AN: So, this one's getting back to the month of December! While I'm not going back to where the normal story is set, this one, in particular, will be set in the month of December after 'The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter' in 1888, so that means this is my first attempt at Mycroft! This chapter and the following chapter afterward will be a two-parter, as the prompts lined up very well for me.

Italics are lines directly taken from 'The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter', and 'The Five Orange Pips'. Once again, I do not claim to own them. Other Italics include thoughts, and other such dialogue.

I am aware that the timeline for Mary and Watson's marriage is a bit wonky(Looking at you, Five Orange Pips), but for the sake of the plotline, I will be fudging the timeline a little bit.

Warning: Mention of injury/attempted murder/political conspiracy

Day 5(Prompt 13): From W. Y. Traveller- Holmes has no option but to admit defeat in one of his cases.

On Wins and Losses


Watson's POV

"If the art of the detective began and ended in reasoning from an arm-chair, my brother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived."

When I first made the acquaintance of Holmes's brother, Mycroft, months prior during the case that I had called, 'The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter,' I knew almost at once two things to be true about my companion. The first?

It seemed as though being something of a 'perfect reasoning machine' ran within the Holmes family as much as Holmes claimed that the very art that he practiced ran through it. While Holmes had acknowledged that the elder Holmes sorely lacked the ambition to be a detective such as himself, both Holmes men shared the same detached demeanor I had grown used to during my lodgings at Baker Street. One possessed the belief that he was merely but a brain, the other an almost inhuman level of laziness that detached him from the rest of London.

"Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms."

As my wife had put it when describing both men over dinner one night, it was entirely peculiar. I felt the same way for my friend, even with the particular level of child-like amazement that he could bring out in me.

The second was one I discovered precisely four days before Christmas in the year 1888. After the recovery of Mr. Melas, Holmes had declared that there were some unknown loose ends that he needed to complete with this case, leaving him storming in and out of places with intense agitation when he was not working on other cases. Today was no different. Apart from that, I had arrived earlier to the elder Holmes's people-watching room in the Diogenes Club than my friend, where we had agreed to meet for tea before Christmas.

"Ah, Doctor Watson, my dear sir," Mycroft said as I made my approach, glancing over his rather large shoulder. "I must say, I am surprised to see you here alone, without Sherlock attached to your side." He added a faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

For one, I did not know how to reply to Mycroft Holmes's assumption that Holmes was often attached to my side. Sometimes, I had often gotten the idea that perhaps it was the other way around regarding the adventures I would accompany him on. As I gathered my thoughts, the door promptly banged open, my friend in question striding through the doors.

"Apologies for being late, brother, friend Watson." Said he. His jaw was tightly set with agitation, his general posture stiff, a typical feature I had seen when my friend was about to go into one of his 'black moods.' Turmoil before intense lethargy, I had noted.

I should be glad he left his cocaine bottle at Baker Street. I mused although the expression on Holmes's face was enough to send a pang of sympathy through my chest. I never did like seeing anyone so despondent; all of my instincts from my life and career made me feel their pain beside them. So, whenever I could, I reached out to comfort them, as I wanted to do for Holmes now.

"Holmes, are you alright?" I finally asked as he made his way over to lean against the large wall by the window that allowed the elder Holmes to observe all the passersby.

"Far from it, Watson. I have been on the trail of Sophy Kratides since the incident, but I can not find her." Holmes grumbled, crossing his arms.

Mycroft Holmes let out a rumbling laugh, clapping his flipper of a hand on Holmes's wiry shoulder. "My dear boy, sometimes, you could take the time to learn from me! Why go scampering off after a case that has surely ended?" He asked.

"Because, brother, someone in this family has to be willing to bring the truth to those who need it," Holmes answered, prying Mycroft's hand off him. "I should not give up now."

"Holmes…" I trailed off, making my way over to my friend. "You do remember that Mr. Melas has recovered, right?" I asked. "You said yourself that sometimes a case will land on your doorstep that not even you can solve."

"I believe I know the problem, Watson." The elder Holmes said, offering his brother an impish grin. Holmes groaned at the sight of it, shaking his head.

"Mycroft…." He warned, glaring at his brother. "How many times have I told you not to repeat the story in front of every company we may have? It is a decidedly dreadful period in my lifetime." Said he.

"Dreadful? What could you have possibly done, Holmes, for you to have such an aversion to it?" I asked as Holmes averted his gaze. His hands wrung themselves with agitation at the long-forgotten past memory that he deliberately tried to bury from my ears.

"I made a rash decision, Watson," Holmes muttered. "My art, and my mind of which rebels against stagnation had not fully been realized." Mycroft Holmes seemed to not be deterred by this, instead turning his attention towards me.

"When my dear brother was but a young boy and first honing his art, he tried to solve why some of his classmates kept losing their belongings when they left school." He began, as Holmes grew more flushed with every passing moment of the childhood tale.

"He goes running into the room, declaring that he knew exactly why there was such a string of losses, only to find out that the new maid that they had hired thought they had truly lost them and so stored them in her home. He thought it was the teacher." Mycroft chuckled.

"Did the maid ever return their belongings?" I asked as the elder Holmes nodded. "Oh, of course. But it was the first time that I've ever heard my darling brother say that he was ultimately defeated." He said.

Defeat was never something Holmes took lightly. In our case with John Openshaw, it had taken a tragedy to shake him to his core and admit to it. "I have been beaten four times—three times by men, and once by a woman."

"I never said that, Mycroft!" Holmes ejaculated, his head snapping towards his brother. "I merely said that I had come up with the incorrect solution to their problem." He sniffed. At that, both brothers dissolved into a heated discussion about what was and wasn't said in the childhood case, leaving me to ruminate in silence.

Admittedly, I felt that I did not expect from standing here and listening to their discussion. It was achingly familiar, like I was back at home as a boy, listening to my cousins argue with each other about the smallest things. I felt like I did not belong in that conversation, and yet it felt welcoming.

It was quite a strange feeling. I walked closer to the bow-window, almost pressing my nose to the glass to look down on the streets of London below me. Fresh snowfall caked the roads, with children scampering about, sticking out their tongues to catch the snowflakes. Down the road, a vendor sold warm chestnuts to the few brave souls that wandered the streets. It was quiet, yet as I continued looking down the way, something else caught my attention. Approaching the Diogenes Club was a person dressed in all black, a veil obscuring the face as if they were in mourning.

"Holmes?" I called over, my attention still firmly fixed on the black-garbed person. "I believe someone is here to seek your aid." It was awfully similar to how we received Miss Helen Stoner some five years prior.

I did not turn around, but Holmes was at my elbow instantly, pressing his nose into the glass to look down below. "Capital observation, Watson. I believe that they have been directed here by Mrs. Hudson, as I told her I was visiting my brother. Mycroft! How often do you let visitors into your gathering of misanthropes besides myself?" He asked.

"Not often, but I do not mind if this person you are seeing comes up." Mycroft Holmes reasoned. "I shall send notice to let them up to us."

It did not take long for the notice to be delivered or for the figure to approach us three in waiting. "And you are the Holmes brothers?" The person asked, as Holmes approached, a polite smile, one that he reserved solely for his clients, on his face.

"Yes, we are, my dear fellow. Now, who might you be to seek out our business? I do prefer to do my business face-to-face." He said. The figure shook its head before turning towards me.

"I shall not show my face to anyone but the Doctor here for now. As for a name, my name is Lady Adelia James." Said she. "What lies beneath my veil is something that you must discover on your own; I shall not be the one to tell you."

"Lady James?" I asked, as curious as Holmes was when he was hot on the trail of a case. "Why do you want to show only me your face?" Lady Adelia James… Where have I heard that name before? I wondered, an inkling of familiarity passing over me as I glanced at Holmes's face, which was alive and keen with intense interest. It seemed as though Lady James had presented Holmes with a case with just enough details missing to grab his attention.

"My case warrants the personal attention of a Doctor, dear sir. I can tell since I noticed you have a stain of blood on both of your shirt cuffs." She said. I glanced down, noticing my sleeves were indeed rust-red from blood. I tucked my cuffs in, shaking my head in amusement. It seemed as though Holmes had a natural companion in terms of powers of observation.

"How perfectly intriguing. Lady James, your case leaves me not entirely devoid of interest. Even if you do not show me your face, I can see you have more to tell me, so what is it?" Holmes asked, leaning forwards.

"No, no, Mister Holmes. I will tell you both." Lady James corrected, as Mycroft Holmes peeled his attention away from the window.

"You want me? You have my dear brother here to aid you; what could you need me for?" He asked as Lady James held up a gloved hand.

"It is a matter of English national security, Mister Holmes." Said she. "I have recently become the companion to one of the English ambassadors to France, and it seems as though someone has been able to break into our quarters in the heart of London. There has been an attempt on the Ambassador's life and an attempt on mine. I came down here from our quarters on foot because I know not who is after us."

At that, Holmes made his way over to the woman's side, his face still thoughtful as he stopped beside her. "Do not worry, you are safe here. We shall set matters right. Now, be as precise as you can with your story, so we may form opinions about the case at hand." He said soothingly.

"As you may know, the English foreign relationships with France have never been quite positive since America fought for their Independence. My companion, the Ambassador, set out to change the outlook and assumption that we should constantly be at odds with France, which has attracted him many enemies. Such enemies would not hesitate to attack wherever they saw it fit for us to breathe our last. We've been attacked before, but not like this." Lady James said, drawing in a shuddering breath. "It was only this morning that the incident happened that sent me here." Said she.

Even if she was wearing a veil, I could notice that she was driven by intense feelings of being ill at ease, glancing over her shoulders as if she could see her enemies before her already. "Lady James, you're with friends here; you can tell us what has occurred," I said. I was not quite sure about the elder Holmes. Still, I had absolute faith in my friend that he would prevent further tragedy from happening whilst he was round.

"It was my morning tea with the Ambassador; he is someone who prefers to be early with everything he might do. However, someone was waiting for us both. I could not see their face, as the Ambassador had yet to turn on the gas in our abode. All I could hear was the Ambassador hitting the ground, clawing at his face. They tried to get me, but I had turned to attend to the Ambassador." Lady James said.

Holmes, who had been at her side, his eyes half-closed in his meditative state, opened his eyes with something of a flourish. "Did you perhaps scent anything, Lady James? Hear something that might have seemed out of the ordinary?" Asked he.

"Yes, I remember there was a smell like vinegar from when the villain struck the Ambassador, and he mentioned something quite disturbing." Said she, using a gloved hand to stroke her chin. "That we were going to burn as the French did during their Revolution."

"It could not have been a stranger that attacked you both; a brash statement such as that leads me to the matter that this assassin knew you both. Has the Ambassador made any new relationships known to the public and yourself?" Holmes asked.

"No, no one other than myself, Mister Holmes. But that is why it is a matter of national security, because there is someone out there, waiting for us to let down our guard." Lady James's voice had quivered, cracking into a muffled sob. "Please, I have no one else to turn to." She buried her veiled face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

"I shall help you with all my heart," Holmes said, gently placing a hand on the woman's elbow. "Watson and I shall start by tracking down the Ambassador's enemies." Said he.

"No!" Her voice came out sharp, like a whip, as all three of us glanced at her in confusion. "That is the other matter that I must inform you of. The Ambassador made me promise that if he should ever fall to a mystery that I could not solve, it would go to the two best men who could." She said, leveling her veiled gaze at both Holmes men.

"The ambassador wishes to put his political livelihood to a competition?" The elder Holmes sniffed upon realization of what the Lady implied. "Between my brother and me?"

"He could never ask for help out front. It was the only way that I could come ask for your assistance." Lady James said, not looking up from her hands.

"And that is why you refuse to show your face because whatever has occurred would undo what little goodwill he has," Holmes murmured. "You had wanted to come earlier to me, but he wouldn't let you do it."

"Yes, that's perfectly correct. I did not want to do it in some competition, but the events of this morning left me no choice." Said she. I made my way over to Lady James, offering her my open hand.

"Then, I shall see you in my practice. I may not be half the master at the art of deduction as Holmes, but I will get to the bottom of this matter." I said as the Lady took my hand, getting to her feet.

"Very well, Doctor Watson." Said she. I led her towards the door, but as I tried making my leave, a dry bout of rasping laughter came from Mycroft Holmes from behind us. I paused, glancing over my shoulder at the man.

"Are you quite alright, man?" I asked as the elder Holmes waved it off. As far as this 'challenge' went, neither of the two brothers seemed to be keen on the idea, even if they would never want to admit it. Mycroft Holmes seemed more willing, but after getting to know the man, I knew he loathed the idea of having to get involved in anything outside his sphere of expertise, this mystery included.

"If we must wager, my dear boy, then let the terms be this. We must do all of our work from here; that way, Doctor Watson has the opportunity to hear everything beyond our ears. And suppose I am the one to solve this mystery before you. In that case, you must admit defeat on the Kratides case, and spend an entire day in the Diogenes Club, without your finger on the pulse." The elder Holmes said suddenly after dismissing my question. Holmes's face cracked for an instant, a flicker of nervous agitation in his eyes.

"You have always wanted me to slow down to your pace, Mycroft, but, very well. And if I solve this mystery before you, you must spend the day with myself and Watson at our lodgings at Baker Street, and follow us on any case that may come our way." I could hardly believe my ears that Holmes was agreeing to risk his mind for an entire day. And all for a part of a mystery that only I was going to know!

"Holmes, are you serious?" I asked. "I understand helping out Lady James and solving this mystery, but agreeing to your brother's terms for an entire day if you lose? What happens when someone will need you?"

"I will not lose, my dear Watson. Have you ever taken me as a man who would try to lose on purpose? And if you've grown up with Mycroft like I have, even though he lacks the singular energy to do anything, he has always wanted to see me at his level. Besides, I am sure that this will be good practice for you and your own powers of observation." Holmes said, shrugging his wiry shoulders. Even if he did seem disinterested about it, I still noticed the flicker of worry in his gaze.

"Holmes-" I cut off before I was going to say anything, as Mycroft Holmes had suddenly stepped forward, creaking the floor as he did so.

"The wager will start now, my dear brother. Come! Doctor Watson will take care of Lady James." He said, taking his brother by the shoulders. Holmes glanced back at me, stifling a derisive snort at his brother. I retook Lady James's arm, leading her once again out the door.

"Good luck, friend Watson," Holmes called after me, disappearing after Mycroft as the pair of us left.

It had taken me not too long to arrive at my practice with Lady James in tow, despite the detour I had to take to tell my wife what was happening. Mary had agreed to keep an eye out if the Ambassador's attempted assassins followed us here, even if she did not agree with the competition herself.

"John, you and I know both Sherlock and Mycroft like we know our own families. How do we know that they won't shout down the Diogenes Club without a neutral party there? They are two of the brightest minds London ever had; how do you know they won't constantly be butting heads?" She had said.

Even if I was curious about how far this wager would go, with my wife's words ringing in my head and my own doubts, I knew I needed to work quickly. "Lady James, you can take a seat on my table. We are alone here, as you requested." I said as the Lady sat down as I requested. With trembling fingers, she pulled back the veil that covered her face, and in an instant, I realized why I knew her voice.

She was remarkably similar to my wife in appearance, and yet, there were considerable differences to her visage. Her hair was brown instead of my wife's blonde, and her face showed significant signs of cruelty, one side of it marred, both by bruises and something that smelled strongly of acid, her right ear curled with burns.

"You're my wife's cousin," I said after getting over the initial shock of seeing the state of the woman's face. "Mary had mentioned you recently, so, now will you tell me what has happened to you?" I asked, pulling on a pair of gloves so I would not disturb the injury. A new practice, but effective, nonetheless.

"Glad to see you remember me, my dear. It's been a while since I talked to Mary, but I knew our paths would cross again when I made the companion of the Ambassador." Said she, wincing as I ran my fingers over her ear. "As for my injuries, I know not what was thrown at us, only that it smelled of vinegar. It felt like vitriol, but I have seen vitriol before, and this was not it."

If it was something resembling vitriol, I could work from there. Holmes and I had worked on a case between our cases involving 'The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter,' and our experiences with the 'The Sign of the Four' where a man attempted to murder his wife by forcing her to drink vitriol. It was a bloody affair, but after grabbing the case file, I knew I could use both Holmes's methods and my own from that case to figure out what had been thrown at my wife's family member.

"Do you remember anything about what was thrown, besides the smell? I know you mentioned that the gas had not been on in your house at the time, but was there something the attacker left behind?" I asked, placing the open case file beside my patient as I continued to examine her.

"There was one other thing, and it was so strange." Lady James mused, turning to look at me with tear rimmed eyes as I began wrapping her burns with a bandage. "I had a very close look at the Ambassador after the attack, and I could not see anything. No color, no marks. I have the same smell on my face, and my burns did not show until this afternoon." Said she.

No color and a pungent smell of vinegar. I repeated inwardly, finishing up my work on the bandages for Lady James's injury. Nothing had shown up yet as I turned back to the case file, but some of the more unpleasant details of the prior case made their way back into my mind.

A man was so desperate to be rid of his wife that he staged it in such a cruel manner. Like Lady James, his wife was found with hideous burns across her mouth and by her ears. Holmes and I did not arrive there in time to examine what the vitriol did to her throat. And, even if we two found the man, she had barely lived.

Even if she was only hit with the acidic substance in a glancing blow, Lady James was suffering the effects of acid burns as if it was freshly thrown on her. Page after page yielded nothing, apart from the occasional notes I took for Holmes.

As much as I prided myself on being a level-headed man, I couldn't help but seethe inwardly at the lack of an answer showing up in my notes. Had I missed something? I had begun to pride myself on my powers of observation, and yet they still paled in comparison to what my friend had…!

I stood up from my seat by Lady James, suddenly unable to sit in my restless thoughts. As I paced the floor, Lady James watched me with a curious expression.

"What's on your mind?" She inquired as I turned on my heel to face her. How could I say that I had nothing? I promised her that I would get to the bottom of this.

"Since I've been Holmes's friend, I've seen plenty of cases in my time, none of which have been left for me," I said, trying to hide my growing frustration. "I feel as though I am-" I cut off, looking away from Lady James. "Quite useless right now."

"Watson, you are anything but useless—it is not every day that a man can say that they are the friend of such a man like Sherlock Holmes, and still keep their own heart." Lady James said softly. While this was true, I continued pacing across the floor until it came to me; in the next instant, I made my way across the floor again.

What was it that Holmes had said when we discussed acids after the case? Acetic acid can be used to mimic vitriol in concentrated doses. Why that was it, it had to be!

"Acetic acid," I said, grabbing the case file and closing it shut. "Lady James, all the descriptions you have given me leads me to deduce that what was thrown at you was acetic acid, and by the reaction you've had, a highly concentrated dose of it." Now that I was sure I had an answer, I could not help but feel a swell of warmth to banish my earlier doubts.

"Capital observation again, friend Watson." A familiar voice suddenly called, with three sets of footsteps following after it. There, behind me, while I wanted to jump out of my skin, Holmes walked into my practice, with the Elder Holmes and another man wearing the attire of a chef following after him.

Holmes did not seem pleased at this affair, his expression darkened with his black mood, while Mycroft Holmes seemed as if he were a cat that just caught a bird. Did he…?

"Did you solve the matter already?" I asked as Lady James seemed to wilt at the sight of the man in chef's attire.

"I did, Doctor Watson. My brother here once again has come to a rash decision in regards to the answer." Mycroft Holmes remarked. "His solution was more sinister than the truth."

"I know who this is to us." Lady James remarked, her voice low. She slid off the table and got to her feet. "Gentlemen, this is Henry Thompson, our neighbor, and a chef." She said.

"And the villain that attacked you and the Ambassador," Holmes said, as she placed a gloved hand over her mouth.

"Henry, how could you?" She cried. The chef shifted on the soles of his feet, trying to avoid the Lady's gaze.

"What would I have done, Adelia? Let your Ambassador grovel at the knees of the French? He needed to know who he really served-not a country that wouldn't care for him." He spat before looking back up at Lady James. "My only regret is that I got you. I thought you were another figure in his employ; I would have never attacked you."

"Even so, Mr. Thompson, you have committed a felony in name and deed," Holmes remarked, briefly snapping out of his black mood. "It does not matter if you did not know who it was; attacking an Ambassador still yields the same results."

"Holmes?" I interjected, placing a hand on Lady James's to comfort her as she quietly sobbed. "Even so, how did you figure this out?"

"I had the thought that the Ambassador staged the attack to garner sympathy among the populace. However, Mycroft managed to find a connection between Thompson and his recent dealings with a contingent against expanding to help England's neighboring countries, and he figured out the rest." Holmes grunted, pointedly looking away from Mycroft.

"And if the wager still counts-" I said, as Holmes shook his head at me. I obliged, hurrying over to wire Inspector Lestrade to take Thompson away.

"You still have to say it, dear brother, whether you like it or not." The elder Holmes chided, as Holmes let out a guttural sigh.

"Fine. I, Sherlock Holmes, have no choice but to admit defeat in this wager, and the case termed, 'The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter,'" Said he through gritted teeth.


AN: And that's it for chapter 5! I wanted to do something involving Mary's family along with Mycroft, since we really don't know much about Mary's family-so I made Adelia James for the story. This is Part 1 of a two-parter chapter, so Holmes's side of the wager, and Adelia's backstory will be explored in the next chapter!

Thanks for the feedback! I love hearing from y'all!

-A Very Holmesian Christmas