Sherlock Holmes And The Paradise Horror

by GWBear

In 1920, Dr. John Watson breaks his long silence on the darkest, most difficult case - actually a series of related cases which Holmes pursued for many months - that Sherlock Holmes ever worked on. Holmes believes it's his greatest failure, but Watson thinks very differently. He believes the cases showed Holmes at his very best.

20. Chapter 19: Death of a Dodd

Chapter 19: Death of a Dodd

The early weeks of 1896 were difficult for both of us: for Holmes because he continued to drive himself mercilessly, and me for trying to squeeze time free from my medical work during what was proving to be a difficult Cold and Influenza season. I spent my time moving between London Hospital, Barts, and two other private practices, as a visiting locum. I was now a knowledgeable, capable extra pair of hands, which made me a highly desirable commodity. I had sold my private practice after Mary died in 1894, and moved back in with Holmes at Baker Street, but I wasn't entirely ready to forever turn my back on the idea of private medical practice, or owning my own practice again, so the work outside of a large hospital setting was appealing. In truth, I was always paid extremely well for stepping in, and I enjoyed the variety.

Still, in peak seasons, or in moments of crisis, even I, a medical veteran with a taste for excitement and a faster pace than many, sometimes wished for a bit of a breather. I found myself working long days, seven days a week – spreading myself thinly, or working to chase down leads for Holmes. In hindsight as I write this, I realize I was never busier than I was that winter, except when I had been an army surgeon, when I had been much younger and very eager. It was in such times when I had to grudgingly admit that my enthusiasm was often greater than my physical capacity. Everyone gets older, me included.

On Friday, the fourteenth of February, I was working late at Barts, scrambling with other doctors to get through the normal Friday patient backlog in the outpatient waiting rooms, when I was suddenly struck with the thought that the anniversary of my own involvement in the Poison Pills case had come and gone a week ago, but I had been too busy to notice. "How pathetic – and rather typical, John!" I couldn't help but berate myself. Upon reflection, I had decidedly negative feelings about the past year of effort and failure. No wonder I had let the date come and go.

If Holmes had remembered the date, he chose not to mention it to me. He had become involved in the tragic deaths of the numerous young women some time earlier through his work with the hard driving Sergeant Thomas, so I did not know his true anniversary date. All we both knew was, it was now more than a year, and we had achieved little to nothing. We knew a little more about the scam (at least we now saw it as such) and had the name and description of at least one person deeply involved. We also had a slight understanding of what the pills retrieved from the Gartlones were made of. Days of analysis by Andrew Mercer and Holmes had at last separated out the inactive ingredients and stabilizers from a complex list of indicators which pointed to the active ingredients: a spectacular complexity of plant-based vegetable alkaloids, most likely of a tropical nature. However, brilliant as Holmes and Mercer were as chemists, that was all they could determine. Without further clues at least pointing to a family of plants to explore in detail, they were stymied. Some things can be reverse engineered; entirely new and extremely fragile compounds could not, at least not without further data, or an abundant supply of raw materials from the source. We had neither.

Holmes had at least one success. He was caught up at last from the backlog left from months of neglect of his own consulting practice over the last year. His last backlogged client's problem was successfully resolved by the twenty-third of January, with the client more than satisfied. I had a small part in helping Holmes clear the case, and so we celebrated at Simpson's with their best beef, a fine French Cabernet, and a dark chocolate cake so decadently rich that "it oozed sin like Benzini after a successful safecracking" – a witticism from Holmes referencing a phenomenal jewelry heist that had occurred during his three-year hiatus from London. That famous crime was one of the many times Scotland Yard had truly mourned the loss of Holmes, as nobody was ever caught, and not a single piece of the spectacular haul was ever recovered. A few of the gems, particularly the rubies and sapphires had likely shown up in other show pieces coming from the best designers on the continent, but of course nothing could be definitely proven… and Benzini remained at large somewhere in Europe.

That night in our sitting room, as Holmes and I opened a first-rate scotch gifted to Holmes by the grateful client, Holmes had made a vow. "Never again, Watson! The next time I let my own affairs go to hell like this, it will because I and I alone choose to let it happen. I've been around long enough to know that 'never again' is often the last prideful cry of the clueless, vain, or the perpetually stupid, so I make the vow with at least a personal reservations clause. I certainly will not let Mycroft, or the Yard Inspectors shanghai me to such detriment again."

"At least Mycroft paid you that extra – that bonus," I ventured, which sounded feeble, even to my ears.

"Bonus? Hardly a bonus!" Holmes scoffed. "When you consider the income lost, the damage to my reputation, the grievously long slog to dig out of the mess, and the innumerable side effects of the sacrifices made, it's hardly compensation. Look at the impact to you as well – even to Mrs. Hudson, the patron saint of early breakfasts, overheated dinners, and late-night sandwiches."

"He did send me that check…" I offered. In fairness, Mycroft had been exceedingly generous to me.

"It still seems like he's buying your cooperation and gratitude, which is quite unjustified. You have been a pillar of strength to me, and a valuable asset to him more times than he cares to admit. Consider the types of things he hauls me into – which then often includes you. Do you realize that we have taken more risks that even some of his most experienced agents have not been exposed to? And I'm his brother! Mycroft is not devoid of filial feeling, but still, the needs of Queen and Country will forever come first."

"The search in our collective 'Bay mystery' continues as well," said Holmes, a note of frustration inevitable in his voice. "I am running out pf places to look, rocks to look under, and contacts to mine for information. There are a few more leads in America I can pursue through the Pinkertons, and one more I know of that I can chase through the Mexican Consulate. The Assistant Attaché owes me a favor or three. He has been most helpful so far."

Ultimately, Holmes had done all that, with a few more last moment additions due to flashes of inspiration, throughout late January, and early February. Now, here in mid-February, Holmes had clearly run out of options. Fortunately, his client prospects and the endless entreaties from Scotland Yard continued to keep him well engaged, and free from the worst effects of depression and feelings of failure. A murder down at the docks on the nineth, which had even Inspector Thomas perplexed, had kept Holmes involved for much of the week. By late Friday we found ourselves with a rare evening together by the fireside, after having enjoyed a leisurely dinner without interruption. Holmes surprised me with some idle speculation regarding linguistic research he was going to be pursuing with a friend at Oxford. He also suggested a concert the flowing evening at the Royal Albert Hall.

I found myself laughing at the oddity. "Free time, Holmes. How long has it been? Except for that choral recital at Christmas time, I don't think you have had a day – or an evening - to yourself in almost a year. It's been a long time. Busy as we have always been, we have always made time for cultural events, and the finer pursuits in the past. At least up until this last year."

"Needs must, my friend. We dug ourselves a deep hole, which we had to see our way out of." He paused to relight his pipe, then gave me a quizzical look. "Regrets, Watson?"

"Only from the lack of results. I would look back on the whole with profound satisfaction and contentment if we had only been successful. Lord knows, I would sleep better!"

Holmes sighed. "As would I, my friend. I have never been a deep or easy sleeper, but even by my standards, good sleep has been hard to come by in recent months. At least I haven't had to get up at the crack of dawn recently. Every little bit help, in this case, every extra hour. Like you, I would count the entire of last year well spent if only the results were there."

We spent the rest of the evening in quiet conversation, smoking peacefully, and even playing a game of chess, which is what made the evening rather more memorable. Holmes was a formidable, brilliant chess player, who I could rarely beat. Before 1895, we used to play often. I would lose most of the time, but frequency and exposure to Holmes' style had made me a far better player than I was in my army days, when I was the best player among my colleagues. With years of practice, I could at least keep the game challenging for him. Unfortunately, lack of playing over the past year had made me rusty – but Holmes was still on top of his game. "You are badly off your game" was all he said to me when it ended. The loss stung, but I took consolation from knowing that a level of our own personal normal was creeping back into our lives…

The rest of February was more of the same: gradual signs of old behaviors and patterns coming back into our lives, as we both did our best to move on from our mutual sense of failure. Scotland Yard kept Holmes mercifully busy, and the cresting seasonal illnesses, normal for the winter months, kept me hard at it in whatever location I was plying my trade in that day. Dismal weather kept us house-bound most nights, as we sat by the fire listening to the wind trying to force its way down our chimney, or the rains and storms outside rattling the windows like a raging, caged animal. Life was truly getting back to normal – until external events shook up our circumstances.

It was Monday, the second of March, that brought us the first indication of change. Both Holmes and I had identical letters in formal government envelopes waiting for us when we arrived at Baker Street. The paper was the expensive, high-end bond used for the most important of government correspondence. The contents of both of our letters was the same:

The Foreign Office

King Charles Street. St. James Park

Whitehall, London

Your presence is requested at a private conference at the Foreign Office, where important matters of interest and note to you will be discussed. Your participation is required.

Wednesday morning, 10 AM. Room 316.

Refreshments will be served.

Warmest regards,

Mr. Mycroft Holmes, Esq.

"What do you make of this, Holmes? From Mycroft of all people!" I asked Holmes, who was reading his own letter with a look of puzzlement, amusement, and cynicism in equal measure.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Watson. Brother Mycroft has not spoken to me in almost three weeks. As you know, we can go for long periods of time without consistent communication, which is how he tends to like it. I personally don't object to long intervals either. Meetings with Mycroft usually only happen when one of us needs something from the other. I ask him for specialized information, or help shaking the trees on complex cases. He… when he needs me to be his errand boy. Since we both got the same letter, I can only assume this is going to be a big ask. He's got something important for us to do, a rather large favor, I expect. How are you situated with your two hospital positions, or with the private practices you alternate through?"

"I am in fine standing all the way around, Holmes, but it's a critical time of the year, as you well know. Doctors can't go galivanting off to foreign lands without notice – certainly not without causing great inconvenience, and a measure of ill-will."

Holmes waved his hand dismissively. "It doesn't really matter. If Mycroft, or one of the high mandarins he works with wants you badly enough, they can move mighty waters if needed. They would find any number of highly qualified practitioners to stand in for you at any and all of the locations you work in."

"What about your practice? You just got yourself stabilized, and back on an even keel."

Holmes' face darkened. "Well I know it, Watson! Mycroft damn well knows that I am entirely unwilling to leave London and go chasing off to fix the world according to his specifications. We're not entirely on the best of terms right now because of how vocally I pushed back after my last extended outing." He paused, then scowled even more. "This might well be why we both got an invitation. He knows my Watson is a most patriotic and obliging soul – and an obedient soldier who will not turn down a direct request to serve Queen and Country. He may need me and has decided to rope you in to ensure my compliance!"

"I suppose it all depends if the location is warm. It's been a long winter. We could use a break from the cold, rain, and snow," I said, trying to inject a note of optimism.

"Spring is just a few weeks away, Watson. It's no longer January. A warm getaway is a poor inducement!" He paused a moment to light his pipe. He picked up his letter, glanced at it again, and tossed it aside. "I suppose we'll know soon enough. I don't intend to go knocking at The Diogenes Club for a hint. This can wait until Wednesday morning."

Wednesday morning was cold, blustery, and rainy. Both of us were dressed in our best, as gentlemen making a high society morning call. "I won't give Mycroft the satisfaction from either of us showing up as anything less than our best," Holmes had said peevishly that morning. After a hearty breakfast from Mrs. Hudson, who declared, "I won't have my lads going off on a morning like this, into God know what your brother has planned, without at least some proper fortification!" Holmes had privately arranged through one of his endless contacts to have a high-end carriage drive us to Whitehall. "This time I intend to arrive in style, Watson. If Mycroft can play games, so can I." As we rode, neither one of us was in the best of spirits. Holmes was feeling manipulated, while I, although far more curious, was feeling the miserable weather, and wishing it was a far warmer and brighter day. If I was going to go out in my best, I wanted the weather to match the circumstances. The trip from Baker Street was not long. In fact, if the weather had been sunny, or this was the summer, we could have walked. We arrived, and Holmes gave our driver his thanks, and a large tip.

The situation unexpectedly became more interesting when we arrived in the foyer of the building. An officious looking, well-dressed young man was waiting for us in the lobby – and he was most definitely not alone. We were met by a nervous group of our Scotland Yard colleagues, friends all. Inspectors Lestrade, Gregson, Bradstreet, Radisson, Thomas, and Andrew Mercer were milling around in a small anteroom, talking quietly, clearly comparing notes about how they all got there. To my great surprise, both of the Alansby brothers were there as well, with Doctor Charles Sears making a late arrival. Everyone was dressed in their best, each surprised to see the others, and everyone at a loss to explain why they had apparently been collectively summoned to the halls of power. When Holmes and I appeared, the group descended on us, all urgently whispering, seeking answers.

"Please my friends, I have no more answers than any of you," said Holmes. "I assume you all got a letter of invitation?" To the collective affirmatives from the team, Holmes said, "I can only assume, as can all of you, that whatever brings us here has to do with our team efforts last year. Beyond that, I expect we will all find out soon enough, as it's close on 10:00 AM."

The group made its way upstairs to room 316, which proved to be a large, comfortable conference room, with an oval mahogany table, and well-padded chairs. An older exquisitely dressed man, thin, energetic, with an intelligent, sharp gaze which missed nothing was waiting for us in the room. I recognized him immediately as Walter Flanders, Mycroft's private secretary. It looked like this really was Mycroft's affair after all, although with so many at the meeting, a private commission for Holmes and I looked very unlikely. Holmes stepped forward, making introductions all around, now clearly interested in making our colleagues feel more at ease. Flanders struck the perfect balance between the socially interested and deferential, while effectively getting the team settled around the table. As we were finding our seats, several silver catering carts with tea, coffee, pastries, and assorted sandwiches were rolled in and set up either close by, or directly on the large table. The staff made short work of their tasks and disappeared as soon as they had arrived.

Flanders called everyone to order, and gave a short welcoming speech thanking the team for coming. He then surprised most everyone by passing out a pile of forms, to be carefully read and signed. "What you are receiving is a Governments Secrets Non-Disclosure Agreement, used for those who must deal with sensitive or classified information. What we will be discussing today falls under the category of highly sensitive information. What will be disclosed must not be discussed outside this room or disclosed to anyone – not even your closest friends and family. The penalties for violating such agreements are outlined in these documents, and as you can see, they can be quite severe. All senior government officials, ministers, and those personnel who deal with classified data operate under such 'need to know' restrictions. If you cannot agree to abide by the terms of this agreement, now is the time to speak up. There will of course be no penalties, but you will be excused from these proceedings."

"I notice Holmes and Watson did not get one…?" said Gregson, with a murmur of affirmation from Lestrade.

"Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson both signed a rather extensive series of such documents quite a long time ago. Otherwise, they would never be able to acts as agents on behalf of Her Majesty's government," said Flanders, with a sight smile and a nod in our direction. "However, I do need both of you to sign a simple declaration affirming that you both understand that today's meeting falls under one of the categories covered by your previous agreements, which are still on file." He passed Holmes and me a simple two paragraph document for each of us to sign and date, which we both did, having gone through this ritual more than once in the past. Holmes gave a sardonic smile. I knew what he was thinking; this was going to be a most interesting presentation.

"What and who is a "duly authorized agent or official?" asked Sears. Like everyone else, he was closely scrutinizing the papers he was suddenly being asked to sign.

"That is anyone from Her Majesty's government who knows of the topics of today's meeting, who may follow-up with you some time in the future," said Flanders rather unhelpfully.

"How will we know? How can we ensure they are not a fraud or a pretender?" asked Radisson.

"Good question," replied Flanders. "To be clear, if you have any doubts – any doubts whatsoever – you should deny any knowledge and refuse to discuss the matter further. Any officials who could possibly be authorized to discuss sensitive material with you will immediately understand and abide by your decision, as that is precisely the protocol they have been trained in. If the matter is sufficiently urgent, they will work with you, and other government officials to clarify the situation to your satisfaction." He paused for a moment, and then gravely said, "if anyone persists or pressures you unnecessarily beyond that, it's likely they are NOT in fact authorized to talk with you. Before you leave today, you will receive a list of contacts to reach out should such a situation ever occur. Needless to say, we will be most interested in any such incidents if and when they occur."

After a few more questions and delays, the process was eventually completed. Nobody refused to sign. Flanders nodded, smiled, thanked everyone for their cooperation, gathered up all the documents, and disappeared for a few minutes.

"Well, that was different," said Lestrade, a touch of annoyance wrestling with amusement in his voice. This produced a bit of laughter all around.

"Welcome to Her Majesty's government," I said, which produced another chuckle.

"You have to admit, the pastries are outstanding," said Sears.

A general murmur of agreement was interrupted by the door opening. Flanders returned, followed by Mycroft Holmes, and two other men, whose presence produced a little gasp of surprise from the Scotland Yard personnel, as it was Senior Superintendent Lester Carrigan, and the Commissioner himself, Colonel Sir Edward Bradford. The Yarders all jumped to their feet, and even Holmes and I rose out of respect.

As this was clearly Mycroft's show, he wasted no time taking charge. "Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you all for coming this morning. I hope the tea and refreshments are satisfactory." To the enthusiastic sounds of agreement, the elder Holmes smiled. "I believe some introductions are in order, as it's possible that not everyone here knows Senior Superintendent Lester Carrigan, and the Commissioner of Scotland Yard, Colonel Sir Edward Bradford." Mycroft was right, the doctors had never met either of the two members of the upper most ranks of Scotland Yard – or Mycroft either. A few minutes of handshakes, introductions, and social pleasantries followed, with everyone acquainting – or reacquainting - themselves, with each other. The two Holmes brothers shared a few moments with each other as well, with Mycroft subtly reining in his younger brother's subtly growing impatience. Like me, he knew well that Sherlock had little time for social niceties, especially when there was work to be done, or information to be shared. Eventually, Mycroft brought the group to order and had everyone seated around the conference table again.

"Gentlemen, no doubt most if not all of you have likely guessed the main reason you have been brought here today. As you now know, we are here to discuss the case, or rather series of cases that you all have invested so much dedication and effort in over the span of months. Some of you," here Mycroft indicated Thomas, myself, and his brother, "have been involved in the investigation of these cases for over a year." He came over and stood next to Inspector Thomas. "And, one of you above all, is responsible for starting the entire series of investigations way back in the end of '94. Then Sergeant Thomas, now Inspector," here he beamed down at the young inspector who was growing embarrassed by being the center of attention, "refused to take the standard results of a series of suspicious deaths for granted and insisted on digging deeper. He in essence, started everything. Working with my brother Sherlock, and later, Doctor John Watson, they uncovered a series of profoundly violent and inexplicable deaths that absolutely demanded answers. One thing led to another, and the rest you all know. Time has passed, and the intrepid Sergeant is now an Inspector!" Here he smiled again at Thomas. "Well done, young man! Well done, and congratulations on your so well-deserved promotion!" A round of applause followed, with Thomas looking both gratified and embarrassed in equal measure.

"Today, we will disclose some information that none of you are aware of." The room stilled, as everyone now refocused their attention on Mycroft. "As many of you know, my brother and I seek each other's help on issues where the other has unique skills or insights that benefit the work and efforts of the other. I have asked for Sherlock's help – Doctor Watson's too – on several select issues in the past, uniquely suited to his talents, while he has asked me for information on sensitive matters, or to look into issues where the larger scope and resources of the government may be able to help. It should surprise nobody here that Sherlock has discussed the cases you have been working on several times in the past year. While he sometimes thinks I treat his cases or work with disinterest," here he smiled at Sherlock, who just looked back, his face alight with focused interest, "I actually listen to, and remember everything."

Mycroft turned, and made a gesture to Flanders, who left the room. "I was more than a little concerned by much of what I learned over the past year – concerned enough to have resourced deployed to look into the matter. It is the results of that activity which we are here to discuss today." By now, Mycroft had the undivided attention of everyone in the room. There was a sudden, new tension, as everyone understood that they were going to receive a critical update on the issues most of interest to the team. In the ensuing pause and murmur around the room, the door reopened, and two men came in with Flanders.

The newcomers were noticeable for their bearing. Both were young, tall, and obviously fit, with stiff, erect, military bearings. They carried themselves with confidence and a self-contained alertness that one rarely sees outside the ranks of those actively serving in the military. The younger of the two had a suppressed energy that took me a moment to place, as it had been years since I had seen it. It suddenly hit me, as I exchanged a quick look with Holmes, who was staring at the two men, swiftly gathering and cataloging every detail. I knew without asking that he had already seen it. This was a man trained to the highest level of skill and excellence. His assignments likely took him into the far places of the world, some of them quite tropical if the color of his skin was any indication. His daily life was danger, and he was entirely comfortable living in that space. The thought came to me then, one word that told me much of what the man likely did: Assassin. The other man was almost as physically tuned to the same level, but he carried the additional bearing of one used to giving difficult orders and expecting them to be followed without question. I knew without another word being spoken that these were among Mycroft's best assets, his finest agents.

The two men went to the front of the room next to Mycroft and stood at attention, with an ease which indicated they could have stood that way all day without any hardship. Mycroft then began again. "Gentlemen, let me introduce two of Her Majesty's best. Major Jonathan Hemmings, and Lieutenant Colonel Sir Peter Avalon." Both men nodded as their name was called. "The Lieutenant Colonel manages a highly elite team of agents, including Major Hemmings, who undertake missions of extreme delicacy and often considerable danger, on behalf of the Queen's interests. Some time ago, I tasked Colonel Avalon's people to look into the cases Sherlock brought to my attention. While nothing could be guaranteed, I and numerous others in high places deemed it necessary, even highly expedient, that the threat represented by the criminals you were investigating be contained as soon as possible. Major Hemmings, if you will?"

Hemmings stepped forward and put a large folder he had been carrying on the table. He opened it up, and pulled out two photographs, which he passed to the people on either side of Mycroft. "Gentlemen, if you will each look at, and then circulate these photographs around the room, I think you will quickly understand why we are here."

Audible gasps came from each man as they caught their first look at the pictures – and for good reason. The man in both photographs was immediately identifiable to everyone in the room. We knew the man all too well, although we had never met him. Both photographs were portraits of Martin Bay.

Hemmings continued. "This is the man you have all come to know as Martin Bay. His name, as you all probably suspect, is not Bay. His real name is Jacob Abrams Dodd. He is shown here at age twenty-nine, and age thirty-two, with the later picture taken last year. He's a native of Belfast, well educated, from a reasonably prosperous middle-class family. His father ran a small shipping company. He was educated at Queen's University Belfast, receiving training in Biology. He has resided in Belfast, Dublin, Glasgow, Manchester, and London."

He paused, letting the pictures circulate around the room. We each were more than a little stunned to see the actual face of the man we had all searched so long and hard for. Dodd was a well-made, handsome man, tall, with what looked like light brown hair. In the earlier picture, he was clean-shaven, and in the later one taken last year, he had a mustache. The face was friendly, the look genial, even merry, but as we all well knew, looks could be deceiving.

"Damn!" said Lestrade softly. "You really do exist! Mr. Gartlone did a fine job of describing him to our artist. Between them, she captured very good likeness indeed. I don't suppose we can tell her that?" he said, looking at Mycroft.

"We will cover what you can and cannot say to others after Hemmings and Avalon have presented their findings," said Mycroft.

"Has Dodd been captured?" asked Gregson.

"Mr. Dodd is no longer in a position to pose a threat to anyone. He is dead," said Hemming simply. A loud murmur rose around the room.

"I cannot disclose all aspects of my investigation," said Hemmings. "I can tell you that I tracked him down the point where I could watch his movements. I caught up with him on a ship called the "Santa Rosa," traveling from Havana Cuba to Rio de Janeiro in Brazil. Dodd did not arrive at his destination.

"Can we be absolutely certain of that?" asked Thomas.

"It's an absolute certainty," said Hemmings. "He never made it to Brazil, unless he developed the aquatic skills and endurance of a bottle-nosed dolphin. He went overboard several hundred miles offshore."

"He had help climbing overboard," I stated, already knowing the answer.

"Indeed he did, Doctor Watson." Hemming was calm and matter of fact about what had clearly been a precise, calculated act of elimination.

"What were you able to learn about his activities before his death?" asked Holmes. As to be expected, Holmes immediately focused on the important details.

Hemmings reached back into his folder and pulled out a report. "Much of what was discovered is going to have to remain classified, I'm afraid. What we can tell you is that he was engaged in a private research endeavor originally focused in the Amazonian jungle of Brazil, involving highly toxic, rare plants, native only to select areas. The original intent to explore the region, gather samples, research the flora and fauna found for useful applications, all with an eye towards private profit – very substantial profit. The organization created a small company "Paradise Pharmaceuticals, Limited," or in Portuguese, "Paraíso Farmacêutico Limitada." Their research proved to be... unexpectedly fruitful, and deadly, as you no doubt already know. They were able to extract a considerable range of concentrated botanical byproducts, made with medical, mind-altering, or behavior modifying attributes. The results of some of their labors produced compounds which were tragically tested on a variety of animal, and later human subjects."

"Dear God!' exclaimed Sears. Others in the room had similar responses. We looked around, each of us seeing in the faces of our colleaques the revulsion, horror, and disgust we were feeling.

"It's worse, far worse than we could have ever thought!" said Lestrade. "I'm not sure I've ever heard anything like it! Unimaginable."

"Damn him to hell!" said Bradstreet bitterly. "I hope he rots!"

"Needless to say, we have put a stop to all such activities," said Hemmings, taking advantage of a small break in the surge of voices in the room to add this important detail.

"What about the others? Clearly he did not act alone. We have heard that he had possibly as many as three or four colleagues in London alone," said Radisson. His statement got sounds of affirmation and approval from all around the room, as such details were uppermost in our minds.

"What about a lab where the pills were made? Is it in London?" asked Robert Alansby.

Lieutenant Colonel Avalon cleared his throat. "Good questions all. The extent of our operatins must remain classified, with the details currently highly compartmentatilized on a direct need to know basis. What we can tell you," here he glanced over at Mcroft, who nodded slightly for him to continue. "What we can tell you is that the full extent of the operation has been uncovered, and all threats to the general public have been eliminated. No rogue pills, medicines, pharmaceuticals, or chemical agents of any kind will be let loose upon the British public again."

"What about the other people involved?" asked Holmes. "Have they also been apprehended, or even killed?"

"They have been... neutralized. The threat they represent has been entirely eliminated," Avalon said smoothly, even as the statement baldly declared a great deal, while covering up as much or more.

"Neutralized," said Holmes.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," said Avalon.

"Can you tell us anything more than that?" asked Holmes.

Avalon glanced at Mycroft. "Not at this time, I'm afraid," said Mycroft.

"Well, damn!" said Radisson. Murmurs of disbelief agreeing with him were voiced around the room.

"Sorry, gentlemen. Welcome to the world of governement intelligence and espionage, all in service to the Queen," said Mycroft. "Unfortunately, in matters such as this, even those who are often quite close to an operation, or a series of events, are not ultimately granted full acces to all the particulars. You in Scorland Yard run across your own forms of this secrecy. You doctors, the same, with patient confidentiality and privacy usually held on a 'need to know' basis. Sherlock and Doctor Watson are altogether familiar with this level of understanding. They have been involved in things that must be held hightly confidential. There are things my brother has done which John Watson has never been pivy to even as his close friend, colleague, and flatmate." He looked at Holmes and me for confirmation.

I just nodded, and said, "It's true. For example, as you all know, Holmes was away on a long trip late in the summer, when everyone here wanted some of his time to work on cases, especially the three violent deaths of the men from 'The Pheasant and Quail.' I never learned what he did, or how he did it. I still don't have a clue, and I know not to ask. It can be frustrating, but it's just how it is sometimes."

Holmes was sitting quietly, but I could tell he was on high alert. Every word, gesture, nuance across the room was being recorded in his memory. A quick glance at Mycroft told me that he too was intensely absorbing everything. His outward demeanor was calm, but I recognized that even for him, this was a meeting with very high stakes involved. I knew enough of the man by now to understand that it was critical to him, and to numerous unknown others, that this meeting proceed well, with a measure of satisfaction, and collective understanding reached by its conclusion. On impulse, I glanced quickly at Carrigan and Bradford. Both men were watching the room with a keen interest, focusing primarily upon the Scotland Yard Inspectors. They may not be immediately aware of it, but they were being assessed…

"Can we get a bit of clarity at least?" asked Bradstreet. "We have been engaged in three series of cases in the past year: the violent deaths of young women, mostly at railway locations, the sudden incapacity of various members of the public, people displaying signs of disassociation, confusion, and catatonia, and three extremely violent deaths associated with an upscale pub in the business and government district of London. Are all these cases in fact directly linked and related to Bay, his colleagues, and this Paradise company?"

"Absolutely and directly linked," said Hemmings. Bradstreet winced. "I was almost hoping the answer was 'no' and there was some other explanation."

"I'm sorry, Inspector."

"At this point in time, are we to consider all of these investigations closed? Is there nothing else we can or should do?" asked Gregson.

Commissioner Bradford spoke up. "A good and timely question, inspector. It's one of the reasons Superintendent Carrigan and I are here. All of you in this room, Yarders, doctors, chemists, the whole team, have done absolutely extraordinary and commendable work. However, upon receiving assurances from Mr. Mycroft Holmes, the Major, the Lieutenant Colonel, and others well placed in the government, we believe there is no more for the members of this team, or others in Scotland yard to do. We can consider this case – this entire series of cases – closed at this time."

"How do we write all of this up? We have paperwork to fill out, and reports to file," said Radisson. "That's true," said Lestrade. "The work is not over until the paperwork is done."

"My team, most likely Major Hemmings, can work with you to word some type of collective report to close off and allow all of your cases to be filed," said Avalon. "I'm afraid that what is filed will be only a partial telling of the story, and will only cover Martin Bay as Bay, and not as Dodd. There were a lot of moving parts in this investigation on our end, just as there were on yours. The way such operations are carried out, the people involved, the means, and methods. All must be kept secret for the good of the realm."

"What do we tell the victim's families, the families of the dead, and the people who were grievously impacted by months of incapacity?" asked Thomas. "It's going to be very odd if we have nothing to tell them."

"Then of course, there's the press," said Lestrade sourly. "Don't we need something that can stand up to a measure of public scrutiny?"

"We will tell people about Martin Bay, and that he along with a couple of colleagues who are now dead, manufactured and passed off some bad pills for his own personal gain," said Bradford. "It's going to take some time to determine the right balance of things to tell the public. Carrigan will work directly with Avalon on this."

Mycroft spoke up. "What we can tell you right now is that Dodd's true identity, the nature of the tropical toxins from Brazil, and 'Paradise Pharmaceuticals" are all going to have to remain highly classified. Nobody can be told, and that includes friends, family, even others at the Yard. There are no exceptions!"

"There are others who were also involved in our investigations," Mercer said. "There were other constables and sergeants, my assistant, people in my lab who helped analyze the pills, other doctors, and those who we consulted or did postmortem activities."

"We are still working on the right level of disclosure, but it will almost certainly be entirely focused on Dodd as Martin Bay," said Mycroft.

"This will be an interesting kettle of fish to keep under wraps," said Sears. "We brought a lot of other highly respected and visible doctors and medical researchers in to consult on this."

"If need be, what they will be told is that the compounds involved were experimental and need to be kept secret for the good of public safety," said Mycroft. "It's a useful story, as it's very close to the truth. Only the source and the manner of the products involved and where they came from, will not be disclosed. The government believes it is vital, absolutely vital, that the region, company, and people involved in gathering and refining these products, all must be withheld from the public Nobody in the world knows more than the people in this room, the level of grievous lethality these compounds represent. We don't want anyone else with evil or profit-seeking intent to retrace the path these people took or attempt to find the botanicals they were able to harvest. It's more than a series of complex, covert operations we are trying to protect. It's the public at large. Imagine if everyone tried to brew up such trouble. It was hard enough to stop it the first time!"

"It's just that as doctors, we are concerned for public safety, and feel a duty to warn and protect," said Robert Alansby. His brother sitting next to him nodded vigorously. The two of them had exchanged whispered comments to each other throughout the meeting.

"That's why offer you both the assurance that this ugly business is truly shut down, while strongly desiring to keep any and all details that might allow the evil and the curious to replicate such product away from the public," said Avalon.

"Gentlemen, I can't stress enough how sensitive this information is," said Hemmings. "It's absolutely essential that the ugly details of these toxins, discovered and exploited by the ruthlessly rapacious profiteers we uncovered, are kept under wraps. The less people know, the less the excessively curious will go seeking."

"It is not idle government bureaucracy or the whims of overly fussy mandarins that made the secrecy papers you signed earlier so necessary," said Mycroft, a well cultured but notable element of steel in his voice. "An inordinate amount of analysis and consideration has gone into this. Any public disclosures necessary to inform and aid the victims, or their families, must be circumspect, and they will receive a highly edited, and yes sanitized portion of the truth. We know it will take some public finessing. That is why any and all public statements, and messages to the Press will be carefully managed by Carrigan and our people here."

As this discussion was taking place, Holmes had withdrawn from the discussion, and even pulled back from the table somewhat, the better to observe the room, and everyone in it. After years of working with him, and many cases where we had to deal with delicate situations and sensitive clients, even I knew better than most how to study a room for undercurrents of resistance and tension. The doctors and scientists in the room were resisting the most, which I rather expected – but it was the two agents, and the senior management from Scotland Yard, who were most on edge, and poised for… what exactly? I knew instinctively was that it was absolutely critical that a solid wall of loyalty, solidarity, and committed agreement, emerge from this meeting. An exchange of looks with Holmes, and even a brief exchange of glances with Mycroft told me my unspoken assumptions were correct. I could tell that nothing about this pleased Holmes, and that he would leave this meeting, restless, discontented, and full of unresolved questions; however, I also knew that when pushed, he would hold strong by the directives of Queen and Country, if for no other reason than it was so important to Mycroft.

Finally, I decided to speak up. "My friends, as Mr. Holmes indicated, Holmes and I have been down this road before, more than once actually. Odd and peculiar as this may look, I can assure you that secrecy and even the artful management of a well-crafted message is not particularly unusual or new. This is in fact what happens, and happens quite often, all without the public being the wiser. It's not just in government. I worked under such directives frequently while in the army. Secrecy is simply the stock in trade of those who deal with sensitive information. Our friends at the Yard have their own version of this, I'm sure."

The inspectors nodded in agreement, even though I could tell that the situation sat poorly with them. Lestrade responded. "Aye, Doctor Watson is right. The Yard is full of secrets and buried inconveniences. It's not lying or some type of calculated conspiracy. It's the nature of how many things must be done. It's just… reality. We don't have to like it, and believe me, we often don't, but we do have to live with it, and deal with it accordingly."

My little speech, and Lestrade's agreement shifted the balance of tension in the room, and it became obvious soon enough that the entire team was committed to the coordinated response, and would be guided by whatever publicity was directed from the joint efforts of Carrigan, Hemmings, and Avalon. After a few more minutes of questions and answers, Avalon politely excused himself and Hemmings, on the excuse of additional meetings and commitments. Before he left, Avalon turned to the room, and spoke.

"Gentlemen, I think I speak for both myself and the Major when I say that you, your team, and even the others who are not here, all who were involved in this complex, ugly investigation over the past year or more, have our utmost respect and admiration. What you did, the effort, teamwork, dedication you showed, the commitment to the victims, and the pursuit of justice: It's highly commendable. The public will never know what you did, but the entire nation owes you a debt of gratitude and appreciation. It was an honor to help bring a measure of closure to these ugly events – and it was our highest privilege to meet you all. Well done! Well done indeed!"

"Thank you, one and all, and congratulations!" said Hemmings.

After they left the room, Commissioner Bradford stood up. "Before this meeting comes to a close, I too, on behalf of the Superintendent, the senior management of Scotland Yard, and the entire nation's constabulary, I also want to extend my deepest thanks and most heart-felt congratulations to all of you. The work this year, before you brought this team together, during the time when the dedicated team conducted its investigations, and in the months afterwards, when so much additional work was done on your own time – it was devotion above and beyond the call of duty."

"We couldn't have done it without Mr. Holmes – or Doctor Watson either," said Bradstreet. I secretly blessed the man for his timely interjection on our behalf, as so often our efforts went unnoticed by the top management of the Metropolitan Police Force.

"I couldn't agree more," said Gregson.

"No argument from me," said Lestrade.

"I can't say enough about either of them, especially Mr. Holmes," said Inspector Thomas with feeling. "I wouldn't be an inspector without the many months of his mentoring and guidance."

Bradford looked at Holmes and I smiling warmly. "Gentlemen, you have both been the right hand of Scotland Yard for years. So much of our greatest successes are largely due to you. For too long, we ignored it, dismissed it, and wished it was otherwise, but it's nothing but simple, honest fact. We owe you a debt we cannot repay. On behalf of everyone, from me, down to the newest recruits, thank you both!"

Holmes looked both pleased and embarrassed in equal measure. He murmured a few words of thanks, as did I. I was far more gratified that Holmes had received words of recognition at last. I was always there, ready to help and assist – but I knew well that I was just a spear carrier.

"I am not done," said Bradford. "I am awarding each of you a special commendation from Scotland Yard. For each of the Yarders here, a special commendation, and a medal for dedicated service will be given to you, at a ceremony at the Yard, in front of your peers. As for the doctors and scientists here, we have a special civilian commendation for you as well. Your work and support have been a crucial part of the success of this effort. We would be grievously remiss if we did not acknowledge it. As for Sherlock Holmes and John Wason, we offer the same to both of you, not only for your services in this series of cases, but also for your years of service on so many other cases. We would also like you to be on hand when the inspectors are honored."

I knew Holmes found recognition to be distasteful, or at least embarrassing. Therefore I was surprised, when Holmes replied, "Commissioner, on behalf of Watson and myself, I thank you for the commendations, and for the recognition of these fine inspectors. As you know, I have worked with a wide range of constables, sergeants, and inspectors for a long time. Some of your inspectors, such as Lestrade, Gregson, and Bradstreet for years. I know them all to be loyal, outstanding members of the Force, and stalwart champions of justice. It has been an honor working with them all over the years, and especially throughout the last year on this most difficult of cases. They have been a remarkable team. We will be most proud to be there."

Holmes unexpected response was met by a round of warm applause from the Scotland Yard men. I understood now that he was making this decision in honor of the men who had worked so hard for us in pursuit of justice. This was for them, not for himself.

Mycroft spoke up. "I too would like to offer my thanks to all of you on behalf of Her Majesty's government. As you now know, I have followed this series of events far more closely than you were aware of. Your dedication on behalf of unknown and otherwise forgotten victims, the lost and the helpless, has been exemplary. Some of you, such as Inspectors Lestrade, Gregson, and Bradstreet, I have known of for years. Others for less time, but with records and service no less impressive. The good people of Great Britain go about their lives, largely unaware of the service that law officers provide. Yet, when trouble occurs, they immediately expect a constable to be just a minute or two away – ready to be summoned as soon as someone blows a whistle. Constables are the base and anchor of a civilized, peaceful society, the front line of law and order. You here in this room are the pinnacle, the best of the best. Thank you from a grateful nation – and congratulations!"

More applause followed.

"And eat the food, all of you," said Mycroft. "It's for you." Mycroft's assistant Flanders left the room and returned shortly, followed by another few staffers who unloaded a serving cart with the makings of an early lunch for everyone. It was clear that the formal part of the meeting was concluded.

"It's not often we get free food at the Foreign Office, or anywhere in Whitehall," said Gregson with a grin. "In fact, I can only remember… no times before this." Lestrade burst out laughing. "That often? Has it been that much?"

In the general flow of conversation which followed, Mycroft quietly took me aside with his brother. "You handled all that rather well. I thank you both." He looked at his brother. "You know, brother, yet again, the Queen would be more than happy to bestow honors on you. On you both. It's overdue."

"I think I have made my feelings clear. The work is its own reward, and any public honors would only hamper my ability to do my work. Perhaps when I retire…" Holmes replied.

"I agree," I replied. In truth I objected to honors far less than Holmes did, but I knew how strongly he felt about the subject, and I felt it would be awkward and embarrassing to accept honors as his assistant, at best his junior partner, if he refused them.

Mycroft sighed. "Well, let me know, both of you, if you ever change your mind. Perhaps something a bit more discrete might be arranged?" He hummed quietly as if pondering an idea.

"I didn't want to derail your presentation, brother, but are you certain that nothing more can be disclosed about this matter?" asked Holmes. "A lot has been let unaddressed and dangling in the wind."

Mycroft shook his head sadly, "Not at this time, Sherlock, and likely not for a long time to come. I was up front when I said a great deal of thought and effort has gone into this, I assure you. A lot of moving parts had to come together to make this happen. That's all I'm at liberty to say."

He turned to me. "Doctor, your remarks were most timely and fortuitous. They helped the team to understand the necessity of this. It's truly best that it be handled this way. As it is, selling a highly redacted story is going to be more than challenging enough. We wanted to ensure you and the members of your team, were aware of the real circumstances – at least as far as we are able to disclose them."

He turned to his brother again. "Sherlock, we both know it was largely your driving efforts and leadership that led to a successful conclusion. Truly, you have yet again done your country great service. As your brother, I thank you personally."

"Ah Mycroft, this time it truly is as much Watson's efforts and breakthroughs as much as mine – if not more so – that got us here. Thanks really belongs to him. He's the one that got us Martin Bay, or Dodd as we now know him to be."

Mycroft shook my hand. "Yet again Doctor, I thank you, both for service to the country, and your ceaseless dedication and loyalty to my brother. I know he values your friendship, as do I."

"The friendship and loyalty go both ways, Mycroft," I said, warmed by his praise. "Your brother has been my closest friend for years now. As you likely know, I lost my own brother years ago to drink and dissipation. Sherlock has been like a brother to me in so many ways. It's been an honor and privilege to work with him, and stand by his side, helping in any way I can."

"The two of you together are a mighty force for justice in this country. I wish your mutual efforts well in the future. The country needs you both!" Mycroft declared warmly.

Our conversation was interrupted by the approach of Inspector Thomas, who clearly wanted a moment of Mycroft's time to thank him for his kind words earlier. Holmes and I took the opportunity to let them talk privately. Last I saw, Mycroft had taken Thomas by the elbow and led him away to a corner, talking to him earnestly, likely to continue giving both praise and future words of advice. I knew from looking at him that Holmes was more than done with the day's proceedings, so I took the lead. "Let's quickly make the rounds here, thank our people, Carrigan, and Bradford, and then make an exit. Do you think we can do it in fifteen minutes?"

Holmes gave me a thin smile. "Let's give it a good try, shall we?"

I checked my watch and gave him a grin. "Let's go!"

Author's Note: Well, I promised that "Paradise" would show up eventually, and here it is. It's not the last time either. There's more to come.

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