Sherlock Holmes - The Red Oni

by kentasaiba

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson were summoned by Mycroft Holmes for a critical mission. Their task was to travel to Japan and neutralize the criminal mastermind Leopold von Wittgenstein. This assignment came at a pivotal moment, as the duo had been deeply involved in unraveling a complex web of intrigue and murder centered around the Ministry of Trade.

Author's Note by John H. Watson:
The following events take place in the spring of 1904, shortly after I completed my report "The Dark Side of the Mirror." This is a sequel report, so I recommend my readers finish that account before starting this one.

It was one of the most beautiful days of the year so far. The sun was high, and a pleasant warmth flowed through me. I felt an inner desire to do something outdoors, like a walk through Hyde Park or even some physical exercise. However, the appointment Holmes and I had that day would not allow it. For the past two weeks, we had been working on a case that began with the apparent suicide of Jeremy Hawkins, an employee of the Ministry of Trade. Holmes quickly determined that it was not a suicide but that Hawkins had fought for his life. The perpetrator seemed to be a certain Alfred Bassik, who had already killed other employees of the same ministry. Holmes received this information from an old acquaintance, Fred Porlock. Porlock had been a minor figure in Professor James Moriarty's organization. He reported a list on which Hawkins and his colleagues were listed. Since Professor Moriarty died in 1891 at the Reichenbach Falls in Meiringen, Switzerland, there had to be someone continuing his work. This trail led us to Alfred Bassik, and Holmes exposed him. Although we did not manage to capture the man alive, we secured a music box in his apartment that revealed more about his employer. Holmes and I had received a similar music box in 1894 from one of Moriarty's henchmen whom we could not apprehend. We had previously encountered him in Basel, where he was supposed to secure submarine plans for Moriarty. Eventually, Holmes had to rely on his brother Mycroft's help to find this dangerous opponent. Mycroft, in turn, considered enlisting the help of Hugo Oberstein, the thief who, in 1895, was supposed to steal submarine plans for the German Empire, known as the Bruce-Partington plans. Through him, we learned that our adversary was Leopold von Wittgenstein, a German businessman. Together with the agent Frederick Woodrow, whom we had met during the events surrounding the 'Phantom of Maiwand,' we then traveled to Newbury, where Wittgenstein was supposed to be. Sherlock Holmes disguised himself as the Earl of Silverbrook, allowing him to get close to his opponent. After eavesdropping on Wittgenstein, his fiancée Gabriela Talherr, and his business partner, a certain Mr. Kumamoto, Holmes could form a better picture of the situation. Unfortunately, Wittgenstein seemed to have seen through the detective and managed to evade arrest. Only Kumamoto had been arrested by the British authorities and was currently being interrogated by Holmes' brother.

At that time, I was not sure how necessary it was for Holmes and me to continue involving ourselves in the case. I knew Mycroft Holmes personally and was aware of how competent and effective he was. On the other hand, the detective might fear the vengeance of the knife sharpener, whose plans he had not completely ruined but significantly disrupted.

Holmes and I did not travel together but met on Pall Mall. Together, we walked to the entrance of the Diogenes Club, of which Mycroft Holmes was not only a member but also a founder. The butler let us in without many words; by now, we must have been considered almost regular guests in these premises. We were led into a room where conversations were permitted and sat down. Less than a minute later, two gentlemen entered the room. One was the corpulent Mycroft Holmes, and the other was our acquaintance, Frederick Woodrow. They wore serious expressions as they sat down with us. I noticed the file Woodrow was carrying under his arm. They must have gained a significant amount of knowledge by now.

After tea was served, Mycroft made sure the butler had firmly closed the door.

Then he folded his hands and leaned back.
"Thank you for coming. Sherlock. Doctor."
I, in turn, thanked him for the invitation.
"Of course. It is also important to us that this case is concluded as soon as possible." I assured him.
Mycroft looked at his employee.
"Unfortunately... it doesn't seem like that will be possible anytime soon."
Holmes kept his eyes on his brother.
"What have you learned from Kumamoto so far?" he then asked.
It was Woodrow who placed some files on the table and opened them.
"We interrogated Mr. Kumamoto immediately, and believe me, I have used my skills on some difficult characters abroad, but this man broke down right away. He is definitely not a spy, I can assure you of that."
Holmes nodded; he seemed to have gained the same impression during their joint outing.
"What he could not tell us was where Wittgenstein had fled. He seemed to have had no time to warn his business partner before falling into our hands. However, he quickly informed us about the businesses they were planning."
This caught Holmes' undivided attention. And mine as well.
"What can you tell me about methamphetamine, Mr. Holmes?" he asked the detective.
Holmes stroked his chin as if to stimulate his memory. Then he began to speak.
"A drug I am aware of but have never taken. Methamphetamine was first synthesized in 1893 by a Japanese chemist, Nagai Nagayoshi. They call this substance 'Shabu' there. The health damages manifest in various ways. On the one hand, damage to the teeth, a phenomenon that is quite common among Japanese even without this drug. Additionally, it can lead to delusions and thus to unpredictability."
I agreed with my friend. Although I had little practical experience with this substance, I had read about it in professional literature.
"The addictive potential is not to be underestimated. If you don't have control, you will inevitably become addicted to this drug."
Woodrow agreed with us.
"Kumamoto stated that he wanted to import that very drug into England for Leopold von Wittgenstein."
I was almost struck by the realization. Now I understood the connection between the two. Wittgenstein wanted to gain control over the Ministry of Trade so that they would approve the import. It was Mycroft Holmes who continued.
"The economic situation in many parts of Japan is currently not very good. The government is losing control over large parts of the population, which are mostly caught by criminal gangs or similar groups. I assume you have never heard of the Bakuto?"
This time, the detective had to admit his ignorance.
"It is one of the most prominent gangs on the island. They operate out of Yokohama and specialize in things like gambling and smuggling."
His brother merely nodded.
"And Mr. Kumamoto belongs to them?"
Mycroft left the answer to his agent.
"He was at least commissioned by them to negotiate with Leopold von Wittgenstein. The Japanese are far behind the Chinese when it comes to drug trafficking. The Silk Road is on the verge of being completely controlled by them, from which they brought opium first to India and then to Europe. I don't need to remind you how many establishments there are in our kingdom now."
I coughed demonstratively.
"Forgive me, but so far, the government has made no effort to put an end to this activity."
I knew I was pushing far ahead with this criticism, and it had nothing to do with the actual topic. Nevertheless, Mycroft Holmes deigned to give me an answer.
"Doctor, I can understand your views as a physician. Rest assured, better laws for this problem are currently being worked on in Parliament. I am confident that a ban could be imminent."
To me, his words were merely empty phrases, but I would never have dared to say so openly.
As a brief silence fell, Woodrow continued.
"In any case, the Bakuto smelled a very lucrative business. They want to sell their drug outside of Japan and therefore need trading partners. But since the Chinese have spread their influence in many countries, they are forced to try it through the back door. And that's where Wittgenstein came in. He wanted to use the British Ministry of Trade to get methamphetamine onto the streets of England."
I ran my hand through my thick hair.
"Why England, of all places? Why not the German Empire?"
It was the detective who answered this question.
"He probably doesn't want to jeopardize his relationship with the Kaiser and his business partners there. A new and popular drug can be profitable but also lead to attempts to control parts of the population. Therefore, Wittgenstein will prefer to conduct initial trials in a country like England."
I grumbled disdainfully. The more I learned about this German businessman, the more my contempt grew.
Woodrow now pushed a file towards us, in which we recognized a photograph. It showed a young man of Asian appearance.
"Here you see Junji Muto, the current leader of the Bakuto. He is known as the 'Red Oni' in his organization."
As I looked puzzled, Holmes helped me out.
"Oni are supernatural beings in Japanese mythology and folklore, often described as demons, ogres, or trolls. They are central figures in Japanese culture and can be found in stories, art, and festivals."
It came as no surprise to me that Holmes' knowledge extended to mythical creatures.
"We believe Wittgenstein has an alternative plan to bring methamphetamine to Europe. That's why he left England yesterday, right after his escape. According to our people, he is now on a ship to Japan, where he will meet with the Oni to discuss further proceedings."
Sherlock Holmes remained unimpressed.
"And what do you expect from us now?"
Mycroft waited a moment, then continued.
"I would like you and Dr. Watson to travel to Japan. Stop Wittgenstein and Muto there to prevent the illegal import of this terrible drug into our country."
Sherlock Holmes stood up abruptly.
"You've thought this through nicely. But this time, I cannot comply with your request, dear brother. A trip to Japan would cost me months. I am currently in the transition to my retirement. You remember? The cottage in Sussex is already paid for; you gave me curtains as a housewarming gift. And Dr. Watson has his own practice, from which he profits well. He will not want to close it so easily either."
I agreed with my friend, although I would not have expressed it so impulsively. Leaving England for months was out of the question at the moment.
Mycroft Holmes sighed.
"You would travel on a ship carrying out assignments for the British government. No stopovers would be necessary, significantly shortening your journey."
But the detective was not convinced.
"Even without stopovers and the time we would need in Japan, it would still be around 70 days, not accounting for worsened weather conditions."
Now Woodrow interjected.
"Of course, we could send some of our people. But you already know Wittgenstein. And the organization he worked for. Having you on our side would give us a significant advantage."
But it was not enough for Sherlock Holmes.
"Then you will unfortunately have to do without this advantage, dear brother. Watson, come, we're leaving." He had already turned around.
I tried to smile, although it didn't quite work. I did not want to appear rude, but my friend did not make it easy for me.
So I stood up, pushed my chair back, and hobbled after my friend.
Mycroft Holmes had now stood up and followed us.
"Sherlock! Before you go, I want to give you something." He held him back briefly. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope.
"Please read it, and then you can still decide." He handed it to the detective.
Holmes initially did not want to accept it but eventually pocketed it.
"It won't change anything. And now, please excuse us."
Uncompromisingly, he left the room, and I followed him. Outside, we recapped what had just been discussed.
I asked if it was really okay to reject the British government's request so quickly. Holmes, however, seemed to have no qualms.
"Do not worry, Watson. Even my brother must learn to deal with not all his wishes being fulfilled. What do you say, shall we meet tomorrow for lunch in Baker Street? Mrs. Hudson wants to prepare your beloved lamb cutlets, I can already tell you that much."
I gladly agreed, and so we arranged to meet the next day. I did not mention to my wife the possibility of a trip to the southern hemisphere. Holmes had immediately dismissed the idea anyway, so it was no longer on the table. Late in the morning, I made my way to Baker Street.

I entered and already heard our good Mrs. Hudson at work in the kitchen. I knocked on Holmes' office door and received a 'Come in'.

As soon as I was inside, I was not faced with Holmes, but an older man with a pronounced hunchback. He must have been around 80, and I wondered for a moment. Could this be Sherlock Holmes? From his build, it would still be believable, but the bald head and age spots were undoubtedly real. I got my answer immediately when Holmes entered the office after me.

"Ah, Watson! Glad you could make it. So you've already met Dr. Wilfred Dinklage? He is a colleague of yours, though already retired."

I shook my older colleague's hand.

"Forgive me, Holmes didn't mention he had a guest. Will you be dining with us?" he asked.

Holmes answered for the man.

"Yes, why not? That wasn't planned, but the good doctor is welcome to join us. But first, there is a matter of utmost importance that we need to clarify." he explained.

I waited eagerly to see what he was referring to. Holmes placed his hand almost comradely on Dr. Dinklage's.

"Dr. Dinklage, like you, had his own practice for many years. Since his retirement, however, he is often plagued by boredom. So we got to talking, and I made him a proposal that he accepted with enthusiasm."

Dr. Dinklage smiled at me pleasantly and kindly.

I, however, had to admit that I couldn't quite follow.

"Yes...? And what might that be?"

Holmes also had a smile on his face. But it didn't look like it usually did when he was pleased with the successful solution of a case or a good meal.

"Dr. Dinklage greatly misses taking care of patients. So I suggested he take over yours for the next two months. As a substitute, you understand?"

I almost dropped my jaw. Had I really understood Sherlock Holmes correctly? A substitute? And for a whole two months? What reason would I have...

Then some things became clearer to me.

"Holmes! You turned down your brother! What made you change your mind?"

The detective hesitated for a moment, then turned to my colleague.

"Doctor, why don't you see how Mrs. Hudson is getting on? She surely won't mind if you have a taste already."

My colleague agreed and left the office. In his presence, I didn't want to be too hard on Holmes. But now, hardly anything held me back.

"Holmes, we agreed! You didn't want to be your brother's pawn! Could... your change of mind have something to do with the envelope you received when leaving the club?" I asked now.

The detective seemed reluctant to answer immediately.

"Do you remember the music box we found in Alfred Bassik's apartment? And that I found it impossible for Wittgenstein to have placed it there himself?"

I nodded in confirmation. It would indeed have been a carelessness if our adversary had left such a significant clue there.

"Mycroft has since found out who placed the music box there for us."

I was taken aback. Someone placed it there specifically for us? That would mean someone deliberately led us to Wittgenstein. A puppet master in the background.

"Who was it, Holmes?"

He took a few steps towards us.

"One thing bothered me immediately when Mycroft told me about the methamphetamine. Professor Moriarty would never have approved of such a plan. Of course, the scheme with the Ministry of Trade originated from him, but he would never have brought such an uncontrollable drug to England. The underworld would have descended into chaos. No, I am sure he planned to import something else."

I asked what it was, but the detective left me without an answer. Just as he did with the identity of the person who led us to Wittgenstein. I wasn't sure if my friend was still speculating or deliberately withholding information from me again. Either way, it didn't change the core issue.

"Holmes, whatever changed your views. I enjoy traveling with you from time to time, but two months? Even our trips to the continent didn't last that long."

Holmes agreed with me and seemed aware that he was asking more of me this time than usual.

"I know you need to discuss this with your wife first. You have accompanied me on so many of my journeys and have always been a good friend. I would not hold it against you if you did not comply with my request."

I paused for a moment, then smiled.

"Holmes, you knew I wouldn't refuse your request. Otherwise, you would have scheduled an appointment with Dr. Dinklage instead of inviting him today. We've known each other for over 30 years now and don't need these games anymore. Don't you think?"

Sherlock Holmes nodded and apologized for his approach.

"I knew I could count on you, old friend. We are invited to Mycroft's again today to discuss the details. But first, let's enjoy Mrs. Hudson's excellent lunch before we dive into the deep end."

I followed the invitation, and soon we were enjoying our housekeeper's delicious mutton chops. I got into a conversation with Dr. Dinklage and was quite impressed by his background. Soon, I was convinced that he would be a worthy substitute for me.

After the meal, I returned to Queen Anne Street, where a conversation with my wife awaited me. To my surprise, she had no objections but insisted that I bring her plenty of souvenirs. I promised and found myself at the Diogenes Club again by evening.

Sherlock Holmes seemed to be already in conversation with his brother, the club's butler informed me. He led me to the meeting room, where I recognized three gentlemen. Holmes was one of them; the others were his brother and Frederick Woodrow.

I greeted the present company and approached. Woodrow kindly offered me a chair.

"Watson, my ever-eager brother has already begun his planning, but don't worry, you haven't missed much yet." he informed me.

I nodded and decided to keep a low profile for now.

"You will travel to Southampton on Friday and board the SS Matiana. We often use this ship to deploy troops or agents. The Matiana has orders to sail directly to Calcutta without stops. However, it will make a small detour and drop you off in Japanese waters. A smaller boat will be waiting there to take you directly to the port of Yokohama. It is planned for the Matiana to pick up cargo from the port of Yokohama five days later. In other words, you have exactly five days to solve our problem. Knowing how efficient you are, Sherlock, I am sure that should be sufficient."

Holmes studied the documents compiled by Mycroft and his department.

"Who will accompany us?" I finally asked when the pause grew too long.

Mycroft Holmes pointed to the man beside him.

"Only Mr. Woodrow. We need to proceed with the utmost caution and investigate covertly."

I nodded.

"What will we be doing in Japan? Just eliminate Wittgenstein and this... Oni, like it was planned in Newbury?"

The gentlemen from the secret service seemed somewhat indecisive.

"Not immediately, Watson. My brother knows very well that he can't cut off the head of a snake without knowing how many heads will grow back."

His brother agreed.

"If we take out Muto, someone else in his organization will take his place. So we need to make the entire operation unattractive for them. This could mean eliminating Leopold von Wittgenstein. But we need to be absolutely sure that no one else can carry out his plan. Sherlock, your primary task will be to find out everything about his plan. Mr. Woodrow will take care of the rest. Understood?"

The master detective understood but would certainly not burden himself with his brother's methods.

"Our common goal is to neutralize Wittgenstein and his influence on the Empire. But we must not underestimate our opponent. Professor Moriarty himself recruited him and admitted him into his innermost circle because he knew of his intelligence."

Mycroft Holmes stood up.

"I have no concerns about that, Sherlock. In this very room, there are two individuals who are likely more intelligent and cunning than Wittgenstein. And one of them will be on his way to the Pacific Ocean by Friday. So then, gentlemen."

The portly man left the room while Woodrow provided us with all the necessary details. Then we agreed to meet on the morning of May 2nd.

This time, I had packed more than usual. On our trips to the continent, I usually traveled lighter, not least because Holmes and I often had to act quickly, sometimes leaving luggage behind. I couldn't imagine what exactly I would need in Japan. But one thing definitely went into my suitcase: my trusty old Webley.

If we were dealing with criminal gangs, I didn't want to be without it. From Baker Street, we took a cab to Charing Cross Station. We also had to promise Mrs. Hudson to bring her souvenirs. In the meantime, she had assured Holmes that she could cook for her cousin while he was away. And he instructed her not to touch anything in his laboratory. I knew how serious he was about this warning, especially since a container of acid had spilled a few years ago and a drop of it had almost landed on Holmes' beloved Stradivarius.

Just the day before, a messenger had delivered my new passport, as it was impossible to travel under my real name. Apparently, the government had given me the name 'Woodland'. When I asked Sherlock Holmes what name he had received, I got the answer 'Sigerson'. I could have guessed that.

We took the train to Southampton, where the SS Matiana, a large steamship of the British India Steam Navigation Company, which transported passengers and cargo between Europe and Asia, was departing that day. At the port, Frederick Woodrow greeted us. Two men accompanied him, seemingly his colleagues.

"Glad you could make it, gentlemen. Your luggage will be taken to your cabins immediately. We set sail in an hour." he informed us.

I noticed Holmes hesitating before handing his suitcase to one of the men, which struck me as odd at the moment. But we were already boarding the steamship and being escorted to our cabins. Woodrow said goodbye to his colleagues, who left the ship. Only the three of us were planned to undertake the complex mission.

Finally, the ship set sail, and I stood at the railing, watching as the port of Southampton grew smaller and eventually disappeared from the horizon. The SS Matiana was a passenger and cargo ship built in 1894 by the A. & J. Inglis shipyard in Glasgow for the British India Steam Navigation Company. It could reach up to 12 knots with a volume of 531,000 cubic feet.

Under different circumstances, I could have imagined taking a vacation trip with Holmes. However, we were on a mission assigned to us by the Empire, in the form of Mycroft Holmes.

Holmes and I shared a cabin, and I began to open my suitcase.

"Ah, very good, Watson. I see you packed your Webley."

I nodded affirmatively.

"Of course, Holmes! Especially in a case like this, it seemed appropriate."

My friend agreed.

"Good. Please do me the favor of keeping it with you at all times during our journey."

I furrowed my brow.

"During the journey? I was convinced I would only need it upon our arrival in Japan."

But the detective seemed to disagree.

"Didn't you notice? Our friend, Mr. Woodrow, carries his pistol with him at all times. Even though there's a risk that someone from the crew or even a passenger might become suspicious."

This surprised me additionally. I hadn't noticed, of course, and that as a former soldier. I asked Holmes what the reason was, but he raised a hand.

"Later, Watson. It's time for dinner." he informed me.

As always, I let myself be put off and followed the detective to the large dining hall. I followed his advice to always keep my Webley with me. Frederick Woodrow was already waiting for us at a table and waved us over.

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson! Were you able to rest a bit in your cabins?" he asked.

We confirmed and made ourselves comfortable. The Empire's government was covering all our expenses, so I didn't hesitate to order whatever I liked from the menu.

But I wasn't alone. The passengers around me, especially many businessmen, seemed to be enjoying their voyage.

Soon, my food arrived, and I enjoyed it. Mr. Woodrow was the first to finish.

"Gentlemen, I'm going to bed early today. See you tomorrow." he stood up and left our table.

As soon as he left the hall, Holmes put down his cutlery and signaled me.

"Quick, Watson! We can't let him out of our sight." he urged.

But at that moment, I didn't understand my friend.

Especially, I dreaded not being able to finish all of our sponsored meal.

But Holmes showed no mercy and urged me to go. With quick steps, we left the hall and headed towards the upper deck. It was already dark, and Woodrow probably wouldn't notice us. Nevertheless, I couldn't comprehend the detective's behavior. Frederick Woodrow was our ally. Yes, by now I would even have described him as a friend.

Yet, Holmes seemed to mistrust him for some reason. I was about to find out why.

Woodrow seemed to have reached a cabin and looked around in all directions. Holmes and I crouched behind a corner and observed the scene. Then he opened the cabin with his own key. I found it strange since I was sure the man's cabin was located elsewhere. Did he have two on this ship? If so, what was the purpose?

Holmes urged me on again, and now we strode upright towards the cabin door. The detective opened it with a jerk, giving us a view inside. There were two men, one standing and one crouching on his bed. Both stared at us in surprise.

I did the same when I recognized who else was present besides Mr. Woodrow. Holmes, on the other hand, had that all-knowing look he was famous for.

"Holmes, that is..." I stammered, but my friend finished the sentence for me.

"Indeed, Doctor. Our old friend, Colonel Sebastian Moran."

Perplexed, I felt myself until I finally found the right spot. I grabbed my Webley and pointed it at the Colonel. But Mr. Woodrow stepped in front of me and prevented anything worse.

"Did you use that to take out my old army comrade, Ethan Thompson, as well?" asked the former military man in a lazy voice.

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson! Please let me explain!" Woodrow now asked for a chance.

I knew from the start that he would have to work hard for that. So Woodrow closed the door behind us. It was cramped with the four of us in the cabin, but I kept my arm with the Webley extended.

"What kind of crazy idea did Mycroft have this time?" the detective snapped at the agent.

Colonel Moran himself seemed amused by the situation.

Woodrow looked visibly unhappy himself.

"Gentlemen, you must understand that we really didn't make this decision lightly."

A hollow phrase, in my opinion.

"Not lightly? Colonel Moran was Professor James Moriarty's right-hand man! He sent numerous people to their deaths on his orders, even after the Professor's demise! May I remind you of poor Ronald Adair? He almost gave Thompson the order to execute us in front of our apartment in Baker Street. And even afterward, he tried to send my friend here to the afterlife twice."

Woodrow kept nodding.

"But he helped us uncover an assassination attempt on Mycroft Holmes and even a attempted assassination on the Foreign Minister." he reminded us.

Holmes wasn't impressed.

"To save his own neck. And now? What have you promised him in return for his help?"

When Woodrow didn't answer, the detective shook his head in disbelief.

"Immunity? Are you serious?"

I couldn't believe what my friend was saying. But from Woodrow's reaction, I recognized that he was probably right.

"Please see it from our perspective, Mr. Holmes. Mister Moran is already old, and we don't plan to simply release him but to transfer him to a facility. There, he will always be under supervision."

Although Woodrow tried to sugarcoat the situation, we knew exactly what that meant. Moran hoped for freedom, even if limited to a certain area. He would be able to walk, drink, and enjoy life again. Unlike his victims, which I found outrageous.

Now it was Moran who stood up. I didn't lower my Webley an inch.

"In defense of your brother, Mr. Holmes. I don't think he had much choice. You see, there's a weakness in Wittgenstein's plan. And that is trust. In 1888, the Professor and I already traveled to Japan to meet with the representatives of the Bakuto. And well, you know the Professor's charisma and persuasiveness. Only he was able to reach an agreement."

Holmes scrutinized the murderer.

"But back then, it wasn't about methamphetamine, right?"

Moran confirmed it.

"It was about weapons. Even though the Japanese were still used to fighting with swords not long ago, they quickly switched to producing firearms. The Professor had planned to establish several factories there. But then everything happened. You must admit that it's not without a certain irony, Mr. Holmes. If the Professor had spent more time in Japan to learn things like Baritsu... many things might have turned out differently."

The detective, however, didn't engage in this pointless game.

"But Wittgenstein took Moriarty's place, and the plan was resumed."

Moran just shrugged.

"Hot air. Wittgenstein possesses neither the charisma nor the foresight of the Professor. You did indeed cut off the snake's head at the Reichenbach Falls, Mr. Holmes. Wittgenstein does not enjoy the same trust as the Professor or I."

Now I understood.

"You're here as a negotiator!"

Holmes confirmed it.

"That seems to be at least your brother's plan. Colonel Moran is to work out an alternative plan with the Bakuto. Perhaps even one that benefits the British Empire. And for that, he receives immunity."

Woodrow mentioned again that it wasn't just a simple pardon, but Holmes didn't want to hear any more of it. And neither did I, to be honest. We left the cabin and returned to ours. Tired and frustrated, I threw myself onto my bunk.

"Please don't hold it against our Mr. Woodrow; he's just following Mycroft's instructions."

I just growled.

"How could Mycroft Holmes approve of something like this? His own brother was almost killed by this man's hand!"

Of course, I knew the answer to my own question best. Mycroft Holmes was still a man of the state. A man of negotiations and compromises.

"I mean... Moran will shoot us as soon as he gets the chance!" I insisted.

Holmes actually managed a brief laugh.

"Don't overestimate our old acquaintance, Watson. He's not the youngest anymore and unarmed. Besides, you know the capabilities of our friend, Mr. Woodrow. Not to mention that we're on the high seas; he can't get away from here."

I wished I could be as optimistic as Holmes. Nevertheless, I decided to give Woodrow a helping hand and not let Moran out of my sight.

Fortunately, he seemed to take his agreement with the British government quite seriously. He mostly stayed in his cabin but had us supply him with everything he needed. After a week, he began to express special requests, such as one or another book from the ship's modest library. We cooperated, knowing how long the voyage would last. This way, he wouldn't get any foolish ideas. Although Holmes was right that there was no escape for the Colonel, after all, we were on the open sea, I remained vigilant.

After the second week, Moran expressed the wish to get some fresh air. We decided to discuss it for a few days and then grant his wish. Moran was getting older, and we were responsible for maintaining his health. Both I, as a doctor, and Mr. Woodrow, as the leader of this operation.

We knew that the captain and parts of the crew were informed.

Even if Moran were to take out me or Woodrow, there would still be enough security personnel on board. And he couldn't escape by boat either. We were circumnavigating the African continent, but it would be too many miles to the coast. Again and again, the Colonel referred to moments from our shared past. The first time the Professor told him about a consulting detective on Baker Street who had begun to disrupt his plans. About Moriarty's operations in Birlstone, Basel, and finally the assassination order against Sherlock Holmes. He had failed in this, several times even. He was now just an old, defeated man, which I made clear to him in every one of our conversations.

Holmes and I spent our time refreshing our knowledge about our destination. Japan was currently deep in a war with Russia. Woodrow had explained to us that it was only because of this that the criminal organizations had been able to gain so much control. Conflicts with the Japanese government were therefore rather unlikely, especially since we had not made any diplomatic efforts to announce our arrival. Japan had initially tried to achieve an agreement with Russia through diplomacy, proposing Korea as a Japanese sphere of influence and Manchuria as a Russian sphere of influence. Russia ignored these proposals and began to strengthen its troops in the region. This was seen as a provocation by Japan. After Japan carried out a surprise attack on the Russian naval base at Port Arthur, war became inevitable. The Tsar and the Emperor had been anything but friendly for some time, and this act finally led to a complete break. Currently, everything was focused on Manchuria, which in the eyes of many observers also raised fears of Chinese intervention.

According to Mr. Woodrow, however, it was unlikely that the war would spread to the Japanese island in the next few weeks. Being in a war again after all this time was really the last thing I wanted right now. After all this time, I was no longer plagued by nightmares from my time in India and Afghanistan. It was difficult to keep track of time during our weeks-long journey. One night, Sherlock Holmes woke me abruptly and urged me to get out of my bunk.

"Get dressed, Watson. It's time to go."

I grumbled unhappily and tried to wake up properly. Outside, it was dark, and no one else was on deck. We were still on the open sea, with no land in sight. Then I remembered Mycroft Holmes' words. For security reasons, the Matiana would not head directly to the port of Yokohama. Holmes urged me on until I recognized a group of several people. It was Frederick Woodrow, Sebastian Moran, and some crew members.

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, your suitcases have already been unloaded. We should hurry while we still have the cover of darkness."

Then he approached me and asked me in a whisper to be the first to climb onto the boat waiting for us. Apparently, he wanted to avoid Moran taking the captain hostage. The risk was low, but we knew that the Colonel could be trusted with anything.

The crew secured a long rope ladder, and I began the descent. Finally, I reached the small fishing boat that was traveling alongside the Matiana. Moran, Woodrow, and finally Sherlock Holmes followed. The ladder was pulled up, and we slowly moved away from the steamship that had brought us to this point in our journey.

The fishing boat was steered by a young Japanese man, whom Woodrow introduced as Takashi. I assumed he served as the contact for the secret service operation in this part of the world. Although it was pitch dark, he seemed quite competent and knew exactly where to go.

Just 20 minutes later, we reached the coast of Yokohama. I admitted I would have liked to see the large port. According to stories, it was very impressive. But I would probably have plenty of opportunities.

We left the fishing boat, and Takashi secured his property while we exited.

"Takashi will now take us to a small inn, a so-called Ryokan. There we would check in as Mr. Jones, Mr. Smith, Mr. Woodland, and as Mr. Sigerson. Businessmen from London, should there be a check of our passports." the British agent informed us.

However, we did not necessarily expect this. The port of Yokohama was open to the Western world. Trade flourished, and business was conducted between different nations. Foreigners were seen here daily. However, this also meant that Wittgenstein could move around freely in public. No one would notice his appearance in Japan.

We were received with heartfelt kindness at the Ryokan and taken to our rooms. While I shared one with Holmes, Woodrow took on the task of keeping an eye on Moran.

"Don't worry, Watson. The walls here are paper-thin and only separated by sliding doors. If the Colonel declares our arrangement over, we should be able to come to our friend's aid at any time." the detective assured me.

Nevertheless, I decided to sleep with my Webley under the pillow.

The next morning, we fortified ourselves and then set off for the port of Yokohama. It was located in Tokyo Bay, the capital of Japan. After its opening in 1859, Yokohama quickly developed into the most important transshipment point for the export of silk, tea, and other Japanese products, as well as the import of Western goods. The port was equipped with steam-powered cranes, large warehouses, and modern quays that could accommodate ships of various sizes. Large warehouses, often made of brick, lined the docks. These were used by international and Japanese trading companies. Our destination, however, was the so-called "Kannai District," where many foreign traders and diplomats lived. This district was a cultural melting pot and offered Western architecture, churches, and consulates. If we were to find Leopold von Wittgenstein anywhere, it would be in a place like this.

We wore thick coats and large hats, making it difficult for our opponents to see through us.

"Mr. Holmes, the plan is to capture Wittgenstein first and interrogate him. After that, Moran – this time on behalf of the British government – will meet with the leader of the Bakuto, Junji Muto. That is at least the plan your brother has devised. Do you have any objections?" Woodrow discussed our further procedure.

The detective eyed the Colonel suspiciously, then nodded.

"If Mycroft considers this the best course of action, I agree. But where will we take Wittgenstein once we have captured him? Back to the Ryokan?"

Woodrow confirmed it to him.

"We have already accommodated another prisoner there; it shouldn't attract much attention."

I wanted to note that we would probably have to tie up Wittgenstein, unlike Moran, and this would certainly attract the attention of our hosts. However, I assumed we would strike at night and interrogate the German in our room. This would probably not take much time. Frederick Woodrow was an experienced employee of Mycroft's and knew how to make an enemy of the Empire talk. What he would do with Wittgenstein afterward, I did not want to imagine. In my soul, two hearts burned. As a doctor, I could hardly endorse such an approach, but as a former military man, I understood that sometimes such decisions had to be made in the field. It was part of Woodrow's job, and Holmes and I would have no part in it. We settled into a local establishment frequently visited by foreign visitors.

It wasn't long before two familiar figures entered: a man and a woman we had encountered at Highclere Castle. While I had only observed them from a distance, Holmes had conversed with them.

Leopold von Wittgenstein and his fiancée, Gabriella Talherr, had entered and taken a seat at a table. We remained in the background, as even though the establishment was full, we did not want to provoke discovery. I remembered Wittgenstein's bodyguard; I assumed he was waiting outside the establishment. Some time passed, and we drank our sake, a beverage I later found repulsive. How I missed a good glass of brandy at that moment. It was Sherlock Holmes who then drew our attention to a change. Wittgenstein's bodyguard entered the establishment and led a man to his superior. He was Japanese and looked young, though I found it difficult to estimate his age.

"That's him. That's Junji Muto, the Red Oni." Colonel Moran murmured softly.

Holmes agreed with him.

"Yes, Mycroft's photograph seems to be current. He is our target."

Even though I tried to recall that photograph, the man hardly differed from his countrymen. I remained silent to avoid being scolded by Holmes.

Muto and Wittgenstein were now engaged in an animated conversation and drank together. His fiancée maintained a smile, but it was clear she was merely an accessory.

As the group rose, Holmes gave us a signal.

"I will follow them. You stay here and guard our companion." the detective instructed us.

Woodrow insisted on standing by his side, but my friend declined. On the one hand, I knew that when it came to pursuits, he was much more effective alone, and on the other, I recognized concern in his eyes. He did not trust me alone to handle Moran. So he rose and exited the establishment. We remained in place and understood the art of painful waiting. Half an hour passed, then a boy entered the establishment and handed us a message.

"Discovered Wittgenstein's quarters. Remaining on observation post, will report back to the Ryokan at dusk. Holmes."

Woodrow's frustration with the detective's idiosyncratic methods was evident. Nevertheless, we followed our comrade's procedure and returned to the Ryokan.

Sherlock Holmes did not keep us waiting long.

"Wittgenstein and his fiancée occupy a small house on the outer edge of the district. Muto, the 'Red Oni,' bid him farewell in front of it. Apart from the bodyguard, Wittgenstein does not seem to have any men on site. If we strike immediately, we can get our hands on him." he reported on his investigations.

This seemed to be enough for Woodrow, who checked his pistol.

"What do we do with him?" I asked, gesturing to Colonel Moran.

Holmes pondered for a moment.

"If we leave him here, we would have to tie him up and gag him. But then there would be a risk that an employee of the Ryokan might discover and free him. Or at least involve the police. No, it would be wiser to take him with us this time as well."

Moran began to smirk.

"Mr. Holmes, I must admit it pains me somewhat that you still cannot trust me. I thought we were all partners on our little journey."

I would have liked to give the man a direct punch in the face, but my upbringing prevented me in the end.

"Colonel, I can assure you that I have never encountered such a miserable snake in my life as you. Even Professor Moriarty or Wittgenstein could be trusted with more decency and honor than you."

If Moran was offended by my friend's remark, he did not let it show.

Thus, we set off, all three armed. We let Holmes lead us and approached the house under the cover of night where Junji Muto, Leopold von Wittgenstein, and his fiancée were staying.

"You know, if you also handed me a weapon, I would be of greater help." Moran now said.

We did not comment on this; none of us three would be so foolish. We recognized that the bodyguard was leaving the house and seemingly conducting a patrol. We knew we had to take him out first. A targeted shot was out of the question, as it would have alerted his boss. So Holmes and Woodrow waited for a suitable opportunity as the man turned a corner.

"Excuse me! Don't we know each other?" I suddenly called from the side.

Irritated, the man turned to me while Holmes and Woodrow came from the side. They took down the bodyguard and began to tie him up and gag him.

"I could keep an eye on him while you grab Wittgenstein." Moran made an offer, which we, however, declined after brief consideration.

"You're coming with us!" Woodrow decided and drove the Colonel forward.

Through a window, we entered the house and tried to orient ourselves. It seemed to be a study; I recognized several Japanese furniture pieces. The floor was covered with tatami mats, which helped us reduce the volume of our steps.

On the hallway, we quickly made out where we needed to go if we wanted to visit the bedroom. We proceeded and pushed open the door to it. It was dark, and we felt for the light switch. Fortunately, Yokohama was one of the cities in Japan that was a pioneer in electric lighting at that time. Immediately, the room was illuminated, and we recognized two people on the futons lying on the floor. They were wrapped in a blanket, so we did not recognize them. Woodrow rushed forward and shouted Wittgenstein's name.

But I could tell from Holmes' face that something was wrong.

"Wait, Woodrow!" he held the agent back, but it was already too late.

The two people threw off their blankets, and I recognized with horror that they were not Wittgenstein and his fiancée. They were two Japanese men with aggressive looks and several tattoos. They drew weapons and pointed them at Woodrow. Immediately, we rushed to help and drew our weapons.

The initial assumption that we were still at an advantage was misleading. At least three more men stormed into the room, all with raised weapons.

"It was a trap!" Woodrow stated what was already obvious to the rest of us.

Now two more men entered, one was Leopold von Wittgenstein, the other Junji Muto. With a smug smile, he positioned himself opposite Holmes.

"If it isn't the Earl of Silverbrook. You've come a long way, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

For the first time, Wittgenstein was not just a mere presence for me but stood before me in person.

"And of course, it is also a pleasure to finally meet you, dear Doctor. May I ask the present to lower their weapons?"

I looked uncertainly at Holmes and Woodrow, but Muto's men had surrounded us by now. It was no longer a stalemate; we had no choice but to surrender. We lowered our weapons, which were taken from us by the Japanese.

Then Wittgenstein approached Colonel Moran. Finally, both smiled and embraced.

"I must admit, it is a pleasure to see you again, Colonel."

Moran seemed to see it the same way.

"Yes. Although I am sorry that it was not possible for me to protect the Professor in Meiringen. This detective used a cowardly trick to end his life." he replied guiltily.

Wittgenstein looked at Holmes.

"Don't worry, old comrade. This detective will pay for all his deeds today, I assure you. And we both will continue the Professor's legacy and implement his plans posthumously. We will seize Europe, as he once planned."

I became increasingly nervous, but as always, my friend kept his composure.

"One thing I would be interested in. That you would betray us at the first opportunity, that was clear to me from the start. But when were you able to send a message?" he asked Moran.

Despite the possibility of our imminent demise, he seemed to condescend to give us an answer.

"In the establishment, when you were distracted by Leopold. Remember, how I mentioned that the Professor and I had already traveled to Japan once? We always met in this establishment; it belongs to the Bakuto. One of the waitresses recognized me immediately, and I managed to smuggle a message into her pocket. I only had to write down three names. Muto, the man who helped her settle her bills, Wittgenstein, as the target of the message, and then, of course, Sherlock Holmes."

His comrade nodded in confirmation.

"This name was enough to know what to do. I knew you would follow me and could easily lead you to my quarters. Also, that you would do this alone and thus not strike immediately. Thus, I had time for preparation, and my business partner here was kind enough to provide me with his men." he finally referred to the Red Oni.

We had our hands raised and looked back and forth between the three men. All three were among the most dangerous criminals Holmes and I had encountered during our entire time together. I suddenly realized that this time we had taken on too much. Even Holmes had not managed to gain the upper hand against three such calibers.

Wittgenstein now approached the detective and eyed him critically.

"I must admit, it is a satisfaction to have accomplished what was denied to James Moriarty. The death of Sherlock Holmes. Farewell. London will not miss you." he turned his back on us and gave Muto and Moran a signal to follow him. With him came three of his men. Only the two henchmen who had hidden under the blankets and prepared the trap remained.

"Give us about three minutes to get away from the property." the Oni still called to his people before disappearing.

I kept exchanging glances with Holmes and Woodrow. I knew that both were excellent close combat fighters and could overpower the two. But for that, they would have had to close the distance and approach us. But unfortunately, their boss seemed to have impressed upon them how dangerous we could be.

Time passed like in fast motion. Was this it? Did my and Holmes' shared adventures end at this place? In a distant land and shot by criminals? I did not know how many minutes had passed. It felt like an eternity to me.

Then one of the men muttered something to his partner in their native language, and both cocked the hammers of their pistols.

And finally... the shot came.

I had already made peace with life, but my death would have to wait a little longer. A bullet, seeming to come from nowhere, hit one man in the forehead, sending him reeling backward. Confused, his partner stared at the corpse, but it was already too late for him. Another bullet hit him in the neck, ending him. Woodrow immediately secured the two firearms from our enemies.

Holmes and I had meanwhile turned to the door to identify our savior. As it turned out, it was a savior. A woman in a green dress, whose hair was hidden by a headscarf, had entered the room with precision and taken out the Japanese criminals. I recognized her immediately. Although I had only observed her from a distance during George Herbert's hunting party, I had gotten a closer look at her in the establishment today. It was Leopold von Wittgenstein's fiancée, Gabriella Talherr.

Sherlock Holmes took a step closer and smiled at her.

"I had been wondering when you would intervene. And now I am very glad that you did."

The woman nodded to him.

"It is also a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Holmes. Although our brief encounter in Newbury, when you mimicked the rather taciturn Earl of Silverbrook, not counted."

I had to admit that at this moment, I understood absolutely nothing. But it was Woodrow who now urged haste.

"If Muto's men do not report back to him soon, he will return here. Then we should be gone. Best if we return to the Ryokan." he suggested.

I had to admit that he had made a point.

"Follow me, gentlemen. I know a safe path where we will not be discovered." Miss Talherr said and signaled us to follow her.

Woodrow turned to Sherlock Holmes.

"Are you sure we can trust her, Mr. Holmes?"

However, the detective placed a reassuring hand on the agent's shoulder.

"Don't worry. Mycroft will surely have her on a leash this time. For the moment, we can certainly trust her."

I still did not quite understand, but haste was needed. We stepped out into the hallway when I paused again.

"Watson, come on!" my friend urged me.

However, I had discovered an important item and pocketed it. It was my Webley, which the criminals had carelessly thrown outside. I was not usually one for nostalgia, but my revolver had served me well for decades, and I did not want to leave it in such a place.

Outside the house, our savior pointed in a certain direction. We passed the tied-up bodyguard, and I recognized that someone had slit his throat. It could hardly have been Wittgenstein himself, leaving only his fiancée.

She was not only dangerous but also cold-blooded. I could not comprehend how Holmes could say it was okay to trust her. But what great choice did we have at the moment.

Under the cover of several trees and bushes, we made our way back to the Ryokan. Back in our quarters, Woodrow surveyed the room.

"We can't stay here. Wittgenstein will realize we're still alive, and Moran can inform him where we've taken quarters. I'll pack our things and instruct Takashi to arrange new accommodations for us."

Holmes agreed, and the British agent left us alone for the time being.

Then Holmes sat down, the strain of the operation taking its toll on him as well. I was two years older than Sherlock Holmes, and my physical constitution was questionable. While Holmes engaged in more physical activity, such as pursuing suspicious figures through London's alleyways, time had not passed him by without a trace. I didn't even want to start on his reckless consumption of various substances.

Our savior now surveyed the surroundings, as if she still didn't entirely trust us.

When no one else spoke, I began.

"Could you perhaps enlighten me on what's going on? I had assumed that Miss Talherr was Wittgenstein's fiancée. Shouldn't she be on his side?"

Both Holmes and the woman looked at me uncertainly. Then the detective stood up and stepped between us.

"Forgive my dear friend. It's even difficult for him to see through my disguises, which often leads to amusing situations."

I protested vehemently; this was certainly not the appropriate time to make fun of my shortcomings.

Now Gabriella Talherr spoke to me.

"You're right, Doctor. I am Wittgenstein's fiancée, at least officially. But I actually despise this man and am just waiting for confirmation from my handler to eliminate him."

I heard Holmes snort loudly.

"Baron von Holbach? Forgive me for my comment, but we didn't part on the best of terms after our last encounter."

The woman acknowledged this comment without a word.

I remembered that Holmes had mentioned this name in connection with the case I later titled 'The Loyal Servant.'

"So, Miss Talherr is connected to the German government?" I ventured.

Holmes nodded slightly.

"Even though our savior has altered her appearance somewhat, you should have recognized her by her name. I refer to the case you nearly published under the title 'The Monster,' but which Mycroft ultimately forbade you from making public. Just think about it. If we translate 'Gabriella' from German to French, we get Gabrielle. If we split 'Talherr' and consider 'Tal' in Latin, we get 'Vallis,' or 'Val' for short. Furthermore, 'Herr' can be translated as 'Don' in several languages, besides Latin, where it is a short form for 'Dominus.' Thus, we get Gabrielle Valladon. Does this name mean anything to you, Watson?"

Indeed, I didn't have to think about it for long.

Miss Talherr confirmed it to me by first removing her headscarf and then her wig. Underneath was short, blonde hair. It was the German agent, Ilse von Hoffmanstal.

"Now I understand. The Kaiser has assigned you to Wittgenstein."

The agent confirmed this to me.

"The government sees this man as a threat, and not without justification. His private dealings cast a poor light on the empire. That's why I've been tasked with eliminating both him and the Red Oni."

Holmes chuckled slightly.

"A very nice story. However, my brother Mycroft allowed me to study some papers. Watson, did you know that until recently, the Bakuto were part of an even larger organization?" he then asked me.

I denied it; I hadn't studied the documents provided by his brother as intensively as Holmes.

"The fact is that some time ago, there was a falling-out within this organization. It split into two factions. One is the Bakuto, who are involved in gambling and financial dealings. They are led by Junji Muto, our Oni. The other group is the Tekiya, who deal in smuggling and protection rackets. Their leader is a certain Mitsuru Toyama. You must understand that the two factions hate each other and tried to sabotage each other's businesses."

I could follow my friend, but gang wars occurred all over the world.

"Nevertheless, I could well imagine that the empire has established a special relationship with the Tekiya."

The German agent confirmed this to the detective.

"Yes, we are indeed interested in doing business. However, we consider the Bakuto too unpredictable. Only a criminal like Wittgenstein would have chosen them as business partners."

Holmes raised an eyebrow.

"Successfully, I might add. If there were any remaining differences between him and the Bakuto, the presence of your friend, Colonel Sebastian Moran, would ensure that mutual trust in this business increases."

Miss von Hoffmanstal's expression darkened somewhat.

"I was not the one who chauffeured Moran to Japan, Mr. Holmes. You have yourself to blame for that."

I wanted to point out that it was actually Mycroft's responsibility, and my friend was innocent until the end, but I let it go. Assigning blame would not have helped anyone in this situation.

"Moran's appearance here is a lesser problem than you might think. If we eliminate him, Wittgenstein, and Muto, all our problems will be solved."

The agent agreed.

"And I can enter into negotiations with the Tekiya. It sounds like we both have something to gain from this."

Then she pushed a note toward Holmes.

"Meet me at this location tomorrow. Wittgenstein trusts me so far. I can turn the tables this time and lure him into a trap. If you are willing to cooperate, that is."

The detective took the paper and tucked it away without even glancing at it.

"I will be happy to do so. To a good partnership."

Then the agent took her leave of us and left us alone.

However, I confessed to Holmes that I was not entirely convinced of the matter.

But he had made himself comfortable again and was rummaging in his bag for his pipe. I wondered how he could simply smoke in this situation. We had nearly been killed just an hour ago and had only escaped danger because an agent from another country had come to our aid.

"How long have you known that we were dealing with Miss von Hoffmanstal?"

Holmes lit his pipe and took a puff before responding.

"When we found that music box of the knife sharpener in Bassik's, I knew that this game had another player—or rather, a female player. I first recognized Fräulein von Hoffmanstal in Highclere Castle by her eyes rather than her alias. Both the music box and the allusion to Gabrielle Valladon, the alias she used against us last time, led me to realize that she was doing everything possible to put us on Wittgenstein's trail."

To that extent, I had also understood her actions, but not why she was on our side.

"But why? Doesn't her intervention in this case complicate matters? The empire can hardly want England interfering in their plans in Japan."

Holmes agreed with me.

"You are absolutely right, Watson. The empire certainly has no interest in our interference. But consider her rescue operation in Wittgenstein's house. She didn't have to do it. We might have ended up buried somewhere, but her cover would still be intact and completely solid."

My friend was right, and of course, I was grateful to the agent for her efforts. She had saved our lives; we owed her something.

"Why did she do it then, Holmes?" I asked, my trust in the lady strengthened.

He blew smoke into the room.

"All of this goes back to the events you once published under the report 'A Game in the Shadows.' Remember, Watson. How frustrated I was after failing to prevent the murder of John Douglas, aka Birdy Edwards, in Birlstone by Moriarty's henchmen. I then began to delve deep into the London underworld after even my contact at the time, Fred Porlock, couldn't help me. I identified the assassin Mr. Edwards as the French terrorist René Heron. Following that, we set off for Strasbourg to find him and have him testify against Moriarty. In doing so, we encountered a colleague of yours, a doctor specializing in reconstructive surgery. He was supposed to give Heron a new face so he could go into hiding on the continent. Unfortunately, Moriarty managed to lure this doctor to a location under the pretext of false information, namely the delivery of a letter from Heron to his sister, where he was silenced. I ask you now, Watson, do you still remember the name of your colleague?"

I ran a hand through my hair in slight exhaustion.

"Holmes, what does this old case have to do with anything now? You know how many names I've noted down over the years. Remembering every detail is impossible. And yes, I'm aware that this is no great challenge for you. But please consider the little people, like me."

The detective smiled amusedly.

"Very well, Watson, I won't keep you in suspense any longer. The name of the doctor was Franz von Hoffmanstal."

Now the events of the Strasbourg case came back to me, and I understood what Holmes was getting at.

"This doctor was already older, if I recall correctly. Could it be... Holmes! Does this mean Moriarty is responsible for the murder of our Miss's father?"

The detective nodded in agreement.

"I'm not sure if the good Professor knew at the time that his daughter was spying for the German empire. And that he had created a dangerous enemy."

I fell into brief contemplation.

"What is her true identity then?"

Holmes walked around the room with his pipe in hand.

"Her actual goal has not changed much. To establish a connection between Germany and the Tekiya. But when Mycroft informed me that she was the daughter of Dr. Hoffmanstal, who was murdered by Moriarty, everything changed for me. This woman may be loyal to her government, but you are aware of how dangerous women with a vendetta can be. I don't need to remind you of our dear Mrs. Adler, who nearly toppled an entire royal house. However, I believe her primary interest lies in eliminating the remnants of Moriarty's organization. I can well imagine that she asked her superior, Baron von Holbach, to be allowed to carry out this mission. She thus has two reasons to kill Leopold von Wittgenstein. And I assure you, dear Doctor, the circumstance that Mycroft assisted us with the Colonel in this operation was also initiated by her. Moran was Moriarty's right-hand man. Since Dr. Hoffmanstal was eliminated by a sniper, we can relatively safely assume that Moran carried out the murder in Strasbourg for Moriarty. As you can see, everything is going according to plan for our acquaintance."

I had to admit that I had few qualms about the agent targeting our travel companion. I myself had often entertained the thought during our voyage on the SS Matiana of simply drawing my revolver and putting a bullet in the Colonel. He was, without a doubt, the most despicable subject ever to serve in the Queen's army.

"But Holmes, what exactly is her mission for the empire?"

My friend sat down again.

"It's about Delphine, Watson."

I sighed. Again, one of those answers with which Holmes deliberately wanted to bait me. Nevertheless, I did him the favor.

"Delphine?"

Holmes nodded.

"The 'Dolphin' is the Russians' submarine. It was completed in 1902 in the Russian city of Baltischport. With a length of 19 meters and requiring a crew of 12 men, it is considered highly efficient."

I vaguely remembered having heard of this advanced type of submarine before. Then an idea occurred to me.

"Holmes, wasn't it also Wittgenstein's objective in Basel to acquire submarines?"

My friend affirmed this.

"Indeed. I see you are able to connect the dots. When we first encountered the German agent, I merely considered her the successor to our disgraced German agent, Hugo Oberstein. Where else would her interest in British submarines come from? Let us conduct a thought experiment. What if Baron von Holbach not only tasked Oberstein with stealing the Bruce-Partington plans but also approached private businessmen? What if it was Wittgenstein who brought the matter of the plans to Moriarty's attention, and not the other way around?"

I shrugged.

"Would... that change anything?"

My answer seemed disappointing to the detective.

"Indeed, it would. Think back to what Moran told us. Moriarty wanted to manufacture weapons in Japan and smuggle them into Europe using a submarine. While the plan involving the bribed officials in the Ministry of Trade did exist, Moriarty never relied on just one approach. He always had to maintain control. The Germans, on the other hand, don't need to smuggle weapons but are certainly interested in the factories. Their technology lags behind the Russians; they do not possess a Dolphin. While they could attempt to steal the plans, as they did with us, the Russians would already be on alert, not least because their endeavor was exposed. Not least through your intervention, Watson, as you so aptly revealed in your account of the 'Naval Treaty.' No, the collaboration with the Tekiya serves to produce components for submarines."

I shuddered at the thought of those black, menacing machines. I was aware that our technology was advancing every day, but the sudden death from a torpedo from the sea would be inescapable for any ship.

"But... we have to prevent this somehow, Holmes! A collaboration between the Germans and the Japanese could end in war!" I said vehemently.

Holmes had finished his pipe by now.

"This war is inevitable, Watson. The Japanese government will get wind of the dealings and then officially approach the Kaiser. An alliance between these two options seems inevitable in the near future. But these are problems for tomorrow. I am merely a detective, and you are my friend and assistant. We are not spies; that work still lies with Mycroft and his Mr. Woodrow."

Hardly had Holmes mentioned his name when the man himself entered the door.

"We have new accommodations, gentlemen. Take your suitcases and follow me, please."

We followed without much questioning, and an hour later, Woodrow's contact, Takashi, had quartersed us in a new ryokan.

This time, we only occupied one room, as Moran had escaped us. Sherlock Holmes had not once reproached the agent. Nevertheless, I would have bet a considerable amount that it would be different with his brother once we were back in London.

Woodrow was still skeptical about Miss von Hoffmanstal's message. But he trusted Holmes, and the detective trusted the German agent for some reason. The next day, we approached the meeting point that the agent had given us. We recognized a lady but weren't sure if it was her. She wore our clothes and a different headscarf. This time, we were on our guard, after all, we had only narrowly escaped a trap the day before.

The woman approached us, and we were relieved to find that she was the person we had expected.

"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Woodrow, Dr. Watson, I thank you for your appearance and your trust."

While Mycroft's agent scanned the surroundings, the detective inquired about the plan.

"I had contact with Toyama, the leader of the Tekiya. As you have already outlined, they are not particularly happy about the business of their adversaries. They have decided to launch an attack."

I wasn't sure if I liked these prospects.

"But... that would certainly result in many deaths," I objected.

Holmes looked at me.

"We would only be four, but Muto and Wittgenstein possess a small army. We are dependent on the forces of those criminals. However, our task is to apprehend Wittgenstein. Do I see that correctly?"

Ilse von Hoffmanstal confirmed it.

"He is the central cog in this clockwork. If he falls, then so does the plan to smuggle dangerous substances into England. The Bakuto would hardly be able to find another contact with such resources."

Finally, we made our way towards the harbor area. We were deep in Bakuto territory, but Miss von Hoffmanstal assured us that she was familiar with this area. She could guide us without the risk of being discovered. Nevertheless, I wished at that moment to be as disguised as Holmes during his cases.

We moved onto a platform where various cargo was stacked. There we could cleverly take cover and observe a warehouse guarded by several members of the Bakuto. Almost all of them were adorned with tattoos.

The situation reminded me of our stay in Newbury, where we had also been on the lookout. This intensified when two men now emerged from the hall. One of them was Muto, who was greeted by his people. The other was Leopold von Wittgenstein. Their carefree demeanor indicated that the cover of our companion was still completely intact. I didn't know if she planned to negotiate with the criminals in the form of the German government or as Wittgenstein's successor, to which she would probably be entitled.

In the next moment, all hell broke loose. Several fishing boats sped towards the harbor, and dozens of armed men jumped from the deck. It was clear that the Bakuto were completely surprised and caught off guard. The first members of the gang fell victim to the hail of bullets; only then could their accomplices react and draw their pistols. Muto reacted immediately and pulled Wittgenstein with him. However, they did not flee back into the hall, perhaps fearing they would be cornered there. Instead, the Oni led his business partner along a path next to the building.

"Quick! We can't let them escape!" Holmes urged, and both Woodrow and von Hoffmanstal agreed with him.

The four of us set off. Our only chance to reach the goal would be if we cut off their path. Protected by cargo crates, we fought our way forward, constantly mindful of the gunfight between the two opposing gangs. A ricochet would have been the last thing we needed now. Woodrow took the lead, and I was aware that he would immediately take out Muto and Wittgenstein if he got the chance.

But it didn't come to that. I was the first to notice the danger. A side exit of the warehouse opened, and a familiar face looked at us.

It was Colonel Sebastian Moran. His position turned out to be significantly more advantageous than ours. He drew a weapon so that Woodrow had no chance to react. A bullet hit him, and we took cover. Holmes helped me pull him behind some crates, which at least gave us some cover. Fortunately, the Colonel did not seem interested in finishing us off this time. He fled like his comrades before him.

Immediately, I examined where Woodrow had been hit. There was a considerable wound in his leg.

"Watson, can we leave you alone with Mr. Woodrow?" the detective wanted to know from me.

I knew how important it was to catch Muto and Wittgenstein. Our entire operation depended on it. So, I urged Holmes and Miss von Hoffmanstal to get moving.

The two followed, and I began to tie off my patient's thigh.

"That looks like a clean through-and-through. We need to get you back to the Ryokan and disinfect the wound there. After that, a few stitches and a bandage should be sufficient."

Woodrow grabbed me by the shoulder.

"Don't mind me, Doctor! The Empire is used to losing soldiers on missions," he said humbly, probably out of guilt for being so careless.

But I shook my head.

"I am not. I will never get used to it and will not allow it if I don't have to," I insisted and continued my treatment.

However, I was aware of one thing: it would be impossible for me to carry Frederick Woodrow back to the Ryokan alone. Moreover, the situation at the harbor was extremely dangerous at the moment. It was not out of the question that we would get caught in the crossfire during our retreat. Feverishly, I went through our options. I needed something to transport the man.

Then a flash of inspiration struck me. We were at the harbor; I just needed to get to one of the fishing boats. The only problem was that I neither knew how to start one of these things nor how to steer it. Two points that were, however, essential if one wanted to escape by sea. How I wished for the young Takashi, who would only have to pick us up with his fishing boat. Finally, I helped Woodrow up and propped his right arm around my shoulder. I knew that I only had to be half as considerate with him as with another patient in his situation. The man was an agent of the British government; he knew what it meant to grit his teeth.

We stumbled along a pier and actually spotted a fishing boat ready for us. The owner, or at least a dockworker, was just untying the rope. Apparently, we weren't the only ones thinking of fleeing.

I wanted to address the man but then recognized his tattoos. Immediately, I drew my Webley with my free hand and pointed it at the criminal.

I ordered him to let us onto the boat, and he complied. It was my luck that he was not also armed. On the boat, I gently laid Woodrow down but kept my revolver extended. There were some communication difficulties, but then I was able to convey our destination. The boat's captain started up, and we set off.

I kept checking the captain and then Woodrow's leg. Suddenly, Woodrow's eyes widened. At first, I attributed this to his pain, but then he pointed to the shore.

"That... is him! Look, Watson! There is Muto!"

I turned my gaze and had to agree with him. The leader of the Bakuto was on the other side of the docking bay. Wittgenstein was not with him. Had the two separated? Had Holmes and the agent managed to apprehend him?

"Order the man to steer towards Muto!" Woodrow instructed me.

I thought I must have misheard.

"Absolutely not! We have to get you to safety. Your injury is no joke!" I almost shouted, as the wind whipped around our ears.

But Woodrow seemed serious.

"That's an order, Doctor! I will not allow this operation to fail because of my injury!"

I could understand his stubborn reaction. I was forced to choose between the doctor in me and the soldier. After Afghanistan, I had fervently hoped never to have to make this choice again. But finally, I ordered the helmsman to take us to the docking bay. Fortunately, he complied promptly, and soon we were approaching the land again. I now took my Webley and pressed it into Woodrow's hand. He looked at me confused.

"You have to keep our hostage in check. Otherwise, he will throw you overboard."

There was no other way; Woodrow himself had dropped his weapon due to the hit from Moran.

"But then you would be unarmed, Doctor! Please don't take such a foolish risk!" he implored me.

Due to the time pressure—I did not want to let my patient bleed out—I had no other choice.

"Don't worry, I will be able to use the element of surprise. In my training, I also learned how to overpower someone without a weapon," I assured him.

Still skeptical, he gripped my old army revolver but then nodded.

The boat docked, and Woodrow made sure that our helmsman did not abandon us. I hopped onto the pier and approached Muto's position. He was one of two targets that absolutely had to be neutralized. However, it would not be possible for me to simply kill him; the soldier in me had been silent for too long. It would be enough if I could knock Muto down and chain him somewhere.

I wished at that moment that Holmes were with me. What was the old fellow up to now?

I was only a few meters away from Muto. After picking up a long pipe, I approached him from behind. I stepped as quietly as possible while he was untying the rope of a boat.

I raised the pipe to attack, but then my opponent spun around lightning-fast. He must have seen me sneaking up on him through a reflection on the surface. Immediately, he drew his pistol, but I simply struck. It slipped out of his hand, and he staggered back. However, I had only hit his arm, and the much younger man than me went on the offensive. He pushed me backward, and I continued to wave the pipe around. But it would no longer be of any use to me. I watched as Muto crouched down and tried to pick up his pistol. Immediately, I tried to straighten up with a jerk but only felt a stab in my back. I couldn't believe it. Was my age going to fail me now of all times?

The leader of the Bakuto had achieved his goal and was once again in possession of his pistol. I thought feverishly about what I could do now. With a simple pipe, I would never be able to barrier a bullet. Now he stood over me, the Red Oni, the devilish figure from Japanese fables. He grinned contentedly, and I already saw him pulling the trigger. Then a shot rang out, and I assumed it was meant for me.

But for the second time in a short period, I was saved by another shooter. Junji Muto had been hit directly in the chest. With a confused look, he sank to the ground and groaned one last time. Then he was dead.

I managed to straighten up and looked around in all directions but could not see any shooter. This confused me even more, but I could not afford to waste any empty minutes. I wanted to return to the boat where Woodrow lay; after all, the danger from the Oni was gone. But then I heard shots in the distance. I thought for a moment and came to the conclusion that it could only be Holmes. Muto and Wittgenstein seemed to have separated. Presumably, the Japanese gangster wanted to prepare the boat while the German kept their pursuers busy.

Immediately, I made a decision and grabbed Muto's pistol. I ran again and prayed that Mr. Woodrow would remain conscious long enough so that there would be no negative consequences for him later.

My goal was the source of the shots. I didn't know anything about the current situation, but reinforcements could never hurt. Behind the docking bay, it went steeply uphill, and I cursed the environment. I had to support myself on several branches and bushes until I reached a hill. I didn't have to let my gaze wander for long before I recognized my person crouching on the ground. I increased my pace and came to a stop in front of her. It was Ilse von Hoffmanstal, the German agent. She had a laceration on her head, but apparently from a blow, not a gunshot wound. When I determined that this was not life-threatening, I asked about Holmes.

The woman pointed forward, where a cliff stretched out, reaching far over the bay.

In the distance, I recognized two figures; I suspected that one of them was Holmes.

"Go! Go, Doctor! Wittgenstein must not be victorious today!" the German agent called to me.

I nodded and set off. The closer I got, the more certain I was that the fighters were Holmes and Wittgenstein. The former had the criminal in a firm grip, a hold Holmes had once described to me and called 'Baritsu.' With it, he had also sent the Napoleon of Crime, Professor Moriarty, into the depths of the Reichenbach Falls. But this time there was a significant difference. Sherlock Holmes was now older, and Wittgenstein was much more agile than he was. It seemed that the detective could not gain the upper hand. Wittgenstein tried to push him over the cliff, and I had to prevent this at all costs. I aimed my pistol at the two, but they were constantly in motion. It would not be easy to shoot accurately.

Suddenly, I felt transported back to the roof where, a month ago, I had been ordered to incapacitate Alfred Bassik. At that time, I had disappointed my friend. Presumably, it would never have come to this journey if we had already had all the relevant information then.

But complaining would not help anyone in this critical moment. For one thing, I had decided uncompromisingly. I would save Sherlock Holmes, no matter what it cost. I aimed my weapon and waited for the right moment. It had come when Holmes boxed his opponent in the side, and he briefly staggered to the side. I shot, and the bullet hit Wittgenstein directly in the torso.

Heavily hit, he fell to the side and directly over the edge of the cliff. I hurried to my friend and first examined him, then stared into the depths of the bay. Below were rocks against which the current pressed mercilessly. No one could have survived that fall. I helped Holmes up, and he patted me gratefully on the shoulder several times.

"Thank you, old friend. I knew I could rely on you as always," he said, and then we returned to Miss von Hoffmanstal. We confirmed to her that the job was done, and then we made our way to the docking bay, where Woodrow was still waiting.

However, he was infinitely relieved when he learned that both Muto and Wittgenstein had been taken care of. Exhausted, he handed me a Webley back, and we had ourselves taken to a safe spot on land.

There we let the last of the Bakuto—we didn't know how many of them had survived the attack on the docks—go and made our way to our Ryokan.

There I was able to treat Woodrow properly. I disinfected his wound, stitched it, and applied a bandage. Due to the time that had passed, I didn't know if there was a risk of the wound becoming infected. On the other hand, we would be back on board the Matianna in two days. The medical supplies there were more than adequate should this case occur.

When I was done and Mycroft's best man got a capful of sleep, I left his room. Holmes came towards me and handed me a cloth. I looked at my hands; they were full of blood. It was by no means the first time and certainly not the last. At least if I continued with my profession. As a doctor... as well as Holmes' companion.

I thanked him and cleaned myself up. Ilse von Hoffmanstal was resting in the neighboring room. Fortunately, the owner of the Ryokan had no objections and provided an additional room. After all, we could not have a lady stay overnight with us.

"Holmes, one thing bothers me, though. Where did that invisible bullet come from that saved my life?" I now brought up this topic.

The detective furrowed his brow.

"Watson, I am surprised that you have not drawn the necessary conclusions yourself. A shooter from a great distance? Of course, only Colonel Sebastian Moran comes into question as the sole suspect."

I was taken aback by his statement.

"But how does that make sense, Holmes? Muto was his ally. Why would he shoot him, and even more importantly: why save me?"

For Holmes, the answer seemed to be clear once again.

"No longer, Watson. Moran recognized the sinking ship very quickly. He knew that there was nothing more to gain with Wittgenstein and Muto. By shooting Muto, he ensured temporary safety. Think about it. If he had allowed you to die, he would have been aware that I would have done everything to hunt him down. Now that he has saved your life, his arrest has not become my top priority."

I felt nauseous. I owed my life to one of the men I despised the most. I would have to come to terms with this knowledge somehow.

"Moran has always been a pragmatist. Both in the Indian Army, then under Moriarty, or now with Wittgenstein. Don't be dismayed, old friend, rejoice in your life instead." He patted me on the shoulder once again and then asked for quiet.

I granted him that, of course. The next morning, I checked on my patients. Miss von Hoffmanstal had recovered quickly, but Mr. Woodrow was complaining of pain. I wanted to try to find medication, which was extremely difficult because I had entered this country as Mr. Woodland and not as Dr. Watson. Additionally, the agent insisted on not being taken to a hospital, as this would have endangered our cover. So, it was a matter of gritting our teeth and silencing the pain with whiskey.

The next day, the SS Matiana would dock at the port of Yokohama. The newspapers reported on the devastating gang war that had taken place in the immediate vicinity. I couldn't make sense of the strange characters, which is why I asked one of the businessmen in the neighborhood to translate some passages for me. I wanted to find out if any innocents had lost their lives due to our intervention. I was relieved to learn that the shootout had taken place exclusively in the Bakuto area.

When I returned to the Ryokan, I found not only Holmes but also Miss von Hoffmanstal. They seemed to be deep in conversation. I didn't want to interrupt at first, but then the woman called me over to join her and the detective.

"Dr. Watson. I would like to thank you once again before my departure. Without your help, my mission would have failed."

I smiled modestly and emphasized that our success was more due to luck than careful planning. Then she put on her coat, pulled her headscarf over her head, and grabbed her bag. She said goodbye and wished us a peaceful journey home. I noticed that Holmes held eye contact with her longer than I had ever seen him do with anyone else. And I had certainly been by the detective's side long enough to judge that.

We went inside, and I took care of my patient. Fortunately, an infection had not occurred, but I still wanted to administer proper medication to the man, just to be sure. I instructed him to take it easy today. Holmes and I prepared everything for our departure. I got the promised souvenirs for my wife and some for Mrs. Hudson.

On the day of our departure, I had a strange feeling. We boarded the steamship, the SS Matiana, and I took one last look over the port of Yokohama. It was a country and a culture that had certainly piqued my interest. I wouldn't have minded spending a longer vacation here. But then I thought of my cozy London, and I couldn't wait to get home.

It was the end of June when I had seen all my patients and closed my practice. In fact, more work had awaited me at home than I had anticipated. But this was not due to my patients, but to the disorder that my substitute, Dr. Dinklage, had left behind. Although the instruments were all clean, his own system, which I had to painstakingly revert, had brought back the daily stress.

I probably wouldn't want him as my substitute again anytime soon. This would likely not be necessary either. Sherlock Holmes had now set a firm date for moving to Sussex. In the fall of this year, he would leave Baker Street, and my visits would also come to an end. Although I had promised the good Mrs. Hudson to drop by for dinner occasionally, I became painfully aware that an important chapter in my life was ending.

Although I had assured Holmes that I would visit him in Sussex from time to time, the distance between us had grown significantly. When I visited his office today, I noticed that hardly any shelves were filled. He was studying the Times as usual, and I sat down with him.

"I can see that you were not particularly satisfied with the work of your substitute, Dr. Dinklage," he murmured now.

I cleared my throat.

"Should I even ask how you deduced that, old friend?"

The detective put the newspaper aside.

"Perhaps later, it has just rung. We are about to receive a visitor. I would ask you to immediately push our additional chair over, as I would like to assure you that our visitor will need it very much."

I didn't understand what he meant by that, but I complied with his request. Shortly afterward, someone climbed the stairs and opened the door to Holmes' office without knocking.

Now I understood his remark, for before us stood a breathless, heavily panting Mycroft Holmes.

"Sherlock," he gasped. "I'm so glad you're finally moving into a house without stairs."

I had to suppress a smile and offered our visitor the free chair. He sat down heavily and needed a few seconds to recover.

"Your office was on my route, that's the only reason I made the trip. I wanted to inform you about some things from our final report."

I was surprised that the investigations surrounding Leopold von Wittgenstein and his attempt to influence the Ministry of Trade had been concluded so quickly.

"Don't worry, Wittgenstein operated alone after losing the support of Professor Moriarty's organization. With his death, the plan to smuggle illegal goods into England also fails. I would say you have completed your first mission as an agent of the British government excellently."

His brother shook his head.

"And at the same time, my last. This was the last time I traveled to a foreign country for you to carry out missions there."

Mycroft Holmes nodded apologetically several times.

"Yes, dear brother, I am forever in your debt. That's what you wanted to hear from me, isn't it? As for your other matter, unfortunately, we have not yet been able to determine the whereabouts of Colonel Sebastian Moran. We only know that he left Japan on a ship from France. Then his trail went cold."

I allowed myself to protest vehemently.

"Really! And these are supposed to be the achievements of the British secret service?"

The elder Holmes did not contradict me.

"Well, Moran simply has no priority at the moment. And it is also not expected that he will return to London to seek revenge. That was actually all I wanted to convey. I will go to St. Bartholomew's now to see Mr. Woodrow. He has almost fully recovered."

I was extremely relieved to hear this. I would never have forgiven myself if I had failed my ward.

Mycroft Holmes now stood up and walked towards the door. With the doorknob in his hand, he turned to his brother once more.

"Oh, there was one thing I almost forgot. You must be wondering about our mutual acquaintance, the German agent."

The detective now looked over at him, and I recognized a trace of interest in his gaze.

"I assume she was able to fully meet the Kaiser's expectations."

The elder of the Holmes brothers now hesitated and avoided his gaze.

"Sherlock, I regret to inform you that she died during her espionage activities."

Both my friend and I were shocked by this news. I deeply regretted this loss, as she had saved my life in the Wittgenstein house. I would never forget Miss von Hoffmanstal for that alone.

"Apparently... there were complications during the negotiations with Mitsuru Toyama, the head of the Tekiya. I don't know the details, but in the end, he handed Miss von Hoffmanstal over to the Japanese government. Probably to strike a better deal with them. The spy was then executed the same day. That... was all. I wish you a pleasant day, we will certainly see each other again soon."

He stepped into the stairwell and left us alone in our silence.

I tried to read Holmes' expression at that moment. Certainly, in the many years of our collaboration, we had already had to process one loss or another. But with Miss von Hoffmanstal, it seemed to be something different for Holmes. I had observed how he always met her on an equal footing, a rarity when it came to the female sex. Whether it was in the Scottish Highlands of Inverness or during our meeting in Japan.

The detective picked up his Times again and buried his face behind it. I made several attempts to start a conversation, but my friend was unusually taciturn today. Finally, I gave up and said goodbye to him. Just as I was about to step out the door, he called my name.

"Watson. You know that you can visit me in Sussex at any time, don't you?"

I couldn't help but react with a smile.

"Yes, old friend. I know that." I replied and closed the door behind me.

Actually, my report should end at this point, which I titled the adventures of the 'Red Oni.' It probably gathers dust somewhere on one of my shelves in the basement, as Mycroft Holmes had expressly forbidden me to release it for publication. For good reason, I might add. The Russo-Japanese War officially ended on September 5, 1905, with the signing of the Treaty of Portsmouth. This treaty was negotiated in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, USA, with the support and mediation of US President Theodore Roosevelt, who received the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts. The treaty confirmed Japan's victory and granted the country significant territorial gains, as well as the right to influence Korea, which later became a Japanese protectorate. The Tekiya, under the leadership of Mitsuru Toyama, continued to expand their influence, not least through the ongoing tolerance by the government, and were soon known under the name 'Yakuza.' I am only adding a few new pages to this report because, in addition to the historical data, other details have accumulated that should complete my narrative. This is thanks to a reunion with an old friend, which took place in 1907 and whose report I published under the name "Silver Falcons." Therefore, I would like to add her own account to these pages, as she might have experienced it.

It was already long after closing time, and under normal circumstances, the blind man would have long since retired to his chambers. Today, however, he wanted to make an exception to this rule, as a customer had announced himself. He had known him for many years and had therefore been willing to receive him so late.

When the bell to the shop rang, the blind man placed a case on his counter. The man who entered wished him a pleasant evening. Although few words were exchanged, there was a pleasant, familiar atmosphere. The blind man pushed the case towards the customer, who took a look at it.

"A beautiful piece. Can I take it with me right away?" asked the customer, and the seller affirmed.

Then the payment was made, and the customer left the shop, the heavy, elongated case pressed under his arm. Back in his hotel, he gave the receptionist a friendly look and then made his way to his room. It was not the woman he was interested in today. He had had to abstain from intercourse for too long and had therefore ordered a lady to satisfy his needs.

He placed his case on his bed and checked the contents. The air rifle inside felt familiar and somehow reassuring.

He was about to hold it in his hands when there was a knock at the door. Quickly, he packed the piece away again and checked the time. He cursed; the prostitute had come a bit too early. On the other hand, he did not complain at all when he thought of his needs. He walked to the door and opened it. Before him stood a pretty woman with red hair. The man, who had already lost all his hair, could not quite determine her age. But ultimately, it didn't matter. He invited her inside and offered her a seat.

"I'll open the wine bottle right away, darling, just a moment."

While the prostitute sat down, he walked to the table with the wine and was about to uncork it when he heard a noise behind him. Instead of the pop of the cork, it was the sound of a loaded weapon being cocked.

Panicked, the man turned around and saw that the prostitute was now pointing a pistol at him. At first, he didn't understand what was happening, but then the woman pulled the red wig off her head and sporadically wiped the face powder off. It was not difficult to recognize the woman.

"Colonel Sebastian Moran. I must admit, it took me some time to find you."

Moran did not dare to move even an inch.

"What... do you want?" he asked, constantly glancing at the air rifle on his bed.

Hopeless, he would not be fast enough to reach it.

The woman seemed to enjoy the situation immensely.

"In 1891, you shot a doctor in Strasbourg on behalf of a certain James Moriarty. His name was Franz von Hofmanstal. My father. He was found with a poison dart in his neck."

Moran now realized what the woman was after. Revenge. A feeling he knew well but had never been able to taste.

Then he remembered his days in India, took a deep breath, and forced himself to remain calm.

"Very well. Shoot me." he said.

The woman now stood up and paced back and forth, never taking her eyes off her target.

Then she smiled innocently.

"Kill you now, or let you rot in prison for the rest of your life. An exciting question, don't you think? But what do you think? How... would Sherlock Holmes decide?"