London of the year 1891 was a great deal larger than Tokyo, and a great deal more dirty. The air was choked with smog, the river was very nearly black, and the streets were crammed with humanity and the detritus that collected in its wake. This was, however, the sign of progress. It was those ironic tells that made the whole story plain to the eyes of Shinji Ikari: the British Empire was vast. London was the fruit of its labors.
His mother's grip on his hand tightened. He squeezed back. She was not the figure of yamato nadeshii that she was expected to be at home, and had made a name for herself as a giant in fields held by men, but she had lived her whole life in a land less rapid and more underdeveloped. The blast of human motion assaulted her senses, and made her nervous, even safely behind the railing of the ferry as it putted down the Thames. "This is a very crowded place," she murmured.
"Merely another place. It will hold the future for us very shortly," Shinji replied. After all, it was the place his father had died.
Traveling by boat was a consideration for his mother, as she had gotten a nasty case of vertigo the last time they had been up in a dirigible. He didn't blame her, as he had felt his knees go weak himself. The airships in Japan were a bit more flighty than stable American and European ones, however, so they would probably try to repeat the experience here. First time arrivals were not the ideal method to experiment with interesting forms of travel, so it had been more traditional; through the South China Sea, around India, up through the Gulf of Persia, a short jot by train past the slowly expanding Suez Trench, in time to be an actual Canal, and by boat through the Mediterranean to Marseille. From there, a train to the north coast of France and a ferry to the docks before them. They had the pleasure of pushing a good way up the Thames and enjoying many of the sights, before being brought to their departure point . From there…who knows? Shinji lacked the data for that.
"I wish we were back in Tokyo," Yui sighed. Shinji laughed, squeezing her hand.
"No, you don't. You're too curious."
"Yes. But I can still want certain things." She sighed, sadly. "I wish, for instance, that I could be less surprised by Gendo's death."
"Hmm. I wish I could be, as well. Dr. Fuyutsuki's telegram was vague, but…telling."
"And what," Dr. Ikari asked, "Did it tell you?"
"Of plots. Naturally. Father always plotted, and I can't be surprised that this is what it brought him to. Ah, well. We should have answers, soon enough." He quieted as the ferry pulled up to the dock, ropes being tossed and a gangplank being set.
As they stepped off the boat, Shinji noted the small, wiry man that had fixed them with his eyes. He was dressed well, but had the distinct look of a rodent, and on either side of him were two bullish men. Everyone was staring at them, of course; despite their white skin and blue eyes, and Western dress, there were too many features about them that screamed 'foreigner,' and more than once, Shinji had heard 'Oriental' muttered in a less than kind tone. This individual before them gazed with an air of recognition. Shinji went through the Files, and deduced this could only be one of about ten men. When the fellow came up to them and began speaking, that list narrowed to one.
"Ah, Master Shinji, and Mrs. Gendo—"
"In Japan, family names are placed first, therefore the proper term of address for me would be Master Ikari. In the wake of my father's demise, I believe it would be more appropriate to call me Mr. Ikari, as I am the inheritor of his estate," Shinji responded in a snappish tone, a light accent lapping at his vowels and consonants. "Further, my mother is Dr. Yui Ikari, a respected biologist in her own right, and I believe that it would be a much more proper greeting to address her as such."
The man blanched, stuttering for words. He was very well respected in the world of Scotland Yard, and an intimidating man to some, but he found himself talked into silence by a young foreign boy. The conversation had a familiar air to it, one that made him cringe. The two large fellows flanking him glanced at one another, sensing that same note of similarity.
"Eh…I…apologize, greatly. Foreign cultures is unfortunately not my specialty, of course, so I meant no disrespect." His words were educated, but his accent guttural, low-brow. He removed his hat, bowing lightly. "I am…"
"Inspector G. Lestrade of Scotland Yard, how do you do? I was told to meet you by Dr. Kozo Fuyutsuki in a recent telegram. Allow me to tender my congratulations." Shinji extended a hand. The Inspector stared. Dr. Ikari smiled, looking at nothing in particular.
"Most grateful…" Lestrade murmured, accepting the offered hand. It was too uncanny, he thought to himself, a strange dread looming somewhere in the back of his mind. Dr. Ikari leaned next to her son, and asked, "Shinji, I apologize, but your being vague again. What are you congratulating the Inspector on?"
"His recent role in the acquisition of the Piccadilly Strangler, with, of course, the aid of a certain…private asset. I heard talk about it on the boat."
"Oh, of course," Dr. Ikari said, smiling. It was probably something more subtle than that, but Shinji tended to avoid flaunting his observational skills in front of others.
"I believe that you are here to escort my mother and I to our lodgings before explaining to us the circumstances involving my father's recent death?" he asked the Inspector.
"Yes, and no," the police man managed, finding his ground again. "I have instructions instead to escort you to the offices of the man currently helming the investigation into your father's death."
"I was under the impression that was you?"
"In an official capacity, yes," Lestrade said, his expression one that implied he would say no more. Shinji interpreted a lot from that, adding it to the Files.
"I would rather we go to the hotel, first. It's been a long journey, and I would like to see to my mother's comfort."
"If you will excuse me, but my associates," he gestured to the two giants, both of which politely tipped the front of their bowlers, "Have been assigned to escort your mother and luggage. My explicit instructions are to escort you, however, to a meeting with the investigator posthaste." Shinji bristled slightly. He didn't like being told what to do, and he didn't like the idea of being separated from his mother so soon upon entering London. He hated unanswered questions even more, however.
He turned to his mother, blue eyes meeting blue. She sighed, her gloved fingers tapping against each other in a thoughtful staccato. "Well, gentlemen!" she said, with a brilliant smile that made the three policemen blush, "We have a lot of luggage, so it's good to see I have two strong fellows to help. Shinji," she turned to her son, "Go ahead with the Inspector. I'll set myself to getting more familiar with our new home for the time being. Shall we?" She held out both hands, and the two undercover officers both offered an arm. A small doll between two large dogs, the Japanese woman escorted the suddenly shy men back to the dock.
"It seems," the Inspector asked, "That you have the intent to stay for awhile in London." Shinji smiled, sensing that Lestrade was not privy to a lot of goings-on in the world.
"My dear Inspector," the boy explained, "My father has died under suspicious circumstances, my mother and myself have been called to London to find out why, and now you are taking me to the home of the world's foremost detective. I can assure you that I will be compelled to stay in London for a time whether I choose to or not."
The older but still attractive woman that answered the door to 221B Basil Street had the look of a person desperately clinging to some modicum of decorum, and failing utterly. Despite that, she fought to keep that image in every way and shape possible, which gave her the distinct air of serene franticness. It amused Shinji down to his toes, but he kept his face impassive. "Good day, Inspector," she beamed.
"Mrs. Hudson, how are you? I've brought a young guest for Mr. Holmes, a Mr. Ika…Shinji Ikari," he said, nodding his head towards the boy. He had butchered the pronunciation, but was making an effort, and Shinji appreciated it. Mrs. Hudson eyed the child, that sense of deja-vu apparently in the air.
"Oh, I see. How-do-you-do, young-man?" Shinji was short for his age, and she had leaned over to speak and enunciate each word. She had seen he was foreign, and that he was young, and had adopted a vague, middle-of-the-road approach in speaking to him. In anyone else, the affect would have been insulting. For her, he simply felt bad.
"Very well, thank you, considering my long journey and father's murder. I take it you already have a guest, judging from the occupied hat stand. I warrant Dr. Fuyutsuki is already," he replied. She straightened with a sigh, a look of resignation in her eyes.
"Christ blood, there's two of them," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "All right, bring him inside, Mr. Lestrade. I hope you like tea?"
"Very much so, but I have yet to sample English teas," Shinji commented, entering the house past the policeman. Lestrade had stepped aside to allow Shinji in first, and to scan the street one last time. He was, Shinji noted, slow but careful, and had a sense of paranoia about him that was above healthy for a man of his trade. Despite the awkwardness of their first meeting, Shinji found he admired facets of Lestrade. "I trust," he said, remembering his mother's request to be polite, "That you will be a good judge as to what my first sampling should be."
"I'll get some biscuits as well. But first, this way, please." She had taken their hats and coats, and had now begun to ascend the flight of stairs, and Shinji followed. Their home in Japan was of the newer variety that had drifted in with the Meiji reforms, and he was amused to see how close in style the two were. Following the landlady, she escorted her guests to an open door. Entering, she announced them.
"Inspector Lestrade here to see you, with a Mr. Shinji Ikari," she said.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," a voice called from inside. Never one to shy from curiosity, Shinji entered the room, and perused the occupants. There were three men, and it was not hard to tell who was who. The first, the one who spoke, was dressed in very fine clothing, with a trim and athletic build. He had a cane, a gold pocket watch, a wedding ring, and a finely groomed mustache. He was not an old man, but carried himself like one. The other was thin, bohemian in appearance, and had a generally messy habit about him. Except for the eyes. They were very aware eyes, very piercing. It was as though he was seeing too much, but didn't care to stop looking. He was fiddling with a coin, rolling it over and under his fingers. The third man was familiar to Shinji. Sharply dressed and in his sixties, the regal Dr. Kozo Fuyutsuki was a good friend of the Ikaris.
"Dr. John Watson, I presume," Shinji addressed the first man, bowing slightly. "And the famous Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I understand that you are the one investigating my father's death. And, Dr. Fuyutsuki. It's a pleasure to see you again."
Watson's eyebrow rose slightly, and Holmes continued to fiddle with the coin. Fuyutsuki smiled knowingly, but said nothing. Lestrade came up next to him. "I didn't tell him a thing," he said, his hands up in defense.
"Of course you didn't," Holmes murmured, as though far away. "Thank you, Inspector, that will be all!" he snapped, standing with a rapid motion that made Watson sigh, Shinji flinch, and Lestrade sputter.
"I…eh…" He surrendered, and left the room, muttering and slamming the door on the way out. Holmes circled the desk, snatching a piece of paper off of it. He handed the note to the boy.
"What does this letter tell you?" he asked.
Shinji looked at him, suddenly curious. He eyed the note. Snatching it, he rubbed it between his fingers, sniffed it. He studied the writing, the quality of the ink. There were smudges, a red spot. He licked the red spot, deducing it was not blood, but some sort of wine.
"Heavy parchment, not paper. Very odd in this day and age, leather texture. Ink is water-based, common variety, written using what appears to be a stick or twig, not a quill. Penmanship is bad, the grammar is atrocious. French, or trying to pass as French. The smudges are added later, as though to make it appear the letter was more abused than it was. Red discoloration is some sort of wine, fermented drink. I don't drink, so I can't tell you what kind, but the splatter indicates it was meant to be mistaken for blood.
"The contents of the note imply a murder by the Gaston, an assassin for hire who specializes in French expatriates. Signature is that of a Ramon du Chant, implying minor nobility. So…" he hands the note back. "You have a young s0-called aristocrat who's out of money trying to fake his own death and doing it poorly."
"Remarkable," Watson commented.
"And all at the tender age of fifteen," Holmes commented. "Right on all counts, except for one. You did not account for the grammar."
"Of course I did," he said, "The grammar is poor because the nobleman is not actually French. Most likely he is a conman, who's con is running out."
"Why not say so before?" Watson asked.
"He did say so before. The 'so-called aristocrat'…" Holmes seemed to be lost somewhere in his head, and Shinji's expression was concerned. He looked at the note, still in his hand.
"This has nothing to do with why my father is dead," he said, a look of disappointment on his face.
"It has everything to do with his death," Watson explained, "Not the note itself, of course. That's a keepsake from a previous case. Your analysis of it, however, is of the utmost importance."
"A test?" Shinji asked.
"A young man of incredible deductive reasoning skills and observational prowess," Holmes murmured. He looked down at the boy, "Exactly as the father described."
"You knew my father outside of this case," Shinji stated. It was not a question, and he knew it to be fact, not truth.
"Yes, a brilliant man with an advanced knowledge of physics, mathematics, and philosophy. Quite the intellectual, and a student in his own right of deductive theory," Holmes replied, "But he informed us that, to his credit, his son had the potential to outshine him. Dr. Fuyutsuki here has also confirmed it."
"That seems odd, coming from my father," Shinji replied, suddenly uncomfortable, and glancing at Kozo. The man had not said one word in the entire conversation. "He was not an uncaring man, but…praise wasn't something that came naturally to him."
"No, it was not, which is why we gave his assessments such serious consideration," Holmes replied, flicking tobacco ash away from his shirtfront. "He was very clear in his opinion of you, as well as in his instructions that you should be brought to London."
"My father left instructions? This is new information. Not surprising, but it definitely changes things," the boy noted, running his thumb across his upper lip. What game was afoot here? "Is it, then, that I may have some hand to play in deducing my father's murderer?"
"Oh, we know who killed him," Holmes said in a matter-of-fact tone, "It's getting to him that's the issue."
Shinji blinked. "I understand that you like to let people reason these things out on their own," he said, "And are impatient when they can't keep up, but I fear that I don't have all the information to understand precisely what's going on."
Holmes said nothing, and Watson made a face at him. "The issue, my dear boy," Fuyutsuki finally said, walking over to Shinji, "Is nothing less than saving all of civilization."
Mrs. Hudson deposited the tea to the office. Holmes and Watson occupied two chairs, Fuyutsuki leaned on the mantel, and Shinji paced. "Do you know of the recent death of Lord Blackwood?" Fuyutsuki asked, sipping his tea.
Shinji thought on it. "That's a case that's four months old. A murderous member of the Temple of the Four Orders, a quasi-Masonic organization. Went through four girls before being stopped by Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. They interrupted him while he attempted a fifth murder. He was supposed to hang this month."
"He did," Fuyutsuki confirmed.
"So what of it?" Shinji asked.
"He hanged, and then rose from the grave. Our own Lazarus," Holmes said, wry amusement in his tone.
Watson continued. "What my associate means to say is that Lord Blackwood's grave was broken open from the inside, and a body not his own was found in the casket."
Shinji felt his morbid curiosity prickle. "Someone switched bodies?"
"No. In fact, we have witnesses reporting Lord Blackwood to be up and walking about, a most curious notion considering we watched him hang," the detective noted. "The good Dr. Watson confirmed his death, as did I. We didn't wish to take the chance of any ulterior actions influencing the outcome one way or the next. The neck was broken, the pulse was gone. He was as dead as poor Gladstone over there." Shinji glanced at the English bulldog in question, lying in a corner of the room with it's feet in the air.
Watson turned with some mild annoyance. "Did you…finally kill the dog?"
"No, but the metaphor still stands," Holmes said, cryptically.
The dog convulsed for a moment, before being still. Shinji pursed his lips, and turned away from the unconscious animal. "Hmm. A curious case. But what of it with my father? Do you suspect this Lord Blackwood of having a hand in his death?"
"Without a doubt," Kozo commented. "Your father's carriage was destroyed by an explosive vest strapped onto a suicidal bomber. One of Lord Blackwood's specialties was hypnosis, and the influencing of destructive or suicidal tendencies in those who lacked them. Did you know, for instance, that of the four girls that were murdered and disemboweled by Lord Blackwood, all of them did it with their own hand?"
"Yes, I did," Shinji said thoughtfully, leaning against the window. On the street corner, he spied three plainclothes police officers idly watching the house. There was a tension in the air. "So it was Lord Blackwood. A dead man who you cannot find."
"That's how it seems," Kozo admitted.
"Why would he target my father? What purpose is there in his death?" Shinji asked.
"Because he perceived something that Lord Blackwood did not wish for him to perceive," Holmes said in amusement. He stood, and flicked his tea into the fire place. "But what it was is just as much a mystery as to the Lord's designs and location."
"So why bring me into this?" Shinji asked. Kozo smiled, but asked the obvious question.
"What do you mean?"
"You clearly desire me to have some place in this case. Your words indicate as such."
"This is true," Kozo admitted, "But there's more to it, than that." Holmes walked over to the boy, studying him.
"How is it," he asked, "That you recall the information you see? How you organize it?"
Shinji thought about his answer carefully. "Through the Files, I call them. I visualize my mind as a filing cabinet, and each fact and idea as a separate file."
"Is it efficient?"
"It's never been inefficient."
"Remarkably like the method of loci, or the memory walk. Have you heard of this technique?" Holmes asked.
"Partially, but I have not had experience in it," the boy admitted.
Holmes nodded. "I have had some success in teaching this to my associate there," he said, gesturing to Watson, "And it has proved to be a great aid to him. He has remarkable deductive talent, built upon hard work and a natural intelligence."
"However," Watson interjected, somewhat irritated at being the topic of conversation, "I will be the first to admit that I do not have the natural talent for deduction that Sherlock Holmes has. Or you, as it were."
Shinji studied them each in turn, and looked out the window. The three policemen had been replaced by three more policemen. "You wish to train my deductive abilities? Teach me this method of loci?"
"Yes. To hopefully take up your father's work. There are…enemies. Dangerous foes that array themselves against the British Empire, as we are currently the premiere nation on the face of this Earth. And they will do anything to have their way with us," Holmes admitted. Shinji looked at him skeptically, then at Kozo.
"So? I'm Japanese. I have my own empire and my own loyalties. Why would I assist you and your empire, especially given our national rivalries in the Pacific and Indian Oceans?"
"And yet, you could not dispute the chaos that the world would plunge into should the British Empire find itself collapsing. That is the prime defense of being the top power; should you collapse before there is a willing contender to take your place, the result is…rather messy, wouldn't you say?"
Shinji laughed. "Why, Mr. Holmes, I never figured you to be so acutely aware of political realities! I assumed that would be more your brother's specialty."
"It is," Holmes admitted, a look of irritation crossing his face at the mention of his brother. "But I must admit that…certain realities have not escaped my attention. They did not escape your father's, either. It is why he and the good Dr. Fuyutsuki have assisted us."
The boy pondered that for a bit. He watched the street, allowing it to fade from his sight as the files flowed into mind. He processed all the data he had, and begrudingly came to a single, logical conclusion. He was already in London, and his curiosity was too strong to ignore. And the opportunity to learn from the great Sherlock Holmes was simply too tempting to pass up.
Besides, the greatest mystery he had ever possessed was understanding Geno Ikari. Maybe he could leave this place with some modicum of knowledge as to who his father truly was, and why.
"Very well," he sighed, opening his eyes. "I will stay here, and assist you in your investigations. I look forward learning your deductive techniques, and will work to aid you in bringing justice to this Lord Blackwood. And, at the end of this case...perhaps...I can be compelled to stay and continue to assit you and your...British Empire."
Holmes hummed in satisfaction, Watson looked pleased, and Kozo...Shinji thought he very much looked like a cat that ate the canary.