The Allied Detective Agency –

Well what do a British detective, an American soldier, a French noble, a Chinese merchant and a Russian mafia heir have in common?

Honestly, not much.

If anything.

But here is their story.

Chapter One

[Arthur Kirkland was not your average Londoner. The first thing people would've noticed was his extremely fuzzy, caterpillar-like eyebrows. But besides that he was an observant and very stereotypical British detective and one of the very best. ]

He flipped the yellow-tinged newspaper, the black printed text flooding the pages in perfect lines. Reaching out for his earl grey tea; he took a small sip before sighing in the morning comfort. For once the sky wasn't in downpour, it wasn't even cloudy. In fact it was a pale, pleasant blue, and Arthur Kirkland was determined to enjoy the rare weather. His eyes ran through the words, smirking slightly at the news of a recent murder. A body had been uncovered in the Thames, and it wasn't the first and probably not the last. Placing down the now empty cup Arthur proceeded to roll up the newspaper slipping it into his coat pocket. Making his way out of the quiet café he was welcomed to the bustling city of London, with well – off politicians being trailed by sneaky pick-pockets. Newspaper boys bellowed out headlines, Arthur amusingly found that news of bodies found in the Thames always seemed to pop up.

Arthur Kirkland walked quickly and swiftly on his feet, but was suddenly knocked off when he felt a body of a young man or woman ram into himself, quickly pick themself up and hurriedly scuttle away. Turning around to apologise as the gentleman he was, he found himself standing alone looking away at the shuffling crowds of London.

Shrugging off the incident, he continued on his way. The people in London were constantly pressured with the demands of their work, especially with the industry currently booming. But with all the competition there was bound to be a few…mishaps, and that was the source of Arthur's job.

Finally reaching his destination, he stared at the scene before him. Officers were crowding the riverbanks. As his eyes reached the centre of the commotion, his mouth twitched slightly. So there was more than one body. All the other cases had only been one body, killed in exactly the same way. But why? Arthur's mid reeled as he glanced at the bodies lined up next to each other.

"Good morning Mr Kirkland."

"Morning, officer."

"Afraid I can let you further, Arthur. Civilians aren't allowed."

"Are Not. And I am quite sure that the head officer will let me on this case. It appears that you still have yet to find any evidence."

"Following the papers I see, Mr Kirkland. But there are rumours you know."

"There are always rumours, but enlighten me."

"Well apparently there's a saying that Chinese merchants have something to do with this-."

Arthur thought back to the person who he had bumped into, he had caught a glimpse of the man's wear, an oriental dress. That would explain the ponytail.

"-but it also might be sabotage, with the times and all. Some of the people have been identified as politicians and particular people of…, well, the high class society. Where do your opinions stand Mr Kirkland?"

"Ah but that is the beauty of a good mystery, I'll see what I can do before your head officer finally admits that he needs my help."

"With all the bodies, it might not be that long, sir."

"Hopefull-"

"OI! LET ME THROUGH!"

Arthur's head snapped sharply to the source of the commotion and was greeted with the sight of an American, judging by the accent, trying to push through the officers shouting that he needed to see the bodies.

"HEY YOU! HELP ME HERE!" The American tried calling to Arthur, waving his hands manically. Arthur knitted his eyebrows sceptically, staring at the ridiculous American.

"I think you should help him Arthur, he might get hurt. And we don't want a commotion, or any more reporters."

"Fine."

Sighing, Arthur walked to the complaining American.

"Hey, you actually came! So are you going to help me here?"

"You do know you can't get through."

"But I have to!"

"Why exactly?"

"It's a secret mission, but I'm here to solve this mystery because I'm the hero! Here. I even have a letter from my boss."

Arthur promptly face palmed. "Why did you not show that in the first place?"

The American shrugged.

"Well you are certainly not going to be let in after all the ruckus you have caused."

"Awww…" he paused. "So can I stay at your place?"

"What?"

"Can I stay at your place? I don't really have anywhere to go." The American grinned sheepishly.

"You ask a random person if you can stay at their place."

"Well, yeah."

"No." Arthur pivoted swiftly on the ball of his foot and began to walk away from the American.

"Hey. Wait."

Shutting off the shouts, Arthur continued to walk back to his apartment, fingering the package in his pocket. He decided to take the long way, to lose the struggling American and his loud antics. Taking a sharp corner he finally lost the shouts. Shifting his eyes, he inserted the key. Taking a breath, he opened the door rapidly and rushed in, shoving the door to a close but it stopped came to a sudden halt. A foot belonging to a very irritable man indeed was snuffed between the door and its frame.

"Wow, you have a pretty good place."

Arthur presently felt like he wanted to bash his head against the wall, before grudgingly opening the door and letting the American in to his abode. He observed the American with a suspicious eye; he had messily combed dark blond hair and youthful blue eyes which shone with pride.

"So…?"

"Oh. Alfred, Alfred F. Jones."

"So Alfred, I assume you are American?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing in England?"

"Boss' order. You know… secret stuff."

Arthur raised his eyebrows sceptically. "So what do you do?" Asked Alfred.

"I am a detective."

"Oh, so that's why you were at the crime scene."

As much as he hated having a stranger at his house, Arthur had to be a gentleman. "Would you like some tea?"

"Nah."

Arthur made some anyway despite the American's swift refusal. "So what do you do?"

"Well, I'm a soldier but I'm working on special cases now."

"Mmhmm. There is a guest room; you can stay there for now. But I'll be busy for the majority of the time, so don't expect me to always be here."

"Sure."

Taking out the parcel that was slipped into his pocket, he carefully untied the string and the thin brown paper that covered the slender, rectangular package. Unveiling an envelope and another bulky package he feet it, assuming it would be some kind of picture. Looks like someone wanted his help. He broke the dragon seal which held the envelope together and found in neat cursive handwriting, a letter addressed to him.

Hello Mr Kirkland, we inquire that you know of the rumours surrounding the recent murders and the situation this places the China Trading Industry. We would like to ask of your services in aiding the restoration of our reputation. If not possible we suggest you to find a reasonable witness. If you do take interest in helping us, meet at the address that will arrive.

China Trading Industry

Arthur sort of gulped; he was pretty sure he read the letter right but re-read it just in case.

"Is this how you do your job?"

"Huh-!"

Arthur lurched around; Alfred was looking at him and the letter. "No, not usually."

"Oh, ok then."

"So where's the address?"

Suddenly they heard a knock on the door. "Ok, that's creepy." Stated Alfred, breaking the silence that followed, as Arthur slowly picked up the piece of the paper left on the doorstep with no trace of any human being.

"The London Docks, the sixty-fifth pier, eleven pm sharp." Arthur stared at the last two words. "Or else."

"I guess we have no choice then."

"No choice for what?"

"Well we have to go."

"We?"

America swung an arm around Arthur, "Yeah, there's no better person than the hero to help you with these creepy people!"

"First of all, get your hand off me. I do not need any help and you are not coming with me."

"But you so need my protection."

"Unfortunately not. Do you not have anything to do at the moment?"

"Nope."

Sighing Arthur slipped off his coat, "I'm going to have a nap." He felt that he was going to need it. Clutching the coat he took the package and a thick book lying on the coffee table. Walking up the stairs, he entered his cramped bedroom. Most of Arthur's house was neat, clean and tidy, devastatingly; his own bedroom did not fit into that particular category. Books were stacked up on top of each other in ways that defied gravity and the distance between the bookshelves and the ceiling were filled with yellow, crumbled papers. The floor was swamped in balls of scrunched paper and there were random objects placed all around the room. In a dejected corner was a beautifully polished violin, standing out from the rest of the horrendous room. Throwing his coat on the hook on the back of the door, Arthur slumped onto the bed, his hand over his face, fingers massaging his temples slowly as he groaned quietly.

"WOW! I'd never expect someone like you to have a room like this."

"Eh?"

"You play violin?"

"Yes."

Alfred treaded cautiously around the room, tip-toeing among the decaying papers, picking up letters and looking at pictures curiously. "You're Arthur Kirkland?"

Arthur wasn't sure but was it possible that he had heard a slight amount of awe in the voice. "Yes." Removing his hand from his face he glanced at the intruder in his room. "What's it to you?"

"Your name travels far; even in America you're considered an amazing detective."

"They're probably talking about another Arthur Kirkland."

"No I'm sure that it's you, you're the Arthur Kirkland who solved the Mockingbird case and the Railway Murder."

"Ah… those cases."

"Yeah you're famous."

"No, I am a nuisance of the government and if you want to come tonight you might as well get some sleep. I have a feeling it's going to be a long night."

"Than-" But Arthur had already gone to sleep.

Screech! Arthur shot out of his nap, the screeching bringing him abruptly back to reality. Screech! Screech! The horrible noises continued, tormenting him and his sensitive ear drums. Arthur rushed out of his nap; taking a look at his rusting alarm clock, he rubbed his head in annoyance. The screeching sounds made his ears ring with pain. His eyes scanned the room crazily; his eyes froze at a dejected corner where his violin should've quietly sat. No! No! Not the Violin! He scurried out of his room, nearly tripping down the stairs as he dashed to save his probably destroyed violin. He kicked the guest room door with anxiety, it was a miracle it stayed on its hinges with the rage that had built up in the short amount of time it took Arthur to reach the doomed person. Wrenching his violin bow from the zealous American he smacked him on the head, hard.

"Ow!"

"Serves you right! Don't just go playing on someone else property, you don't even know how to play violin."

"But it looked so cool and people make it look so easy so…" Arthur felt like smashing the violin on his head but that would hurt his precious violin.

"Things are never as easy as they look idiot."

"But-"

"You touch this violin again and I will kick you out and hurt you so much you'll run back to America with your tail between your legs shouting for your mother." Arthur's eyes had turned murderous and in the dimly lit shadows Alfred was sure he would follow out on his threat. "Okay…"

Placing the violin down on the table, Arthur inspected the bow obsessively, testing if there were any broken strings. It was hard to find a good instrument and most of them were horrendously expensive. He didn't want an American ruining his violin before he had even stayed a day. Finally deeming the instrument undamaged, he glared at Alfred, boring holes into his skull. Scowling, he switched his glare to the clock. Nearly choking on his spit he threw the violin bow back on the couch, pacing in a circle rapidly, muttering to himself. Wrenching his coat off the door, Arthur snatched the passive American before half- dragging him, half pulling the coat on before grabbing his hat, and slamming the door on his way out.

"Wait? Where are we going?" yelped Alfred,

"The Docks!"

"Ahh, yeah…sorry I forgot to remind you." He grinned sheepishly as he was dragged by Arthur.

Weaving through alleyways, Arthur had no time to take transport unless they were to ride a horse straight to the docks; he mentally scolded himself for such a ridiculous idea. Taking a sharp turn, Alfred had decided to stop wondering where they were a long time ago. Then without a second to think, He was abruptly hauled into a corner, nearly yelping at the shock, expecting a brick wall to be lain ahead. With all the twists and turns all his brain registered were dark blurs in the night.

"Hey Artie, Do you know where you're going?" Alfred managed to get out in the whirlwind, nearly slipping on a dampened step.

Too intent on getting the quickest possible route, Arthur completely missed the nickname, "Of course I know where I'm going. What gave you the idea that I didn't?"

You look like you have no idea where you're going…But Alfred didn't dare voice his thoughts, afraid that the Brit would leave him alone in, as of the limited blurs he could see, the more underground side of London. The soles of their shoes tapped quickly on the damp bricks roads, the narrow, watching buildings glinting in the pearly dim moonlight. Half – dead figures groaned in the rat molested crevices, soaked in puddles of decaying water.

Turning his head from side to side, Alfred watched the alleys slowly grow wider, until they lead to an opening where large, grey rectangular warehouses loomed above them, their shadows dancing with the clouds that occasionally covered the silver of the moon. Over the corner of a crumbling warehouse, Alfred saw a copper glint of metal. Observing the glint as the moon shone its light once again, Alfred's eyes widened. It was a large cylinder, a cylinder of shining metal, a funnel. The vent for a giant steam boat. In his awe, he hadn't realised that Arthur had stopped dragging him and sensing the silence, was nowhere to be found.

"Arthur…? Hey Arthur…..? It's not funny ok. That's enough. Arthur….?"

The silence echoed, only the depressed drips of water and the creaks of stressed buildings and ships could be heard.

"Arthur…...?"

His footsteps screamed in the silence, a single drop of sweat sneaked down the side of his face.

"What?"

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Arthur raised a single fuzzy eyebrow. "You're scared of the dark?"

"No…just things in the dark… certain undead things." Murmured the American,

"You're afraid of ghosts." Arthur's tone was cynical, a smirk twitching at his lips, emerging on his face when a certain seabird decided to release a gut – wrenching squawk.

"AHH! WHAT IS WITH ENGLAND?"

Arthur rolled his eyes looking down to find the American latching on to his arm, letting out a small chuckle.

"Don't worry, there aren't any ghosts…" Alfred let out a sigh of relief, "at the moment."

Alfred froze.

"Sixty-three, sixty-four, sixty…five." Arthur glanced at the offending warehouse, "I guess there's no going back."

"Don't worry; the hero is here to protect you!"

"How useful, a hero who is afraid of ghosts."

"Artie!" winged Alfred,

"My name is Arthur."

Walking around the warehouse for any signs of the Chinese Trading Industry, the Brit reached in his pocket, taking out a polished pipe, lighting it and taking a breath. Pausing in his draught, he spotted a figure leaning casually on the walls; the shadows preventing the Englishman seeing more than a faint outline. Click. A pocket watch snapped shut, "Eleven p.m. sharp, congratulations Mr Kirkland. Surprisingly you are not late; you seem to know your way around London."

"A few corners here and there."

"Shall we continue inside, I'd think you prefer not to discuss things out in the cold."

"Indee-"

"Wait, Wait, wait a minute!"

Arthur groaned as the American walked speedily towards them.

"First of all, who's this and second where are you going without you're hero? Aaannndd don't leave me behind!"

Another sudden urge of head bashing overcame the Brit. Arthur looked desperately at the man.

"I'm sorry. Some people just don't leave you alone." Arthur tried sympathetically, "Don't listen to a word he says."

"It's ok. Please both of you follow me this way."

Leading them through the warehouse Arthur finally got a good look at the man. His features told of his Asian heritage, that much was expected. However, he was different to the person who had bumped him in the street. He had dark, almost black eyes and short black hair; he was short, shorter than Arthur. He didn't look Chinese either, more Japanese.

"Excuse me, but you don't appear to be Chinese?"

"Ah, I am not Chinese but I work in the same precinct."

"Then what are you? You seem to look pretty Chinese to me."

Arthur mentally face-palmed, could this person not read the situation.

"I am Japanese."

"Ah I see now."

Noting that they were now descending a long flight of stairs, Arthur began to have second thoughts. Probably no one could hear them this far underground.

Finally they reached a door which stood out from the rest of the basement; on it were red scrolls and paintings of gold dragons but what were most eye-catching to the Brit were the elegant but rushed Chinese characters which ran the length of the door. What it said, he had absolutely no idea.

Politely asking Arthur and Alfred to enter through the door, the Japanese man waited patiently. Alfred turned around to speak to him, "Aren't you coming?"

"It isn't my business."

Shrugging off the refusal, Alfred followed Arthur in to the room, and he stood there. Shell – shocked.

Despite still being in London, Alfred felt that he had just been transported to China; it was an explosion of red. Red silk curtains hung from the ceiling, detailed ink paintings pock-marked the walls, lacquered, hard bottomed chairs and low wooden tables, seemed randomly placed around the room.

"Wow."

Unable to say anything against the American's comment, Arthur stayed silent.

"I doubt you haven't seen anything like it before, since you British are just so welcoming of other cultures aru."

Shooting around, Arthur laid eyes on the speaker.

Long raven black hair tied in a low ponytail; he had his arms crossed in front of him, the sleeves of a blue silk top covering his hands. Bored caramel-brown eyes casually observed the two visitors.

"It was you! You're the person who planted the messages into my coat."

"Yes."

"So who are you?" demanded Alfred.

"This is Wang Yao; by the way, Yao's his first name not Wang. The Chinese order of names is different so don't insult him."

"My thanks for relieving me of explaining it to this American aru."

"You know I'm American? How?"

"It's obvious aru."

"I'm one of the people who operate the Chinese Trading Industry, but no one important aru."

"He is an important person, someone I wouldn't expect to be in the underground business." Arthur directed,

Raising an eyebrow, Yao moved around them, seating himself at a table, "Detective Arthur Kirkland, one of the best British private detectives in the region. You obviously know why I have bothered to contact you, if it was an ordinary case it wouldn't be in the news, but things have turned out differently aru." Yao's eyes glanced sideways, his mind lost for a minute.

"What's different than the other cases?"

"I will tell you once you agree to help us aru."

"Us?" blurted out Alfred,

Yao's eyes looked wistfully at the American, "There are higher forces than me aru. In England I am only a merchant nothing more, even now the situation is being controlled by more powerful people aru."

"Is it?"

"It is aru."

"Fine, I will help. It's not a usual occurrence that this sort of case appears." Smiling, Yao threw a file into the hands of the Englishman.

Catching the rashly wrapped file, he analysed the bundled pictures and smudged handwriting, his mouth twitched into a cunning smirk.

"You really need my help, don't you?"

Yao narrowed his eyes, before letting out a strained smile, "It was…more serious than we first thought aru." His eyes fighting a battle of wills with the Englishman.

"OK! Guys can you stop speaking in, like, codes and stuff because I can't understand a thing!"

At the sudden outburst both Arthur and Yao abruptly turned their heads towards Alfred and raised a single eyebrow simultaneously saying, "You don't need to know!" Flashing his hands up quickly, he backed away from the glares Arthur and Yao were sending him.

"The only thing I have a problem is that you caused this problem in the first place yet you still expect me to help you?"

"You have no choice aru."

"I could just rat you out now." The Londoner smirked, "You won't be able to get out of this one."

"You'd be surprised aru."

"Tch, you only do things if you've got a way out."

"I'm not the only one aru. Tell him, I know you will eventually aru."

"Huh? Tell me what?" Asked the bewildered American, he hadn't expected to know anything after listening to the first five sentences of the conversation between Arthur and Yao, preferring to watch the two beat each other with venomous glares.

"The reason why Mr Wang is asking for our help and how the problem started in the first place."

"Hmmm."

"You do know how there were several murders conducted in the same way but there was a five day time difference in first and second murders."

"Yeah, I guess. But why does that even matter?"

"The murders after the second person were all found exactly three days after."

"Normally there wouldn't be a connection aru."

"Ok I get it, so what?"

"The first murder was an assassination directed by the Chinese Trading Industry."

"WHAT! But that means…but…you should be arrested!"

Yao's mouth twitched in a quick smile as Alfred made his way towards him. "Do you really expect all companies to have clean records aru?"

"Unfortunately yes, it is common for companies to hire…professionals…to get rid of…let's say…obstacles."

"You sound like you have experienced this situation aru."

"I have, undoubtedly, encountered the sort."

"Why am I, the hero, with two people who don't seem to have a problem with this?"

Ignoring the pointed complaint Arthur continued, "Except all the other murders weren't, even though the way they were murdered was the same, the killer is different. Someone is framing the industry, for what reasons…who knows."

"But what we do know is that they have something against the company, I won't deny that we have many enemies but equally as many friends. If we get dragged down, the economy and the world trading system would be in an uproar aru."

"The Chinese Trading Industry is famous in the underworld for dealing with the dirty work of other companies…among other things, for various sums of money but in the surface it is also a vital point in the trading with Asia. We don't want to disrupt the balance between the countries, which would definitely end in chaos."

"It would be a pain to enquire the government aru."

"So, someone recommended my services and now I have to solve this case. Yao. I don't understand why you couldn't have asked any of the other companies or…them…"

"It is unwise to show weaknesses to the surface world, especially to those people aru. So I will admit that the criminal is probably someone in the company, someone who is familiar with the killing methods used aru. That will be a start at least aru."

"Is it you?"

"No aru."

"How do we know!" demanded Alfred suspiciously eyeing the chinese man.

"If I were to kill someone, there wouldn't be any evidence aru." Yao answered chillingly, his face hidden in the wandering shows. For reasons unknown to themselves, Alfred and Arthur gulped at the sharp, suddenly chilling tone, it was as if the temperature in the room had dropped a few degrees.

"Ok aru! Since all the matter have been dealt with, allow me to escort you back out, you don't mind if we go back out in different directions do you aru?" Shocked at the sudden change in temperament, the two westerners could only nod as Yao motioned for a hidden door and led them up another flight of stairs to a moon-lit sky, the stars blinking oblivious to the events below them, ever burning their own light.

Arthur recognised the place instantaneously, making a mental note to remember the hidden rooms in the warehouse. Looking back at the Chinese man, he turned to make a scathing comment but was left with air, only a shadow passing the light of the moon.

"So where do we start?" Alfred strutted his way out.

"My place. We need some food first, do you fancy some scones? I cook them myself."

Chapter Fin