My name is Sherlock Holmes, I am a consulting detective in London, usually my colleague Dr. John Watson would be writing this, but he is away on business in Bristol, and so I have taken up the mantle of author once again. The story which I am about to write about is very important, a matter of national security, had the queen not passed last year I would not be telling it, however Watson and I both agreed that the British people deserved to know the truth about the Case of the Royal Assassin. It started on the eve of the 5th of June, in the year of our Lord 1900.

5th of June, 1900.

Watson was sitting in his usual armchair in the living space of our lodgings at 221B Baker Street, while I mentally reviewed some notes from my last case while laying on my back on the sofa, staring blankly at the wall. There was a rap at the door.

"Expecting company?" asked Watson, a she stood to answer it, "No" I replied.

Watson had a curious look on his face as he opened the door, there stood a man wearing dark trousers, same coloured waistcoat complete with a jacket, an d on his head he wore a bowler hat. I stood up and walked to the door with Watson.

"Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?" he asked

"That'd be me" answered I.

"If you wouldn't mind coming with me sir" he said.

"First, a question, what does the British government want with me?" I asked. Of course as soon a sI saw him I made him as some kind of government official.

The man smiled, and said "how do you know I work for the government?"

"Well my dear fellow, on your belt is a holster containing a government issue revolver, not only that but you hold yourself like a military man, but you're not wearing a uniform, so you are a former soldier, my guess is the Navy judging by the anchor tatto on your forearm, and you have that revolver, so government agent it is then, but I cannot for the life of me figure out exactly WHO you work for, please inform us."

The man looked pleased, then he held out his hand to me and said "Sam Dorchester, Home Office."

I took his hand in my own and said "You already know my name, but let me present my esteemed colleague, John Watson."

"Of course" said Dorchester, shaking Watson's hand, "I love reading of your exploits in the Strand."

"Thank you good sir.

"Now, Mr. Holmes, you and Dr. Watson will be coming with me now" said Dorchester with the utmost authority.

I was quiet for a moment, then I grabbed my coat and fedora and said "fine", Watson follwed me as Dorchester led us to a carriage on the street outside, drawn by two horses. We piled into the cariage and then took off.

"I'm afraid you declined to mention our destination" I said.

"Buckingham Palace" answered Dorchester.

Watson chuckled for a moment, then stopped when he realized he was serious, he tried to cover it with a fake cough, but nobody was fooled.

When the carriage stopped and we all got out we were out front of Buckingham Palace and a servant greeted us and led us inside, an elderly man who, I deduced, was recently widowed and had contracted the flu. He showed us to a waiting room, then left us to our own devices.

"What do you think this is about?" asked Watson.

"Something to do with the royals, probably the queen herself even" I said.

"Really? You think so?" he asked.

Before I could answer a woman walked into the room, she appeared to be in her early to mid sixties, with gray hair and blue eyes, she was more than a bit big, but other than that there was nothing unusual about her. Except for the crown she wore on her head.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson" said Queen Victoria, in a serious tone, "I need your help, for I believe some one is trying to kill me."