*. . . For Neo Olde Tokyo. . . and for justice! *
It was a dark and foggy evening. Sholmes awoke in an unfamiliar railcar, in the company of an unfamiliar lady, with no memory of how he had come to be there. The only clue he had to his whereabouts was an unassuming novelty toy.
- O -
"Fascinating! Elementary!" Excited exclamations floated through the apartment.
"Why is he here?" Phoenix hissed at Maya from the side of his mouth, watching from the living room as the stranger inspected every inch of his fridge, inside and out, with gear-bedecked goggles.
Maya grinned. "Long story. I was reading the anniversary edition of The Adventures of Herlock Sholmes, just sighing about how cool he was, and wouldn't you know it, Pearly heard me."
"That's not. . . ?" Phoenix trailed off in disbelief. He winced as the kitchen emitted an annoyed beep-beep-beep: The stranger was now pushing every button on the microwave in order, utterly enthralled.
"Oh, you'd better believe it. Pearly channeled the Herlock Sholmes for me. Sweet of her, really."
"So that explains why he's here, but not why he's here."
"Yes, well." Maya exhaled in a huff. "He was dead set on seeing his assistant Wilson, who was really forensic pathology professor Yujin Mikotoba, and seeing as he's been, well, dead for ages, I got the bright idea that maybe we could find his descendants?"
"And you've brought him here, interrupting my weekly case debrief with Edgeworth, so we can help with the research." It didn't quite come out as a question. Phoenix let out a resigned sigh. Maybe I'll try for a half hour, then turn on the TV. That will shock the Great Detective to death. . . well, back to death, he pondered.
"Oh no. You wish it were that simple." Maya smirked wickedly. "It turns out you are Professor Mikotoba's descendant. What a fun twist of fate, am I right?"
"That's quite a distinguished ancestor, Wright." Edgeworth had joined them in the entryway, wearing a judgmental sneer, arms crossed over his perfectly-pressed dress shirt. He'd hung up his suit jacket at the door, but somehow retained every bit of his formal air. "I don't see how it could hurt him in his afterlife, but perhaps you should stop him before—"
"YOWCH!" Sholmes dropped the piping hot mug he'd pulled straight from the microwave, toppling backwards with a thud! The mug fell and shattered.
Quite the distinguished ancestor indeed. "This is starting to look like a crime scene," Phoenix groaned.
"Well, seeing as you're indisposed, perhaps I ought to be going. I had thought to ask you a question, but I shall try for another time," Edgeworth said. Phoenix gave him a questioning look: his face and voice carefully neutral, but his hands drifted about aimlessly.
Odd. Miles doesn't usually fidget. I wonder what it could be. Out loud, he said, "Sure, let me walk you out—"
"Hold it! And who might you be?" Sholmes had apparently recovered, and was now peering into Edgeworth's face from much too close.
Edgeworth frowned. "Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth," he replied sternly, taking an elegant step back. "I am a colleague and friend of your descendant's, but I'm on my way out—"
"Wait." Sholmes took a long, slow drag from an antique pipe (Where had Maya even found that for him?), then straightened and held up one ominous finger. "Do not let me be the cause of an aborted confession."
"What?" Edgeworth gasped, stumbling back on one foot and raising his arms defensively.
"Confession?" echoed Phoenix, looking at Edgeworth's dismayed expression. "Is there another murder you haven't told me about?"
"I have deduced that tonight is a special occasion. . . and you, my ruffled friend," Sholmes said, pointing dramatically at Edgeworth, "have a startling secret to confess, and a great favor to ask."
"How?" Edgeworth had composed himself somewhat, balling his hands into fists and drawing himself up stiffly, even as his face grew paler.
"Now, now, all will be revealed in time. Herlock Sholmes is proud to present. . . his Logic and Reasoning Spectacular!"
The Great Deduction
The lights dimmed, and an upbeat soundtrack began to play. Phoenix glared at Maya, smirking by the light switch with Detective Theme - Ten Hours visibly blaring from her phone.
Sholmes snapped his fingers, and a beam of light illuminated the venomously-scowling Edgeworth. "It doesn't take a Great Detective to see the careful preparation our ruffled friend has put into his appearance. Three-layered jabots were rare in my time, and even more so based on what I've observed of your modes of dress." With a flick of his wrist, the light fell on Edgeworth's trousers. "That startling color is also not available off-the-rack, so to speak, and must have been custom-made. All this goes to show that our fine gentleman Mr. Edgeworth is dressed for a special occasion."
The fine gentleman in question deepened his scowl, looking entirely unimpressed.
Undeterred, Sholmes pressed on. "And what is this special occasion? Your furtive glance gives away your thoughts. The nature of your secret is revealed by. . . ." Sholmes pointed his finger, and the spotlight flickered to the table. "Your briefcase!"
Edgeworth blinked, looking vaguely puzzled.
"Yes, stitched on your briefcase is the emblem of the University of Hamburg, showing your affiliation."
"What—that's hardly conclusive!" Edgeworth protested, crossing his arms angrily.
"Not by itself, surely not. But peeking out from your trousers pocket—are those flights to Germany? They are dated for next week, which, coincidentally, coincides with the start of the university's fall semester!"
Phoenix flinched at the sight of the tickets, looking at Edgeworth with wounded eyes. Edgeworth shook his head vigorously, but his traitorous body instinctively turned to hide his pocket and its contents from view.
"Yes, the esteemed Mr. Edgeworth is, in fact a newly-signed faculty member at that prestigious university! And the special occasion in question, for which we are gathered here. . . is his going-away party!" Sholmes declared triumphantly.
"Edgeworth—" Phoenix began.
"Now, for the second part of this mystery," Sholmes interrupted, focusing again on Edgeworth. "It is plain to see something weighs on your mind. Your tight grip reveals your discomfort." He snapped, and the spotlight focused on Edgeworth's white-knuckled hand clenching his arm.
"Ah!" Edgeworth gasped, quickly releasing his elbow.
Sholmes smirked knowingly. "Yes. There is something you are gathering yourself to say. Indeed, your restless hand gives away your restless thoughts. Your fingers have a mind of their own—they twitch towards that pink coat hanging by the door—a lady's coat!"
"Preposterous!" Edgeworth sputtered, more than a little offended. The scowl was back. Phoenix let out stifled snort that he tried to disguise as a cough.
"Now who is this fair lady at your fingertips and on your mind? Perhaps a romantic interest."
Here, Edgeworth blushed guiltily and darted a glance at Phoenix.
"Ah, the twinge of your cheeks confirms my theory. But is there a shadow of concern? I see the direction of your gaze, revealing your fear," Sholmes continued, and Edgeworth snapped his eyes back to Sholmes. "Yes, you distinctly looked at Mr. Wright just then. You are afraid that your good friend Phoenix Wright will not approve of your sweetheart!"
As one, Phoenix and Edgeworth gasped together.
"It's not like that—" Edgeworth began to say.
"You know I'd never—" Phoenix tried to say at the same time.
"Thus!" Sholmes yelled louder still, and they both fell silent. With a flourish, he called the spotlight back to himself and posed dramatically. "Thus, the secret that Mr. Edgeworth has nursed all evening, in all his brooding melancholy, is his new romantic involvement! And the great favor he has gathered the courage to ask is. . . for Mr. Wright to approve of his lady love!"
Silence reigned in the apartment.
Edgeworth looked flabbergasted beyond words.
Maya clutched her sides, wheezing, and began a loud, slow clap.
And Phoenix. . . Phoenix looked betrayed. "Edgeworth. . . I know we're not that close where you'd tell me about your personal life, but I hoped you'd at least tell me before moving back to Germany," he said reproachfully.
"No, Phoenix—that's not. . . ." Edgeworth pinched the bridge of his nose. "That was all nonsense! I was a visiting professor at the University of Hamburg last year, which is why I am giving a welcoming speech next week," he growled, holding up the tickets. "You can't lend credence to this. . . this blustering buffoon! Even if he was friends with your ancestor!"
"Oh. I knew that." Phoenix rubbed at his neck, embarrassed. "Come to think of it, there's one other thing that doesn't quite fit."
"Oh, just the one?" Miles grumbled.
"Hey! A Great Detective has ears, you know!" Sholmes protested.
"You claimed that Edgeworth reached for a pink lady's coat," Phoenix said thoughtfully.
"Burgundy," Edgeworth corrected.
"But that coat is the exact shade of pink as Edgeworth's pants," Phoenix continued, ignoring the interruption. He pointed accusingly at Edgeworth. "In fact, they are part of the same suit. . . Edgeworth's suit!"
"I'm sure that was the height of deductive reasoning for you, seeing as you've only seen me in that coat a few thousand times," Edgeworth said, folding his arms, his patronizing sneer accompanied by a patronizing tap of his finger. "It would seem this self-proclaimed Great Detective has made a number of unfortunate errors."
"Actually, this is exactly how he operates," Maya chimed in. "I've read about how this works in The Adventures of Herlock Sholmes. He has an uncanny ability to see into your heart, though the details come out a bit wrong."
"There's more than a bit wrong," Phoenix complained.
"No, it's really just one or two key details taking the entire chain of reasoning off the rails." Maya insisted. "You'll see! Try switching out some key observations, and I'm sure you'll arrive at the truth. Right, Edgeworth?"
"Hmff," Edgeworth grumbled, turning his head so his bangs fell over his eyes and obscured them.
Odd, Phoenix thought. Something to press him on later. "Ok, switch out some key observations. Mr. Sholmes, please repeat your reasoning from the top, if you don't mind. Maya, hit the music!"
Sholmes nodded. "Then let us begin again. I am proud to present. . . my Logic and Reasoning Spectacular!"
Course Correction
Once more, the lights flickered off, leaving the lone spotlight sweeping the room. Phoenix took a deep breath, letting the rhythm of Detective Theme - Ten Hours settle into his body.
As before, the spotlight settled on a visibly-tense Edgeworth. "It doesn't take a Great Detective to see the careful preparation our ruffled friend has put into his appearance. Three-layered jabots were rare in my time, and even more so based on what I've observed of your modes of dress. That startling color is also not available off-the-rack, so to speak, and must have been custom-made. All this goes to show that our fine gentleman Mr. Edgeworth is dressed for a special occasion," Sholmes dutifully repeated.
"Do you hear that, Edgeworth?" Phoenix teased. "Even someone who literally walked out of the 1800s thinks your style is outdated."
"Tease me all you want. You should know by now the point is not to look good," Edgeworth huffed.
"Why do you wear it if not to look good?" Phoenix asked.
"To look intimidating—yes, really, Wright—stop laughing! My colleagues can see the effort and preparation that goes into my attire, and thus they know my cases will be similarly prepared."
"Whatever you say," Phoenix said, still snickering. "The point is that you are dressed in your usual outfit."
"Therefore, not a special occasion at all," Edgeworth prompted.
"Hmm. . . ." Phoenix tapped on his chin. "I'm not quite sure I believe that," he finally concluded. "Something has felt different about tonight. . . besides our unexpected visitor."
"Ah. I did my best to behave normally," Edgeworth said, his voice a little shaky.
"Edgeworth. . . ." Phoenix murmured, then sighed and waved at Sholmes to continue.
"And what is this special occasion? Your furtive glance gives away your thoughts. The nature of your secret is revealed by. . . your briefcase!" Again, Sholmes pointed at the table, earning him another puzzled blink.
"We've already settled that the university insignia is nothing unexpected," Phoenix said, walking around the table and inspecting the briefcase on all sides, when he caught a glimpse of yellow out of the corner of his eye. "Got it! It's this notepad," he announced, tugging free a legal pad from under the briefcase.
"Nghoohh!"
Edgeworth reached for the notepad, but Sholmes was faster. He snatched it and read it with glee. "Written and crossed out on these pages are a series of phrases: I am pleased to inform you, I have thought long and hard, There is something I must ask you, and such like. Ah, your body's reaction betrays your intimate knowledge of these words."
"This deduction is heading into uncharted territory," Phoenix mumbled under his breath, an unreadable expression crossing his face. This time, Miles didn't try to hide his reaction. He stood stiffly, head turned away, his fingers fiercely clutching his elbow.
"Yes, you wrote these words in your own hand, in an effort to prepare for your special occasion—an occasion of the utmost difficulty. For you, my fine gentleman, have come prepared to confess your secret! And the confession itself is what drove you to such extensive preparations!"
Edgeworth staggered back, reeling like he'd been struck. Phoenix reached for him, but before he could say a word, Sholmes held up a finger.
"Now, for the second part of this mystery," he said coolly.
The spotlight centered on Edgeworth, cornered and panting, his back against the wall. "It is plain to see something weighs on your mind. Your tight grip reveals your discomfort."
He tapped Edgeworth's elbow almost gently, and Edgeworth glared back at him. "Just get on with it!" he growled. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any escape.
"Yes. There is something you are gathering yourself to say. Indeed, your restless hand gives away your restless thoughts. Your fingers have a mind of their own—they twitch towards that pink coat hanging by the door—a lady's coat!"
"So we know that is your coat," Phoenix said, taking it down from the coatrack. He glanced at Edgeworth, an unspoken question, and Edgeworth nodded back. He rifled through the pockets and found the Signal Red keychain, flashing red and gold—
"Now who has caught the interest of your fingertips and your mind? Perhaps a romantic attachment."
This time, Phoenix caught his unwilling gaze and gave him a reassuring smile. Edgeworth grimaced, his face flaming all the way to his ears.
"Ah, the twinge of your cheeks confirms my theory," Sholmes repeated, this part of the deduction seeming unchanged. "But is there a shadow of concern? I see the direction of your gaze, revealing your fear. Yes, you distinctly looked at Mr. Wright just then. You are afraid that your good friend Phoenix Wright will not approve of your sweetheart!"
"Well that's just wrong. Miles, you know I wouldn't stand in your way. Well, unless you were dating Dahlia, but you have better taste—"
"How do you even know my secret is romantic in nature?" Edgeworth cut in. He lifted his chin in challenge, stubborn to the end. "The Signal Red keychain could mean many things. It could be pertaining to the. . . the circumstances of my childhood."
"But it's not, is it?" Phoenix asked softly, coming closer, step by inexorable step. He stopped an arm's length away and held out the keychain. "It's not. . . because of this."
Attached to the keychain was a shining golden ring, polished and gleaming faintly. Edgeworth glared at it. Defiant. This must be how he looked cornered in his office with a gun pointed at his head, Phoenix realized with a shiver.
Only this time, I'm the gunman.
"Let's stop here," Phoenix said quietly. "It's not right, Sholmes. We can't pry his secrets out of him. This isn't an investigation."
"No," Edgeworth said suddenly, eyes hidden behind falling bangs. He took a shuddering breath. "No, I'm. . . glad for this opportunity. . . to drag out the truth that I had so cowardly hidden."
"Miles. . . ."
With desperate strength, Edgeworth dragged his face up and pierced Phoenix with a wild glare. Phoenix gazed back at him, and an understanding passed between them. Phoenix glanced over at Sholmes and nodded once.
"And now the pieces come together," Sholmes continued. "Yes, while you looked at Mr. Wright, you reached for the ring hidden in your coat pocket. The secret that Mr. Edgeworth nursed all evening, and the favor he has to ask. . . is for Mr. Wright's hand in marriage!"
"Truly, a detective ahead of his time," Miles groaned. Back at the table, he sat slumped over with his face buried in his hands. His ears were still red.
"Yeah, you don't have much of a poker face," Phoenix cheerfully agreed. Unlike Miles, Phoenix was ecstatic. Phoenix paused in his insufferable prancing just to ruffle Miles's hair, like he had some kind of death wish.
Miles irritably swatted him away. "I don't need a poker face because I don't bluff in court, unlike present company," he grumbled.
"Aww, come on, Miles, it's not all bad!"
"How could it be anything but?"
"Well, I accept, for one."
Miles groaned again. "You accept? Wright, I wasn't about to propose marriage. I was merely hoping to invite you to accompany me to Hamburg."
"Hold it!" Phoenix grinned, as relentless as any day in court. "Yet you referred to the deductions as, what was it, an opportunity to drag out the truth. . . ."
Miles flushed again. "Yes, well, for all his bluffing and blundering, he was not wrong about my. . . eventual intentions," he mumbled, the words muffled by his hands.
The table creaked as Phoenix finally stopped pacing and sat down. He reached across the table and tugged at Miles's hands. "Hey, Miles. Look at me."
"How may I help you?" Miles sighed morosely.
"Well, as luck would have it, you're not the only one idly carrying around a ring like a lovesick fool."
"You—What?"
Phoenix raised his arms as if to slam on the table, thought better of it, and pulled something from his pocket instead. Light glinted off the embossed aluminum and plastic. "Miles Edgeworth, will you accept this ring?" Phoenix asked breathlessly.
"Wright, you can't just impulsively—"
*. . . For Neo Olde Tokyo. . . and for justice! *
Miles froze as the staticky voice emanated from the ring. With trembling fingers, he reached towards it, his eyes growing suspiciously bright. "Could it be?" He whispered, awestruck. "The limited edition Nickel Samurai Ring of Justice. These are almost impossible to find."
"It turns out I have thought long and hard and prepared extensively. There is nothing impulsive about this."
"I. . . I don't know what to say. . . ."
"How about yes?"
- O -
"That was quite the deduction, Mr. Sholmes," Maya said happily over burgers and shakes.
Sholmes examined his shake with unwavering focus. "What is this masterful invention? Its sugar content is suitable for hummingbirds, but its temperature is inhospitable for ordinary circumstances. I have deduced that this is a restorative concoction for heat stroke in hummingbirds! How marvelous!"
"It's just a milkshake, Mr. Sholmes," Maya said with an eyeroll. "It's for people. My treat! As a thank you for your Great Assistance!"
"Oh, it was my pleasure. Iris is a romantic at heart, and she will love this story! Miss Susato will surely give me one of those disapproving frowns though, for meddling with her family yet again. HA HA HA!" Sholmes doubled over in raucous laughter, while Maya looked on, amused and faintly puzzled.
"Well, you can tell Miss Susato that you were forced into it," Maya said, clapping her hands together. "I would've stopped at nothing! The anticipation has been killing me ever since Nick begged me to track down that limited edition ring!"
"I wonder what will happen to your strange friends now," Sholmes mused. "Strange types do seem to run in Mr. Naruhodou's family."
"I suppose they'll go on having strange adventures. And when they do, we'll channel you again, and you can bring more strange stories back for Miss Iris to hear."
"Then it's a deal. Until next time, my fine friends! Come! The game is afoot!"
- O -
So saying, Sholmes turned away, to embark on the return journey to his own time. Mr. Wright and his fine ruffled gentleman went on to have many more exciting adventures, which will have to be told another time. And thus ends. . . The Adventure of the Pink Lady's Coat.
- O -
Author's notes: One weird element that I go back and forth on is whether Miles breaks down, and how much. It could fall anywhere in a range: he could be just a little tense, or he could be a total sobbing mess, and I'm never quite sure where to put him on that.