Chapter Notes: I intended for two more chapters but I think this has gotten away from me somewhat. There is a personage in this chapter who I must treat with the upmost respect, I am sure you will agree. I know I have gotten some flack over how I have handled Holmes so far, and he makes an appearance, but I am not going to waver on him one bit from my earlier decisions. I would hope that would be acceptable but I have to be true to myself.

So reviews were slow in coming and last chapter I hope those who read will let me know how you are enjoying this. It has been rather lonely the last chapter or so.

All Holmes characters belong to ACD. All living characters belong to history.

Bobby and Tommy are all mine though LOL!

Bart


Doctor John Watson, Police Surgeon: Scotland Yard 5

One Last War

Chapter Seven

One of the sad realities of this life that we live, is that we don't often receive the answers to the questions that beset us. People tend to do confusing things without explanation; events occur in government, which cause you to wonder why such well-bred intelligent personages made such illogical ignorant choices. Deaths and disaster occur that cause us to look the heavens in abject confusion and ask if God himself had gone daft. Men thought enemies lend aid; blokes thought friendly plant the knife, love ones desert, those reviled remain steadfast. Crusty old codgers pick up the pen late in life and write romantic drivel like the lines you just read. I look at the a pound note sometimes and wonder if that night really happened, at times I recall it as a dream, but then I check the ring finger of my left hand...

---

The Diogenes carriage had the best shocks Lestrade had ever felt. It rolled on the surface of the road so smoothly that Lestrade nearly dropped off to sleep twice.

Watson and Mycroft sat in silence, studying one another, Mycroft with curiosity, Watson with disgust.

"Tell me, Doctor, how you determined so much about Moran, your understanding of his methodology was rather well informed," Mycroft ventured.

Watson looked as if he was loathing to answer the big man, but his gentility took over. "I understood Moran, because we were operating from the same book."

Lestrade watched as the colossal Holmsian brain attempted to ascertain the implications. "Was it a forgotten tome of Moriarty's"

"Sun Tzu, The Art of War," Lestrade replied, enjoying the rare moment.

Watson touched the side of his nose and nodded to Lestrade.

Mycroft appeared gobsmacked by the implication. "You mean to tell me, that all this time I have been attempting to ascertain the next tack Moran would take, I could have picked up a book at any sufficient book store which would have placed me within the centre of his thinking?"

Watson chuckled. "You and your wayward brother are at times far too intelligent for your own good, Moran was not a Moriarty, he was a soldier, granted not the soldier he made himself to be, but one who had that training. In this matter, you looked but you did not observe."

"Do not quote my own words back at me, Doctor," Mycroft replied in a cold tone.

Watson leaned forward his eyes glittering coldly in the passing lamplight as they made the suburb of North London. "I will quote to you whatever I wish, in no way do you have any power to exert over me. I am not your brother, or a governmental underling to torture, nor do I have any ties with the military outside of my status as a veteran, you will begin treating me with respect as a peer. Your deceptions and prevarications have caused me dearly as it happens and my patience with you wears thin," he informed in a dangerously clipped tone.

To Lestrade's amazement, Mycroft slumped in his seat, his face losing all arrogance and self-assurance. "You are correct, Doctor, I have made decisions directly affecting your relationship with my brother, ones that I felt necessary for the good of the Commonwealth. I have no right to ask for your indulgence, but if you will but remain patient, I feel you will see my actions in a better light."

Watson nodded, stiffness leaving his posture. "One would hope there is a better light in which to view your actions, from this dim vantage point I am debating just how long I would be imprisoned if I gave you the beating you deserve. Fortunate for you, though I have been called upon to render violence, I have no more stomach for it."

"When did you put on James's derringer rig?" Lestrade inquired to change the subject.

"The rig is the coat, pretty ingenious I must say, I began wearing it after Patterson and the Diogenes guard were murdered," Watson replied. He curled his right hand, his fingers disappearing into the cuff, with a snap and a flick of his other wrist the derringer slid out into his left. "The trigger is sewed into the lining and rungs up the arm across the shoulders and down to a catch on the right forearm, a flick of the wrist allows centripetal force to slide it into your hand. This is actually James's coat, not an imitation, being a twin has some advantage. The coat slides on normally, and unless you pat the left sleeve it is nearly undetectable even to a search."

Mycroft eyed Watson curiously. "It is indeed clever, why did you feel you were to be targeted from just those two murders alone?"

Watson seemed to be at a loss for words as to the answer, so Lestrade interjected. "It is called instinct, you either have it, or you do not, Mycroft, one of life's unknowable mysteries."

"Bah!" Mycroft replied with a wave of his adorned thick fingers, "instinct is just another word for subconscious observation, it does not quantifiably exist."

Lestrade laughed. "You obviously have never been married." Watson joined him in a good chuckle while Mycroft looked annoyed.

Lestrade glanced out the window and saw they had crossed into the City of London. "We are not headed for the Diogenes."

Mycroft shrugged. "Whitehall has better security, and for all parties involved to participate, we must be certain of our status."

They sat in silence as they passed Buckingham Palace itself, its world famous architecture and grand hallways lit by twinkling light.

"Did you let Holmes know?" Watson inquired in a voice just above a whisper as they turned into Trafalgar Square, and the main hub of London life came into view. The passed the statue of Charles I on the left side, and turned down White Hall, Big Ben's lit face overlooking all in the near distance.

Mycroft shook his head. "There was no time to tell him. However, I believed that I would know if you survived before anyone so I did send him word to await me at my office. If I know my sibling, he will accost us the moment we depart this conveyance."

"It is nearing seven, Watson," Lestrade remarked, "If you want to detain the Scotland Yard mole, I suggest you send word since we are passing the Yard."

Watson's eyes met Lestrade's, they held the glint of an apology. "I know I have been very secretive lately, my friend, I hope you won't be upset to know that I have already taken care of the matter, that message was what I sent with Mayweather after we disembarked at your house. He ran any number of errands for me during those two hours. I feared our man would escape with the rest of his compatriots before he met justice."

He waited for Lestrade's outburst of anger. To his relief, and to Lestrade's own surprise he found himself saying, "if you thought it prudent, then I will trust your judgement, however you owe me a pint when this all passes."

Watson's eyes twinkled. "Mycroft, is there time to stop at the Victorian Embankment? This matter will not take over long in which to dispense."

Mycroft's eyes flashed with bother, but he inclined his head. "Can I expect you both within the hour at the Ministry of Defence, what news shall I bring my brother?"

A sly smile touched Watson's lips. "Since I awaited word of him for three years, he cannot begrudge me thirty minutes more, I am sure you can entertain him in my absence."

Mycroft's expression of horror caused him to chuckle. "You know he will pester me mercilessly in the interim."

Watson tapped the roof of the carriage with his cane. "That, dear Mycroft, is your difficulty, we will join you within the hour."

Watson and Lestrade departed and began a familiar walk to the Yard. "That was very petty, Watson," Lestrade remarked in a deceptively cheerful tone.

Watson smiled. "Very."

---

They walked through the gates and made their way through the hustle of administrative and down to the offices below. When they arrived, Lestrade was appalled to see that the usually busy environment was nearly deserted. A milling PC was working on filing some paperwork, he seemed anxious about something in the direction of the dissection bays.

"Perkins, what the devil is going on here?" Lestrade barked.

The man tensed at the tone, but nodded toward the sounds of cheers and exited voices.

Lestrade and Watson exchanged a look and headed that way.

They had to part the crowd of excited PCs to get down the hallway, they were gossiping and holding on to what looked like notepaper sheets, sure signs of betting transpiring. "What are you men doing?" Lestrade bellowed. They all dispersed like there was a bomb threat, leaving a group of Inspectors by the door.

Hopkins was writing notations with his ever present pencil and pad, Bradstreet was peering though the small pane of glass into the only dissection bay with a window for view. Gregson was chatting cheerfully with Jones, and St. Cloud appeared looking strangely stunned.

"What's wrong with St. Cloud?" Lestrade murmured. "You'll see," was the cryptic reply.

"Oh, hullo Giles, you two have a nice trip?" Gregson called.

"You two look like the cat after he et a canary the size of a vulture, you do," Jones called in a teasing tone.

"We had a nice time in the country," Watson remarked with no trace of irony. "You lads get my note?"

Hopkins placed his pencil back over his ear. "Yes we did, captured him in the records, just like you thought he'd be."

Bradstreet held up a large hand, Hopkins went quiet, and then his large partner waved it off, "False alarm."

"He got a bit snotty when we confronted him," Gregson called, "said, what did he say? Hopkins?"

Hopkins flipped a page in his note pad. "He said he was relieved, if he had to spend one more hour with the asinine rabble, he was going to go insane. There was no way the likes of us could get a confession out the likes of him. That is a paraphrase of course."

Jones smirked. "Asinine rabble was sor of amateurish, compared to things we have been called by Sherlock Holmes, hard ta believe e's back."

"I always liked, idiotic hoi polloi, me self," Bradstreet remarked eyes still trained through the window.

"Inane boorish troupeau," Gregson said with a fond smile.

St. Cloud snorted at that one.

"Why are we at the dissections bays?" Lestrade demanded, in the corner of his eye he saw a satisfied smile on Watsons face.

"All the inquiry rooms were full, so's we had to use one of the dissection bays," Gregson replied with a smug grin.

"Which one?" Watson called.

"We fished a gooshy one out o' tha Thames las night, we stuck im in there to keep im company." Bradstreet replied.

Hopkins added. "No Menthol."

They all chuckled evilly.

Lestrade could hear a never-ending stream of voices from within the enclosure.

"Who's questioning him?" Lestrade inquired his confusion evident.

Gregson's casually leaned on the door frame. "Two blokes from down White Chapel asked them to come in special. What were their names?"

"PCs Thomas (Tommy) Parlier, and Robert (Bobby) Darling," Hopkins supplied.

"They live down the East End downwind from tanners, so I thought they could handle a bit o' odour," Gregson replied.

Watson walked past, and up to the door. "What's the book?"

Hopkins flipped the pad over. "We are betting on how many times he vomits...annnnnd just how long it takes him to break down and tell us what we want to know."

"He 'as spit up everything but 'es brogans so far," Bradstreet added.

The sound of retching came through the door. "There they go," Watson remarked with a lopsided grin.

Suddenly there was some frantic banging on the door. "Let me out! I'll tell you anything just let me out of here!"

Lestrade was shocked to see the wane ill face and frantic features of Police Surgeon Jeremy "Weak-Stomach" Wilkins.

Hopkins checked his notes; he reached out and handed a bundle of pound notes to Bradstreet.

Lestrade finally understood St. Cloud's discomfiture. "How did you know it was Wilkins, Doctor?"

Watson pointed to the room as a new round of retching sounds peaked through the door.

"Oh," Lestrade replied.

---

They strolled up White Hall toward the Ministry of Defence, after Wilkins gave his hurried confession, downwind in the alleyway.

"Moran had just about every base covered, except you, Doctor," Lestrade said in a conversational manner.

Watson nodded. "He fancied himself more of a Moriarty. He was determined to kill Holmes to prove his superiority over his mentor; I would not be surprised that it was his words in Moriarty's ear that led to the man coming for Holmes in the first place."

"Your work in The Strand saved you, the man you portray yourself as in that magazine was not a match for Moran," Lestrade mused.

Watson winked.

They ascended into the large building, before they got to the top steps a waiting man jumped out and ran toward Watson, the derringer was in the doctor's hand before he realized it was Holmes.

Holmes looked ragged and put out. "Why did you not tell me, you arrogant, secretive..."

The taller man collapsed to the steps, Watson helped him down, secretly sliding the derringer back into its holster. He sat down beside his former flatmate, placing a kind placating hand on the other man's shaking back.

"Of course, you will most likely never trust me again; I have earned your ire entirely. You are justified if we never even speak, poor Mary, if I had known..."

"Holmes?"

"Yes, Watson?"

"Shut up."

Holmes blinked in surprise, and then he saw the smile that was peeking out from under his Boswell's moustache.

Lestrade sighed in a longsuffering manner. "Do I need to give you two a moment of privacy, or can we proceed to this little travesty?"

Holmes recovered his dignity; he accepted Lestrade's help to his feet. Watson struggled to regain his, obviously feeling the bruises from earlier that day, but he shot Lestrade a glare when he offered to help.

Lestrade and Holmes exchanged a rolled eye while the man struggled, they both reached down and grabbed a sleeve and unceremoniously propelled him to standing.

"Shall we, proceed?" Watson stated as he settled his coat onto his arms.

"Answers await you," Holmes replied.

They made their way up the stairs and into the large building, one that Lestrade had passed his entire life but had never seen the inside of.

He tried not to look like a visiting Yank, but he tarried a bit behind as he stared at the massive interiors.

Holmes flashed identification to armed guards and to Lestrade's surprise; they turned and proceeded down a narrow flight of stairs.

"We have a guest coming who needs security measures. Holmes replied over his shoulders as they descended into the boughs of the Ministry.

They passed several more checkpoints, leaving all weapons behind at one point. The man searching them was so thorough that before Watson could offer it, he found the sleeve derringer.

They finally entered a large conference room far beneath the streets of London.

Mycroft was waiting for them with a man who Lestrade was shocked to find was the Home Secretary, H.H. Asquith seated at his left hand, silver haired and grave; gold Pence Nez perched on his nose.

"Gentlemen, please have a seat, we will start shortly."

Lestrade immediately followed suit. His mind was reeling from the implications. Answers was one thing, but given out by whom? Old Gladstone himself?"

He might have been prophetic because shortly thereafter the door opened and Royal Guardsmen poured through, taking positions throughout the room. The distinguished four-time Prime Minister of England hobbled through on his cane, looking like a sophisticated vulture.

"Gentleman, please rise."

Lestrade did just as hurriedly as he took the earlier seat. He beat both Watson and Holmes to his feet, Mycroft and the Secretary stood as well, Mycroft looked positively intimidated.

Who can intimidate Mycroft Holmes?

He got his answer as through the door, showing the grace that had presided over the largest empire in the history of the world came the Queen mum herself. Alexandrina Victoria, Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Empress of India.

Lestrade's day caught up to him with a rush of dizziness. All eyes on the Queen, no one noticed him faint until he hit the floor.


Story Notes: Why bring in Queen Victoria? I will reveal her involvement next installment, so trust me. I needed to end this series on an epic note and they don't come more epic than Victoria herself! LOL!

I started this chapter as a straight to the Ministry began explanation chapter, but then I meandered through the Yard and had a blast so I decided to give them their chapter in this. I do have a blast with those guys! LOL!

stay tuned!

Bart