"Mrs Ricoletti, I believe." Holmes greeted as he and Watson ran towards the ghostly figure, stopping just a few yards away. The bride stared at them – or so it could be assumed as her face was hidden behind the veil – as she lowered her hand slightly, her other hand splaying her fingers threatening at them.
Holmes ignored it as he commented pointedly: "Pleasant night for the time of year, is it not?"
"It cannot be true, Holmes." Watson protested as he gripped his friend's arm in shock. "It cannot!"
"No, it can't." Holmes agreed as they stared at the bride, watching as she faded backwards into the shadows of the house.
Just then a man screamed from inside the house, and both Holmes and Watson turned their heads sharply towards the sound. Holmes searched the east wing, where they'd heard the sound and where he knew Sir Eustace had been sleeping, just as they heard the distinct sound of glass breaking.
He whipped back around to look at where the bride had been, but she was gone. He swiftly ran for the front door, leaving Watson as the doctor turned to also look for the bride, and he tugged on the doors to check.
"Is it locked?" Watson called, and Holmes confirmed as he ran back to his friend: "As per instructions."
"That was a window breaking, wasn't it?' Watson demanded, but Holmes answered shortly: "There's only one broken window we need concern ourselves with."
He turned again, running for the nearest window and Watson followed swiftly. Holmes jabbed his elbow at the window, breaking the glass before using his gloved hand to widen the hole. As soon as it was big enough, he clambered through, Watson following as Holmes struck a match to light a nearby lantern.
"Stay in here, Watson." He ordered as he did, and Watson protested: "What? No."
"All the doors and windows to the house are locked." Holmes replied sternly. "This is their only way out, I need you here."
He grabbed the lantern and began to walk off as Watson protested: "But the sound was so close, it had to be from this side of the house."
"Stay here!" Holmes repeated sharply before he took off, leaving a very nervous Watson behind. The man glanced back at the broken window before him and then back down the now darkened corridor Holmes had disappeared into. Boy did he wish Rose-Marie was here to at least keep him company in the dark. Although she probably would have run after Holmes.
Holmes meanwhile dashed up the stairs and deeper into the house just as a woman gasped from upstairs, followed by the sound of sobs. Holmes ran quickly further up, following the sound just as a woman screamed in despair: "Stop!"
He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing around a doorway and noting the carpet that led onto the landing.
"No!" The woman screamed, and he turned towards the sound just as two maids came running from the opposite side of the house, trailing behind him as Holmes headed down the hallway and around a corner. He stopped as he saw a large patch of blood on the carpet before him, and looked up in shock to see Lady Carmichael standing in her nightdress and breathing heavily.
The maids hurried towards her but she didn't notice or care as she stared Holmes down with a mixture of fear and anger as she hissed despairingly: "You promised to keep him safe. You promised."
Her voice cracked, and the maids took her by the arms, trying to soothe her but she continued to stare at Holmes as she murmured: "You ..."
Holmes had been staring at her wide-eyed, before - with another glance at the floor – he turned and hurried away as she began to sob, wailing after him: "You promised!"
Holmes ignored her as he quickly went back onto the landing, following a fresh trail of blood drops, which he had noted earlier. He entered swiftly back onto the landing, heading into the doorway he had stopped by earlier as he traced the source of the blood.
Watson was waiting tensely, staring almost unblinkingly down the dark corridor. The floorboard creaked and he slowly lifted his revolver, his whole being on edge as he cocked the gun.
The floorboard creaked again but he could see no sign of movement from the shadowy hallway. Slowly, he lowered his gun, walking carefully forward across the broken glass to step into the hallway before stopping just at the entry.
"You're human, I know that." He called into the darkness sharply.
Even to his own ears it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as he kept his gun pointed before him, muttering: "You must be."
He stared down the hallway, trying to discern any movement but he could barely see the outlines of the hallway let alone a person. It unnerved him, the darkness, faced by an unknown being.
He set his revolver down on a nearby table with a candlestick as he muttered: "Little use, us standing here in the dark."
He grabbed a matchbox from where it sat beside the candle, striking it and moving to light the candle as he added in an attempt at a firm tone: "After all, this is the nineteenth century."
Upstairs, Holmes was running up another flight of stairs, using his lamp to light the way as he headed into the mansion attic. Reaching the topmost floor, he turned both ways as he pointed his lamp before he paused as he immediately spotted the body lying in the middle of the hallway. He stepped slowly and carefully closer to the figure, lying huddled against the wall with something sticking out of his chest.
Holmes slowly turned the body over to see it was indeed Sir Eustace, an ornate dagger sticking out of his bloodied chest while his dead eyes stared up at nothing, still widened in horrified fear. Holmes examined him closely for a moment just as a woman screamed from behind him as a maid caught sight of the body.
He whipped around at the noise, startled, before his eyes narrowed. Fear. It was a strong stimulant, and could make one act incredibly stupidly-
"Watson." He realized and he took off at a run.
Watson gripped his candlestick tightly when a wind blew the candle out. His eyes widened and he swallowed as his breathing began to quicken in fear. He quickly struck another match, re-lighting his candle and picking up his revolver as he uneasily turned to face the corridor once more.
He stared intently into the darkness, so focused on trying to spot movement in the shadows that he didn't notice a figure appearing behind him.
Watson froze as a soft voice sang in a harsh voice from behind him: "Do not forget me."
Watson's eyes widened, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as the bride continued in her harsh tone: "Do not forget me."
Terrified, Watson turned around to find himself face to face with a veiled woman dressed in her infamous wedding dress just as she raised her bloodstained hands, her nails long and pointed like claws as she gave a half-hiss, half-scream.
Watson flinched, dropping his candlestick and letting it fall to the ground where it snuffed out as he ran away down the hallway. He turned back to stare down the dark corridor as he reached the entrance hall, just as Holmes came dashing down the stairs where he bumped into the shaken Watson.
"Watson!" He demanded, and the hysterical man cried as he pointed down where he had come from: "She's there! She's down there!"
"Don't tell me you abandoned your post." Holmes snarled, furious, and Watson cried indignantly: "What? Holmes, she's there!"
He pointed with his revolver again as he cried: "I saw her!"
Holmes quickly pointed his lamp down the corridor, running desperately in the slim hope that he might catch the bride before she was gone. Watson followed him just as Holmes arrived before the broken window to find the room-
"Empty," Holmes snarled as he turned to Watson angrily, "thanks to you! Our bird is flown."
"No!" Watson argued, breathing heavily both from the fear-driven adrenaline rush and the running. "No, Holmes, it wasn't what you think. I saw her, the ghost!"
"THERE ARE NO GHOSTS!" Holmes yelled back furiously, angry with the situation, with Watson, and most of all himself.
He glared at Watson as the other man stared back, a little shocked by the younger man's outburst. There was a beat of silence as Holmes breathed heavily before he calmed himself down, letting some of the tension leave his body as he forced himself to be rational.
Seeing that Holmes had calmed down, Watson asked tentatively: "What happened? Where is Sir Eustace? "
"Dead." Holmes replied shortly.
Some time later, the pair stood grimly behind the police photographer as the man took a photo of Sir Eustace's body, lying exactly as Holmes had left him with the dagger still sticking straight up out of his chest.
Lestrade sighed as the photographer began to pack up, before addressing Holmes firmly: "You really mustn't blame yourself, you know."
Holmes inhaled sharply before he muttered: "No, you're quite right."
"I'm glad you're seeing sense." Watson murmured, but Holmes continued shortly: "Watson is equally culpable."
Watson paused, feeling indignant, but Holmes went on rapidly: "Between us, we've managed to botch this whole case. I gave an undertaking to protect that man;" he pointed at Sir Eustace, "now he's lying there with a dagger in his breast."
Watson replied flatly as he strode over to examine the body at last: "In fact, you gave an undertaking to investigate his murder."
"In the confident expectation I would not have to." Holmes snapped back, glaring at the back of Watson's head.
Lestrade sighed, really wishing Rose-Marie were here to calm the angry man before him, before he called to Watson: "Anything you can tell us, Doctor?"
"Well, he's been stabbed with considerable force." Watson replied, his tone thoughtful, and Lestrade guessed with a raised brow: "It's a man, then."
"Possibly." Watson answered, sounding a little annoyed.
Lestrade however was thoughtful as he added: "A very keen blade, so it could conceivably have been a woman."
"In theory, yes," Watson snapped as he turned back to face the other two men just as angry as Holmes, "but we know who it was. I saw her."
"Watson." Holmes muttered warningly under his breath, but Watson was equally fed up with Holmes as he said loudly in anger: "I saw the ghost with my own eyes."
"You saw nothing." Holmes snapped back sharply. "You saw what you were supposed to see!"
"You said yourself, I have no imagination." Watson fired hotly, and Holmes countered furiously: "Then use your brain, such as it is, to eliminate the impossible, which in this case is the ghost, and observe what remains," he nodded at Sir Eustace's body, "which in this case is a solution so blindingly obvious, even Lestrade could work it out."
"Thank you." Lestrade muttered a tad sarcastically, but Holmes ignored him as he snarled at Watson: "Forget spectres from the otherworld."
Watson shook his head, while Holmes took a moment to compose himself once more before saying flatly: "There is only one suspect with motive and opportunity. They might as well have left a note."
"They did leave a note." Lestrade commented absently, while Holmes continued to Watson in exasperation: "And then there's the matter of the other broken window."
"What other broken window?" Lestrade asked incredulously, and Holmes answered shortly: "Precisely. There isn't one."
Watson blinked as he also remembered hearing the glass shattering outside, while Holmes continued rapidly: "The only broken window in this establishment is the one that Watson and I entered through, yet prior to that we distinctly heard the sound of- what did you just say?"
He suddenly turned to Lestrade, his eyes narrowed as he focused on the Inspector, who blinked in confusion.
"Sorry?" He asked, as Watson also looked startled and confused, and Holmes elaborated quickly: "About a note. What did you just say?"
"I said the murderer did leave a note." Lestrade said blankly, and Holmes countered with a frown: "No they didn't."
"There's a message tied to the dagger," Lestrade pointed out, sounding bewildered, "you must have seen it!"
"There's no message." Holmes argued as he walked towards the body swiftly.
"Yes!" Lestrade began as he called after Holmes, but Holmes cut him off as he said severely: "There was no message when I found the body."
He stopped suddenly as he looked down at Sir Eustace's corpse, staring down at the item that had not been there earlier. Tied with a piece of string that was looped around the hilt of the dagger, the note appeared to have been written on a luggage label, currently facedown on the dead man's chest.
Holmes's eyes widened at this unexpected turn of events and he slowly bent down to pick up the note, reading it before his eyes widened in disbelief. He dropped the note in shock as he leant back on his hunches, staring blankly into space as he slowly got to his feet.
"Holmes?" Watson questioned, walking over as Holmes slowly backed away from the body before turning and silently walking away, heading down the stairs.
"What is it?" Watson called after him in concern, but Holmes didn't answer as he continued on down the stairs, seemingly not having heard him as he walked away numbly.
Watson frowned worriedly before walking over to the body, squatting down so that he could also lift the note and read it. His frown deepened as he read the two words written in large, bold black letters on the bloodstained tag: 'MISS ME?'
Diogenes Club, The Stranger's Room
"Do you?" Mycroft questioned, and Holmes turned around to face his brother once more.
"Do I what?" He asked emotionlessly, and Mycroft simply held up the bloodied luggage label, showing the message clearly. 'MISS ME?'
Holmes breathed sharply and he demanded as he pointed at the label: "How did you get that? I left it at the crime scene."
"'Crime scene'?" Mycroft repeated loftily as he placed the tag on the table beside him before folding his hands over his enormous stomach as he wondered: "Where do you pick up these extraordinary expressions?"
"Answer the question." Holmes said testily, and Mycroft returned with a raised brow: "Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer?"
Holmes exhaled again sharply, muttering: "Of course. Did you send her to spy on me, or to witness my failure?"
"What if it was both?" Mycroft taunted and Holmes's eyes narrowed as he demanded tightly: "Must you always humiliate me?"
"As I've said before, it is a pleasurable way to pass the time." Mycroft replied indifferently before his eyes sharpened once more as he asked, refusing to be distracted any longer: "Do you miss him?"
"Moriarty is dead." Holmes replied shortly as he turned away, but Mycroft pointed out: "And yet."
Holmes pursed his lips as he murmured darkly: "His body was never recovered."
"To be expected when one pushes a maths professor over a waterfall." Mycroft commented dryly. "Pure reason toppled by sheer melodrama. Your life in a nutshell."
Holmes frowned, turning back to his brother as he returned: "'Where do you pick up these extraordinary expressions'?"
He paused as he caught sight of the painting on the wall, turning to examine the familiar artwork. He stared at Turner's 'Falls of the Reichenbach', and for just a moment in his mind's eye he saw the water pouring over the falls, disappearing at the bottom as it was hidden by a boulder before the viewer could see the drop.
Holmes let out breath, sniffing disdainfully before turning to his brother and asking as he examined him with a critical eye: "Have you put on weight?"
"You saw me only yesterday." Mycroft countered lightly, but there was a distinctly serious undertone to his voice. "Does that seem possible?"
Holmes was circling him slowly, his eyes narrowed in thought as he replied: "No."
"Yet here I am, increased." Mycroft pointed out. "What does that tell the foremost criminal investigator in England?"
"'In England'?" Holmes repeated indignantly, but Mycroft refused to be swayed as he said sternly: "You're in deep, Sherlock, deeper than you ever intended to be. Have you made a list?" He added abruptly.
"Of what?" Holmes asked a little more sharply than he'd meant to, and Mycroft replied severely: "Everything. We will need a list."
Holmes stopped, once more standing with his back to his brother, as he caught the inflection Mycroft had placed on the word 'we'. Marie.
Taking a deep breath, Holmes reached into his pocket as he turned back to face Mycroft, removing a folded piece of paper and held it up to show his brother.
"Good boy." Mycroft said dryly as he held out his hand for the paper.
Holmes walked towards his brother with the paper held before him, but just before Mycroft could take it, he lifted it out of his brother's reach as he said firmly: "No."
Mycroft frowned as Holmes pocketed the paper once more while murmuring: "I haven't finished yet."
"Moriarty may beg to differ." Mycroft commented flatly, and Holmes sighed.
"He's trying to distract me." He muttered as he placed his hands together under his chin thoughtfully. "To derail me from what is important."
"Yes." Mycroft answered shortly and a little sharply. "He's the crack in the lens, the fly in the ointment... the virus in the data."
He glanced at his brother as he finished, observing Holmes's reaction.
Holmes had stopped, seemingly frozen for a moment, before he whipped around sharply and hissed at his brother: "I have to finish this."
"Why?" Mycroft challenged and Holmes growled: "You know why."
"If Moriarty has risen from the Reichenbach cauldron," Mycroft warned, "he will seek you out."
"I'll be waiting." Holmes replied shortly, walking out of the room and closing the door behind him, missing the way Mycroft's face filled with an unbearable sadness.
"Yes." Mycroft murmured as he looked across at the painting on the wall, while a shadow appeared in the hidden doorway behind him. "We're very much afraid you will…"
