A/n: So I forgot to say this in the first chapter. I realize that the actualy SH stories are told (for the most part) from the POV of Watson, as the chronicler. However, I didn't feel confident enough to do that...ahaha~sorry. Another thing; the nations are nations. They aren't normal ppl, they are the nations that they represent. Just thought I should clear that up! :3

Ch. 2: Story

"Kirkland was with you that night?" Watson repeated, the disbelief evident in his tone.

"Yes, yes!" Jones seized Watson's hands and looked down on the slightly shorter man, his blue eyes overflowing with worry, "Please. You've got to understand! Artie's innocent! He didn't hurt anyone, he wasn't there, this…this…"

"Mr. Jones" Watson frowned, trying to tug his hands out of the younger man's vice grip, "Mr. Jones, could you let go, Mr. Jones, please, I can't feel my hands."

"Ah…oh. Sorry." Jones frowned slightly and released the other's hands, taking a step back, "Sorry about that…I sometimes forget my own strength. Anyways. Please Dr. Watson. You've gotta talk to Holmes. I've tried everything…"

"I'm assuming you've already been to the police?"

Jones nodded miserably, "Yea. 'course I did. They didn't believe me of course. Said I was lying to protect Artie." The man collapsed on the armchair, physically and emotionally drained, "Why? I'm telling the truth, so why don't they believe me?"

"Mr. Jones…the evidence against Kirkland is horribly compelling" Watson said, massaging feeling back into his hands, "Really, everything points to him…"

There was a loud banging from the door, and the pair jumped, startled. "Wait here" Watson said to Jones, "I'll get it."

Watson disappeared down the hallway and returned a few minutes later, trailed by a rather large, heavily built man. The larger man wasn't exactly attractive; his frame was bulky and clumsy, but his face expressed intelligence, the dark brow drawn back in deep thought, the lips pulled down in a somewhat worried expression.

"Mr. Jones" Watson approached the blonde, "This is Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother and senior by seven years."

Jones nodded, and stood, extending a hand which Mycroft took, "Alfred F. Jones" he said, introducing himself to the larger man.

"Mycroft comes on a mission similar to yours, correct?" Watson asked, once introductions had been finished.

"I'm here concerning the murder of Archduke Percy and the accused man, Sir Kirkland" Mycroft explained, his dark, intelligent eyes roving over Alfred.

"He didn't do it, I'm telling you!" Alfred looked up at Mycroft his hands grasped in prayer, "I swear, Artie wouldn't do something like that! He just wouldn't!"

"For your sake, as well as my own, I hope you're right" Mycroft shook his head, "I work with the government, and apparently, your Artie's something…special. What, I don't know. They refused to tell me, but did tell me that, no matter what, I had to prove Kirkland was innocent."

Watson looked genuinely surprised, "Find him innocent? Why is the government so concerned with Kirkland's well-being?"

Mycroft shrugged, looking troubled, "Like I said, Kirkland's apparently something special. They won't tell me what it is exactly, but they're desperate that he be found not guilty…Even if…" his face turned darker, and the frown on his lips became more prominent, "Even if we must pin this crime on an innocent…"

Watson looked shocked, and stared at Mycroft a few seconds before gasping out, "W…what!?"

Mycroft nodded grimly, "You heard me correctly. The government is so desperate, they're willing to let an innocent man hang."

"That…They can't do that!" Watson was shaking his head quickly, "What kind of justice system is this?! What's so special about Sir Kirkland anyways? He's a noble, but one of rather low ranking…"

Mycroft shrugged, also looking troubled, "Again, I don't know. Strange thing, actually. I tried to find records of the Kirkland name, the Kirkland family, and came up with nothing. It's like they never existed. There are other Kirkland families, but I wasn't able to trace a single one of them back to our Arthur." Mycroft looked over at Alfred who suddenly looked rather uncomfortable, "Do you know anything about Kirkland? According to Watson, you're good friends, no?"

Alfred shook his head quickly, "Yes, we're good friends, but do I know anything out of the ordinary? No."

"Well then why would a government agent from America be here, and moreover, apparently determined to prove Kirkland's innocence?" Mycroft asked.

Alfred gave a start, "What?" he asked, looking rather shocked, "Wait, who are you talking about?"

"You, obviously." Mycroft responded.

"How did you know I was an American governmental agent?" Alfred looked surprised, "I can see how you got the American part, the accent, but how did you know I worked in the government?"

"I work with the government myself. " Mycroft responded, "I'll admit it, at first I wasn't sure. You look too young to actually have a role in the government. Your attire obviously speaks one of wealth, or high ranking, yet it is clear that you spend a good quality of your time in manual labor. Your hands are rather calloused, and you're too tan to have spent your entire time behind a desk. So, that eliminates most professions, such as lawyer or banker. Doctor or other scientific field is also highly unlikely, as your hands have no evidence of chemical or biological residue. I thought you might have inherited a large fortune, and perhaps enjoyed spending time outside, yet you speak like a common man. So what job would enable a common man to reach a higher status, and requires physical labor? Simple. A field agent of the government."

Alfred had been silent through the entire explanation, and when Mycroft had finished, shook his head slowly, "I…should I applaud you or will just looking shocked suffice?"

Mycroft shrugged, "It's not too difficult, actually. Now" he turned to Watson, "Have you any idea when my brother will return?"

Watson shook his head, "He left early this morning, so there's no telling when he'll be back. Perhaps in a few days, perhaps in a few hours…"

"Perhaps now."

The group of three looked up as another man entered the room. Tall and lanky, he took the traveling cloak he wore off, draping it over his arm. His face was rather thin, with a well-defined jaw, and dark, intelligent eyes set below dark eyebrows.

"Perfect timing as usual, Sherlock" Mycroft said, smiling, "Sometimes, I wonder. Do you just lurk behind the doors and time your entrance as to when you deem it most dramatic?"

Holmes smiled, "Yes, sometimes I admit I do. Watson has seen me do that on several occasions, have you not?"

Watson rolled his eyes, "More often than it is healthy for me, yes."

Holmes chuckled, before turning to his brother and Alfred, "So, I return on my walk, and find two people have stumbled upon my home in my absence. How may I help you?"

"We come on similar missions" Mycroft explained, "So I do believe you'll be able to help us both."

"Wonderful" Holmes said, the grin still evident on his face, "So what is this common problem that brings you two here?"

"The murder of the Archduke Percy" Jones responded.

"Is that case not already closed?" Holmes asked, "I thought they had already named who they believed to be the murder. Your close friend, Sir Kirkland, wasn't it?" he asked Jones.

"How did you know I was close to Artie?" asked Jones, "I don't think we've ever met before."

"No, we haven't" Holmes nodded, "Yet it really is obvious. You are clearly strained, and haven't been sleeping for several days, if the bags under your eyes are anything to go by. You've lost weight in a short period of time, as a result of not eating for quite a while either. Clearly, you're terribly worried about something. You mention the murder of the Archduke. Such a traumatic event could, and probably is, the cause of your condition. You've been horribly affected by it. Perhaps you were a good friend of the Archduke, as you are obviously a member of the upper class. But then why would you come to me? The police have already solved this case. No, you would not be here were you concerned about the Archduke. You are concerned about the accused, Sir Kirkland, and do not believe him guilty. He is a close friend, and you do not wish to see him hang. Thus, you have come to me, seeking assistance in proving that Sir Kirkland is innocent."

"When you explain it, it doesn't sound as complicated" Jones said, "It's like a magic trick. Maybe you shouldn't tell people how you do it and just leave them amazed."

"It's not that difficult" Holmes responded, "Now that we have determined what you are here for, let's talk about what you know about this. Tell me, and please, don't leave anything, no matter how insignificant or incriminating it may seem, out." Holmes crossed over and sat in the loveseat across from Jones.

Jones nodded, "Artie and I are friends…we've been very close for a very, very long time." he spoke quickly, his eyes bright and imploring, "As you already know, I am American. I come visit Artie about once a year. Personally, I'd love to see him more, but with the transportation and work and whatnot, I simply don't have the time. I arrived in England only a few days ago, and was set to depart tomorrow. However, with events as they are, I simply cannot, and will not return home until I am ensured that Artie is safe.

That being said, the night of the murder, Artie and I were at his house. The servants had all retired for the night, and we had intended to spend the night by the fire, with perhaps some bourbon to help put us to sleep." Jones paused, shaking his head, "Here, I was a fool. As I've previously said, I've known Artie for a long, long time, and know his drinking habits too well. He…doesn't hold his liquor very well, and when he drinks, he almost always drinks too much. Within half an hour, he was completely drunk, and was singing quite loudly." Jones paused again, chewing at his lower lip and staring at the floor before him.

"And you stayed with him in that condition the entire night?" Mycroft asked, prodding Jones.

Jones shook his head, "No…no I didn't…You see…Artie and I had a kind of..well, I suppose you could call it a conflict. A very ugly, very painful conflict a while back…and well, you see, he's never really quite gotten over it...No, he hasn't ever gotten over it at all. Most of the time, he acts like he doesn't care, but when he gets drunk, it all starts pouring out…He started yelling at me and calling me names…I knew there was no point in reasoning with him. I tried to get him at least to his bedroom, or at least get him to sleep, but he kept struggling…So, after a while, I gave up, retired to my own chambers, and left Artie to his own devices. By the time I left, he had quieted down, and was kinda just sitting there with a scowl on his face, muttering to himself. I came down later to make sure that he was alright, that he hadn't hurt himself or destroyed the room, and sure enough, there he was on the floor, completely nude, curled up around the bourbon bottle and surrounded by a number of other alcoholic drinks, fast asleep. I took him up to his room, got him in some pajamas and tucked him into bed. He had a terrible hangover the next day, and spent the morning in bed, groaning about his headache and cursing me to high hell."

"And this man is your friend…?" Watson asked, his tone disbelieving.

Jones smiled, "Yep. You know how some friends are…they just have those habits that you can't break, or that weird quirk that annoys you, but you stick with them anyways?"

"Like constantly jabbing oneself with various poisons and god knows what else, smoking tobacco like a chimney, playing violin at three in the morning, having constant mood swings, or not telling you what exactly the plan is, and yet expecting you to follow through?" Watson asked, glaring at Holmes as he spoke, "Yes. I do believe I can relate to you."

"Do you remember about the time you retired to your chambers?" Holmes asked, ignoring Watson's comment.

Jones nodded, "There was a large clock in the room, and I glanced at it before going to bed. It was 11:15, exactly."

"And the time you came back down?"

"3 in the morning."

"Which gives us approximately a four-hour gap in which you were not with Kirkland." Holmes said, "And in addition to that, the time of death was approximated at about 1 in the morning. How far is the Kirkland residence from the Archduke's?"

Jones bit his lower lip, looking away, "Only…about thirty minutes away by horseback. Max."

"Which means it was possible for Kirkland to go to the Percy residence, commit the murder, and return home by the time you checked on him, no?" Holmes stared intently at Jones before shaking his head, "Mr. Jones, I must be perfectly honest with you here. Are you telling the complete truth of the events that happened that night?"

Jones's flush intensified, "W…what do you mean!?"

"You're not telling me the truth." Holmes responded, sighing and leaning back in his chair, "And Mr. Jones, until you are willing to give me the full account of what happened that night, I cannot help you."

"But…!"

"No. You either tell the truth, or we shall be so kind as to escort you on your way out."

Jones gaped at Holmes, who had risen and crossed over to the door, "Mr. Jones. I want to help you on this case. It promises to be a rather interesting one, but if you will not cooperate, I do not see how I can help you." He opened the door, and looked expectantly over at Jones, who had not risen from his seat, vying to stare at Holmes instead.

"You…I…"

"Mr. Jones. Please. Either tell the truth, the entire story, or I will not take this case."

"I…" Jones stared at Holmes a few seconds, before slumping back into his chair, "Fine." His voice sounded strained, "You…I'll tell you the truth. The next day…I wanted to go for a ride…One of the horses…Artie's, had been ridden the night before. Hard. The person who had ridden him had not even bothered to take off the saddle or remove the bit…the horse's coat was sticky from sweat, and the horse's feet were caked in mud. It had rained the day before, and…I…I asked Artie about it. He admitted to going out that night for a ride, after I had left him…said he wanted to clear his head. But…he said he couldn't remember exactly what had happened…" Jones shook his head, "Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is my fault. It is. If…if I had stayed with Artie that night…if I had looked after him…I…I've already left him behind before…and…it…it just never works out…"

Jones sucked in a dry sob, grasping his head in his hands, "I…there. I've told you everything." He looked up at Holmes, "Now…please. Will you help?"

Holmes stared at Jones for a few seconds before re-crossing back to his chair, "Sir Kirkland is a very strange figure." He said, sinking back into the chair, "He is a noble, yet there is no official trace of him, am I correct in saying this, Mycroft?" Holmes turned to his brother, who nodded in response.

"Yes." The older said, "I checked through all the documents, had some of my clerks look through centuries of families…and Kirkland couldn't be connected to any of them. I don't even know how Kirkland became a noble, how he acquired his land…there's not even documentation of his birth!"

Holmes looked over at Jones, who had gone rather pale, gripping the arms of the chair he sat in until his knuckles had turned white, "H…How strange" he managed to get out in a strangled voice.

"Come now, Jones." Holmes said, "It's clear you know something about Sir Kirkland. We need all the information we can get. There must be a reason Sir Kirkland simply doesn't exist."

"It doesn't pertain to this murder" Jones said sharply.

"So you admit you know something."

"I..I.." Jones stuttered, trapped by his own words.

"Again, Mr. Jones, I will not help you unless you provide me with all the information you know."

"I…I can't" Jones shook his head wildly, "Damnit, you're asking too much! This...I…"

"How is asking for the truth asking too much?" Holmes retorted, "You expect me to prove this man is innocent, yet you do not even entrust me with the full extent of your knowledge?"

"What Artie…it…It has nothing to do with this case!" Jones yelled, his face flushed, "It doesn't concern this case, doesn't concern you! Fuck, you don't get it, do you!? I..I can't tell you!!"

"Then I can't help you."

"You have to!"

Before Holmes could retort, the door to the room suddenly swung open, revealing two men. Both were blonde, with wavy hair. One had blue eyes, and the other, purplish, framed by glasses. The blue-eyes man had his hair pulled back in a ponytail, and the purple-eyed man's face shared a striking resemblance to Alfred's.

"Mattie? Francis?" Alfred stood up, confusion evident on his face, "How did you know…?"

"It doesn't matter" Francis abruptly cut Alfred off, "What are you doing here?"

"I came for help"

"Has he given you any?"

"No…but" Alfred looked at Holmes.

"I'll help when you agree to tell me everything I ask."

"And what do you want to know?" Francis inquired.

"I want to know about Kirkland. Who was he? Why doesn't any documentation of this man, even though he is a noble, exist?"

Francis shook his head, "Then, Mr. Holmes, we will have to disappoint you. We simply cannot supply you with that information."

"Francis!" Alfred approached the man, "This is our only chance. We've got to get his help. I've talked to almost everyone; nobody will take this case!"

Again, Francis shook his head, "It's not possible. You know that. Now come on, let's go."

Alfred glared at Francis, and when he grabbed Alfred's arm, he wrenched it out of the other man's grasp, "Don't even try to force me out of here, Francis." Alfred growled, "You know I can easily overpower you."

"Alfred, you're being ridiculous!"

"I don't care, we need to save Arthur!"

"Brother…" the violet-haired man suddenly spoke, looking rather concerned, "Brother…Please. Listen to Francis" his voice was quiet, and the entire room had to strain to hear him, "You know he's right. We can't tell anyone about that."

"Mattie…"

"Al, please. C'mon. Let's go." Matthew stared at Alfred, "We want Arthur safe as well. You know we do. But this…this, we can't do. Let's go."

Alfred returned Matthew's stare, looked back at Holmes, then sighed, "Fine. Fine. We'll go. Mr. Holmes, I hope you someday realize the disservice you are performing to your country. Here." he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and paper. On it, he scribbled something down, and handed it to Holmes, "This is where I'm staying. If you finally come around, please come see me. I'm desperate, I really am, and can give you anything…just not tell you about Artie."

With that, Alfred turned, and with Matthew and Francis, left the room.

"What do you think about it?" Watson asked Holmes as soon as the three men had left.

Holmes shrugged, "As I have said before, Watson, I never form theories before I look at the facts. The only facts I have is the brief account which Mr. Jones gave, and what I have seen in the paper. I am not magical, and cannot draw conclusions before I have even investigated some of the scenes myself."

"Yes" Watson said, "But are you interested in this case?"

"Yes." Holmes replied, "It's a shame, actually…I really wanted to take the case up too. It promised to be interesting."

"Brother" Mycroft spoke up, "I'm sorry to tell you, but you might not have a choice in this case."

Holmes looked somewhat surprised, "And why not, pray tell."

"This case involves the government." Mycroft said, "As I have said repeatedly, there's something about Kirkland, something that has caused for direct orders from the heads of the government to not allow his execution. The public, however, will not stand for the Archduke's death to not go unpunished. The police have already named Kirkland as the perpetrator of the crime, and unless someone else is proven guilty, he will hang. This is where the government comes in. For reasons I cannot fathom, they will not allow Kirkland to hang at all costs. Meaning they will find another guilty party, even if they have to invent the guilty party themselves."

"You mean they will hang an innocent man?" Holmes said quietly, his eyes widened in shock.

Mycroft nodded, "Yes. But, Jones may be right. Kirkland may be innocent, and the actual murderer of this case may be someone else entirely. This…this is why I came to you. We can't let an innocent man hang."

"If such a thing happens, won't we be able to inform the public?" Watson asked.

Mycroft, looked down, "No…if…if such a thing happens, I believe…measures will be taken to silence you."

"What if Kirkland did indeed commit the crime?" Holmes asked.

"Then an innocent man will hang. This, this is our only chance, Brother. Perhaps he didn't commit the crime. You know that the police are sometimes rather careless. Please, investigate this case…perhaps the guilty party isn't Kirkland…perhaps we can catch the actual killer."

"I see." Holmes was frowning, his face drawn in thought. "I'll go talk to Sir Kirkland now. You can get me to him, right Mycroft? Excellent. Perhaps he will be more willing to cooperate that Mr. Jones."

;A; gahhhh!!!! sherlock and mycroft are so difficult to write for!!!! ;A; and yes, i realize i switch between first-name and last-names quite often. I'm not sure what to do with sherlock, b/c sherlock is just such an awkward name, but since mycroft's last name is also holmes....ahhh. just assume i'm talking about sherlock when i say holmes. Sorry.

Also, yes. I realize America is totally Ooc, but I thought that if he were put in a situation that he had no control over, where he couldn't play hero, he might become Ooc...sorry if that bugs anyone. Hopefully, he'll be back to his loveable self soon....

Feedback would be awesome~