As the ship finally left the port of Dover and the shores of Great Britain receded further into the distance, Mikotoba forced himself to tear his eyes away and retreat to his quarters below deck. It was with some degree of surprise that he found his emotions for these isles of the West still as potent as ever, as though the last ten years had but vanished into smokes. He felt as if he was thirty-three again, standing at the bow of a ship not dissimilar to this one, bidding farewells to a home he had carved for himself for more than half a decade, leaving behind one dear friend taking on the mantle of single father and another rotting in a foreign grave. But Mikotoba was not thirty-three anymore, and his home was now very much in Japan—with a law system to revitalise, a career to resume, and a family to take care of. Even though I am still leaving some things behind. He thought of Jigoku in a dark, cold cell. He thought of a blonde-haired consulting detective and his exuberant assistant daughter. His heart felt like it had aged for a century more.

But even then, what was there to do about it? Fate had its twists and turns, and humans were just its plaything, regardless of what one wished or desired. He should feel lucky he had this chance to relive his youth one more time.

With that, he entered his cabin and began unpacking. There was always work to do—he shuddered to think just how much was still waiting for him in Japan—and it was best that he put the upcoming two months on the boat to good use.

'Father, you simply must try the smoked salmon sandwich—the sauce is simply delightful!'

Susato exclaimed as she proceeded to give Mikotoba some of the said sandwiches from her plate. They were at the dinner buffet, and while Susato and Naruhodou had taken full advantage of these last chances to enjoy Western delicacies, Mikotoba had mostly stayed put at his table with a glass of wine.

'Yes, they're pretty good, Professor—mmph—I can't stop eating them, in fact,' Naruhodou chimed in, speaking between mouthfuls. His cheeks puffed up from the food, and Mikotoba thought he quite resembled a chipmunk.

'Thank you, Susato, although I am not feeling particularly hungry at this moment.'

Susato eyed his empty plate and gave him a look of concern. He smiled and tried to placate her. 'But I will trust your recommendation and give these a try.'

His daughter beamed, and together with Naruhodou, they returned to the buffet displays—presumably to get some more sandwiches.

Mikotoba felt guilty for worrying her, yet he found himself truly without an appetite—had been for the last few days. His days were overflowed with work, and his nights restless with strange dreams. More than once, Mikotoba found himself startled to awakening in the small hours, disoriented, as if he was being watched.

It was normal, he reasoned, for the mind and heart to feel a sense of displacement and loss after such an intense period of emotional upheaval. If anything, the whole thing only proved how he was getting far too old for adventures. His weary heart needed stability and certainty, not unexpected reunions that kept him prisoner with thoughts and feelings that should only belong to the past. At random moments in the day, Mikotoba's brain would supply him with excerpts—much like a projection of moving pictures—of a certain face, a certain voice, a certain countenance that lit up with manic excitement while on a chase—

Time, Mikotoba thought. That miracle cure that heals even the most grievous of wounds. Time was all he needed to get adjusted, to feel again at ease in his own skin.

For now, however, there was the matter of the salmon sandwiches. He nibbled at one, but couldn't get very far. He decided to bring the plate back to his room, lest he should endure Susato's wrath if she knew he had gone back on his words and forwent eating altogether. Perhaps if he worked late into the night, his appetite would return.

Mikotoba was deep into the third report on potential applications of forensic analysis in Japanese trials when he finally felt the first stirrings of hunger. He set the papers aside and turned to grab a sandwich…only to find that it was the last one.

He frowned. He could have sworn Susato had pushed at least three of those onto his plate, and he didn't recall finishing any—unless he was so out of it that his body resolved to take matters to its own hand and fed its overtired self while his mind laboured. That was also possible. He darted his eyes at the clock; it was late enough for lapses of judgement. Mikotoba shrugged, finished the last sandwich, and gave the matter no more thought.

That was until he finally decided to turn in for bed sometime later. He changed out of his day jacket into more comfortable night robes, and as he hung his clothes up in the wardrobe, something nagged away at his mind. He inspected his belongings, clothes, suitcase—and it finally occurred to him. The extra bedsheets at the bottom of the wardrobe were unnaturally crumpled. As if someone had been sitting on them.

Someone has been hiding in here. And then, they must still be in the room.

He told himself to remain calm and to act natural. With a great restraint on his nerves, Mikotoba slowly closed the wardrobe's doors and walked to his desk, where he slowly withdrew his revolver from a drawer. The cabin was small with little furniture. There was only one other place to hide.

In a flash, Mikotoba had whipped out the gun and pointed it right underneath his bed.

And found himself face to face with none other than Sherlock Holmes.

'My dear Mikotoba, perhaps it would be wiser if you save your bullets on a more deserving opponent than an old friend.'

'Holmes! How on Earth!' Mikotoba exclaimed, too shocked to put the gun away.

Holmes gingerly pushed the gun barrel away and pulled himself out from under the bed. Mikotoba was still frozen to the spot before manners kicked in, and he extended a hand to help his old partner.

'Holmes!' Mikotoba cried out again once Holmes was on his feet, for it seemed as though that was all he was capable of at that moment. Holmes put a finger to Mikotoba's lips, and whatever else he wanted to say died in his throat.

'Quiet now, my dear fellow. I don't suppose the crews of the SS Burya would appreciate the discovery of yet another stowaway on their ship after Mr. Naruhodou.'

Mikotoba lowered his voice to a whisper. 'Holmes, why are you here? Didn't we just say farewell a few days ago?'

'And what an emotional farewell that was. But certain events came to my knowledge seconds before your departure, leaving me with no choice but to sneak on board and follow you.'

'What are you talking about? What events?'

Holmes lowered his head and hid his eyes under the hat. 'Would you believe me if I told you that I was given chase by a zealous mob intent to get the patent to my Remote Cinematograph and so needed to seek shelter in a distant clime?'

Mikotoba folded his arms and let his reply show in his disbelieving posture.

'No? How about if I said I missed our adventures together and decided to open an East branch office of the World's Great Consulting Detective?'

At Mikotoba's silence, Holmes smiled and said, 'I thought so. You always see through me, my dear Mikotoba.'

I think you're just too transparent, Mikotoba thought. 'Is there something going on, Holmes? Should I be concerned? Are we in danger?'

Holmes paced around, casually observing the nooks and crannies of the cabin. 'I do not have enough data to theorise at the moment, so I wouldn't worry you unnecessarily. But it is a distinct possibility that something might happen in the next few days. Regardless, I expect things to resolve themselves before the ship docks in the Netherlands.'

'That's four days away.'

'Yes, and I will disembark then make my way back to Old Blighty. The longer I stay, the more likely that I would be discovered—then who knows what might happen? I might get thrown off the ship and become fish feed,' Holmes chuckled dryly; the thought somehow amusing to his strange mind.

Mikotoba would lie if he said he didn't feel the slightest pang of disappointment. 'Where is Iris? I reckon you didn't bring her along?'

'No, the situation seemed too precarious to involve her, so I sent her back to Baker Street. By the way, you don't happen to have any food lying around, do you? I don't eat much while on a case, as you know, but two days living on your leftovers did leave me quite ravenous.'

'So you're the one who stole my sandwiches! I knew I didn't imagine things. Have you hidden in my room all that time?'

Holmes smiled sheepishly. 'You seemed to be having a hard time getting a full night's rest.'

In a way, Mikotoba wasn't surprised that it was Holmes whose gaze had awakened him in the night. He berated himself for not having caught on earlier. But then again, perhaps he would have only chalked it up to wishful thinking.

Mikotoba stowed his revolver away in its drawer, then slumped on his bed. 'So this…incident of yours, you think there's nothing to worry about.'

'Not yet. But I'll need to reconfirm some things to be sure. With your help. If that is amenable to you?'

Mikotoba smiled at his great friend and partner. After all this time, he still had to ask. 'Nothing would delight me more.'

They held eye contact for what seemed like an age, their bodies thrumming along with the rhythm of the vibrating steamship. Ten years slipped away like a sandcastle dissolving at the first coming of the tide.

The silence was broken by a sudden yawn from Mikotoba himself. The emotional toll of that day—and the days before that—caught up with him at last. 'You need your sleep, my dear Mikotoba. We can talk more in the morning.'

'What are you going to do?'

'Why, my favourite activity, of course. I'm going to think,' Holmes plopped down on the armchair and set his feet on the desk. 'Don't worry about me. I've had plenty of rest in your cosy wardrobe,' he said, pulled out his pipe unlit, and then sank into one of his deep contemplative trances.

Mikotoba wanted to tell Holmes that he was welcome to share the double bed if he changed his mind later, but there was no use in disturbing the detective once he was in this state. Perhaps that was for the best—no use overcomplicating things when the situation was already as fraught as it was. Mikotoba turned off the lights and closed his eyes. He fancied he felt Holmes turning his gaze on him—no longer disconcerting, quite the opposite—and finally let himself be lulled to sleep by the soft movements of the boat.

The next morning, Holmes was nowhere to be found, and Mikotoba almost convinced himself that the whole thing was a product of a fevered dream until he saw Holmes's note on the desk. Sun deck. Bring sandwiches. Tell no one.

In the cold light of day, Mikotoba began to wonder about the situation that brought Holmes to be a stowaway on this ship. Knowing the great detective, it must have been something quite serious to make Holmes drop everything behind. Although Holmes told him not to worry, Mikotoba couldn't help but be slightly on his guard as he entered the dining room to gather some food as instructed.

Susato and Naruhodou were there as well for their breakfast. 'Father, good morning. How are you feeling today?'

'Quite well, actually. I'm feeling more rested than I have been in a while.'

'I'm glad to hear that!' Susato clapped her hands together in genuine excitement. 'Do you have any plans for later? Naruhodou-sama and I thought we could enjoy a number in the music hall.'

Mikotoba wondered how they would react if he asked to invite Holmes along. 'No, thank you, my dear. I still have some work to do,' he said while grabbing some salmon sandwiches onto an empty plate.

'You have to remember to rest. No one will mind if you spend a few days enjoying this luxury cruise ship,' Susato chided. She noticed the food on his plate. 'At least I'm glad you seem to like the sandwiches.'

Mikotoba smiled at her and made his excuses to leave, but he thought Susato had a point. Now that Holmes was here and the promise of adventure was once again on the horizon, the thought of going back to his work sounded extremely tedious. He told himself to enjoy the next few days as best as he could, as he always used to do—by Holmes's side, as his trusted partner.

And if the future after that suddenly felt overwhelmingly bleak, well, he just had to deal with it when it came.

Mikotoba found Holmes on the sun deck awhile later, crouching behind one of the lifeboats, trying—and failing—to make himself inconspicuous.

'Are you sure you should even be outside and risking discovery like this?'

Holmes shushed him and pulled Mikotoba down next to him.

'Be quiet, there's a good fellow,' he pointed towards the second viewing deck below, where a few people are mingling about. 'Do you see that woman wearing a red cloak? She's been standing there since the morning, barely moving an inch except when she fed the seagulls her breakfast. Most quaint, don't you think?'

Mikotoba looked where Holmes showed, and indeed, a young woman wearing a tattered red coat was leaning on the rails, seemingly enjoying the sea air.

'Well, it's a beautiful day. I don't see anything suspicious about that.'

'You see, but you don't observe, Mikotoba, that's the problem. Ah, there's the food I asked for,' Holmes grabbed the sandwich plate—but instead of eating, he held the plate up towards the sky. With his free hand, Holmes opened his pocket watch and counted.

'What are you doing—' Mikotoba didn't even have a chance to finish his sentence before a seagull had swooped down right on top of them. He exclaimed and crouched, covering his head out of instinct, but the creature only seized the sandwiches in its beak before flying off.

'What on Earth!'

Of course, Holmes didn't seem unfazed at all. 'Fifteen seconds. Interesting.'

'I thought that food was meant for you, Holmes, not to feed rogue birds.'

'Oh, I'm not hungry. I'm merely curious about the average reaction time of avian creatures compared to humans. It's an ongoing experiment.'

Mikotoba sighed. 'I don't wager you've eaten anything since last night then.'

Holmes waved Mikotoba off. 'I can't afford to lose my concentration. Now, I imagine you must wonder why we are watching that woman, and if she has anything to do with my being on this ship.'

'You read my mind.'

'Your body is simply vibrating from the curiosity, my dear man. As I've told you, all I have are theories, and what are theories without data? Still, I will share what I know. A few days ago, after we bid our farewells and you've boarded the ship, Iris and I remained behind as we did not feel like returning home just yet. It was then that I noticed a familiar figure amongst the onboarding passengers—a small, blonde woman wearing a red cloak with a hood pulled all the way up. I knew her instantly to be Miss Venus, a street vendor and one of the key witnesses at the trial of Tobias Gregson's murder. In fact, her actions to tamper with the crime scene almost made Mr. Naruhodou lose the case. But she was a pauper and a firework seller—what was she doing on a luxury cruise ship? My instincts told me something might be afoot, so I hid among the cargo and followed her onboard.'

Mikotoba frowned as he digested all the information that Holmes had gathered. 'I see. Do you think she might be here for some nefarious purposes? Maybe she just wanted to make a new start in another land.'

'The problem of money aside, she carried a light valise with barely anything in it, except for her items of trade—that is to say, some fireworks. Meanwhile, her tickets revealed her destination to be the Netherlands. I mean, why would a firework seller go to the Netherlands? I don't think she speaks any Dutch, do you?'

'People can be surprising, sometimes.'

'Not Miss Venus. I've had the opportunity to observe her the past few days, and there was nothing particularly interesting or significant about her character or behaviour. In fact, it was so insignificant as to be in and of itself significant.'

This raised a question in Mikotoba's mind. 'I thought you were hiding in my room—how did you even move around the ship?

'It is times like this that I'm thankful for people's tendencies to be blind to what does not concern them. The sailors did not expect to find a stowaway, so they did not see one. I simply blended in with the other guests by day and hid in your room by night. You yourself did not notice anything out of order until only yesterday.'

'So you plan to watch her until she disembarks?'

'It is not the most elaborate nor exciting plan, I will grant you that. Maybe for all we know, you are correct. Maybe she just found a benevolent Dutch benefactor and went for a trip. If so, the worst that would have happened was that I had spent some nice time on a luxury cruise ship.'

'Then let's hope that is the case.'

A lull fell between them as Holmes's attention returned to the red-cloaked woman. The warm sea breeze caressed his golden curls, sending them scattering every which way. They seemed to glow undernearth the blue, cloudless sky. Mikotoba felt a strange urge to catch them, lest they fly away.

Suddenly, Holmes broke the silence. 'I never hoped we could have another chance to work side by side after our last stint.'

'It does seem too good to be true.'

'Perhaps the great detective and his partner have a new speciality then: mysteries that happen on international waters, onboard luxury steamships.'

Holmes sounded light-hearted, but his gaze was still drawn towards somewhere out on the waters. Mikotoba wished he would look at him.

'I wish—' The words were out of Mikotoba's mouth before he clamped it shut. What was he planning to say? He was not too sure himself, but whatever it was, it couldn't have served any purpose spoken out loud. Yet an unnamed weight kept pushing at his chest, trying to claw its way out.

'Look. She's leaving. Let's go.' At the subject's movements, Holmes stood up and dashed off as though he had never heard Mikotoba's outburst. Perhaps to his rational mind, wishes were too illogical to consider worthy of attention anyway. Mikotoba shook his head to clear his mind and followed Holmes, his heart already thrumming with the old familiar excitement of adventure.

For the rest of the day, they took turns following the girl—Venus—while she carried out her routine about the ship. It was not too arduous a task since she never partook in any of the available entertainment activities on the steamboat and spent most of her time wandering around the deck, except for lunch and dinner when she went down to the dining hall to grab some food for herself. Not just for herself, Mikotoba thought, remembering how Venus would save some of the sandwiches for the sea birds. He could see in her a kind soul and would have felt guilty at their vigilance if he had not trusted Holmes's instincts over his own.

When night came, the girl retired to her own cabin, and there was nothing else either Holmes or Mikotoba could do. Holmes bid him return to his own room first while Holmes himself went off somewhere—perhaps to find a way to listen in. Mikotoba left the detective to his own devices, trusting him to be smart enough not to get caught.

Holmes returned an hour later when Mikotoba had just changed into his nightshirt, and promptly plopped himself down onto the armchair. 'Nothing, Mikotoba, nothing! The girl is as dull as a dry board. Perhaps my hunch was off after all.'

As for Mikotoba, he wasn't complaining. 'Get some sleep, Holmes, and maybe tomorrow will be different.'

From underneath his hat, Holmes eyed him and then the lone bed in the room.

'There's plenty of space. And it's not as if we haven't shared a bed before.'

Those words skirted dangerously to The Past that neither of them had dared broach, not even during their little reunion in London. Mikotoba got under the covers and turned his back to Holmes, hoping that his nonchalant manner would not betray the anxiety he was actually feeling.

It seemed like an age before Mikotoba heard any movements at all. The chair's legs scraping on the floor told him Holmes had abruptly gotten up. The rustling of clothes meant Holmes was taking off his jacket, presumably also his waistcoat and trousers. A click, and the room was plunged into darkness. Then Mikotoba felt more than heard Holmes sliding underneath the blanket, his weight making a dent on the mattress. There was a respectable space between them, and Mikotoba tried to even out his breathing in search of sleep.

In the dark, and with Holmes's grounding presence at his back, Mikotoba could almost imagine he was back at Baker Street. It might have been one of those nights when Holmes would unceremoniously barge into his room, dragging him into some godforsaken early stakeout, or needing a sounding board for his thoughts, or—more often than he cared to remember—seeking out intimacy that could not be spoken of during the light of day. Mikotoba could almost hear night cabs clopping along the cobbled streets, endless rain pitter-pattering on the windowpane, street urchins calling out to each other for the early morning deliveries…

'You're thinking about Baker Street,' Holmes interrupted, as a matter-of-factly.

'I'm sleeping, and so should you,' Mikotoba tried to deflect.

'You've been sighing with an alarming frequency, you're staring at the most uninteresting spot in the ceiling, and you haven't even noticed that I've moved closer. Even you would have been able to deduce that such a person is surely lost in memories,' Holmes quipped. Mikotoba startled and realised that, yes, in his absent-mindedness, Holmes had drawn closer—not quite enough to touch, but enough to feel his soft breathing. 'It's the rocking of the boat,' Holmes said by means of explanation. But he made no move to draw back.

Mikotoba sighed. 'I was just reminiscing about my old room.'

'I'm sorry to say that despite my best effort, Iris has completely revamped it to her tastes. You could barely think it used to be a bachelor pad, seeing how many doilies and stuffed animals lay around.'

'It's for a good cause,' he chuckled. 'But I'm surprised she still kept so many of my things. My case notes, my medical bag, my walking stick…'

'Your favourite tobacco box too. Even though the tobacco itself has probably gone stale by now.'

'Ah yes, I remember that box.' It was silver, decorated with an elaborate leaf-motif design around the edges. On the lid were his initials, M.Y. 'I truly was sorry to leave it behind. Is it really still there?'

'Iris would deny it if you asked her, but I know for a fact she hid it in my drawer, together with your broken watch that you asked me to have fixed ages ago which I never did.'

'And you? Did you keep any of mine?' Mikotoba dared, turning to nudge Holmes in the rib.

'As you know, sentimentalism is not my forte. But yes, some of your penny dreadfuls were useful to pass the time if anything else.'

'You were just as obsessed with them as I were, admit it.'

'I just needed to know what happened to Varney the Vampire and his poor damsel in distress!'

They laughed in unison, the creature's quaint name too amusing to ignore. Mikotoba felt ridiculous, like a schoolboy out camping with his mates. He turned fully to face Holmes—in the dark, he could only make out the shape of his ridiculous hair.

'Did you keep anything of mine?' Holmes asked, almost a whisper.

'Your letters, of course. And—,' he paused. 'A picture of you and baby Iris. Taken just before I left.'

Holmes drew a breath. 'I remember.'

'I was surprised she even stayed still enough to have a picture taken at all.'

'Nonsense. As I recall, she was the personification of good behaviour itself.'

'Whatever you say, Holmes. Whatever you say,' Mikotoba said, unable to keep the deep fondness from his voice.

'I never thanked you for bringing Iris into my life. She most likely saved it.'

'You don't have to. And she saved you as much as you saved her.'

'I guess I did a pretty good job raising her.'

'The best.'

Holmes turned his eyes towards the ceiling. 'Mikotoba.'

'Yes, Holmes.'

'I'm going to say something very selfish, and I hope you will forgive me for it.'

Mikotoba held his breath. 'What is it?'

'I'd wanted you to be there.'

Mikotoba marvelled at the effort it must have taken Holmes to confess that much. Suddenly he was overcome with a need to reach out, to comfort this man—this dearest of companions, to give anything and everything to ease his pain.

He found Holmes's hand underneath the blanket and seized it. At least, that he could do.

They stayed that way, fingers intertwined in the darkness, until sleep claimed them both.

When Mikotoba woke up the next morning, he half expected to see the other side of the bed empty, and Holmes disappearing off into his own investigation. So it was a pleasant surprise to see the great detective next to him still, stretching out languidly like a cat, puffing away at his pipe, deep in thought. Mikotoba watched him for a while, until Holmes seemed like he had made up his mind about something.

'I have a task for you today, Mikotoba.'

'I am all yours.'

'Nothing too laborious. Just spend the day with Miss Susato and Mr. Naruhodou. Talk to them, be with them, find out what they're up to. Be the good father figure that you are. Simple enough, yes?'

Mikotoba raised his eyebrows, but raised no objections. 'Sure. Is there a reason why? Anything I should watch out for?'

But Holmes had already gone back to his pipe and whatever profound thinking was holding his interest. So Mikotoba pressed no further, got up and got dressed.

Before leaving the cabin, he turned to Holmes—still in the same position. 'And you? What are you planning to do?'

'My dear fellow, unless you've forgotten, I am a stowaway. I already risked a lot by showing my face around the ship as much as I did. I think I will lay low today.'

'And Miss Venus?'

'I've observed her very closely over the past three days, and it is extremely unlikely that her routine will deviate from what you've witnessed yourself. I don't expect we can gain any further development on that front.'

At least Holmes wouldn't be heading into any danger without Mikotoba by his side. With that settled, Mikotoba closed the door behind him and headed for the dining hall. It was time for breakfast.

It wasn't as if Mikotoba had never thought about it before. Sometimes, in his more maudlin moments—when Holmes's letters arrived too far and few between, when the burden of raising one child and mentoring another became too lonely, when the outdated mindset of his conservative superiors were too frustrating, or simply when his old body protested the abysmal weather—he allowed himself a small fantasy, in which he had decided to stay in Britain, with Holmes and Iris and adventures. But those moments never lasted for longer than a few seconds at most, for he only had to look at Susato—who grew wiser and more curious with each passing day—to remember where his home and duty laid.

Regardless, those thoughts still sometimes came unbidden, cutting into his mind with sharp nostalgia, then leaving him with the bitter taste of guilt afterwards. He had not been the best father to his daughter, not by far. Mikotoba knew that, and perhaps even if he spent his whole lifetime atoning, he would never succeed.

'Father, you have a most peculiar look on your face at the moment. Is everything all right?' Susato's voice interrupted his train of thought. They were enjoying their English breakfast and tea at a table that gave them an unbroken view of the horizon, as the steamship thrust onwards in the ice-cold waters of the North Sea.

'Of course, no need to worry. My thoughts simply decided to take a long walk,' Mikotoba tried to change the subject, and his eyes caught the magazine in Susato's hands. 'Is that a new edition of the Randst? Did Iris pen a new story already?'

'This? Ah, no, I'm only rereading some of my favourites that I packed with me before the voyage. Were you truly there behind the curtain when that blackguard Milverton was killed?'

Mikotoba smiled. The memory of that incident was as fresh as though it had happened yesterday. 'Yes, we were. What a horrid business it was. And to this day, I still marvelled how it was that Holmes and I had not been discovered!'

Susato shuddered. 'I dread to think what could have happened. One of the houseservants even caught your ankle!'

'Ah, but my dear, you have to remember that these stories are still fictional at heart, dramatised for the audience's sake. In reality, as I recall, nobody raised the alarm until we were almost out of the premise. Perhaps the servants were too fast asleep to react to the noise right away; perhaps they all harboured a deep hatred for their master; I do not know. But there were no chase scenes, and both Holmes and I scaled the wall with our dignities intact. Then again, that was such an anticlimactic ending that I understand if Iris wanted to take some creative liberties.'

Susato listened with perfect rapture. 'Really, Father? Now you must tell me all about what truly happened in your adventures and how they differ from the Randst's version!'

Mikotoba smiled indulgently. 'I am at your service.'

'Of course, I am aware how Holmes in the story is different from the real Holmes—our Holmes is much more…shall I say, reckless? Chaotic? Eccentric?'

'I would also add 'immature' to the mix,' he said, earning a chuckle from her.

'But not all in there is fictional, I'm sure. Like the partnership between Holmes and Watson. Did you know I used to envy such a friendship?'

'Indeed?'

'What they have between each other…how should I say it…even a young girl in a far off land in the East could feel the strength of their great bond. I used to wonder if I would ever find someone who I could trust and love as much, and who would trust and love me in return.'

'My dear…'

'Ah, but don't worry Father, I no longer have such doubts. If anything, now I knew how to recognise the bonds I should treasure and protect at all costs,' here her eyes flicked to Naruhodou, who was moving towards them with his own breakfast. 'And I'm also seeing you in a new light as well! To think the kind and brave Dr. Watson had been my own Father all along…Suddenly, I felt somehow closer to you than ever before,' Susato smiled broadly, taking one of his hands in her smaller ones. He felt something in his chest break loose.

'Then I only have Iris to thank,' Mikotoba squeezed his daughter's hands in return and hoped his unspoken affections came through.

Naruhodou chose that moment to interrupt them, arriving at their table at last. 'Good morning, Professor, Susato-san, sorry to keep you two waiting.'

Susato took one look at his plate and frowned. 'You're having the salmon sandwiches again, Naruhodou-sama? I mean, I do like them as well, but only up to a certain point…'

'I just feel so sorry for the girl, you know, that I wanted to help out as much as I can. Besides, these sandwiches do taste rather good. It would be a waste to throw them in the bin.'

Mikotoba's attention was piqued. 'Which girl are you talking about?'

'Oh, she's an acquaintance we bumped into on the ship. We knew her as a witness in a recent trial…and it turns out she has a sweetheart working as a porter in the kitchen! Apparently, the sandwiches are his responsibility,' Susato explained.

'But you're omitting the most important part! You see, Professor, the guy wants to become a chef someday, and this salmon sandwich here is his signature dish. He hopes to prove his worth to his superiors by showing how popular it is among the guests…so Miss Venus—that's the girl's name—has been trying to finish all the servings by herself. Which is sort of impossible, so she has asked us to help her out.'

Mikotoba was surprised but did not show any outward reaction when Naruhodou revealed the girl's name to be the same as the target he and Holmes had been tailing. 'I see…Did this girl ever tell you where she is going?'

'I think it was Holland, right? Susato-san?' Naruhodou looked to Susato for confirmation. 'Her beau was originally from there, and it seems like he is going to introduce her to his family.'

'Who could have thought the street firework seller would someday find love with a Dutch sailor! It is really so romantic!' Susato chimed in.

Mikotoba stayed silent as the information sunk in. If it was true, then that explained everything—why Venus took the trip, where she got the money, and even her odd behaviour with the sandwiches. This should satisfy Holmes. Although the man possessed a brilliant brain that bordered on superhuman, it would not be the first time his instincts have gone off the mark.

Still, Mikotoba spent the rest of the morning and afternoon in Susato and Naruhodou's company per Holmes's instructions. He tried to look for Venus during lunchtime, but without success. At one point, he wondered if Holmes would be hungry and decided to retreat back to his quarters with some sandwiches.

The sight that greeted him in his room was, for lack of a better word, akin to the wreckage left behind by some sort of tornado passing through. In the middle of it all was Holmes, bending over a chemical experiment that was very much producing an angry, crimson, bubbling, smoking reaction. But even more jarring was how the man was wrapped in one of Mikotoba's own kimono—to be more accurate, Holmes was draping it over his body like some sort of dressing gown, with his bare chest pretty much exposed and his obi sash tied in a string's knot.

'Holmes, what the deuce happened here?'

Holmes shushed him as he administered a drip of a milky liquid from a picker to the red mixture. Immediately, it exploded with a loud bang—Mikotoba grimaced and braced for worse, but the reaction fizzled out, and nothing further seemed to happen.

'Damn and curse it all, Mikotoba! I thought I really had got it right,' Holmes finally turned around to address his partner. 'Sorry for the mess. I was bored and needed something to pass the time. You don't mind me borrowing your clothes, do you? I spilt some chemicals on mine and ruined them thoroughly.'

'You brought your chemistry set but not a change of clothes?'

'Ah, but what detective worth his weight would leave the house without his trusty chemistry kit? As for clothes, well, they're just fabrics. A shirt, a pair of trousers, a kimono. All the same to me. Worst comes to worst, I could imitate the Romans and fashion my blanket into a toga of sorts.'

Mikotoba sighed, too familiar with Holmes's antics to truly be irritated. He stepped closer to him, inside Holmes's personal space, and reached down to untie his obi.

'At least wear it correctly,' Mikotoba murmured, keeping his eyes downwards as he undid the hideous tangle that Holmes had gotten the obi into. He grabbed the left side of the kimono and folded it over the right side, doing his utmost to concentrate on the cloth and not the white expanse of chest underneath. 'Only dead people wear right over left,' he explained. 'Lift your arms,' Holmes did so, and Mikotoba leaned in to wrap the sash snug around the other man's waist—too thin, he needs to eat more—catching a whiff of his scent—clean, citric, with the slightest woodsy hint—then moving to Holmes's back and tied everything up in a proper Japanese knot.

Never did Mikotoba look up to see Holmes's expression. He did not want to see if Holmes was perturbed, amused, or worse, completely unmoved. More importantly, he did not wish Holmes to read the turmoil in Mikotoba's own thoughts.

'There. Now you might pass as a Japanese gentleman. Almost.'

'Thank you, my dear fellow.'

Mikotoba drew back and finally looked up. But Holmes had already turned back to his chemistry experiment.

'Did you bring any news from Miss Susato and Mr. Naruhodou?'

'Oh, that's right! You would want to hear this.'

Mikotoba then proceeded to relate what he heard about Venus and her cook sweetheart. 'So you see, your hunch was off this time. The girl is not on the ship for any malicious purpose. Just for love.'

Holmes hummed. 'I want some sandwiches.'

'Ah, of course, I knew you'd be hungry,' Mikotoba grabbed the plate he'd left by the door and handed it to Holmes. The man immediately brought the food to his nose, sniffed, and then sprinted to what had now become his unofficial workspace. 'I beg that you won't speak to me for the rest of the day, thank you!'

Mikotoba knew a dismissal when he heard one. A million questions were running through his mind, not least of which was whether Holmes was planning to eat at all, but he knew there was no interrupting when Holmes got into one of his moods.

With Holmes monopolising the desk, Mikotoba couldn't even pass the time with work. He set about cleaning up the room instead, and when that was done, decided to rejoin Susato and Naruhodou. They spent the evening in the music hall, enjoying a fusion concert of some sort—the ship's musicians apparently chose to indulge their Western as well as Eastern clientele, and so had put on a show that featured instruments from both sides of the globe. The result was strange, to say the least, but not altogether unpleasant. Mikotoba wondered what Holmes would think of such a performance; would he be indignant at the way his beloved violin was overshadowed, or would he be fascinated enough to take up the shamisen? Either way, Mikotoba recalled how in the six years they cohabitated, he rarely got a chance to show off his own culture to Holmes. It was through no fault of their own; encountering any culture outside its borders was difficult enough, and the Japanese were famously secretive as it was. He did try to teach some smattering of the language to Holmes while they were still together, although it was unlikely the other man considered it important enough to keep in his great brain after all this time.

Hopefully enough for him to get by in Tokyo, the thought came unbidden. And stayed, and would not leave his mind. Mikotoba suddenly found himself seized with a pressing desire to show his city to Holmes, where he lived, where he worked, the food he ate, the shortcut he took when the cherry blossoms started to bloom…

Yet, Holmes would leave the ship and depart for Britain in two days' time.

Mikotoba swallowed down what was not regret, and did not dwell on the fantasy.

When he returned to his cabin, Holmes was still there, almost as if he had never moved. After some questions about Holmes's health and well-being got promptly ignored, Mikotoba decided to simply turn in for bed.

Two days, he thought, as he watched the distant, angular silhouette of Holmes cast against the flickering gas lamp that enveloped him in a delicate, almost ethereal aura. How many more hours? How many more minutes, seconds, moments before this sight was lost to him once more? And then, after that, how many days, years, decades before their paths could cross? He felt his heart constrict, and even though Holmes was right there, at an arm's length away, somehow Mikotoba was already grieving.

'Mikotoba. Wake up.' A familiar voice rang out next to his ears, yanking him from whatever shapeless dream he was in. 'I'm very sorry, my dear fellow. I know you adore your eight-hour sleep, but this is quite urgent.' Mikotoba blinked through the confusion of interrupted sleep. Holmes was standing next to his bed, one hand on his shoulder, the other holding a handkerchief to his own forehead.

'Holmes, what…' Mikotoba sat up, and he realised with alarm that the handkerchief was red with blood. 'You're bleeding!'

'Yes, thank you for stating the obvious. No need to worry—it's quite a superficial wound. I'm sure I won't even need stitches.'

'How in the world…wait, let me get my medical kit,' Mikotoba bolted out of bed and dashed to his trunk.

'No need, my dear Mikotoba, I have a more urgent task for you. I need you to get Miss Susato and Mr. Naruhodou—'

'Just sit down, Holmes, and let me tend to you.'

'—and bring them to the—'

'Holmes!' Mikotoba exclaimed. Holmes finally stopped talking. 'Now, tell me. Is this a life and death matter, or can it wait fifteen minutes for me to dress your wound?'

'It can wait fifteen minutes,' Holmes finally said and sat down. He lowered the handkerchief to reveal a nasty-looking gash on his forehead. But after closer inspection, it was indeed superficial.

'Who in the world did this to you?'

'Not who, but what. A seabird apparently did not appreciate my attempt to feed it this morning. But it was worth it, for I got my answer to the last piece of the puzzle.'

Mikotoba suppressed a long suffering sigh. Of course, Holmes would dive headfirst into danger if it was for the case. He put some disinfectant on the wound—Holmes hissed slightly at this—and covered it with a fresh cotton gauze. 'You're lucky it didn't get your eyes.'

'I took precautions, of course.'

'Not enough, from what I'm seeing. There, all done,' Mikotoba stood back and assessed his handiwork. 'Now, what did you need me to do?'

Holmes proceeded to explain.

Mikotoba found Susato and Naruhodou in the corridor, on their way to the dining hall for breakfast. Naruhodou looked rather the worse for wear, but when Mikotoba asked, he only charted it up to a bad night of sleep. When Mikotoba told them to follow him to the sun deck, they were understandably confused, yet trusted him enough to acquiesce. 'Do we have time to grab some breakfast, Father?' Susato asked.

'Actually…I think it's better that you don't have any,' Mikotoba replied, hoping she would not ask him to explain. It was what Holmes told him to say, yet Mikotoba was only barely piecing things together.

When they got up to the top sun deck, Mikotoba half expected to meet Holmes there, but the man was nowhere to be seen. As it was still early morning, the decks were near empty of people, except for a lone figure wearing a red hooded cloak on the lower viewing platform: Venus herself. She did not seem to have noticed them, seemingly lost in her usual bird feeding routine.

'Miss Ve—' Naruhodou started to call out, but Mikotoba stopped him with a shake of his head. They observed in silence as one seagull dashed down to seize the piece of sandwich on Venus's plate and proceeded to swallow it whole.

Then, the strangest thing happened: The animal suddenly cried out, flapping its wings as if went mad, then tumbled in the air and dropped dead on the ground.

At the sight of their fallen comrade, the other birds gave a sharp squawk in unison and hurtled toward the girl. 'Ahhh!' Venus shrieked, trying to cover her head from the brutal beaks intent on pecking her eyes out.

Mikotoba was about to spring to action, but out of nowhere, Holmes appeared, shooting at the aggressive creatures with some sort of liquid from a spray bottle.

'Go away with you! Shoo! Come on! Go!' He shouted. The birds scattered and dispersed as quickly as they came, leaving behind Venus crouching over herself, the hood of her red cloak pulled up all the way to shelter her head.

'It's fine now. They're gone. Birds do not tend to like my concoction of chilli and vinegar,' Holmes said to the girl. As if a spell was broken, Susato and Naruhodou finally realised who they were looking at. 'Holmes-san?!'

'Good morning Miss Susato, Mr. Naruhodou. I trust you've been well?'

'How are you here? Aren't you in England at the moment?'

'Yes, that is where I should be and where I will be heading next. But alas, circumstances required me to be onboard this steamship in a manner that is less than legal—a manner that you, Mr. Naruhodou, are intimately familiar with.'

Mikotoba interjected to save the young ones from further confusion. 'That is to say, he is a stowaway.'

'Indeed I am! And as the authorities shall be here at any moment and discover my unlawful presence on this ship, let's make this quick,' Holmes snapped his fingers and pointed at Venus, who had just barely regained her composure from the attack. 'Miss Venus. I accuse you of acting with malicious intent to murder Mr. Naruhodou and Miss Susato!'

'What?!' All exclaimed. Mikotoba felt his blood run cold. This girl was planning to kill his Susato…

'What are you talkin' about? Who the hell are you?' Venus recoiled in alarm.

Holmes bowed. 'Why, I'm the greatest consulting detective in the world, Sherlock Holmes! Greatest, by virtue of being the only one. And you, Miss Venus, had the misfortune of encountering me, who shall thwart your evil plan from coming to pass!'

'How…How could you…?'

'"How could you know?", you asked? Patience. I shall elucidate forthwith,' Holmes suddenly turned to Mikotoba, extending one arm towards him in an invitation. 'Well, my dear Mikotoba? May I have this dance?'

Mikotoba felt all eyes training on him. He had seen where this was going and was half expecting it already, yet the heady feeling as Holmes directed those bright green eyes on his person was still almost too much to bear. There was only one answer that he could ever give to that man.

Mikotoba hopped down a nearby ladder to join Holmes on the platform below. He clasped his partner's outstretched hand, and no more words were needed. Holmes smiled. 'For the second time in ten years, Sherlock Holmes and Yuujin Mikotoba are proud to present…our Logic and Reasoning Spectacular!'

And they were off.

'First, let us consider the reason why you, a poor firework seller, came to be on this luxury transatlantic steamship that you certainly cannot afford. According to Mr. Naruhodou, you came here on the invitation of a kitchen porter who you claimed to be your lover. Is that correct?'

'Y-Yes, that's right!'

'Then, pray tell, can you supply us with the name of this sweetheart?'

'He's-He's called…um…'

'You can't, for one very simple reason: He doesn't exist. And how do we know, Mikotoba?' Holmes whirled around in a dramatic fashion and snapped his fingers. That was when Mikotoba knew it was his cue. Tap-tippity-tap-tap-tap. His body seemed to move on its own, and even though it was not all perfect—the shoes were too soft, and the wooden floorboards did not produce quite the right noise—what mattered was that the steps were as familiar to him as breathing. Like a well-rehearsed dance, Mikotoba followed where Holmes led, and commenced his own reasoning.

'Your routine on the ship. Holmes and I have watched you for the past few days, yet we did not see you visiting the kitchen nor meeting anyone who could have been a kitchen staff.'

Venus tried to protest. 'He was…He was just busy! That's all!'

'Miss, I might not be well-versed in matters of the heart, but I imagine it's rather unbelievable for two lovers, devoted enough to each other to leave one's country of abode, yet never meeting during the journey.'

The accused girl was speechless. Holmes carried on, 'In fact, the only people you interacted with were Mr. Naruhodou and Miss Susato. It wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination to say that whatever your plans were, it involved the two of them.

'So, it is your conversation with them that we must be paying attention to,' here Holmes did a spin and turned to Mikotoba once again. 'Recall, if you will, what Mr. Naruhodou said. What did Miss Venus ask of our young friends that might give us a clue to her true intentions?'

Mikotoba searched his memory for the correct piece of information as his feet tapped away. 'The sandwiches! Of course! You were counting on Naruhodou-kun's compassion to help you finish as many of those salmon sandwiches as possible to help your sweetheart.'

'And as we have established the existence of your paramour to be a complete fabrication, the question becomes: Why exactly do you want them to eat those sandwiches?'

'I…I didn't know recommending good food to other people is a crime!' Venus cried out weakly.

'It certainly is not, unless your goal…is to poison said people!'

Mikotoba heard Susato and Naruhodou gasping on the upper platform. He himself certainly had a similar hunch, yet—'Holmes, they have been eating the sandwiches for a few days now. You and I also ate some, and we all seem to be fine.'

'That is true. However, as a medical man, I am certain you know of substances that can remain inert inside the human body unless ingested in a sufficiently large amount?'

'Of course. Arsenic, for example, which is commonly found in rat poison.'

'Ah, but she did not use arsenic. I conducted some tests on the sandwiches and did not find any such trace. Perhaps she could not acquire them at short notice. If so, what exactly can she acquire? Something that she has available with her at all times?'

Something Venus has with her…Mikotoba frowned, his mind going blank at this juncture.

Before he could come up with an answer, Venus jumped in. 'This is insane! What murder? What poisoning? It's total nonsense! I'm just an innocent firework seller…! Where would I even get any poison from?'

Fireworks…could it be? 'Potassium chlorate, which is a substance readily available in explosives, can be extremely reactive and toxic to the human body. Is that it, Holmes?'

Holmes smiled brightly, and Mikotoba knew he had guessed correctly. 'You're on top form today, my dear man. Absolutely! Miss Venus has been sprinkling her fireworks inside the salmon sandwiches left out in the public buffet. She seemed to have tried to disguise the taste by adding more sauce than usual, which explained the improved taste.'

Mikotoba noticed that Venus's face had started to crumple—in disbelief, or in disgust at their revelation of her plans, he couldn't tell. The recklessness of the scheme sent a shiver down his spine. 'Anyone could have eaten the poison, then.'

'Ah, but perhaps Miss Venus's conscience was not all unsalvageable. Whatever our young friends could not finish, she gave away to the seabirds,' Holmes explained. Mikotoba recalled Venus's morning feeding routine, which he mistook for an act of kindness. 'But that also led to my discovery of her ruse. I have also been feeding those sandwiches to the seagulls myself and realised how some of them perished afterwards, as you have yourselves witnessed,' he pointed to the dead bird on the deck. 'Unfortunately, these birds can be quite vindictive when they see one of their own killed in front of their eyes. Quite human, don't you think?'

'Which explained the wound on your head this morning, then,' Mikotoba added, and Holmes nodded ruefully. 'Holmes, this is serious. How much have Susato and Naruhodou-kun consumed? We need to put them on antidotes immediately!'

'No need to worry just yet—by my calculations, the dosage they have taken is not yet lethal. But perhaps some nausea and fatigue are expected.'

Mikotoba looked up to where Susato and Naruhodou were standing. They seemed all right; his daughter even gave him an encouraging smile. He wanted to rush and tend to them, but at the same time, he wanted to see this dance to the end as well. He stayed.

Holmes nodded with satisfaction. 'Well, what do you have to say for yourself, Miss Venus?'

Venus, by this stage, had almost turned deathly pale with rage. 'All…all conjecture, this! Ya'll picking on a poor street vendor, that's what! Where's your motive, huh? Why would I poison these people who I barely knew?!'

'I'm certain there's some very noteworthy evidence that can explain the reason surely enough…Can you see it too, Mikotoba?'

He couldn't, not yet, but he had not been Holmes's partner for ten years without picking up some of his methods. See your subject from all angles. Observe the furtive glances.

Without a doubt, when put under such scrutiny and pressure from all sides, the accused woman had subconsciously raised her hand to protect that which was most important to her. Tippity-tip-tap-tap-tap. Mikotoba danced, and pointed. 'What is that in your front pocket, Miss Venus, if I may ask?'

'Ah…! This…It's nothing…' Venus put her hand down and feigned ignorance, but it was too late.

Holmes snapped his fingers. 'From the looks of it, it seems like a missive of sorts. My theory is that someone had offered you a ticket to this steamboat, perhaps even a new life in the Netherlands, in exchange for you to carry out the poisoning. I'm positive that if we read the letter, we shall know at once who is behind all of this evil plot.'

'I…I…' Venus also seemed to feel that her deception had been thoroughly foiled, and that there was no escape. In a moment of desperation, the girl did the only thing she could: she threw the plate in her hand at Holmes and ran.

The plate shattered on Holmes's skull, aggravating his wound. 'After her!' Holmes cried out, cradling a bloody head. Mikotoba hesitated. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Naruhodou had already given chase from the top deck while Susato was making his way down to help Holmes. He decided to pursue the criminal.

However, the moment of hesitation had cost him. Venus, being much smaller and quicker, had darted inside the ship and taken advantage of the multitudes of corridors within. Mikotoba tried to keep up, but eventually found himself lost at a three-way. Before he could pick a direction, shouts from the left side made his choice for him.

Mikotoba followed the noise and arrived at the dining hall, packed with people gathering for breakfast. In the middle of it all was Venus, looking deranged, holding her fireworks in one hand and a lit match in another.

'Miss Venus, please do not commit yourself to rashness,' Mikotoba approached the woman as he would a cornered animal and tried to use his best calming voice. 'Certainly we could still come to an understanding.'

'How can you upper-class twits understand me? How even having three meals a day every day is a luxury? How I'm absolutely fuckin' sick of that foggy, damp, miserable town? How I would do anything, anything, to leave?' Her hands shook, and the flames flirted dangerously close to the fuse. By this point, the security guards have surrounded Venus, but none dared to make a move lest they spook the girl. 'Well, if I couldn't get what I wanted, I might as well go out in a blast of my beautiful fireworks…!' Venus steeled herself and set the fuse alight. Mikotoba rushed forward, praying he would reach her in time—

Then, from behind Venus, a bucket of water came down with a mighty splash.

The guards took no time to charge in and subdue the girl, now drenched and harmless. Mikotoba quickly realised who was the one who had appeared to save the day. 'Naruhodou-kun!'

'I had a feeling it might come to this…She was quite a pyromaniac, from what I've seen of her in court. Glad I came prepared, huh, Professor?' Naruhodou scratched his head, grinning that trademark puppy grin of his. The surrounding onlookers gave a delighted shout and proceeded to clap their hands in thunderous applause.

Mikotoba felt like he was finally able to breathe in a long, long time.

'It was Stronghart, wasn't it?' Holmes commented idly hours later while stretching out in the most catlike manner on Mikotoba's bed, already in his nightshirt, his head wrapped in fresh bandages. Mikotoba paused—he was in the middle of drying Venus's letter that was kept in her cloak's pocket, trying to make sense of the smudged handwriting. Not everything was legible, but the signature at the bottom was unmistakable.

'That is absolutely correct. How did you know?' Mikotoba commented, not without a degree of admiration.

'I had my suspicions. I don't imagine many people have the means or motive to harm our young friends, and among them only one wicked enough to attempt such a trickery plot.'

'But isn't he in prison?'

'A man with his conviction and shrewdness will always have allies, no matter if he is no longer in power. Such a man is also always a prisoner of his own mistrust of others. I've always thought he must have had someone to keep an eye on Inspector Gregson's movements, and I suppose Miss Venus fits the bill. I don't imagine their relationship was much more than that of informant and enquirer—Stronghart must have been desperate enough with no better recourse than to enlist the help of a street vendor to enact his revenge,' Holmes explained.

'I am only glad it is finally over. Although my daughter and Naruhodou-kun will have to be subjected to a course of activated charcoal, just to be on the safe side.'

Holmes hummed in response, took a long drag on his cigarette and sank even deeper in the beddings. The end of the case was catching up with his body—Mikotoba could sense a crash was imminent.

'It itches,' Holmes mumbled, picking at the bandages. Mikotoba moved to sit on the bed and swatted his hand away.

'That means it's healing. Stop your tampering,' Mikotoba chided as he fixed the dressing. Holmes closed his eyes, pouting like a child. Mikotoba smiled despite himself—too often in their partnership, he had felt as though a parent looking after a wayward boy. He wondered if Iris felt the same.

Holmes's cigarette drooped, and was in danger of falling. So it was entirely natural for Mikotoba to reach out and take it from his lips. It was also natural to brush some of Holmes's errant hair away from his broad forehead, lest they interfere with the bandages.

Mikotoba could not say if he was surprised when Holmes captured Mikotoba's hand with his own and held it to his cheek. Perhaps for Holmes, the action also felt natural.

'I will have to go back to Britain,' Holmes murmured, as if trapped inside an argument between his mind and body.

'I know.'

'Even when the head of the snake is cut off, the tail might still thrash and do damage in its death throes.'

'I know.'

'There's also Iris to consider.'

'I'm well aware, Holmes.'

All the while, Mikotoba's hand still stayed on Holmes's cheek. He could feel the stubble on his jaw, the heat of his skin, even his soft breaths that danced over Mikotoba's fingers. This was a bad idea. They all had their own lives to lead. It was illegal. Tokyo and London lay too far apart. Whatever was between them ten years ago had fizzled out with unspoken acceptance from both parties for good reasons. The world did not revolve around desires, no matter how deeply they ran.

'This is a bad idea,' Mikotoba heard himself saying, and then he was leaning in.

Holmes's lips were dry and chapped, an effect of not drinking enough water, but they were also soft and pliant and everything Mikotoba had missed. They joined clumsily at first, then hungrily, and the chasm of a decade spanning between them slammed shut, crushing their bodies together, and before Mikotoba knew it, he was clawing at Holmes's clothes, reaching below his collarbone, hunting for any piece of bare skin; with a gasp, Mikotoba also felt cold, bony hands slither underneath his shirt, roaming and groping at his back, his sides, his nipples, his chest. He tugged Holmes free of his nightshirt, careful not to aggravate his head wound, and then his mouth was on Holmes's pale, slender neck, jaw, shoulders, kissing, devouring, worshipping. Mikotoba moved to kneel between Holmes's legs, bringing their hardening members flush against each other, and they fit together so well, so perfectly, he thought he could just die from the sensations. He wrapped his arms around Holmes's torso, savouring the other's solid presence, and he could hear Holmes's heartbeat thumping like a wild horse, in tandem with his own.

He never wanted to let go. 'Don't let go,' he heard Holmes say.

And so he didn't.

It seemed as if no time had passed before the boat's whistles had sounded to signal they were near land. The port of Rotterdam could already be seen from where Mikotoba was standing on the sun deck—he never had any opinion about the Netherlands, but right then, he found himself entirely consumed with an irrational hatred for the country.

He and Holmes had spent the last day mostly in bed, rediscovering each other's bodies and habits. A part of Mikotoba was terrified at how easy it had been to fall into each other's arms again; another part of him relished and cherished every second.

Still, time wound on, regardless of the wishes of its inhabitants. Two hours before the ship was due to arrive, Holmes had stood up, got dressed and left the room without a word. Mikotoba had let him.

After all, the sooner one reacquainted oneself with solitude, the better.

'Father?' Mikotoba turned around and realised his daughter had joined him on the viewing deck. 'How are you? We have not seen you recently. Is everything all right?'

Mikotoba tried to smile, hoping that it looked sincere enough to reassure Susato. 'Of course, my dear.'

Susato considered him and said, 'I believe Holmes-sama is making his way to the cargo hold.'

'I see.'

'Perhaps you would like to say goodbye.'

Mikotoba wondered if that was wise or even wanted. He said nothing, for he did not know how even to begin to explain the tumultuous thoughts fighting in his head.

They stayed silent for what seemed like a long while before Susato spoke again, 'Oh, that's right! I never thanked you for saving us from Miss Venus's scheme.'

'I barely did anything. It was all Holmes.'

'I'm sure you sold yourself short, Father. At the end of the day, you're his legendary partner. I've never seen Holmes-sama so…animated, nor so sharp in his deduction dances before.'

'Is that so.'

'Perhaps I'm being presumptuous, but with Naruhodou-sama, it felt like he was always holding back. Maybe he was hiding his ability, maybe he meant to teach his art to someone else. Still, with you, it felt complete. Like he's found his missing piece of the puzzle.'

Susato turned towards the waters. The port was coming more and more into view with each passing minute. She started picking at her nails, a habit he knew to be her nervous tic. And then, as if she had made up her mind, 'You should go to him, Father.'

Mikotoba marvelled at her words and wondered what he had done to ever deserve her.

'After all, Sherlock Holmes would not be complete without his Doctor Watson.'

Mikotoba barely recalled how he managed to make his way down to the cargo hold, but before he knew it, there Holmes was, standing awkwardly beside the entrance, peering out at the tiny porthole. He turned around at Mikotoba's approach, and perhaps it was only a trick of the light, but Mikotoba fancied he saw Holmes's eyes lit up with something akin to gladness before his neutral mask fell back on again.

'I wondered if you would come to say goodbye.'

'I wouldn't miss it for the world.'

They smiled at each other, and Mikotoba found his courage suddenly deserting him. He said instead, 'How are you going to get off?'

'The same way that I came on board. Hopefully, the sailors have not noticed one of their crates was broken into.'

'And then immediately back to London?'

'Yes, if I can procure the tickets.'

Such an inane conversation. Such meandering words that spoke of what neither of them was truly thinking. Something caught Holmes's eyes outside of the porthole, and Mikotoba drew nearer to see it, just in time to watch a seagull hurtling down toward the water and scoop up a plump fish.

'You know…,' Mikotoba began, 'Since this year's international forensic symposium was so overshadowed by scandals, word on the grapevine is that there might be another one soon enough. Perhaps as soon as the next few months. When…' he paused, took a breath, and started again. 'When that happens, will you have me?'

Mikotoba wished he could capture the rare look on Holmes's face at that moment and preserve it inside a bottle so that he could admire it for eternity. 'You're a much more courageous man than I am, Mikotoba,' Holmes murmured, then continued in a louder voice. 'As it happens, my Remote Cinematograph seems to be gaining quite a popularity outside of Britain. I've received telegrams from foreign investors—yes, including Japan—expressing an interest in seeing a first-hand demonstration of the technology. Of course, I would have to travel myself, if only to protect my intellectual property. When that happens…will you have me?'

They did not need to speak to know the other's answer.

Emboldened, Mikotoba continued, 'And as Japan's forensic science is in its infancy, from time to time we would need to seek advice from the world's greatest consulting detective who also happens to be an expert on the subject. Perhaps by extending a personal invitation to visit.'

'If said detective chooses to spend his stay with his old friend to save on costs, it would only be natural.'

'Obviously.'

'And a long, long time from now, when the famous detective has eventually gotten old and tired of chasing after criminals, when his daughter has inevitably left her safe nest to make her own waves in the world, he might want to retire to somewhere remote and would require a companion. When that happens…'

Holmes left the words dangling in the air and looked at him with eyes that shone so green it took Mikotoba's breath away. What they were speaking—promising—to each other was in the distant far future. Who could have known how the world would change? How they themselves would change with it?

'Certainly his partner will then be a senile old man with even more grey hair and wrinkles than he does now.'

'Yet undoubtedly still captivating,' Holmes smirked. Then, as if a fancy suddenly struck him, he said—hesitantly, in unpracticed Japanese, 'I would have you anytime, anywhere, always.'

The sudden switch startled Mikotoba so much that an unbidden laugh escaped. 'Did I say it wrong? I was sure that—' Holmes panicked, and it was so utterly endearing that Mikotoba gave in at last and grabbed his face to peck him on the lips.

'Then I shall leave myself in your care,' Mikotoba replied in his own language.

He felt Holmes's hand steal into his and did not hesitate to squeeze it back. Mikotoba suddenly realised, it did not quite matter if they were on the precipice of yet another parting, if he was leaving Holmes behind with so much more promises than the last time, or if the future stretched ahead of them full of uncertainties. What mattered was that they would always return, time and time again, to where they truly belonged: at each other's side.