looked at Lord Greystokes. “Coitus interruptus then.”

“Mindy, I got a telegram this morning. Brian was killed last night," Lord Greystokes said. He was used to death, and his manners of expressing it were minimal at best.

“John!” Lady Greystokes exclaimed. “You are an infernal beast when it comes to talking about the dead.”

But Mindy had then left the table and retreated to her chamber.

“John, you are an imbecile with your manners.” Lady Greystokes stressed again and took leave of the table then.

“All I did was speak the truth.” Lord Greystoke held the blank expression. “You never complained when I was beastly.”

Mycroft had the better expression.

“Ito, it truly dismayed me that my minister was killed by our association.” The British extraordinary gentleman made his view across the distance. He was dressed in the dark overcoat with the top hat and was standing a short distance from the banks of the River Thames, looking at the London Tower. He looked at the barges sailing down with the pickup of the wares from the seaport to the inner parts of London.

“And mine too, but both of us know that the clan is powerful and its reach is wide.” Ito stood by him with two feet apart, facing the same scene. “We both knew from our correspondences that their assassins are deadly.”

“Ito, tell me more of the clan. Who is in the clan?” Mycroft had his hands inside the overcoat of his. “I know I was briefed before, but do tell again.”

Mycroft was unaware of the threat to the minister. And Japan was like the distance of the moon from London. Ito Matsuke was one of the knowledgeable ones in London who specialized in the criminal circles, especially the oriental ones. He was a retired naval officer and resided in London. He was with the Foreign Office and worked with Ian Masterson. He spent his last four years in London.

“The clan, with its name that means 'the demon,' held seven sections in its rank with their leader overseeing it. Each leader is independent of the other sections, but there are tales that among them is the main leader, the demon they call "Emperor." We know not who that is."

“Not even yourself, Ito. You are…" Mycroft smiled with sarcasm in his tone.

“I may be the one in the know of the clan, but I know not of the seven leaders. I know not my own, for the leader is behind the silk screen. But I suspect that Doctor Mitsui Ogata, whom you met, is one of seven. He held the rank of the Senior Demon.”

“So, Doctor Mitsui Ogata is a member of the Oni.” Mycroft muttered.

“Perceived to be, but the Oni is rather secret. Doctor Mitsui Ogata is here.”

“I met him, Ito," Mycroft said. “He messaged my minister to call for a meeting with the exchequer, and on that day soon after, the minister died. We were to discuss Treasury functions, but he highlighted the presence of Oni Society in the meeting. But why?”

“Perhaps he wants you to investigate the Oni Society, and……. Could be a tussle of power there," Ito replied. “The Oni Society is getting powerful, and the influence of power may be the cause. And if they control the Treasury functions, they will be formidable too.”

“Ito, where is Nayland now?” Mycroft asked.

 

 

 

 

Heroes Return VI: Book One London Chapter 7

 

7.

 

Jane Greystokes took the stroll by the pond, looking at the idyllic growths there every morning. It was in the huge estate of the Greystokes family, to whose wealth John was the solitary heir. She held her hands to her protruding belly to give it the warmth a mother was to provide. Since she lost her other child, forcibly taken from her by the aliens, she was not taken in to be a mother anymore, but the past years have mellowed her anger. John wanted to have his own heirs, and with age catching on fast, Jane relented, and the belly was the sign of the effort. She then heard her name being called.

“Lady Greystokes, there is an urgent telegram for you.” It was one of the maids who rushed over. “There are also the carriages awaiting you in the courtyard.”

Jane took the note and read it. Immediately, she gave instructions to the maid.

“Run back and provide what is needed to our guest. Send James to fetch the Lord at the woods. He is needed back here," Jane told the maid. “Be quick and also fetch me the lads from the cottage.”

John maintained a group of his Waziri warriors at the fringe of the estate with their replica of the village and allowed them farming and the hunt on the ground. There were no lions, but the deer and foxes abounded plenty there.

Jane made her slow walk to the mansion she shared with her lover and soon-to-be father of their unborn child. It was a short distance, but the walk was slow. It was then she saw the light carriage approaching her.

It was Imani, the Waziri housekeeper and personal aide of Jane. The dark lady was over six feet in height, slim in looks, dressed in the sleeveless frock that reached above her knees, and wore leather boots on her feet. She had on her arms the full complement of rings that reached from her wrist to below her elbow. The lady's main role was to care for Jane.

“Ma’am, take the ride with me.” Imani pulled over next to Jane. The latter took the offer and went into the mansion by the side door. She walked towards the library and met the newly arrived guests.

“Mrs. Greystokes, I presume.” The officer in the military uniform greeted Jane, but he was ignored. She walked past him and held out her arms to the lady who was standing by the fireplace.

“Mindy, my dear. How are you?” Jane greeted her old friend from the continent. “The reason you are here must be due to some distress.”

“I am fine, Jane. It is the minister who is in trouble.” Mindy held back her tears. "Perhaps Lieutenant Gavin could express it better.”

Jane turned to look at the officer, ignored by her. He was a dashing man with sideburns and a ghastly walrus hairline above the lips, but the red jacket and white pants uniform were crisp and clean. He held his ‘salacot,' the planter’s headgear with the regiment emblem, tucked under his left arm.

“Lieutenant Gavin McLeod, my lady.” The officer saluted to the lady of the house. “I brought…"

“You bloody well did that, and now tell me her troubles.” Jane was quick to temper then.

“I have no idea, Ma’am. The lady insists on coming here… alone.” The lieutenant reported as if he were addressing his superior officer. “My platoon awaits at the village.”

“Jane, do spare him a reprieve.” It was the voice of one who was familiar to her. Jane turned to look at the figure seen walking in by the side door, dressed in tight long pants and without shoes and shirtless. His masculine frame was covered with the body sweat.

“Good day to you, Lieutenant. I am Lord Greystokes. You may call me John.”

“Good days, my Lord. I have performed my task and would like to request leave to return to my unit.” Lieutenant MacLeod expressed his desire then.

“Yes, you may leave, but do wait for the maids to serve you some tea. I will speak to our guest now.” Lord Greystokes smiled at the officer who had then taken off to rejoin his men. He then looked to his guest.

“Mindy, what did happen? I was in the woods.” Lord Greystokes took to his usual runs in the woods and climbing the trees to swing by them on the available length of ropes he had strung there. He had to improvise on the swings, for the trees in the ground do lack the long vines and huge branches to rest on. He missed the familiar green jungles with the older trees and the long vines that were still in the continent.

“I am … hunted.” Mindy Kewala was the tribal princess of her tribe, but she left there to study in the isles. When she graduated, she went back to the continent to work with Jane on some works but returned to the isles soon after. She expressed her desire to stay in London instead.

“Lady Jane, I am to be wedded to a neighboring chief, and I will not.” It was the excuse given then, and Jane smuggled her out from there, much to the chagrin of her own lover. That was four years ago.

“It is the custom here to follow her father’s wishes.” John Greystokes explained the predicament then. “It’s their life here.”

“She does not want to and will live in London … in my care.” Jane glared at her lover then.

“You placed me in a difficult position with the tribe elders and…" John tried to reason with her, but Jane was insistent on her decision. It was one of their irreconcilable issues, but Mindy started a new life in London. She found work with the foreign office and got involved with the minister.

“Jane, they may kill Brian.” Mindy shed her tears. “He was in London while I was away at our country retreat. He was called back, and I was afraid. And I left for here.”

“That is rather abrupt. Were you protected?” Lady Greystokes asked.

“I was always protected. You knew of my flight of freedom from my father; well, it was not much freedom. I was guarded all the time. Brian had taken care of me well.”

“Obviously.” Lady Greystokes smiled.

“Well, I got the note dropped at my desk. It was addressed to me and told me to leave immediately. Brian was targeted to die. I was alarmed, and Brian was away. I got the lieutenant to bring me here. Your estate was the nearest that I knew of.”

“You are safe here, Mindy. No one will harm you here.” Jane looked to her friend. “John here held a formidable protective estate.”

Jane looked at John, who nodded to that. The ladies excused themselves to attend to themselves while John took to his mail. He had not seen the mail for some days and then saw the familiar name there.

“Holmes…" John picked up the mail and read the content. He threw the mail into the fireplace.

“Big Bwana, the ceremony is to begin. You must come now.” John heard the request by the Waziri warrior.

At the Waziri village on his huge estate, John had exchanged his pants for the animal wrap around his chest and torso, standing with his assembly of Waziri warriors. They were there to do the final passage of rites for the death of the warrior’s elder, Mugumbi, who had died of old age.

“Mugumbi is both my friend and warrior to my clan.” John the warrior lay there on the bamboo frame. “Mugumbi was one with me when we roamed the vast land of the continent. We hunted and slept under the stars. He taught me many skills that I have passed on to the young ones. He will return to the land where we had hunted then.”

“A Waziri is forever a brother to his own people. Loyalty and love we share. Our enemies we will hunt. No one hurts a Waziri and does not have the clan hurt back. One for all, and all for one.”

John spoke of the great warrior and how those values and skills are taught to the younger ones. The younger ones will spend eight seasons back in the home village on the continent to learn the old ways and are given a choice to return or remain there. It was the way John made sure the warriors did not forego their ancient ways.

"Big Bwana, it is time.” John was handed the cowry shells as a ritual payment for the land used to bury the deceased. According to the ritual symbolism of numbers, three shells are given if the deceased is a man and four if the deceased is a woman.

Once it was done, the body of the deceased was cleaned and wrapped in plain cloth. Members of both sides of the family then bring the deceased offerings of blankets. They talk to the person, saying, "I, (name), am bringing this for you." Once the offerings are made, the children of the deceased's sisters may take away any of the blankets they want for themselves as a part of their ritual rights. Next, the deceased was transported on a bamboo frame to outside the entrance of the village compound, where the local widows give him/her a last ritual feeding of locally grown cereal crops that have religious significance to the village. All the guests turn their backs while the feeding ritual takes place.

The deceased will be carried to the graveyard. Along the way, coins and cowries are given as offerings to the deceased for whatever may be needed while traveling in the afterlife. Before burial, these are removed by the family. Dirges with powerful messages about life, women, and families are sung. They often include the thought, "Can you believe you will not see this person anymore?" Singing and the giving of offerings continue at the grave, dug earlier by members of the family. People remind the deceased to remember them and help them. Pregnant women ask for protection during their pregnancies.

Jane asked to be excused, for she was with a child and a guest at the mansion.

 

 

 

Heroes Return VI: Book One London Chapter 6

 

6. 

 

The arrow came through the window pane with such force that it only created a hole on it. The arrow with the metal head did not drop momentum and struck into the violin base. The arrow was stopped there by the added metal plate inside the instrument, which disrupted the cords when played by the not-so-talented Holmes, but who cares? It served its purpose then.

Sherlock rolled off the seat he was on with the violin held still in his hand. He had improvised the violin when his life was threatened by the possibility of a bullet into his head, and the instrument was normally placed near his head for safety. He crouched and then moved to the wall by the window before another arrow struck at the seat. The second arrow broke the windowpane then.

Sherlock looked at the mirror he placed across the chamber angled towards the rooftop opposite. He scanned the skyline there among the jutting chimneys. He could not see his attacker, but that was not the concern later. A figure was seen at the windowsill and was climbing in. In the dim-lighted condition, Sherlock could make out the figure was dressed in dark clothes and held a short dagger in addition to the quiver of arrows and bow slung at the back.

Sherlock reached for the lamp stand and toppled it onto the attacker. The other struck with the dagger into the falling object, and it was then Sherlock got up to land his strike. He reached for one of the few walking canes that he placed strategically around the parlor.

It was one of his tools learned from the art of Bartitsu, the gentleman’s fighting art.

“Fair bit they will do you if you ever use them, Holmes? They are too heavy at the top.” Watson had compared the walking cane for his limp to Holmes'. “What did you do to them? Add on lead or iron to hit the head?”

The heavier top of the cast-iron head worked just as well as a cudgel with a smaller dimension. Sherlock held the end of the stick and swung hard at the attacker. The heavy cane head impacted the attacker’s chest, causing the other to stagger backwards. It was all Sherlock needed then: to press on with the body slam to topple the other off the window sill onto the street below.

To Sherlock’s surprise, the attacker lands on his feet with a turn of the body. The attacker had on then the bow with the arrow aimed at Sherlock, who was leaning on the windowsill. The latter stepped back when the arrow was released and stuck at the ceiling.

Sherlock leaned to look and saw the attacker was running into the nearby alley. He then heard the noise of fighting downstairs. He grabbed the dropped walking cane and rushed downstairs. He found Mrs. Hudson’s chamber door was open and rushed in.

“Fancy me. I have two men barging in tonight here.” It was Mrs. Hudson in her nightdress holding the cricket bat. There was the other attacker on the floor next to her bed, unconscious by the sight of the way the body was lying.

“He may have thought of my fanny for grabs, but given the cold night, I preferred my bat here anytime.” Mrs. Hudson climbed off the bedding and then leaned over to pick up the dagger on the flooring. “And bringing that shortened blade is mighty unpleasant to be inserted."

“Is he dead? Or just flaccid?” Mrs. Hudson asked Sherlock who was examining the prone figure.

“I think … flaccid for now. You have dealt him a hard blow.” Sherlock looked to Mrs. Hudson. “Fancy you having a bat on your bed.”

“I can’t say I need it most times, but it does come in useful at times.” Mrs. Hudson reached for the bathrobe sash and offered it to Sherlock.

“Care to do the bondage on whoever that is? "I am going to the privy to pee."

Sherlock tied the attacker with the sash and then checked the house’s doorways. That attacker came in by the kitchen; the door was forced open and went for Mrs. Hudson’s chamber.

“I had thought it was Mycroft sneaking in," Mrs. Hudson sighed. “And I got my frillies on underneath the nightgown.

"Sherlock ignored the lady whom he knew was pinging Mycroft for some time with little or no results. Such was on the mind of Mycroft that evening. It was ‘lust feelings suppressed.

“There were three assailants then. Or four if you added in the fourth as the one that shot the arrow from across the street.

Mycroft stood there waiting for the carriage to take him back to his dwelling nearby. He had retired to his favorite place, the club at First Corner, after the meeting with Sherlock and Doctor Mitsui Ogata. He had assigned additional guards to the other ministers before he arrived at the club. As a single man, and with his mind weighed down by the threats on the isle, he found his evenings well spent at the club with the wine and chatter among the peers. He had supper with the French and German counterparts, with their jibes about invading each other’s borders.

“Forget England. They need to swim over before they can fight any of us.” The Frenchman was in the mood to savage Mycroft.

“I was told that you met with the oriental diplomat today? Was it interesting?” Hans Steiner was well informed, as were all of them in the trade, with the wagering tongues of the staff in all the offices. “I heard that it had something to do with Japan?”

“Japen? I have not heard of that name since Commodore Perry stopped for tea there.” The Frenchman was good at the deceptive denials, although he knew more than the Germans.

“Yes, I met the diplomat.” That was a blunt lie, as all three knew that Doctor Mitsui Ogata was not any diplomat but the diplomat from the palace.

“So, are they invading China again?” The German gleefully asked. “We could assist.”

“I doubt so. However, they—" Mycroft saw the aide from his office arrive. “Pardon me, gentlemen. I need to throw up. Too much to drink.”

Mycroft stood up and excused himself. He motioned to the aide to meet him in the private chamber, which was the rest chamber.

“Sir,” the aide handed over the report to Mycroft. “And we lost the Doctor on the streets.”

It was the killings he was concerned about.

First was Daniel Jones, a renowned author and mineralogist, and not excluding Ian Masterson, who was returning on a sudden recall. He was assigned to the Far East two years ago, and before that he was at the Congo.

There was the geologist, Edward Thorne, and the other professor of minerals from the Thames University. Both were attached to the Congo exploration. Minister Leeson is the exchequer but was once the attaché attached to the African delegation on economic affairs at the Congo.

All unrelated, but there was a link, and it all led to the Congo land on the African continent.

A few others unreported were the deaths of several experts linked to the exchequer minister. They were aides and staff of the office.

“Sir, Ms. Kewala was found. She had visited the Greystokes by herself this afternoon.” The aide handed the report.

“The Greystokes?” Mycroft muttered.

“Yes, Sir. We have posted additional guards at the nearby village. The Greystokes will not entertain any of ours at their estate.”

“I doubt Lord Greystoke needs any of our guards. He probably has lions and elephants there to serve as his own, and I doubt the lions will not prefer any fish and fries of ours.” Mycroft dismissed the staff.

Nevertheless, the lady will be safe there.

The message was to tell Mycroft that nobody can stop them. He heard the knock on his door, and there and then came in his guest.

“Ito Matsuke, thank you for joining me here.”

“We shall talk outside. I am not used to your club members. They may think I am a lackey here.” The Asian man smiled.

====================================

 

 

Heroes Return VI: Book One London Chapter 5

 

5. 

 

Sherlock took to the retirement of the night that day. He had refused supper offered by Mrs. Hudson and chose to smoke his pipe then. He needed to think on the event that afternoon.

The visit at the exchequer office was at most a casual visit; he has been there before as their guest, but that evening, it was the scent of blood that permeated the atmosphere there. The local constabulary was kept at the perimeter outside, while Scotland Yard took the interior.

However, Lestrade was exempted.

“By golly, that is the minister. " Lestrade exclaimed in alarm. “I only met him…"

“Restraint yourself, Inspector. Scotland Yard is the authority here.” Mycroft exerted his authority there. “And the Foreign Office is at the helm.”

“Let him be, Mycroft. He is here to assist me.” Sherlock stepped to the victim. “Watson is back at his practice.”

Sherlock stood by the dead body and examined the cause of death.

“The minister was shot here, at twenty feet." Sherlock looked to the corner where the bookshelf was next to the fireplace. “The minister had stepped in and walked to his desk after closing the door on the guards who were stationed outside in the corridor. He approached the desk to write a message for the telegram to be sent to the country home.”

Sherlock motioned to the writing pad, which had the words 'Caution and stay safe.'

“He then saw the assailant, surprised, and stood up to call the guards when the arrow pierced his heart. He fell backward onto the seat and then remained there.”

“An arrow?” Lestrade looked baffled.

“Yes, an arrow. At approximately twenty feet, given the strength of the assailant and in the hands of one who is trained, it often results in complete pass-through penetration due to maximum arrow speed and minimal energy loss at close range.” Sherlock explained. “The arrow was still accelerating or had just reached its maximum velocity, resulting in high kinetic energy and momentum upon impact.”

“Wow! How did you know this?” Lestrade asked.

“Elementary arrived at the deduction. I did spend my time at the archery range when I was in college. It was invigorating at best," Sherlock replied.

“He meant he was busier with his right hand than with his ……" Mycroft has not hissed off his contempt yet.

“The arrow looks…" Sherlock crouched down to examine the arrow. “It was removed from the body. The entry point shows different scaring of the wound.”

“The Oni Society is adept at that. If you noticed the arrow design or ‘ya,' the length or ‘shaft’ is shorter as their preference, and the fletching is of the Japanese sparrow hawk; note the design there. I believed the arrowhead is togari-ya, designed for piercing.”

Sherlock looked up to see Doctor Mitsui Ogata standing by the door. The latter did a short bow and walked towards the body.

“I have been studying the Oni for some years now.” Doctor Mitsui Ogata looked to the baffled inspector. “The assailant was here before the minister arrived.”

“And he…" Lestrade was cut off.

“The assailant was a lady. The Oni have a pool of assailants that are of that gender. They are more adept at mingling with the crowd.” Doctor Mitsui Ogata smiled. “Or work as a servant.”

“I will get the Yard to check on any foreign ladies working here.” Mycroft walked to the door.

“Good observations, Doctor Mitsui Ogata.” Sherlock stood to face the other. “However, I am to…" "The assailant escaped by the window. There may be marks there of its soles.” Doctor Mitsui Ogata motioned to the window.

“It is a three-level drop from here.” Lestrade stepped to the window. “And concrete below.”

“Climb, Inspector. Not drop. The assailant climbs up with use of the grappling rope.” Doctor Mitsui Ogata walked to the window. “There are sole marks here. Not intangible, but marks are seen.”

“Your observations are remarkable, Doctor.” Sherlock looked at the man.

“I have studied their actions thoroughly. And thank you for your compliments.” Doctor Mitsui Ogata did another low box. “Arigatogozimas.”

“The question remained: why were the minister and his mistress targeted? "Sherlock held a frowned expression.

“Mistress, Sherlock? Surely…" Lestrade looked at the sleuth.

“An admission to the truth does not need to be disguised.” Sherlock moved to leave the chamber.

Back at his chamber, Sherlock was wrapped in the murder case.

It was an uneventful day for him locally; the evening newspaper gave him no news of interest. The news of the minister being killed and his estate news were held back, but his address was the buzz of telegrams arriving from overseas. He relooked at the telegram that made him go to the meeting that early afternoon.

“The Far East requires us to meet Doctor Mitsui Ogata in the Oni Society. I am involved. And so is M. Do come.” That was the length of the message received. It triggered his curiosity when the prefix "M" was there.

That message was from the prime minister.

M to Sherlock at that moment stood for Moriarty, his adversary in the art of crime.

Unknown to many besides those who live and breathe in the underworld of crime, Moriarty's full name was James Moriarty, the mastermind of crimes in all the isles except for certain seaports; he holds joint dominion with one named Emperor Fu Manchu. Moriarty's other profession was the academic role as the professor of mathematics in one of the revered universities. Moriarty was said to command the thousands of members, including the elites and nobles to the vagabonds on the street. His criminal empire rivaled the king of the isle in influence. The nature of this criminal mind was so brilliant that the local constabulary does not have any concrete link of crimes to the professor, but the Home Office held huge filings of the possible links without evidence. The other archive of the crimes was in the personal bedroom of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock sent out mail to the network of contacts that he knew on the two keywords: "Doctor Mitsui Ogata" and "Oni Society." He got his replies soon enough. Doctor Mitsui Ogata is a criminologist like Holmes, in the employ of the emperor there in the far east. The emperor had expressed concerns on the emergence of "triads" as a term there and their influence on the nation’s administration. The emperor maintained a section of the enforcement to deal with that group, but of late the new group called the Ono Clan had taken hold of the nation with its drastic and killing acts.

More information, unverified, came in on the Oni Society, which had then spread to Hong Kong and Singapore. The clan could not be verified as to their origin but were stated to be the works of diplomats and nobles with the support of the influential traders. The Oni Society does not partake in the actual crime operations but remains as the shadow leadership behind them. In some reports, the emperor himself was allegedly linked as the leader, but it was only cast as rumors.

The question in Sherlock’s mind was why Moriarty surfaced the allegations here in London. Did he fear the Oni Society, which had supposedly evenly placed it as the powerful?

“What is your game, Moriarty?” Sherlock had the violin close to his chest with the wand by the side while he ponders in the dim-lighted parlor of his. He was in deep thoughts then.

Two things saved his life that night.

The violin and the dim light.

 

Heroes Return VI: Book One London Chapter 4

 

4 

 

Watson leaned on the leather seat on the train coach. He preferred the train to the uncomfortable carriage ride, although the latter will be more private. He did not book the whole cabin, but the late trip was more for the solitary passenger.

That was not the case that night.

Watson looked up from the evening papers to see the other passenger who had joined him at the cabin. It was a lady who was dressed in the dark suit with the skirt reaching below her knees, and her legs were covered with the dark leggings and flat shoes. She had won a heart with the dark veil that hid her upper face. He moved his body to look outside the window. It was a gesture of displaying his need to be private. The ride was to take two hours, and a late hour with hypnotic movement on the tracks will make any passenger doze off.

Watson was not in his prime, but his instinct kicked in.

The dagger was aimed at the throat, but Watson had moved his bowler from the forehead to intercept it. The hard material of the bowler held by both his hands stuck the dagger within inches of the flesh. He moved his left shoulder to move the dagger in the bowler hat to the side. He then used his body strength to move the thrust there, and with his right shoulder, he used his body to push the attacker off.

The next blow came at Watson on the left side of the head. It was a hard chop with the right hand of the attacker, striking the head. His survival instinct kicked in, and his left knee came up to hit the attacker. That blow knocked the attacker back, and Watson moved his body to clear the seat. He fell on his knees and crouched to see the attacker was standing in front. The attacker was the lady, and she was poised to attack with her fighting stance. She went with her front kick at Watson.

Watson rolled to the left and grabbed the leg to topple the attacker. He pushed her towards the window and slammed her hard on it. The windowpane did not break, but there were signs of cracks. It was then Watson got up to his feet and faced the attacker. She had recovered and turned to face Watson. It was then he saw the face of the lady with the veil off.

The lady was Oriental, and there was a wound on her left cheek.

“I can assure you, Madam. We can talk if I have hurt you in any way.” Watson voiced out.

The lady pulled out a set of daggers from the pocket of the dress she had on.

“Seriously?” Watson had seen his share of assassins, and ladies were no exception. It was soon to be described as the tanto; the katana blade was double-edged with short length. It was designed as a stabbing weapon, but the edge can be used for slashing. The one carried by the lady was a smaller tanto called the kaiken. The dagger was used in self-defense where the long katana blade was inconvenient.

“Lady, I don’t know what your intention is, but I am not keen to be killed today.” Watson had since removed the dagger from his hat and looked at the lady. The lady pushed on the attack, and Watson was ready for it. She lunged with the right-handed dagger, and Watson had anticipated the move. He stepped aside, and his right hand went down in the hard chop. The blow knocked the dagger off, but the lady had her left dagger aimed at Watson. The double-sharp-edged katana blade cut into Watson’s right shoulder. It was a nick on the suit, for the train had turned the corner and imbalanced the attacker.

Watson snapped out with his right elbow into the attacker’s chest; courtesy was not in the move. His knee impacted the lady’s chest and threw her back. He followed on with the fist into the throat of the attacker. He held back his punch on contact. It would have killed her, and his diversion of the fist went for the jaw. The attacker fell backward, dropping the dagger, but she also lashed out with a low kick at Watson's left knee. It bucked him off balance.

Watson went down on the kick, but the lady had recovered earlier and rushed at him. He saw her coming, and she landed on his back and went for him with punches into his waist from the rear. He intensely pushed her up over his back and slammed her once more on the window. That push was more forceful and shattered the window glass.

Watson pushed himself forward into a crouched position and then turned to look at the lady. She had landed awkwardly on the windowsill, and the shards of the window glass pierced her chest. She pushed herself to get up and then faced Watson, who had stood up then. She was bleeding at the upper chest and the throat, but her killer instinct was still there. She lurched at Watson weakly but fell short to land on the flooring.

Watson carried the lady to the seat and tried to treat the wounds then, but it was too late.

“I am telling you, Sergeant. I tried to help her, but the wounds were deep, and it was late night.” Watson sat at the desk at the local station at his train stop. He had tried to get the train stopped, but they had reached the last stop. The local constabulary was called to the scene, and the doctor had to endure the hours of questioning.

“Call Scotland Yard and ask for Sherlock Holmes, please. He may unravel this for me.” It was a simple request, but the other was busy that night too.

Soon after the tray of tea was cleared by the housekeeper, alongside that was Mycroft.

“Shelly, look, I was on the grump today. I was dragged out of my comfort zone to ……"

“Comfort zone, Mycroft. Surely, your morning tea with the lady that had ravished you the evening before was ……"

“Hold that tone, Shelly. She could hear us.” Mycroft proceeded to the door to check if the housekeeper was listening in. “I can assure you that my sojourn of pleasure was……. May I say, over by morning? I was to … be rested, and then the message came for me to meet the minister and the foreign dignitary.”

“It is your task, Mycroft.” Shelly took hold of his violin again. Watson once said that Sherlock's use of the violin reflects his intimacy with the instrument, which could be described as a sensual experience that mirrors human intimacy through touch and sound. “Do not play that infernal toll on me now.” Mycroft glared at Sherlock. “I am here for two reasons. One was my lack of empathy to forgive you as my brother who appeared in the meeting unannounced to me. I am the head of the section, or at the least the senior operative, and there you were, seated there expressionless, and not even a greeting from you.”

“I was invited by the prime minister. Or rather the office of the PM. And the other issue?” Sherlock placed the violin between his knees. “And I was curious as treasury was not my expertise.”

“Two, after you left, the minister took off to his office and was then murdered by a …. An antique weapon… God, who shoots an arrow nowadays?" Mycroft sank his head onto his lap.

“Hunters do. In fact, many others still do, for guns are noisy and sometimes rare to get hold of." Sherlock made the point of deduction.

“I presumed like your violin. And extension of your……" Mycroft motioned to the toll between the knees of his brother.

“An unfounded assumption. You must have had a bad night with whoever that was with you.” Sherlock looked at Mycroft. “Performance at times is…. Can be distracted by many factors like……"

“Oh, spare me your deductions, Shelly. As it stands, I hold more deductions than you. Yours could be overflowing through your nose, as we speak.”

“A wrongful deduction. My nasal passages are fine. Even the pollen brought over by Watson from the countryside did not inflict any allergies on me.” Sherlock instantly brushed his nose.

“Okay …… I am here to say I am sorry, and your assistance is needed. Soon after you left alongside the Minister, Doctor Mitsui Ogata felt that your ……. Elementary skills will be of use.”

“And why are we waiting for?” Sherlock got up from his seat. “I will get ready.”

“And Mycroft, be a nicer chap. Offer Lestrade the use of the privy.”  

Heroes Return VI: Book One London Chapter 3

 

3.  

 

“Tea will be fine, Mrs. Hudson. I did not see you this evening when I arrived.” Watson lowered the evening news he was reading. He had been seated there for the evening, and then came Sherlock into the parlor, followed by the housekeeper. Mrs. Hudson offered some tea and scones, which were gladly accepted by the doctor. She took the request and left the two gentlemen to their talks.

Watson was dressed in the grey three-piece suit, and his bowler hat was on the hat stand by the door. He had aged naturally with a slight paunch at the waist, but his suit fitted him snugly. His hairline had receded, but his fingers held the papers firm as if he were slicing the flesh with the scalpel in surgery. He had grown a wad above his upper lip with the slight curl on the ends to add to his country physician outlook. He had taken off his shoes, as in previous habit, to wear the comfortable carpet slippers. He was seated in his old seat with his legs crossed, facing the door.

Sherlock’s seat was by the fireplace and looked to the window, where his hawklike eyes would scan the rooftops. Watson did wonder why they had curtains there when they were hardly drawn except for that time when Sherlock was under the impression that someone was going to blow his brain off with a bullet. Since then, he had placed an upper-body mannequin there to be shot.

“Do tell me, Sherlock. I got your message and took the late afternoon train here, and having read your weekly Demons of newspapers with the missing sections, I presumed they were snipped off for your personal collection. Watson saw the missing sections. Minuscule omissions that he put up with being the friend to the sleuth despite past misgivings at work.

“I do have schedules, and tomorrow, I have got……" Sherlock had stepped in from the bedroom and changed into his living robe and then chose to light the pipe after he replaced the stale tobacco.

“I would not mind the smoke, but you could do it with the window opened.” Watson expressed his view. He was not against pipe smoking; he does it himself at times, but living in the countryside, he found the air there breathable compared to London's smog.

Sherlock proceeded to the fireplace and tapped off the tobacco there. He replaced the pipe onto the side table by his seat and took up the violin. He was not an acclaimed violinist, but the shrills and screeches of the strings on it gave him mind-paths to his thoughts. He also had the unlit lamp stand there for his night reading.

“Oh, my dear. Surely you can play Auld Lang Syne?” Watson cut in when he saw Sherlock raise the violin to the left shoulder. “Or a country lullaby like A la Nanita Nana? I may think it is Christmas Eve, and I am doing the good deed of being here like a new present.”

“Watson, I am asking you to join me one more time to…" Sherlock lowered the violin. “Please shun the sarcastic remarks. I had my share of it with Mycroft today.”

“Mycroft? What did you do?” Watson smiled. It was of recent weeks that Sherlock was on a clashing attitude with Mycroft. Siblings they are, and with many others, the love and care between them does lead to the occasional battle of wits or, at times, rants on who is better.

“Did you or he get off the bedding on the wrong side this morning?” Watson smiled. “I may know of you getting off yours well. You have a peculiar habit of getting off the right side.”

“I do get off from that side for my preference to avoid staring at the mirror placed on my left. Do you know the most ingrained appearance of ours when we get up after a long sleep? I much preferred to be proper and refreshed before I examined myself in the mirror.”

“Oh, bless me, Father. I did not know you are so vain in the morning.” Watson laughed. “I do get up on the right side, for my bedding is by the wall, and……. Why am I explaining to you this?”

“Elementary deductions on our habits, I will say.” Sherlock proceeded to his seat. “As you prefer that seat and I here. We do not intermix our seating positions.”

“Gracious me, I must be loony to have come here so often that you have etched me as a regular," Watson sighed. “So, why am I here? Another spin in adventure and perhaps to lose my life, or for worse, my patients who need my care?”

“My dear Holmes, I am retired. I am past chasing out-of-this-world dwellers and seeking treasures. I am contented…"“And you came when I sent for you? You sat there for two hours till I arrived. "Sherlock cut in. “You removed your shoes and placed them on the rack as you did when you were staying here. You were relaxed when I came in. You showed no signs…"

“Holmes, I placed the shoes there because the rugs looked clean, and Mrs. Hudson gets all clammy when she must pick up the ashes of your tobacco. I was relaxed and fell asleep seated here; it is my old chair. And I came here because I was in London to pick up supplies… for my patients too.” Watson looked at Sherlock. “Shelly, you are getting…. Complacent if I may diagnose.”

Shelly was the nickname of Sherlock from Mycroft.

“And more to that, I came because Mrs. Hudson asked me to come up. I do pay my share of the rent here. The……"“A convenient mode. I told Mrs. Hudson to do it for me.” Sherlock took the credit from Mrs. Hudson. “She may be a…" "So, she is now you, a part of the Baker’s Boys, or rather lady.” Watson smiled.

"Boys, or rather, I will call you, darnedest of the males. Both of you are the au pairs in this world." It was the fortunate timing of the housekeeper, who had arrived with the tray of tea and scones. She had changed from her formal attire of the dark suit and boots into the drab white frock and apron with the deep pockets.

“Mrs. Hudson, you are a delightful sight.” Watson quipped up. “And thank you for the tea.”

Watson took the tea offered and saw Sherlock had not moved from his seat despite the cup of tea served onto his side table. It was typical behavior of Sherlock when he was in sleuth mode.

Watson then decided on the matter, but Sherlock read his mind.

“An hour ago, the minister of the Exchequer country retreat was intruded on, and the household with the guards was killed—all six of them in a ghastly mode—but the personal assistant, Mindy Kewala, was not found. Perhaps kidnapped or, at worse, killed somewhere else. They are still looking after her. Do you know her?” Sherlock held the telegram he held.

“No, I do not know her. I may know her…" Watson fretted in his seat. “For Pete’s sake, I do not know every other lady here in London.”

“Mindy Kewala is the niece of King Kewala of the Jahunder family, who was from your old hunting ground and lately owned a huge business in the Dark Continent."

“I was never there. And I am at the Afghanistan war, or rather the Frontier War.” Watson felt the prickly pain on his wound on the leg. He was a medical officer, but that involved excursions with the troops to the hills, involvement in the skirmishes, and attending to the wounded before he was wounded himself. His wound was bad, but as the surgeon, he could not treat himself. His wound went from fatal to manifesting into a dangerous one. Since his recovery, he has been walking with a limp.

“Sirs, Mr. Lestrade had just arrived. He asked…" Mrs. Hudson told the two gentlemen.

“Oui, send Lestrade in. He is the shepherd for the missing sheep." Watson mimicked the tone of the French. He saw the frown on Mrs. Hudson.

“Sorry, I have a gendarme recruit near my place. Pointy behavior with a peculiar attitude for details.” Watson looked at Sherlock. “I am leaving now. I am not locating any missing dame.”

“Six officers with a dozen household staff were killed in the foul matter, and somehow Moriarty was involved.”

“And I am a physician and not a soothsayer. I would not know how to read tea leaves or investigate glass orbs. Get real, Shelly. I am leaving. And Moriarty does not interest me at all. He is your"

“Nemesis, my dear Watson, as indicated by my peers, but we are not. I am his Achilles' heel to his actions.” Sherlock affirmed his privileged position. “Or rather, Michael the angel towards that one named Lucifer the fallen."

“Biblical notations do not impress me anymore, Holmes. It does not tempt me more than a regular appendicitis in my surgery chamber.” Watson shrugged his shoulders. “I am..."

“Again?” Sherlock mocked the other. “One more thing, Watson. There are other assassins involved here.”

John Watson, aka Doctor John Watson, was a trained killer with daggers, though he had forfeited his skill to that of surgery.

“Shelly, I am not an assassin anymore. I have not tossed a dagger for some years now. I do use them to remove bad organs. Why am I telling you all of this?” Watson turned to remove his slippers. He was adamant about leaving then.

“Watson, do be good…" Mrs. Hudson was arranging the teapot when the door was knocked. She smiled and proceeded to attend to the one knocking. She admitted the one person she knew was at the door

.“Come in, Mycroft. I could smell you a mile away.” Mrs. Hudson smiled at the one she considered her beau. The man rushed past her and into Sherlock’s parlor. He removed his top hat and approached Sherlock.

“Shelly, we got another murder. Ah, tea being served. I would not mind one.” Mycroft then helped himself to the tea on the side table. “The exchequer minister was killed just now in his office chamber. He was with three guards, but they still reached him. He was shot with an arrow. They may have got to him, but we could not find the lady.”

“And I am leaving. Good night. The Holmes.” Watson took his coat and walked to the door. Mycroft was still in his coat and holding the tea cup.

“What is with John? Is he still upset with you? A long vendetta there.” Mycroft took another sip of the tea. “Lovely tea, Mrs. Hudson. Oh, I met Lestrade downstairs. He seems to need the privy. One too many cups of tea, I think.”

“Martha will suffice, Mycroft.” The lady smiled. “And no, I have not served tea to the Inspector yet.”