Author's Note: As promised, I am hoping to get updates out more regularly. All I need is some cooperation from the Fan Fiction technology…

As always, I own none of the Sherlock Holmes characters – except for the ones I created for this novel.

Please review. Thanks!

Chapter 13: New Alliances

By the time I eventually made it home to Baker St that night, it was close to 8 PM. My meeting with Charles Sears and gone longer and later than expected. I also had some paperwork and notes to complete on my day's activities back on my ward, which needed to be submitted promptly, but had been interrupted by my visitor. So, I did not leave until 7:30 pm, later than I intended, as I wanted to be there when Holmes arrived. The evening was damp and cool, a harbinger of the autumn to come. As I rode in the cab, I thought idly of how much of the warmest weather of the year Holmes had missed in London, being otherwise occupied elsewhere. The year was racing by, and so many of the issues were had worked on all year still remained unsolved. I was about to drop another one onto the pile

I went upstairs, and had my key in the lock when Holmes himself opened our sitting room door, looking travel worn, tired, and even thinner than he had last week when he arrived back from his long travels. We greeted each other warmly, clearly happy to see each other, but said little else. Mrs. Hudson came upstairs after me, and asked, "Tea first, or straight to dinner?" One glance at Holmes tired, gaunt face, and I answered for both of us, "Dinner as soon as possible if you please." Holmes shot me a brief, tired smile, letting me know I had chosen correctly. We didn't say much beyond the necessary dialogue needed to prepare ourselves and the dining table for the meal ahead. We were no sooner ready, than the food arrived. It was a favorite for both of us: a fish course followed by roast duck, potatoes, glazed carrots, and blueberry pie. We well knew that Mrs. Hudson had chosen this meal deliberately, both to welcome Holmes home - again, and to allow us a fine, companionable meal together after yet another week of separation. We both thanked her profusely and she left – clearly satisfied that her tenants not only appreciated the food but also knew why she had made it. We set about uncovering the food and began the process of serving it out to each other.

"Holmes, you look like your day was longer and harder than you expected, even considering your return trip from wherever. I take it that you stopped by Scotland Yard before coming here, and that everyone and their uncle wanted and took a piece of you - all without 'a please, may I?' You look talked out."

Holmes snorted with laughter. "Perceptive observations, my friend, and entirely correct. I most definitely made the rounds today after making it back to town, and not only with our friends, the inspectors. I first met with Mycroft and the Foreign Minister, the Marquess of Salisbury, Robert Gascoyne-Cecil. Thank the Lord the man also appears to be the P.M, or I would have had more meetings still. Some of it was about my earlier case, some about this last client, and there were a few additional odds and ends. Then there was a discussion or two more with more of Mycroft's aids and a Navy man or two. At least I got a good lunch out of the deal, as Mycroft will never miss a meal, even if London itself was burning. After they squeezed me dry, it was Scotland Yard. I made the rounds of Lestrade, Gregson, Jones, Raddison, and spent a good while with Roger Bradstreet. Lord, that man can talk! Fortunately, as you had indicated he would be, he was well prepared with notes, data, and answers aplenty. He even managed to find and rope in Senior Constable, Ray Lawrence from the incident at "The Pheasant and Quail." I also talked with Dr. Hill – who had nothing but the highest praise for you. They all to a man had warm words for you. Apparently, everyone pulled on your time and resources while I was gone recently, including this week, and your assistance was most appreciated – as well as your sympathetic listening skills. Thank you, my friend, for holding up our end in both of my absences."

"I was glad to help. I only wished I could have done more. They all bemoaned your absences quite plaintively, especially Lestrade and Bradstreet. Were you able to shed much needed light into their collective darkness?"

Holmes grimaced. "Not nearly enough, I'm afraid. I've yet to meet up with Mercer or any of his analysis team. It seems that chemical analysis has shed no light on any of the three men's behavior – at least not so far. I have sent a request for his time, first thing tomorrow morning. Perhaps I can shed some light there, and help move that forward."

"Did Bradstreet or anyone else have any luck finding Martin Bay?"

Holmes' expression shifted to one of clear frustration. "No! not a sign, indicator or even a whisper! He is currently the focal point of Bradstreet's efforts. He's now got two constables assisting him in the search. Not only is Martin Bay missing, and nowhere to be found, their searches are not even able to find proof that our Mr. Bay ever existed. We may be dealing with an entirely fictitious person, whose real name is something else altogether. Bradstreet has been able to track down a few others who knew the man, or at least knew of the person calling himself, 'Martin Bay.' Most people generally agree on what he looked like, and on many of the details about how he presented himself, including his background and personal details. For now, I suspect the man exists – but the identity likely does not. Bradstreet is working with the police artist Bob Gelling to see if the few men who can speak to what Bay looked like can agree on a good likeness of the man. The force would gladly take any sketch door to door, just to see if they can find out more. Who is he? Where does he live? What's his real name? The man may well be tied to three gruesome deaths. Scottland Yard wants answers!"

"The sudden disappearance of this character is profoundly suspicious, Holmes. From everything I was able to learn, this man was an immediate witness if not an active participant at the incident at 'The Pheasant and Quail.' At the very least, I hope Bradstreet is going to involve the proprietor, James McAdams, in the creation of any drawing or sketch. Some of the other staff might be able to contribute as well."

"Indeed, Watson. Fortunately, Bradstreet knows his business. He's keen as mustard to pursue this thing to the ground. It's become a bit personal for him at this point. It's just as well that this kind of unimaginative, yet necessary footwork is what the Yard excels at. There's no real need for either of us to get directly involved for now. I have much more critical work to do regarding the chemical analysis."

"Did you see Segreant Thomas or learn anything new about the 'Poison Pills Cases?'' I asked. "I have heard nothing new recently."
"No on both counts, Watson. Thomas was out and about making himself indispensable in his usual way. Investigating multiple armed assaults down at the Eastern docks I believe. I did ask. There's talk that he's not long for the jump to inspector. He did good work on our case and apparently has had a most auspicious summer. Between the cases he's solved, and the success he had bringing up a number of junior constables, his reputation is soaring!"

We spoke for a few minutes about possible strategies for tracking down Martin Bay, and his likely part in the three deaths. "You know my methods, Watson. You know full well that I stay away from theorizing without detail. It skews the thinking and ultimately limits the imagination when it comes time to consider facts clearly. Still, Watson … it's not hard even for me to see Bay's absence, and worse, his likely false identity, as something most sinister! There's our past experience, after all – and we both have plenty of it. None of that experience points to anything even remotely innocent! Yet again, I wish I had been involved in this from the start. This year has been an endless exercise in late notifications, and opportunities missed. The work I have done for Mycroft is important, critical even, although I'm loathe to admit it to the insufferable pompous jackass! The problem with my brother is he's right, virtually all the time – and he knows it. Knows I know it too; Blast the man! Still, the impact on so much other work is…" Holmes paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, before saying softly, "perhaps insurmountable."

"Holmes you are but one man. You can't be in two places at once. None of the many opportunities missed this year can be laid on you."

"Perhaps not, Watson, but I am back to my old complaint. I have my own affairs and priorities to manage. Mycroft's inability to better leverage the very considerable resources of government and empire both should not be on me to resolve. When I am not available, other critical problems more relevant to my sphere of work emerge. Maybe the lives of the three young men, or the lives of multiple young women from the lower levels of society, are not so very important compared to the needs of the nation, the greater national multitude. But try as I might, I just cannot resign myself to such a callous, cynical view. The lives of single individuals, or little groups of little people must matter – or what's the point of calling ourselves a civilized society? You know better than any other man that I'm not one for maudlin sentimentalities. Nor am I one to dwell on issues of a religious or theological nature. Yet, I was born and bred to a code, a standard of morality and decency that I can neither shake off or deny. Nor would I want to if I could. I am a man of intellect, a thanking man, some would even call me a thinking machine. But intellect, even mine, must run on more than logical principles. There should also be a series of guiding principles as well. Something to point the compass needle to the North."

"I have said before my friend that you are my conscience, the best of men. It's not a thing I say lightly. I value those best elements of yours as values I too must uphold. I often fear that I may lose them in moments of overfocused zeal. Justice, mercy, compassion, even for the least of us, matter greatly. Otherwise, they don't matter at all. What is justice and righteousness under the law truly worth if only the rich, high and mighty have access to them? Justice is for everyone, else it's just a fine mink collar for the well-healed to wear, while all others go in rags and sackcloth."

I was greatly warmed by my friend's praises and moved by his passion. This wasn't the first time I had heard such things from Holmes, but even so, he rarely spoke of the beliefs and principles that drove him. That they came up now showed me how much he chafed under the ongoing lack of results in our now months' long investigation, and how the unanswered questions we still had after months of investigation weighed in all of our considerations, such as the violent deaths of three promising young men. That they knew each other, and all died so badly by what can only be thought of as sudden fires of madness from within, burdened both of us heavily; we knew that Bradstreet felt that burden too.

Unfortunately, even as I contemplated Holmes' words, I realized that I was to add to his load of cares. I was sorry for it yet was glad I had him here to share my news with. It is said that a burden shared is a burden halved; well, I would now see if that was true.

"Oddly enough, I have an update on an old case of mine which I just received today. Regretfully, the news I have indicates it might be tangentially related to the open cases before us – especially our 'Poisoned Pills' cases."

Holmes sat up quickly, his weary look vanishing, replaced by the sharp eyes of a hawk spotting prey. "Are you serious, my friend?" To my nod of affirmation, he said, "Indeed, Watson, then do tell! I noticed as soon as you came through the door tonight that your day, or your recent experience, had presented you with at least one unexpected difficulty. You had that look you wear when you are carrying an issue or a burden that fits poorly. My apologies, old man. I should have asked earlier. It's just that you wanted an update, and you were already involved. The thing about long absences is that it often takes a while to fully catch up. Lay it out for me and let me hear it."

"This is strange enough and of such interest that I would prefer we finish this fine meal, the pie, and the claret before I dive in. Indeed, I hardly know where to begin with it as it will require a review of a case we have discussed in the past as it was before today first."

I could tell Holmes' interest was well peaked by now, but he reluctantly agreed we would finish eating before I took him through the complex case history of Annie Kendell, and her hapless friend, Alice Roundtree. Still, we managed to enjoy the food and the pie, which was a personal favorite for us both. Holmes spoke of his latest impressions of Glasgow, which was apparently where he had spent the last week. We eventually settled ourselves before the fire with a scotch and water each before I began. I first gave him a brief review of the events surrounding Annie's strange case in the spring. I then went into the odd increase in cases of mania followed by catatonia that had been reported by London's mental health hospitals, as described by both Dr. Sears and Blakely. Holmes listened intensely, watching me tell the story, leaning forward towards me, in a manner very unlike his usual languid, eyes closed way of absorbing a case. He asked questions about any possible commonalities between the patients. Like me, he was struck by the diversity: male and female both. Most, but not all, from working class circumstances.

Eventually I came to the update I had received from Sears, and the heretofore unknown involvement of a medication provided by Alice Roundtree. Holmes was a cultivated, reserved man, rarely prone to open emotion – and even more rarely one to curse or swear – but he uttered one particularly vile, one-word curse, softly almost in a whisper, when he heard that a pill, only one pill, was involved.

When I finished at last, he sat back in his chair, visibly shaken, eyes closed, saying nothing. I stood up and retrieved the scotch decanter, this time without the water and wordlessly poured us a refill each. "Damn! Damn and blast!" Holmes said at last. "If only, If only we had known, if someone, anyone had known!" He sat in silence again, obviously struggling with the new details, and their ghastly implications. "Has Sears involved the Yard?" he asked.

"Not yet. He's still working with the various hospitals involved. People must be notified, especially the family members."

"The Metropolitan Police Force needs to get involved – and soon too," he said. "I have often been accused of withholding critical data from the Yard, not entirely without justification. But not in this case, my friend. We need their help. We needed their help on this months ago, only nobody knew it. There will need to be some coordination with the Manchester Police as well. Alice Roundtree's family must be informed. They may have essential information, the name of the provider, perhaps even some of her pills. So much opportunity lost…" He shook his head. In the soft gaslight, he suddenly looked more than tired and underfed. He looked older, and dare I say it, defeated.

I felt the need to get the process started. "I don't work at Barts tomorrow. Perhaps I can help you get things pointed in the right direction." Holmes was known by both Sears and Blakely, but they had never met him in person. That was about to change.

"Your help will be absolutely vital," Holmes replied. "I am going to need all the help I can get here. We will need help from many quarters. There may not be much I can do, or much that Scotland Yard can do at this time, but by God we must try!"

I knew where Charles Sears lived, and so I drafted a telegram to be sent off first thing in the morning. I suggested he meet with Holmes as soon as possible, on Saturday, if possible – and that a similar meeting be arranged with Dr. Blakely. I also suggested that a conversation with Inspectors Lestrade and Raddison, with perhaps Gregson as well, be arranged as quickly as could be managed. The more I talked, I felt the need to do something constructive immediately, so I told Holmes I was going to walk my telegram slip to the nearest office, to best ensure the earliest possible delivery in the morning. Holmes had sat nervously smoking a cigarette, thinking through the next steps. He suddenly jumped up and furiously wrote out three telegrams of his own.

"Your instincts are dead on, Watson!" he said. "There's no time to lose. If we get some missives out for earlies possible morning delivery, we might well make good use of tomorrow. Tired as I am, I'm far too pent up for sleep at the moment. I'll walk to the telegraph office with you. I need to do some thinking."

The night had tuned raw and damp, so we got ourselves well bundled up before we headed out. "Autumn is arriving early it seems," I said, as we both turned up our collars. "We started looking into suspicious pills in the cold of winter. Now, here we are, it's getting cold again, and we don't seem any further ahead on any front, with yet another type of pill case before us."

"I'm painfully aware of that," said Holmes. "Time and fortune have not been on our sides from the beginning. I expect that our luck is not about to change, but we must play our part. In this game, we must work with the cards we have been dealt, meager as they may be. Good hand or bad, it's on us to rise to the occasion." We walked in silence, as I knew Holmes needed every possible moment to think. It wasn't a long walk. When we got there, Holmes paid for all four telegrams, and we returned home again in silence. I decided I would retire for the night and told him that as we were nearing our front door.

"That's just as well," he replied. "it's going to be along day tomorrow. I'm afraid I won't be good company tonight anymore as I have at least two pipes worth of hard thinking to do before I find my bed."

I involuntarily winced. "You must rest, Holmes! You are perilously close to tapped out, and well you know it. It's going to be a long day tomorrow, and the week ahead was already likely to be long and brutal, even before this new development came along. You must pace yourself. This is a marathon, not a sprint. You'll be no good to anyone if you collapse and have to spend a week or two in bed!"

Holmes gave me a tired smile. "It's the same old advice from my oldest and dearest friend. I will go easy on myself, I promise. Perhaps it will be only one pipe. I heard much from the good inspectors today, much to think about, before this latest news. We are surrounded by perhaps some of the darkest waters we have ever seen – likely far deeper and more turbulent than any problem presented even by Moriarty. There's just so much to consider; it's possible that many of our previous assumptions will have to be reexamined afresh. So much to do…"

When we were back in our sitting room, Holmes left and came back a few minutes later wearing his dressing gown and carrying his favorite old Meerschaum pipe. "I haven't seen you with that old friend for a while," I said. He smiled, thinly, and said, "It's past time we got reacquainted, it seems. I'll see you in the morning. With luck, our telegrams will stir up some action and maybe allow us to make up for some lost time. At breakfast then?"

I wished Holmes a good night. I was afraid that sleep would not come easily, but I knew I had done my best and spent the night well. To my surprise, I fell asleep quickly, with the smell of Holme's shag tobacco slowly filtering into my room.

Saturday morning started as early as we expected. Holmes was quickly scanning the morning paper, while pondering aloud regarding the best and fastest way to communicate with Charles Sears, and to get a meeting with Annie Kendell. While it was unlikely that Annie would be able to provide significant details about Mrs. Roundtree's doctor or pill provider, Holmes believed that we really had no choice but to start reporting the latest update to all significant authorities, while also reworking old ground. "We are late to the battle, and the war, Watson. Only an aggressive attack on multiple fronts can hope to secure us any win at all. Sears, Blakely, the Yard, the families of the patients of course, the patients themselves – all must be met with to see if any details are unexplored."

"What about your meeting with Mercer?" I asked.

"That too, Watson, that too if possible. It's going to be a long day indeed!"

"Perhaps we can divide and conquer later in the day. Once you meet with Sears, and Mrs. Kendell, and start the process with the Yarders, I might be able to set additional lines in motion while you do some further analysis with Mercer and his team."

Holmes smiled, "Good man, Watson! As always, your help is invaluable, seldom more so when your position and standing as senior medical man is needed. Let's see what we can do to arrange a meeting with your man, Sears, and go from there. I hate to play this by ear, but this symphony is going to write itself as we go along. With some action today and perhaps some help from our friends and allies, we may yet get a more coordinated, methodical, offensive strategy going. Until then, it's just us marching into the breach again – just as we have done so often before. I admit I was dismayed last night, but with a night of sleep, a good breakfast, and my trusty military doctor by my side, I will run to battle with our unseen enemies. Who knows, perhaps we will yet slay some dragons! If not today, then sometime soon!"

"I think it might be time to add 'Professional Dragon Slayer' to your title of 'Consulting Detective.' It certainly fits, at least in this instance." I was about to say more but a ring at the door downstairs made me stop and look at Holmes expectantly. "A reply already, perhaps?" I got up from the table and went to our sitting room door. I met a telegram boy on the stairs holding two telegrams, one Holmes and one for me. Luck was with us at last.

"Telegram for Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson," the boy announced. "A reply to both is requested."

Holmes gave a quick cry of satisfaction and bound up from the table. "Capital!" he exclaimed. He tore open the thin envelope, even as I was doing the same to mine. "It's Lestrade. Both he and Gregson are available to meet regarding our latest news. Raddison is apparently out of town on another case." He quickly reached for a telegram form, then another one for me.

"It's Sears," I said. He's going to be available at his home from mid-morning onwards. Might I suggest we collect our two inspectors and bring them along to our interview?"

"Three birds with one stone, Watson!" Holmes said lightly. He wrote a quick reply to the inspectors while I wrote one for my professional colleague, thanking him for his availability, and advising him that I would be bringing along both inspectors to our meeting with Holmes. We sent the boy on his way, with a generous tip, and an urgent request to post our replies as quickly as possible. Holmes knew my question before I asked it.

"I asked Lestrade to see if any police records can be found on any of the patients admitted earlier this year. It's a long shot, Watson, but it needs to be asked. I also requested suggestions for an intelligent inspector in Manchester. We will need a bit of legwork done up there regarding Mrs. Roundtree's family. Some pills, Watson, my kingdom for some pills!"

I rushed to finish eating and get ready as Holmes clearly was most impatient to head out. He used the time by consulting his indexes for a few minutes. "Just updating my knowledge of the local and more regional asylums, along with the most current list of Manchester based detective inspectors," he said. "So much depends on getting ourselves off on the right track. So much time has been lost… so much time." He spoke half to me, and to himself, as he tore through five of his indexed scrapbook volumes, headless of the mess he was making. He stopped occasionally to write a few notes on a piece of paper, which he finally folded and put into his jacket pocket. "Not a moment to lose, Watson!" He said, bounding for the door. I hurried to catch up, but even as I got downstairs, he was already climbing into a cab, shouting, "Scotland Yard!" His agitation was apparent, as he normally rode to our destinations quietly lost in thought. However, now he was fidgeting in his impatience to arrive as quickly as possible.

When we got to Scotland Yard, I just said, "You go ahead." He rushed out and took the stairs in a few leaps, while I paid the cabbie. A quick inquiry with the desk sergeant told me he had headed to Lestrade's office. When I arrived, he was urging Lestrade to come quickly. Eventually he convinced the inspector to find Gregson, and that Holmes and I would explain our urgent errand on the way to Dr. Sears' home. "Not quite so fast Holmes," Lestrade said. "I have a couple of constables chasing down your records request per your telegram. If you give us a few moments, we might be able to pull off a miracle to order, on your behalf." Holmes, impatient as he was, still saw the value in waiting on the data. While he waited, all eyes turned to me, as the one holding the essential background information. "This is essentially Watson's case, as it's his story to tell," said Holmes.

And so, I gave the inspectors a quick but detailed summary. I chose to report the details of Annie Kendell odd story much as I would provide medical information to a concerned, but medically uneducated family member. Considering the details and complexities of the larger issues involved, I decided to tell the story in chronological order, much the same way as I, Sears, and Blakely learned of the possible connection to other patients in asylums across London. I was in the middle of the report on the other patients when the constables arrived back with the incident reports, they were able to recover. Apparently two of the male patients, a David Simmons, and a Bertrand Davidson, had caused enough of a public disruption to come to police notice. Both had been manic enough to require a constable to be summoned to the scene where they broke down in their helpless state.

"Thank you, constables!" Holmes said, with a warmth that was unusual for him when dealing with anyone from the Metropolitan Police. "Please continue to search for others. It's possible you will uncover others completely unknown to us, and every case is critical. How far back would you suggest they look, Watson, to ensure none are missed?"

"Back to September of last year. A full year should do it," I replied. "If your searching uncovers a few in September or October, then please extend the search back another two months, starting in July." I also thanked the constables. Holmes took the reports, and I invited the inspectors to join Holmes and I in a cab to Dr. Sears' house while I would continue with my narrative along the way.

I picked up my narrative where I had left off. Both inspectors listened attentively clearly engaged, but still not seeing the connection. Their attitudes changed when I related the more recent revelations brought about by Mrs. Kendell's illness, and her connection with Alice Roundtree. "Dear God!" Gregson exclaimed. Lestrade just sat in stunned silence, shaking his head. He then shuddered, and uttered a quick remarkably profane oath, announcing it to the cab like a pronouncement of doom. "What the hell is happening in the medical profession, Watson?" He cried. "It's bad enough dealing with the muggers, rapists, thieves, and murderers. Now we have doctors, scientists, chemists and all operating for what purpose: a need for profit? To kill? To avenge? What does it all mean? We had our hands full already with dead women on the rails. Now this! By God, it's too much! It's just too damn much!" Nobody answered him, as none of us had any insights – or words of comfort. As a group, we were united in our common purpose, and our sense of helplessness. All we could do right then and there was to bear witness.

"We can only do what we can, Lestrade," said Holmes at last. He was remarkably gentle in his response, even putting his hand briefly on the inspector's shoulder. "We all come from different places, but we are all, all of us here, and all your colleagues in the Yard, warriors against the dark forces that lurk on the fringes of society. It's what we do. Someone has to push back. To defend, and to fight for justice: it's noble work, I assure you. When I don't remember, I have Watson here to remind me. Now it's my turn to remind you. I am, perhaps remiss, in my duty, as a colleague and a friend, in not saying it more often. You, all of you at the Yard: you do noble work. It's an honor to fight for order, decency, and justice beside you all. I am indeed proud to do so."

"As am I," I said. I was surprised by Holmes's heartfelt words, as Lestrade and Gregson both appeared to be. His praise for Scotland Yard was infrequent at best - and rarer still, this passionate.

"The honor is ours, Holmes," said Gregson. "It always has been, much as we are reluctant to admit it. So much of our success, our shining moments, over the years, have been due to your efforts - you and the doctor both." He smiled fondly at me. "Indeed, doctor we often wonder how you put up with Holmes. But only rarely do we wonder how you put up with us. It doesn't take much to understand that as a medical man, you have so many other demands on you, so many other ways you can spend your time. You work with us, go on stakeouts with us, fight alongside, and even patch us up when we are wounded. Hell, you'll even shoot to defend us! What man can ask for more?"

"You shoot damn well! Saved my arse more than once!" said Lestrade. "You and Holmes are both fine men to have around in a fight!"

As Lestrade spoke, we pulled up to Dr. Sears' residence. "The honor is all mine, gentlemen." I said. "I have served beside brave men of honor for years and have often gone into battle with them. It's the privilege of a soldier, such as it is, to see the best and worst of men - often at the same time. Such is my privilege with all of you. I will always proudly stand and fight with you."

"We have arrived," said Holmes. He looked around the cab and smiled. "Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more?" We looked at each other and smiled. "Perhaps more than once more," said Lestrade. "Let's get the bastards!"

With that, we exited the cab. My friends waited while Holmes paid the cabbie, and I led the way up the short walkway to the door of my colleague's handsome home.

I had only been to Charles Sears' house in the evenings before, as a dinner or party guest. This was my first time seeing it in full daylight. The man was financially successful, and his home spoke eloquently to that fact. It was a large white three-story mansion, with imposing Doric columns framing the front portal, standing proudly in the middle of an immaculate lawn, and tall stately oaks and chestnuts. Every house on the street was equally grand in its own way. Peacocks all, preening for an ever-appreciative London audience. I expected to be greeted at the door by a maid or butler and was rather surprised when Sears himself answered the doorbell. "Welcome John," he said warmly. "Welcome gentlemen. I'm not standing on ceremony today. Come on in!" He led us into a spacious foyer, with twin staircases on either side leading upstairs. "Come into the parlor." He led us off to a large gracious room to the right. I was getting ready to make formal introductions when his lovely wife came in behind us. "We have a butler, Charles," she said with a little laugh. "Hello John, how wonderful to see you again!"

"Hello Andrea," I said, giving her a warm hug. "We are so sorry to impose on your Saturday." I then introduced my three colleagues.

"Nonsense, John!" She replied. "I know some of what brings you here today, and that it's important. Mr. Holmes, we meet at last! Charles and I have heard and read so much about you. It's an honor and a pleasure!"

Holmes was at his courtliest best. We both had dressed for a day around town, knowing we likely would have the need to impress. "The honor is indeed mine," he said smoothly. "I expect John Watson has stretched the truth more than once. I'm just a man who lives by his wits, with an eye for observation, and a well-honed imagination. I keep telling everyone that it's a skill anyone else can learn."

"Perhaps, sir," said Sears, "but certainly not nearly as well."

After a few more minutes of introductions and pleasantries Mrs. Sears went off to see to tea and refreshments. Once again, I took the lead and briefly reviewed my understanding of Mrs. Kendell 's experience, both her original case, and her more recent experiences. I also gave a quick summary of our poison pills case and then spoke to our obvious concerns that the cases of the railway deaths, the asylum patients, Mrs. Kendell, and Mrs. Roundtree were related - at least relative to the grievous misuse of powerful, unregulated medications. Holmes then took over, going into more detail regarding the breadth and depth of our previous investigation. Lestrade then spoke to the commitment Scotland Yard had made to the effort, and the still active cases the Metropolitan Force was pursuing. "We all pushed hard on this – dug far and deep. We haven't found the leads we hoped for, but as Mr. Holmes keeps saying, overwhelming coincidences are very hard to swallow. We, all of us, remain fully convinced that all the deaths speak for themselves. And now we have these strange cases of an almost calculated lunacy, it smells of evil, Doctor Sears. It stinks. We need your help. We need Doctor Blakely too, if we are to get to the bottom of this. We'll need Mrs. Kendell too, if we can talk with her. If she has any information at all that can point to where Mrs. Roundtree got her pills. They laid Mrs. Roundtree low, and now it seems they came damn close to doing in Mrs. Kendell. Just one pill." Lestrade, normally not a particularly verbose or eloquent man, spoke with a passion rare for him. "It's just one pill. Imagine a whole chemist shop full of them! The damage." His words hung heavy in the air.

Charles Sears had sat attentively, listening to all of us, his tea long forgotten. At last, he pulled himself together and took a sip of the now cold cup. He made a face, and poured the cup into a wide silver vase his wife had thoughtfully provided for just such an eventuality. He smiled ruefully.

"Andrea thinks of everything. I often leave my tea too long, and then…" he left the statement unfinished as he poured himself a warm cup. He drank from it gratefully, and then stood up, and started pacing the room.

"As you all know, John and I have discussed the issue extensively. So have Blakely and me. Our asylum patients have left us and numerous other physicians very concerned and mystified. Now Annie Kendell and Alice Roundtree, as I told John. But hearing it all laid out like this and put in the context of much larger events… it's horrific! Even as I hear all this, I am torn. Your case is unfortunately very strong and compelling. How I wish it weren't! I share something with John, something shared by virtually all men of medicine: the belief in our sacred oath to 'first do no harm,' and our faith and commitment in the medications we use. Whether it's medications we ourselves compound, or as is increasingly more common, provided by a pharmaceutical manufacturer, it's beyond obscene that the sacred obligation to not do injury - either by medical practice or using medication - could be doing such harm, even unto causing violent death!"

Sears ran his hands through his hair, clearly agitated by even the theoretical consideration of such evil rampaging unchecked in the medical profession. We watched, giving him time to think and process the complexities which were new to him, but familiar to all of us. Eventually he pulled himself together and faced Holmes. "Sir, if you are involved in this, and if you are even half the man my friend John tells me you are, I assume you are fully committed to uncovering the truth and seeking both accountability and justice." Holmes answered simply, "yes. Fully committed. Whatever it takes." Sears looked at him steadily for a moment, then asked, "What can I do? Whatever it is, I'm in. By God doings like this cannot stand! I'm in!"

"Mrs. Kendell," said Holmes. "We must speak to her. She is the starting point. We will need to talk to Mrs. Roundtree too, unless she is entirely catatonic. A few words alone from her may be all it takes to point us in the right direction. We will need to talk to her family for the same reason. Any clues in Mrs. Roundtree's possessions, her papers- and pray to God, any pills leftover - are precious commodities indeed. Eventually your colleague Dr. Blakely, and some of the other physicians involved will have to be interviewed. At the moment, they likely see no connecting related events and certainly are not used to thinking of their patients as tragically abused victims. If there's a way to investigate the patients' backgrounds, their possessions, certainly any signs of common colleagues or personal physicians, such leads must be pursued. I know these patients have all been in care for weeks or more likely months. Most details that are critically important are likely scattered or long forgotten. This is a long hard path of investigation, and it's a hard ask, I know. But this is the task at hand, and the heavy work that will be required of all of us, if we are to make progress, and provide any justice for the poor people affected."

Sears looked at us all. "Getting hold of Mrs. Kendell is the easy task on this list. We might even be able to see her this afternoon. A trip by all of us to the Horton residence might be a bit overwhelming. A bit of a circus really, but it's nothing that can't be managed. The rest… that's going to take a lot more managing." He looked at me and smiled ruefully. "Is it always like this for you, John? Are cases with your friends here so full of difficulty? Not so glamorous the real thing, Eh?"

I shrugged and smiled slightly. "Crime is most often a dark business. You must take it as you find it and face it on its own terms. It's a lesson every new young constable has to learn, and it comes as a shock to many, especially on their first few violent crimes. Murder especially. It is not for the timid or the squeamish. As the former soldier, I came into this more prepared than most," I said. "As a doctor, I'm used to blood, as are you, and still even now, it's hard sometimes. It's hard for even the most experienced. I would worry far more about the man who felt nothing."

"You have to protect, and still not lose your humanity?" asked Sears, a growing understanding dawning on his face.

"Indeed so, doctor," said Gregson. "People think senior Yarders are a cold and callous lot. Not so. We've just learned how to set aside our feelings and sensibilities to get the job done."

"How do you want to do this?" asked Holmes, bringing us back to the immediate concern of interviewing Annie Kendell. "Can we just head over to see her? Five of us just showing up on the Horton's doorstep could be overwhelming. It's important not to frighten her, or the Hortons, into silence."

"Much as I want to be a part of this, I suggest I stay out of it," said Gregson. "Inspector Lestrade has the Yard side well in hand. I will go back and start getting inspectors from Manchester involved. One of us at least is going to have to go to Manchester in the next couple of days. We'd best not show up unannounced. With so much to do, it's best to divide and conquer."

"Sound thinking, Gregson," said Holmes, as Lestrade nodded approvingly. I rather marveled at how the relationship between the two, once highly competitive inspectors had evolved. Older, wiser, and more certain of themselves, there was far more give and take, cooperation and accommodation in their relationship than in the old days. It had been apparent from the start how they had cooperated earlier in the year on our pill investigation efforts. At least Holmes and I had less negotiating to do when it came to managing personalities at Scotland Yard.

After some additional consideration, Sears decided to send his butler, Soames, to the Horton home, with a quick note, advising that a delegation led by himself would be dropping by in two hours' time. "Best to ensure that at least Mrs. Horton and Mrs. Kendell will be there. It might even be better if Mr. Horton isn't. He's a nice chap, but Mrs. Kendell might well be more at ease and talk more freely if she's if it's just the two of them."

While we waited, we were persuaded by the ever-genial Sears and his gracious wife, to stay and have lunch, and take the time to perhaps strategize on how best to broaden the investigation to the larger pool of potential victims.

"It's going to be hard to get through our list," I said. "There's issues of privacy, social shame, scandal, institutional bureaucracy, and the considerable shift in thinking required to see these poor souls not as lunatics, but rather tragically assaulted victims - to at least consider the possibility that what is going on here is crime, not mental illness."

Sears readily agreed with me. "Watson has the right of it entirely. We first must get our colleague Blakely on board. If we can do that, it will help. Blakely and I have considerable influence across the asylums in the Greater London area, he especially. A united front will be most compelling, as our combined voices will be a force too authoritative to ignore. Actually, John, your voice added to ours will also be most worthwhile. You carry your own considerable fame, both as a doctor, but also as an investigator. The three of us as a single unifying force, most likely will be irresistible to the elements of, shall we say bureaucratic inertia. Perhaps a formal signed letter?"

"Would it help if you have the signatures of multiple inspectors from Scotland Yard, or perhaps Mr. Holmes?" asked Gregson.

"It certainly can't hurt," said Sears. "Certainly, mentioning your names as involved, interested parties, who can be called on for reference and authority, will be ideal. I expect the actual implementation of this will go more smoothly if it is led by the known medical personalities. The best method may well be a dual approach by myself and Blakely, with John held in reserve. But let's make it known from the start that this is a series of issues which has the attention of both Sherlock Holmes and Scotland Yard." He looked at Holmes and both inspectors.

"I often complain to Watson that I don't like my name spread about in the public so much," said Holmes. "But I must grudgingly admit that having a wide reputation has its uses. Now more than ever."

"Agreed," said Lestrade. "Everyone here is a known name to the public, even us senior inspectors. It's times like this when it can be effective as a way of gaining some leverage."

By the time our light lunch was complete, the butler Soames had returned. He informed us that both Mrs. Horton and Mrs. Kendell were in residence and would be happy to receive us at our convenience. This announcement shifted our focus to finishing the meal and getting ready to leave. Gregson shook everyone's hand, thanked Mrs. Sears for her hospitality, and left. The rest of us followed soon after. It was time to visit Mrs. Kendell.

Author's Note: a bit of political history to head off any confusion. In 1895 the Conservatives won a general election, unseating William Gladstone and the Liberal Party. Gascone-Cecil was both the Foreign Minister and the PM after June 25, 1895.