Another Case of Identity
The commissioner was bowed over his desk when they came; Holmes tapped on the open door and Lestrade looked up.
"I 'eard your mansion burned down, though din' 'spect it to be this bad." He eyed Holmes' tattered robe and resumed his paperwork.
"Yours is a warm welcome as always Lestrade." Holmes retorted and sat across the desk as Irene leaned by the door way. "But not to worry, we're quite fine."
"Then what brings you back to London?"
"I've got news of R.A. Turnstone for you"
"You've got news?" Lestrade half sneered, "Ha, I've done my part as you instructed, there's nothing about tha' man tha' I dunnah. I've got open eyes on 'im we'ver 'e goes."
"Then you must've blinked because he's dead."
Lestrade's pen skidded across the file he was signing. He stared at Holmes for a moment then suddenly burst into laughter, he laughed so hard he slapped his knees and wiped his eyes. "Oy, you got me good Mista' Holmes! That's a real kicker I tell you!" His laugh gradually faded though as he looked at Holmes' unchanged expression. "Do tell you were jokin'." He looked helplessly from Holmes then to the disguised Irene who merely shook her head. Lestrade pulled at his collar and gulped. "Surely you must be mistaken Holmes!"
"My name and 'mistaken' do not belong in the same sentence, you know that."
The Commissioner started to sweat.
"I know you've done your part well, but this one was too good for you. We came to inform you as soon as we saw the body yesterday afternoon."
His pen skidded again. "Yesterday?"
"You know you ought to be careful with that signature, those look like very important documents." Holmes suggested.
This time Lestrade's ears turned red. "Afternoon?!" He rose from his seat. "Now I know you're a respected man Holmes, and you might think me dull for my position, but Sco'land Yard won't take such tall tales! Why, only last night I sat on the table right next to Turnstone's in The Royale as 'e partook 'is dinner!"
Irene slipped on the spot she leaned on and saw Holmes' face set into a stony expression much like Barker's.
"-now you come here making a fool out of the Yard's credibility by telling me that the very man I have followed, since morning till he walked into his house late last night, to be dead!"
"Calm down Lestrade." Holmes found his voice.
"Calm down?" Lestrade was livid. "You ask me to calm down while you humiliate me-"
Holmes merely sighed and took a thick notebook from Lestrade's desk. "Is this your journal of the man's daily activities?"
"- and insinuate that I am a disappointment- Why yes, of course." His voice shifted and he sank back down on his seat, wiping sweat off his heaving face as Holmes flipped through the pages.
Irene waited with baited breath and stared hard at Holmes who skipped most pages but read through some. Then he set the notebook on the desk and stood up.
Lestrade remained seated, still shaky from the outburst. "What is it?"
"You, my dear Commissioner," Holmes tossed him the notebook and made to leave, "have been thrown off by a decoy."
"So which is the real Turnstone?" Irene tried to piece up all the data in her mind as they took a hansom ride from Scotland Yard to Charing Cross Hospital. "And why Charing Cross?"
"The dead one was the real one dear, and it was taken down by Lestrade that the man, the decoy mind you, spent a considerable time in Turnstone's study in the hospital everyday, hence that would be where we find him. For now, all the obvious clues are what we have to feed on."
This is probably the first time Holmes admitted any knowledge of his to be obvious, Irene wondered if he shared these thoughts to Watson too. The cab skidded with a halt on the cobblestones in front of the old red building. Holmes tossed a sovereign to the cabbie and walked straight into the halls without hesitating, made sharp turns and took flights of stairs as if he knew exactly where to go.
He probably does know where to go; it is Sherlock after all… Irene thought.
Holmes had brought them to a less populated wing of the hospital where most of the medical university professors' offices were, some of the people they passed gave Holmes' costume odd looks while others tipped their hats in greeting towards Irene.
Friends of Watson probably…
Holmes found Turnstone's office, but instead of walking in, he sat on the waiting bench outside it and motioned for her to sit on another bench as to look as if they didn't come together, and sat silently in wait. A few moments later, a secretarial looking youth exited the office carrying a pile of books and papers in his arms. The two went unnoticed as the boy was busily wrestling with his burden and had left the door open. As he disappeared into the next corridor, Holmes motioned for her quickly into the office.
He cautiously eyed the door of the main office as Irene staggered in the semi-darkness of the secretary's antechamber. She had forgotten to mind the door, and as it slowly swung back, the lock clicked.
"Stevens, are you still there?" said a voice from the next room.
Holmes glowered at her.
"I thought I told you to bring those files back down as soon as possible-," The door opened, revealing the tall, thin stature of a man. As their sight adjusted with the darkness, they saw the face that belonged to the corpse they saw only yesterday. The decoy regarded them for a moment, then, "You're not Stevens."
"Apparently not." Holmes said calmly. "We're here to ask you a few questions Dr. Turnstone."
He eyed them questioningly, especially Holmes. "Are you two students perhaps?" The man edged neared to his door frame. "I'd be glad to entertain, but it's currently lunch period and offices should be closed."
"I'm afraid this cannot wait sir." Holmes advanced slightly.
A look of panic crept up the man's face and he quickly reach for something behind his door frame, but Irene had tackled him to the ground the second he flinched.
In a moment he was face down on the floor, cheeks pressed and mouth muffled against the carpet, Irene straddled him and twisted his arms against his back.
"Dr. Watson! Why treat our host roughly?" Holmes exclaimed with feigned surprise.
"He was going for the security bell-pull." Irene said stiffly and started loosening her neck tie to bind the man's hands with.
"Oh, we wouldn't want that." Holmes smiled.
"Dr. Watson?" The man pulled his face from the floor. "The 'John Watson'?"
"What?" Irene replied as she pulled him up and assisted him to a chair.
"But you're a woman!"
"Yeah, what's it to you?"
The decoy stared at her, confused and dazed. He shook his head as if to dispel the thought then looked at Holmes. "Then you must be Sherlock Holmes."
"The one and only."
"I- I don't understand. Why have you come for me?"
Holmes straddled a chair, "Reginald," he leaned on its back facing the bound man, "Arthur," he procured a match and lit his pipe, "Turnstone," and puffed the smoke into the air.
"Tha-that's me." The decoy stammered.
"No," he puffed again. The man audibly gulped in his seat. "If you were Reginald Arthur Turnstone, then you should be dead."
At this, the man eyes widened with mixed fear and confusion. "What do you mean?"
"We know about you and the doctor," Irene interjected, "he was killed yesterday."
Those last four words etched a series of expressions on their captive's face that even without words they could tell what he was thinking. When they thought his already wide eyes couldn't get any wider, they did, as if the somber news took time to sink in into his mind. Then his face fell into a look of understanding as if he knew this would happen and it had to be accepted. His last look came with a speech.
"Wait," he said with a defiant tone, "are you here because you think I had something to do with his death?"
Holmes stood up and took to minding the possession around the room, "We're here because we think you're next."
The man's face fell once more.
"But," Irene said, "Before anything untoward happens to you, we would first like to know more about you."
"No need," Holmes stopped her, "There's not much to know other than the fact that you are Dr. Turnstone's hired help." He said as he peered at framed photographs on the shelves.
The man's face contorted once more. "How-how did you-"
"A picture speaks a thousand words." Holmes placed down a photo frame onto the desk for the decoy and Irene to see. It was of Turnstone standing in the patio of his stately town house. "Dr. Turnstone is a widower with no children. Judging by the excellent urban vegetation in this photograph he has, in his employment, a gardener, and seeing that you have quite some young plants of superb quality in this study, I would say they were only brought in the day you assumed your master's identity."
The man said nothing but gave a conceding nod with a sad face.
"But a man with a wide social circle and a very masterful profession cannot easily be replicated simply by his gardener. Such a task requires a deeper acquaintance and a stronger familiarity. You are also his housekeeper, his lone company. You are neither brothers nor cousins or related in any way, for your reaction to our news lacks that sort of urgency."
"My name is Lane, Marcus Lane. We were more than master and employee, we were friends." The decoy said. "Art and I, we've known each other since childhood. Eventually, by some stroke of luck, his family became wealthy and they moved away, whereas I grew up in poverty. I was a helpless sap, alone and forgotten. Art found me and offered me shelter and in return I served him ever since. When the letters started arriving, he became more distant, he was always on edge and he ate little. He was a wreck."
Holmes offered his full attention; this was the part he was waiting for.
"Some nights he came home quite late from working on a special experiment, sometimes he never came home at all for days. Then one day he came to me and he told me how much our friendship meant to him, and that he had one final request from me. He said he needed to go away in hiding; he needed to save a woman's life. Who he was hiding from, I had a slight idea but I never questioned my friend, he was after all, my savior. He didn't want anyone finding out about his plans, he needed to keep up an illusion of still living here in the city, and to do that he needed me. He knew this day would come, it was sooner or later, and as much as he hated it, he needed to change me, he needed people to believe he was never gone. He trained me and tutored me his profession, his habits were easy enough for me to copy. All that's left now was physically turning into him."
"You mean like wearing a mask everyday? That would never work." Irene said. "Believe me, I've done that."
The decoy looked at her with confusion but continued any way. "This is more than just a mask, Dr, this is my face now."
"What do you mean?" This time it was her who was confused.
"Ah-ha!" Holmes exclaimed rather joyfully from where he stood. He took another photo frame from the shelf and set it in front of Irene. She peered at it closely and then pulled back with a gasp. The photo contained a young Turnstone on his graduation day standing beside his professor.
"That is no ordinary mask dear Doctor," he crouched down beside Lane and peered at the man's jaw line. "It is the work of a master craftsman. Mr. Lane here has grown himself a beard to hide the traces of a transformation." He pointed at the man's side burns. "If you remember the original Turnstone had a clean shaven jaw line."
"Who would have thought?" Irene said.
"Well of course, who else would you expect it to be? He's the one who improved this cosmetic science beyond its own time. Why else would our dear friend James Moriarty hire him before?"
"Turnstone must have been his best student…" Irene commented direly.
"Now look where it's brought them. Both teacher and student, dead by the hands of their clients." Holmes turned back to their captive. "We will deposit you into the care of Scotland Yard for the duration of the case. Tell your colleagues that you'll be going on vacation until we solve all this."
"Yes sir." The man said timidly.
"As for you Dr. Watson," he turned to Irene. "We still have a few things to explain to our land lady." to which she replied with a groan.
Irene untied the decoy, and before the three of them left the room, she placed the photo frame face down on the desk and uttered a small prayer for Dr. Turnstone and his mentor, Dr. Hofmannsthal.
A/N: Okay, I'm so sorry that it took me this long to update, and I'm also very sorry that this is a short chapter. It's supposed to be part of Chapter 20, but i wanted to separate it since the subjects are different and would be confusing to read.
Also, I've written another HolmesxAdler fan fic. It's titled 'Friend or Foe' and it's my take on how they met for the second time before the 1st movie's timeline, and there I present what happened between them that led them to this. Check it out!
Dr. Hofmannsthal, if you remember AGOS, was the old dude at the auction that was annoyed by Holmes and killed by Moran. He's the dude who transformed Rene's features to resemble an ambassador.
Now you know that cosmetic surgery is involved in the case, what do you think would happen next?
REVIEWS PLEASE! :D