Disclaimer: I still don't own Holmes
A/N: I am SO Incredibly Sorry for not updating lately ::hides:: Being a sophomore it CAMS is fun but incredibly busy. The teachers just keep pilin' on the work so I only have 1 day a week to work ::sighs:: But don't worry! I assure you that all stories will be complete.eventually. Eek ::dodges flames:: ahem, without further a due, Enjoy!
**********************************************************************
Chapter 13- Of Past and Present
We made our way through the streets of London quickly by hansom and arrived at Pall Mall shortly after half past five. Kathryn had not said a word during this time, but wore a pensive expression on her face, her lustrous emerald eyes shining even brighter than normal.
I, on the other hand, was more confused than ever. It had seemed clear to me that Colonel Moran was the perpetrator of the crime. The telegram to Miss Thompson alone would prove that fact to any jury. How was this new man, Kumar Rao involved? The snuffbox was present at the scene of the crime, which proves that he was there at some time, most probably during the night of the murder. Yet, there seems to be no connection between the two instances or between the two men. I shook myself from the confusing thoughts of this paradox and sighed exasperatedly.
"This case seems so complicated!" I exclaimed, frustrated, as we walked towards the Diogenes Club.
"Indeed, Doctor," replied Kathryn calmly, with her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Have patience, and I assure you that things should be clear enough soon."
When we arrived at the large ebony door that was the entrance to the Diogenes Club, I had barely enough time to rap on the door before a tall, thin man with silver hair opened it.
"We are here to see Mr. Mycroft Holmes," I told the man.
"Mr. Holmes is expecting you," said he in a monotone voice before ushering us inside.
The man showed us through a labyrinth of long, winding corridors, beckoning us not to speak, before coming to the "Strangers Room" and ushering us inside. We followed him to a small corner where the corpulent mass that was Mycroft Holmes was sitting, waiting for us.
"Kathryn, Watson!" he exclaimed, surprising me by standing up out of his chair and taking her hand into his own. "It is so wonderful to see you again! I have heard that you have gotten involved in the case involving my brother."
"Yes, Mycroft," confirmed Kathryn gravely. "The case is very dark against Sherlock, but I've found several singular points that may lead to proving his innocence. I have come to ask for you help."
"Well, Kathryn, I'll do what I can, but you know that I can't guarantee anything," Mycroft stated sternly as he beckoned us into a pair of comfortable, high-backed chairs; the smile fading from his large face.
Kathryn took out a small slip of telegraph paper out from a pocket hidden among the voluminous folds of her long azure dress.
"This was the telegram delivered to Miss Jennifer Thompson on the day of the murder. It seems to have been written in some kind of code. See what you can make of it."
Mycroft took the telegram into his large, flipper like hands, and examined the small paper critically.
"Hmm.this is an interesting message. I believe that this was written in spiral code," he mused with his brows knotted.
He took out a small black fountain pen and leather bound notebook from within the depths of his inside pocket, and began to write. A minute later, he looked up at us with an unreadable expression in his introspective iron- grey eyes so similar to his brother's.
Without a word, Mycroft grimly tore the paper he was writing on from his notebook and handed it to Kathryn, who skimmed it quickly before handing it to me.
"Meet me at eight p.m. to let me in to finish off Julia," I read, my eyes widening incredulously at what I saw.
"It seems that our range of suspects widens," commented Kathryn morosely.
"Indeed," agreed Mycroft. "So tell me Kathryn, what other information have you gathered?"
Kathryn succinctly explained the events of the day, mentioning the curry cooked the night before, the packet of white powder found in Jennifer Thompson's closet, and the snuffbox.
"Peter Stamford told me that the snuffbox was given as a reward by Sires, the richest man in India, to Kumar Rao and the late Percival O'Connell," stated Kathryn as Mycroft was scrutinizing the ornately carved ivory article.
"I see," mused Mycroft, nodding. "Well, there's not much that I can tell you about O'Connell. He was a soldier, and retired out of the service honourably with more medals than he could pin on his shirt. I think I met the fellow once myself, a few years ago. Simple, cheerful chap he was.
"There is an interesting story behind Rao, however. He is Arabic, but he worked for the German government and was one of their best agents. That is, before he was involved with a huge scandal and murdered one of the top men associated with the Kaiser. The whole affair was hastily covered up, and Rao disappeared without a trace before the government could arrest him. For about a decade, nothing was heard of him and many, including the Germans, thought he was dead. Then about a year ago, he popped up again under an alias, and has been hopping from country to country, and living off different names and never staying at one place for more than a month. My sources tell me that he is living in London now, though none of the British agents have actually seen the man under any of his usual disguises."
Mycroft scribbled something onto his notebook and tore out the piece of paper on which he was writing.
"That is Rao's supposed current address," said he quietly. "It has not been confirmed, though, since the man has never been observed at the establishment. See what you can make of it."
"Thank you, Mycroft," replied Kathryn. "It will be of use to us."
"You must understand that I cannot be in any way involved in this. I would be risking the relative peace that Germany and our own great empire has established," whispered Mycroft, so that only Kathryn and I could hear him.
"I understand the delicate position you are in, Mycroft," Kathryn reassured him quietly, her eyes softening. "I assure you that no one will know that you were involved in any of this. I'm just glad that you are doing this, knowing the risks involved, for the sake of your brother."
"I'm glad to see that you still retain your confidence and empathy after all these years," said Mycroft, smiling. "It's a shame that we cannot talk longer, as I would very much like to hear what you have been doing after you left Cambridge. I'm glad to be of service to you, and thank you for helping Sherlock when he is in need."
"It's the least that I can do for an old friend," replied Kathryn with a slight bow as she stood up. "Hopefully, we can meet again soon under better circumstances."
We shook hands and bade each other goodbye before Kathryn and I left and set off for dinner.
Although I was still preoccupied and perplexed about the situation at hand, I still had another, more amusing thought nagging at the back of my mind as we strode down Pall Mall.
"There's something you're not telling me about your past with Holmes," I stated curiously. "From his brother's reaction on seeing you I can tell that you that something much more happened than a simple case."
Kathryn glanced at me quickly before smiling amusedly and said, "I can see why Holmes speaks so highly of you, Doctor. We were friends during our last year of university at Cambridge and worked on two cases together, nothing more."
Despite her words, I was still unconvinced, as I thought I saw a slight tinge of pink on her pale cheeks and a slight sadness in her eyes as she smiled at me. I decided not to press the subject further at the moment; as it was obvious, that Kathryn did not want to discuss her mysterious past any further.
We dined at a small pub on Oxford Road during which I spent much of the time telling Kathryn of my past with Holmes, in hopes of nudging her to return the courtesy.
"I actually met Holmes through Stamford," I told her pointedly. "I had just returned to England after being transferred from Afghanistan."
"Really?" asked Kathryn, her emerald orbs glittering with amusement.
I nodded in reply, saying, "I was in search of some new lodgings and Stamford had told me that Holmes was in search of one too. I had met him that day in the laboratories at Saint Bart's immersed in an experiment. Holmes told me about some rooms he found on Baker Street that were too much for his own pocket, and told me that he was looking for a fellow lodger. We talked about the lodgings, and the next day we settled in quite comfortably. The rest, you can say, is history I suppose."
"Interesting," commented Kathryn with interest. "I'm surprised that you two got along so well together after so little introduction."
"Well it wasn't a completely smooth transition," I admitted. "For the first few days, Holmes seemed to be the most mysterious man I'd ever met. He was gone for most of the day, and had many unusual visitors at all sorts of ungodly hours. Then there was his eccentric violin playing.
"I think the thing that unsettled me the most was the fact that he seemed to know all about me despite the fact that we had barely shared twenty words with each other since we had met."
At this, Kathryn smiled mischievously, before asking sardonically, "Yes, he does have a tendency to do that, now doesn't he?"
"It wasn't until Holmes had invited me to a case when he actually spoke to me more freely," I agreed. "But enough about me, how did you meet Holmes?"
"I have already told you about the circumstances of our acquaintance," replied Kathryn casually. "What else would you like to know?" she asked, in a tone that suggested she already knew the answer.
I paused for a second, thinking about how I should phrase my question in a way that would persuade her to answer without making her feel offended. Clearly, this was sensitive topic that was well guarded.
"Well, while it is true that you have mentioned a case which Holmes and yourself have worked on in the past," I offered politely, "I am none the wiser after you have told me."
Kathryn was not even a little fazed by what I said, so I tried a more direct approach. I sighed, before asking, "Why are you guarding the details of your previous acquaintance with Holmes as if it were some embarrassing secret?"
"It is not my tale to tell," replied she replied simply, surprising me with the lack of rancour in her voice. "At least, not yet" she mused quietly to herself as an afterthought.
Dinner was a quiet affair after our initial conversation, although I thought I saw that Kathryn was in a thoughtful mood showing no signs of resentment towards my brash question.
Afterwards, we walked in silence until we reached Baker Street, where a very distraught, tear-eyed Mrs. Hudson let us in. When she entered the room, Kathryn made a quick examination of the mantelpiece. She picked up something close to the messy sheaf of letters sitting at the corner before turning to me with a determined smile on her face and beckoning me to sit.
"We have one more thing we must do before we are done for tonight, doctor," stated Kathryn calmly. She took out a small, cream-coloured envelope from one of the pockets in her skirt, before saying, "I believe that Holmes has a chemistry set in here somewhere."
She promptly made her way across the room to the chemical corner with the old, acid stained, deal-topped table. She quickly opened one of the nearby cupboards and started to shuffle through its contents. After taking out several bottles filled with various liquids and crystals of an assortment of colours, Kathryn lit a nearby Bunsen burner and started to work in silence.
Kathryn picked up a glass test tube and carefully lifted the beige envelope, tipping some of the white, powdery substance into the tube. For the next half an hour, she stooped over the chemical test tube containing the mysterious white powder. The only sound that could be heard was a quiet chinking of glass, which permeated the room as Kathryn mixed a myriad of chemicals together. Finally, she turned back to me with a test tube containing a deep violet liquid, and announced quietly, "It is opium."
Five minutes later, I found myself sitting in my old, favourite chair, facing Kathryn, who was sitting in Holmes's usual seat.
"I am now still fairly certain the Colonel Moran is behind this whole mess," she said confidently. "All of the evidence points towards that fact except one. We have yet to discover what roles Jennifer Thompson and Kumar Rao have in this, and we still don't know who "Tigerlily" is, although I have a suspicion. I will call here tomorrow morning at nine, and we will pay a visit to Rao to test out a theory of mine. Get some rest, Doctor. It seems that tomorrow is going to be a busy day."
With that, she stood up and showed herself out of the room, leaving me utterly bemused and melancholy. Sighing, I turned to stare into the merrily crackling hearth- with its bright flames dancing jovially- oblivious to the dark cloud that seemed to loom over us.
How could we prove Holmes's innocence with so little evidence? Our time was extremely limited, as the trial date was set in a week's time, and there was already so much evidence against him. What had Kathryn found on the mantelpiece that seemed so important? What was the mysterious white powder found in Thompson's and what had it to do with the curry served on the evening of the murder? What part did Kumar Rao play in this case? These thoughts plagued my mind as I drifted into an uneasy sleep.
A/N2: I will now take the time to thank all of the reviewers for their comments upon this story. I really appreciate a the things you guys have said.
And special thanks to Anneliese for reviewing every chapter ::claps::
Please keep up all the reviews!
A/N: I am SO Incredibly Sorry for not updating lately ::hides:: Being a sophomore it CAMS is fun but incredibly busy. The teachers just keep pilin' on the work so I only have 1 day a week to work ::sighs:: But don't worry! I assure you that all stories will be complete.eventually. Eek ::dodges flames:: ahem, without further a due, Enjoy!
**********************************************************************
Chapter 13- Of Past and Present
We made our way through the streets of London quickly by hansom and arrived at Pall Mall shortly after half past five. Kathryn had not said a word during this time, but wore a pensive expression on her face, her lustrous emerald eyes shining even brighter than normal.
I, on the other hand, was more confused than ever. It had seemed clear to me that Colonel Moran was the perpetrator of the crime. The telegram to Miss Thompson alone would prove that fact to any jury. How was this new man, Kumar Rao involved? The snuffbox was present at the scene of the crime, which proves that he was there at some time, most probably during the night of the murder. Yet, there seems to be no connection between the two instances or between the two men. I shook myself from the confusing thoughts of this paradox and sighed exasperatedly.
"This case seems so complicated!" I exclaimed, frustrated, as we walked towards the Diogenes Club.
"Indeed, Doctor," replied Kathryn calmly, with her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Have patience, and I assure you that things should be clear enough soon."
When we arrived at the large ebony door that was the entrance to the Diogenes Club, I had barely enough time to rap on the door before a tall, thin man with silver hair opened it.
"We are here to see Mr. Mycroft Holmes," I told the man.
"Mr. Holmes is expecting you," said he in a monotone voice before ushering us inside.
The man showed us through a labyrinth of long, winding corridors, beckoning us not to speak, before coming to the "Strangers Room" and ushering us inside. We followed him to a small corner where the corpulent mass that was Mycroft Holmes was sitting, waiting for us.
"Kathryn, Watson!" he exclaimed, surprising me by standing up out of his chair and taking her hand into his own. "It is so wonderful to see you again! I have heard that you have gotten involved in the case involving my brother."
"Yes, Mycroft," confirmed Kathryn gravely. "The case is very dark against Sherlock, but I've found several singular points that may lead to proving his innocence. I have come to ask for you help."
"Well, Kathryn, I'll do what I can, but you know that I can't guarantee anything," Mycroft stated sternly as he beckoned us into a pair of comfortable, high-backed chairs; the smile fading from his large face.
Kathryn took out a small slip of telegraph paper out from a pocket hidden among the voluminous folds of her long azure dress.
"This was the telegram delivered to Miss Jennifer Thompson on the day of the murder. It seems to have been written in some kind of code. See what you can make of it."
Mycroft took the telegram into his large, flipper like hands, and examined the small paper critically.
"Hmm.this is an interesting message. I believe that this was written in spiral code," he mused with his brows knotted.
He took out a small black fountain pen and leather bound notebook from within the depths of his inside pocket, and began to write. A minute later, he looked up at us with an unreadable expression in his introspective iron- grey eyes so similar to his brother's.
Without a word, Mycroft grimly tore the paper he was writing on from his notebook and handed it to Kathryn, who skimmed it quickly before handing it to me.
"Meet me at eight p.m. to let me in to finish off Julia," I read, my eyes widening incredulously at what I saw.
"It seems that our range of suspects widens," commented Kathryn morosely.
"Indeed," agreed Mycroft. "So tell me Kathryn, what other information have you gathered?"
Kathryn succinctly explained the events of the day, mentioning the curry cooked the night before, the packet of white powder found in Jennifer Thompson's closet, and the snuffbox.
"Peter Stamford told me that the snuffbox was given as a reward by Sires, the richest man in India, to Kumar Rao and the late Percival O'Connell," stated Kathryn as Mycroft was scrutinizing the ornately carved ivory article.
"I see," mused Mycroft, nodding. "Well, there's not much that I can tell you about O'Connell. He was a soldier, and retired out of the service honourably with more medals than he could pin on his shirt. I think I met the fellow once myself, a few years ago. Simple, cheerful chap he was.
"There is an interesting story behind Rao, however. He is Arabic, but he worked for the German government and was one of their best agents. That is, before he was involved with a huge scandal and murdered one of the top men associated with the Kaiser. The whole affair was hastily covered up, and Rao disappeared without a trace before the government could arrest him. For about a decade, nothing was heard of him and many, including the Germans, thought he was dead. Then about a year ago, he popped up again under an alias, and has been hopping from country to country, and living off different names and never staying at one place for more than a month. My sources tell me that he is living in London now, though none of the British agents have actually seen the man under any of his usual disguises."
Mycroft scribbled something onto his notebook and tore out the piece of paper on which he was writing.
"That is Rao's supposed current address," said he quietly. "It has not been confirmed, though, since the man has never been observed at the establishment. See what you can make of it."
"Thank you, Mycroft," replied Kathryn. "It will be of use to us."
"You must understand that I cannot be in any way involved in this. I would be risking the relative peace that Germany and our own great empire has established," whispered Mycroft, so that only Kathryn and I could hear him.
"I understand the delicate position you are in, Mycroft," Kathryn reassured him quietly, her eyes softening. "I assure you that no one will know that you were involved in any of this. I'm just glad that you are doing this, knowing the risks involved, for the sake of your brother."
"I'm glad to see that you still retain your confidence and empathy after all these years," said Mycroft, smiling. "It's a shame that we cannot talk longer, as I would very much like to hear what you have been doing after you left Cambridge. I'm glad to be of service to you, and thank you for helping Sherlock when he is in need."
"It's the least that I can do for an old friend," replied Kathryn with a slight bow as she stood up. "Hopefully, we can meet again soon under better circumstances."
We shook hands and bade each other goodbye before Kathryn and I left and set off for dinner.
Although I was still preoccupied and perplexed about the situation at hand, I still had another, more amusing thought nagging at the back of my mind as we strode down Pall Mall.
"There's something you're not telling me about your past with Holmes," I stated curiously. "From his brother's reaction on seeing you I can tell that you that something much more happened than a simple case."
Kathryn glanced at me quickly before smiling amusedly and said, "I can see why Holmes speaks so highly of you, Doctor. We were friends during our last year of university at Cambridge and worked on two cases together, nothing more."
Despite her words, I was still unconvinced, as I thought I saw a slight tinge of pink on her pale cheeks and a slight sadness in her eyes as she smiled at me. I decided not to press the subject further at the moment; as it was obvious, that Kathryn did not want to discuss her mysterious past any further.
We dined at a small pub on Oxford Road during which I spent much of the time telling Kathryn of my past with Holmes, in hopes of nudging her to return the courtesy.
"I actually met Holmes through Stamford," I told her pointedly. "I had just returned to England after being transferred from Afghanistan."
"Really?" asked Kathryn, her emerald orbs glittering with amusement.
I nodded in reply, saying, "I was in search of some new lodgings and Stamford had told me that Holmes was in search of one too. I had met him that day in the laboratories at Saint Bart's immersed in an experiment. Holmes told me about some rooms he found on Baker Street that were too much for his own pocket, and told me that he was looking for a fellow lodger. We talked about the lodgings, and the next day we settled in quite comfortably. The rest, you can say, is history I suppose."
"Interesting," commented Kathryn with interest. "I'm surprised that you two got along so well together after so little introduction."
"Well it wasn't a completely smooth transition," I admitted. "For the first few days, Holmes seemed to be the most mysterious man I'd ever met. He was gone for most of the day, and had many unusual visitors at all sorts of ungodly hours. Then there was his eccentric violin playing.
"I think the thing that unsettled me the most was the fact that he seemed to know all about me despite the fact that we had barely shared twenty words with each other since we had met."
At this, Kathryn smiled mischievously, before asking sardonically, "Yes, he does have a tendency to do that, now doesn't he?"
"It wasn't until Holmes had invited me to a case when he actually spoke to me more freely," I agreed. "But enough about me, how did you meet Holmes?"
"I have already told you about the circumstances of our acquaintance," replied Kathryn casually. "What else would you like to know?" she asked, in a tone that suggested she already knew the answer.
I paused for a second, thinking about how I should phrase my question in a way that would persuade her to answer without making her feel offended. Clearly, this was sensitive topic that was well guarded.
"Well, while it is true that you have mentioned a case which Holmes and yourself have worked on in the past," I offered politely, "I am none the wiser after you have told me."
Kathryn was not even a little fazed by what I said, so I tried a more direct approach. I sighed, before asking, "Why are you guarding the details of your previous acquaintance with Holmes as if it were some embarrassing secret?"
"It is not my tale to tell," replied she replied simply, surprising me with the lack of rancour in her voice. "At least, not yet" she mused quietly to herself as an afterthought.
Dinner was a quiet affair after our initial conversation, although I thought I saw that Kathryn was in a thoughtful mood showing no signs of resentment towards my brash question.
Afterwards, we walked in silence until we reached Baker Street, where a very distraught, tear-eyed Mrs. Hudson let us in. When she entered the room, Kathryn made a quick examination of the mantelpiece. She picked up something close to the messy sheaf of letters sitting at the corner before turning to me with a determined smile on her face and beckoning me to sit.
"We have one more thing we must do before we are done for tonight, doctor," stated Kathryn calmly. She took out a small, cream-coloured envelope from one of the pockets in her skirt, before saying, "I believe that Holmes has a chemistry set in here somewhere."
She promptly made her way across the room to the chemical corner with the old, acid stained, deal-topped table. She quickly opened one of the nearby cupboards and started to shuffle through its contents. After taking out several bottles filled with various liquids and crystals of an assortment of colours, Kathryn lit a nearby Bunsen burner and started to work in silence.
Kathryn picked up a glass test tube and carefully lifted the beige envelope, tipping some of the white, powdery substance into the tube. For the next half an hour, she stooped over the chemical test tube containing the mysterious white powder. The only sound that could be heard was a quiet chinking of glass, which permeated the room as Kathryn mixed a myriad of chemicals together. Finally, she turned back to me with a test tube containing a deep violet liquid, and announced quietly, "It is opium."
Five minutes later, I found myself sitting in my old, favourite chair, facing Kathryn, who was sitting in Holmes's usual seat.
"I am now still fairly certain the Colonel Moran is behind this whole mess," she said confidently. "All of the evidence points towards that fact except one. We have yet to discover what roles Jennifer Thompson and Kumar Rao have in this, and we still don't know who "Tigerlily" is, although I have a suspicion. I will call here tomorrow morning at nine, and we will pay a visit to Rao to test out a theory of mine. Get some rest, Doctor. It seems that tomorrow is going to be a busy day."
With that, she stood up and showed herself out of the room, leaving me utterly bemused and melancholy. Sighing, I turned to stare into the merrily crackling hearth- with its bright flames dancing jovially- oblivious to the dark cloud that seemed to loom over us.
How could we prove Holmes's innocence with so little evidence? Our time was extremely limited, as the trial date was set in a week's time, and there was already so much evidence against him. What had Kathryn found on the mantelpiece that seemed so important? What was the mysterious white powder found in Thompson's and what had it to do with the curry served on the evening of the murder? What part did Kumar Rao play in this case? These thoughts plagued my mind as I drifted into an uneasy sleep.
A/N2: I will now take the time to thank all of the reviewers for their comments upon this story. I really appreciate a the things you guys have said.
And special thanks to Anneliese for reviewing every chapter ::claps::
Please keep up all the reviews!