IMPORTANT NOTICE #1:
At the Mercy of the Mind: A Journey into the Depths of Sherlock Holmes is now available at $5.99, and can be linked to from my profile.
Pleeeease go buy it! You'll love it, I promise! (Do you have any idea how disheartening it is to have your book up for a week with less than ten sales?) And if you don't want to buy it, please don't tell me "congratulations," because if I hear one more "congrats," I'll go nuts. Debut authors do not want congratulations; debut authors want sales. And this debut author is not only poor, but this brand-new book is actually her only means of livelihood. (I.e. yes, I do not have a job.)
IMPORTANT NOTICE #2:
I can no longer guarantee Mondays as update days—from now on, updates will be sporadic. Plus, I will probably be without 'Net access starting sometime next month and stretching into August. There may be times when I'll have the chance to jump online, but I can't guarantee anything until September, when I should hopefully have full Internet access once more. Believe me, I'll miss you guys as much as you'll miss me!
To my reviewers:
Hidinginthecookiejar: Really? Aw, that's so sweet! Thank you!
ElizabethAnneSoph: Thank you, and I'm sorry I forgot to answer your review before you left! I'll miss you, and I can't wait for you to come back!
MadameGiry25: Thanks you! I love digging past Holmes's façade to get to the truly human part of him.
SabrinaPhynn: *giggles at the rhyme* That was awesome—YOU MUST CONTINUE. CONTINUE AND UPLOAD IT, YEEESSS. …How could something be Reichenbach but more accurately the Sussex Downs… O.o
Faithful Bozwell: Thank you so much! And, of course, you've already got your plateful of cookies. ;D
Moonspun Dragon: *hugs back, sheepish grin* Thanks… Favorite is good. =D As for reading the actual series, see the author's note below!
© 2011 by Aleine Skyfire.
All rights reserved.
==11. Alliance==
Late January 1891: Scotland Yard
He supported his weight on his walking stick, though few people would have realized it. His acting abilities were serving him well in France thus far—no one had seemed to notice that he was in poor condition physically. A few Yarders acknowledged his presence and greeted him as they passed; Hopkins in particular greeted him effusively. He suspected that he had actually gained a genuine admirer in the Yard.
At last, Lestrade came out to meet him. "Good morning, Mr. Holmes. It's good to see you up and about again."
In other words: I'm glad to see you still alive. Holmes suddenly recalled that Lestrade had not been to Baker Street since before Christmas. He cocked his head in greeting and gave a little smile. "I have been in France for a week, as a matter of fact," he said quietly. It was a trip quite contrary to the wishes of Watson and Mycroft.
Lestrade's dark eyes flitted over Holmes's person for a moment. "You're depending on that walking stick."
Once again, Holmes was vindicated in calling the little man the best of professionals. He chuckled slightly and said, "Indeed, I am. Shall we?" And he gestured down the hall.
The older man sighed. "Come along, then." They made the brief journey to Lestrade's office, and the Yarder pushed open the door and entered first. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Inspector Daniel Patterson."
A tall man rose from a chair before Lestrade's desk to greet them, and, for a moment, Holmes was startled speechless for one of the few times in his life. He recovered swiftly, however, and gave the man a nod. "Good morning, Inspector."
"Good morning, Mr. Holmes," Patterson nodded back, resuming his seat and lacing his fingers together.
Holmes shot Lestrade a lightning-fast look of astonishment, which Lestrade returned with a minute shrug as he rounded the desk to take his own seat. Holmes took the third chair, removed his top hat, and did a swift appraisal of the stranger. Unwed, upper middle-class, left-handed, injured left leg, born in Kensington, educated in Eton before choosing criminal investigation rather than a gentleman's profession.
There were two things that had startled Sherlock Holmes. One was Patterson's intelligence—Holmes was forced to recant on his opinion of Gregson as the Yard's smartest man. Gregson was bright and sharp, but he was very showy about it. Patterson's brilliance was quiet and veiled, all the more powerful for it. But the very first thing Holmes had seen had startled him more.
Daniel Patterson looked almost enough like Sherlock Holmes as to be his twin.
Patterson was roughly the same height and quite the same build and coloring. There were but two immediate differences that spoiled the illusion of twin-hood: one was the Inspector's blue eyes as opposed to Holmes's grey, and the other was the crystalline hardness of the official detective's aquiline face. Patterson was quite a few years older or else aged prematurely, and his ice-blue eyes were jaded in a way that Holmes suddenly never hoped to achieve.
Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands together beneath his chin and leaned back in his chair. "Patterson, Lestrade informs me that you have been chosen to lead Scotland Yard's war on Professor Moriarty."
Patterson's fingers unlaced and his hands spread themselves flat on his thighs—Holmes drank in every twitch, every nuance of expression, to read this diamond-hard man. "That is correct, Mr. Holmes." Precise and flawless diction, clearly indicative of higher birth and better education than most Yarders. Holmes noted that the other's left hand abruptly curved protectively over his left leg. "I was the man who engineered the operation that pulled you out of Moriarty's grip."
Holmes started for the second time in five minutes. The sensation was not a pleasant one. "Indeed?"
"Do understand, Mr. Holmes, that I am not asking for gratitude. I merely point out my capability in dealing with the Professor."
Lestrade said nothing, but his eyebrows drew together sharply. Holmes remained outwardly impassive, inwardly seething at the cut. A Yarder had managed to outwit the Professor and rescue his captive, the amateur detective who was renowned for his derision of the official forces. "I congratulate you, Inspector," Holmes said flatly. "It takes a keen mind to outmaneuver Moriarty."
Patterson accepted that with a tilt of his head, but the look on his face was revealing. Brilliant but arrogant. Holmes made a brief mental note to show a little more humility to Watson and Lestrade in the future—being dosed with his own medicine was positively rankling. "I was able to do so because of my several years spent infiltrating his organization. It is for this reason that I am chosen for this assignment."
Holmes leaned forward in his seat. "And you wish the benefit of my aid."
"Quite so. MacDonald tells me that you have been on the Professor's trail for the past few years."
"Since '87, yes. Inspector, you must understand that I am needed in France. I am only able to be here in London for the day, and I must take the late boat train back to Dover. This necessitates communiqués across the Channel, which, in turn, heightens the risk of Moriarty learning our plans."
Patterson took it all calmly. "Every war runs risks."
Lestrade stirred then, angrily, but was stilled at a reassuring glance from Holmes. "Very well, Inspector," he said coolly. "You may relay that to the wives and children of the men who won't be coming home when all is said and done."
He caught a vindicated expression from Lestrade out of the corner of his eye. Patterson's blue eyes narrowed. "Every man who takes up the badge knows that he might die in the line of duty, and every woman who marries a policeman understands this."
"And every child born to those policemen wants his father to come home," Lestrade snapped. "But you wouldn't understand that, would you, Patterson?"
Holmes raised his eyebrows fractionally while Patterson's drew together sharply. "Did I say anything that wasn't a fact, Lestrade?"
The challenge hung heavy in the air among the three of them. Lestrade glared at Patterson, and Patterson stared back. The tension was thick enough to slice with a saber.
"Enough." Sherlock Holmes was younger than either Inspector, but, when he chose to use the power of his voice and presence, the Director Inspector himself could not match him. He stood, using the advantage of his height on the seated Yarders, and replaced his top hat. "Inspector Patterson, you can reach me at this address." He handed the man a card. "If I am out of town, my mail will be forwarded to my current location. Good day, Inspectors." He touched a finger to the brim of his hat and swept out of the room.
For all his arrogance and coldness, Patterson had a weakness, and Holmes had glimpsed at it during that short interview. Fear.
He was afraid of Moriarty.
Not just the healthy fear any Yarder should have of a criminal so brilliant, but an abiding though well-concealed terror. The hand that had covered that game leg protectively… Patterson, too, had been tortured by Moriarty's men.
Holmes sighed. He was but thirty-two years of age—almost thirty-three—yet he felt so very old. It was not a new sensation, but neither was it a welcome one. Like the look-alike Patterson, he had experienced much in his time on this earth. His life was hastening towards its climax in this, his greatest struggle yet against an equally brilliant mind. What would come next? What would be the purpose of surviving this?
Certainly no foe so worthy of his steel would ever come his way again.
An epiphany struck him as he stepped out into the miserable winter rain.
This case shall result in my death.
Author's Note:
Why is Holmes unwell? Hmm, well, you'll have to read the on-site version of AMM to find out—come to think of it, you'll have to buy the Kindle version of AMM to get the full story. (Hint to AMM readers: the "torture-arc".)
Game Plan: I'm going to get caught-up with my online writing course, then I'll start writing the first installment of Deliver Us from Evil: Mortality. (Originally Amid Winter's Chill—"Mortality" is more gripping and gives you a much more immediate sense of danger.) It's possible that I could get it written by Christmas, and, if my beta can manage it, we could be seeing Mortality out on Kindle sometime this coming winter! (Perfect timing, actually…)
Now we return to our regularly-scheduled A/N…
Patterson. He's a mysterious figure in the Canon. We never even meet him, and he's only ever mentioned in one story, "The Final Problem". He's a Detective Inspector, and he's the man chosen to net Moriarty. He's the man in whose hands Sherlock Holmes actually leaves the entire operation while he flees London. That right there has to say something about the man.
I will admit right now that Aragonite's A Sword for Defence series is coloring my perceptions of the Hiatus and other related personages and details, BUT. Hey, these stories are still mine, okay? Trust me, I'm not plagiarizing.
Anyway, whoa, hold the phone, Patterson could pass as Holmes's twin? Where did that come from? Well, surprise, surprise, it was Aragonite. She describes him as being tall, lean, pale… and I'm trying to find it and can't, but I'm pretty sure dark-haired and light-eyed. Who does that sound like to you, as a general description?
You can guess who it sounded like to me.
So that gave me the idea of Patterson and Holmes being look-alikes and even somewhat similar in intelligence and personality. We'll be seeing a lot more of Patterson as a major player in DUE.
Next up, have no idea what or when. Just keep your eyes peeled. ;D
Please review!