[Fic] The Strange Case of Sherlock Holmes (Part 2 of 3)

[kittydesade]

Title: The Strange Case of Sherlock Holmes
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Characters: Holmes, Watson, OCx2
Word Count: ~23,000
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Holmes is semi-retired and inclined to stay that way when Victor Callahan of Special Branch knocks on his door and requests his help with a case of murder and suspected treason. Holmes agrees to investigate only under protest, after Callahan appeals to his puzzle-solving mind more than his patriotism. As the case progresses, it takes Holmes to some very dark places in his own life, and the detective becomes more and more erratic while Watson is powerless to help him.
A/N: Written for the Holmes Big Bang

"Oh, I don't like that look."

Katherine hadn't gone home. She'd turned around and instead called on a friend for help, or consultation, or perhaps just to talk her ideas and feelings out. Speaking with Holmes was exhausting, and even speaking about Holmes with Victor was exhausting. She needed some time to rest. Her friend would help.

Friends, as it turned out. They had gathered together for lunch or tea or somewhat like that, and she was gladly shown in to join them.

Rowan stood, taking her friend's hands and gently leading her to a seat, calling for another, smaller plate of sandwiches and another cup of tea. Katherine was about to protest when she realized she had no idea when she had eaten last. She ate a sandwich without complaint after being told there would be no questions until she had eaten and had something to drink.

"Victor has a new case, doesn't he?" That was from Claire, the more acerbic and blunt of the three of them. Getting right down to it, then. Katherine nodded.

"Victor has a new case. Two of them, now," she said, which would have been cryptic in any other company except that they were talking about Victor, which meant that Claire and Rowan both knew what had so exhausted their friend. "The private inquiries agent, Sherlock Holmes?"

Claire's eyes widened, then narrowed again. "Mm. I've heard of him. I'd suspected, but..."

"He's worse than Victor, if you can believe it. He's almost completely isolated himself in his own world, his ups and downs are so extreme..." Katherine shook her head, sipped at her tea and tried to find the words to describe him.

Rowan and Claire exchanged a look. When Katherine had first taken up with Victor there had been much excitement, many lunches at one another's houses and much rattling of cups against saucers and unladylike squeaking and shouting. As the years passed and she and Victor had found their balance with each other the squeaking and shouting was replaced by thoughtful conversation and consultation with her friends, as well as Victor slowly coming to rely upon and trust them. For all that it was not a woman's place in any of the offices of the government, many of the detectives had confidantes in their wives, many of the members of Parliament had sources of support within their families, and he had often held forth that it was better that way. Now, Victor had Katherine, and Katherine had her friends.

"And in this way, Holmes has his friend, Dr. Watson..."

"The man who writes those adventures," Rowan broke in, recognizing the name. "I've heard of him."

Katherine nodded. "He serves the same function for Mr. Holmes that I do for Victor, in a way. He calms him, directs him when needed, provides a... a space for him to speak into so that he is not shouting his words into a vacuum."

"But it is not enough," Claire shook her head. "Katherine, you know how hard it is for you to keep up with Victor. Not, you know, that you find it difficult in the thinking as he does, but your energy. He exhausts you."

"He doesn't seem to exhaust Dr. Watson," Rowan offered, with some faint note of hope even as all three women knew it was most likely in vain.

Katherine shook her head. "Because Dr. Watson does not know what he has, or what he is doing. Perhaps he knows Holmes very well, he must, but it is not enough. He hasn't..."

"The benefit of your experience?" Small, ironic smile from Claire.

"Perhaps that's it."

A gloomy silence fell over the room. Katherine's experience had come at the cost of her standing, marriage prospects, and even Victor's standing in Special Branch, to an extent. Never mind that marriage was something she was ambivalent about, at best. She had her finances in order enough that she could maintain her small house. Never mind that her social standing was less important to her than her friendship with the other two women and her own work, it still put her as an exile of society. Even more so than Claire's marriage to the younger Babbage's apprentice, even more so than Rowan's marriage to son of the Spanish Ambassador whose taste for music halls was only slightly acceptable, let alone bringing his wife to see.

But Katherine had the benefit of her experience, enabling her to help Victor with his work, and the results of that were enough for her. Even though they might never be seen or known by anyone other than their small group. And Holmes, who was more than perceptive enough to make the necessary connections.

"What do you think will happen? Specifically," Claire added, because all three of them could imagine what someone with sharp intelligence and little control would do, turned loose on London.

Katherine shook her head. "I don't know. But if he is not kept occupied he will find something to occupy himself, and the longer this goes on, the more he needs bigger and broader problems to solve. He has no one he trusts to battle against him," which might not make sense to a stranger but they had more than half an idea what she meant. "And that means he must find or construct someone."

"And he is only now coming to your attention?" Rowan asked, more concerned than rebuking. Claire's frown deepened, and Katherine set her cup down and knotted her fingers together to keep from fidgeting.

"It was only now brought to our attention. A client of Holmes's was a friend of Victor, and remarked on how akin the two of them were and... It followed from there. The murder..."

"Was a convenient tipping point."

She nodded. The other two women leaned back in their chairs and all three of them gave out simultaneous, tiny sighs.

"It's a good thing people like Victor and Mr. Sherlock Holmes aren't so common," Claire muttered, setting down her cup of tea un-drunk. "Or we'd all have more work than we're equipped to handle."




"You had no right, and no cause."

Holmes didn't bellow, but he managed to give a very convincing impression of it. Victor was impressed but remained un-cowed and unmoved by the other man's irritation.

"I have the right to conduct this investigation as I see fit, and at the moment, I see fit to involve her." It was not a tone that invited further conversation, though inevitably Holmes would take it there. Victor's tone was one of boredom and authority, and it would only infuriate the other man further. "This is not under discussion, and certainly it is not a topic for debate between you and I." For a moment he considered offering to terminate their agreement, then decided it would push Holmes past patience and into rash behavior. They weren't there just yet.

"She is..." Holmes stopped just short of saying that she was hindering their investigation. "Not a member of Special Branch, she is not an investigator, what makes you think that anyone, in any office, would allow her to participate in investigating the murder of a man who, you yourself have repeatedly stated, might have been involved in the selling of state secrets?"

"It is precisely because she is not a member of Special Branch or any other such organization or part of government that she might be invaluable to the investigation. She has no secrets to give up and no stake in the machinations of politics."

That silenced Holmes for a moment or two while he considered that. It wasn't an unreasonable argument. "And what makes you think she has the analytical mind..."

"Holmes." Victor came out from behind the desk, now. "I realize that it irks you somewhat that she can see through your performances, but do try not to insult the poor woman. She has assisted me, entirely of her own will and with no credit given of any kind, in several investigations, all of which have been fruitful. And she was able to deliver a very accurate evaluation of your own skills and flaws, which, if I'm not mistaken, is exactly what drives you to attack her yourself."

Both men stared at each other across the narrow space between them. Neither of them was used to giving ground, but Victor had amassed a greater collection of arguments which held weight, and Holmes was still too discomfited to act rather than react. True, his reactions were usually more insightful and guided by razor-sharp intelligence than most people's actions, but he was still reacting.

"I should have, perhaps, warned you that I would be bringing her in as well to provide an independent mind. I'm afraid I'm too used to consulting with her to remember that there are those outside of my own agents who aren't used to her presence, and I apologize."

The apology put Holmes even further off his game, and he simply took the offered hand and shook it brusquely.

"She hampers the investigation," he insisted, even after Victor took a step back with eyes blazing and lips pinched in an expression of renewed aggravation. "But as you wish. You are, of course, free to consult with whom you consider appropriate."

"Thank you for your kind permission." He didn't even bother to conceal the anger in his voice or the sarcasm in his words. "I will, of course, keep you apprised of what developments concern ..."

Holmes's eyebrows shot up, now equally aggravated.

"... the investigation, and what information is being acted upon and by whom..."

Watson entered, and Holmes glanced over at his friend. Almost immediately, Victor saw the death-glare shuttered and the shoulders dropping again, hands opening and relaxing.

"Dr. Watson," Victor nodded to the man. "I will keep you as informed as I can. All the details, and leave it up to you to decide what may or may not be relevant. That is as much as I can promise."

Holmes's head jerked slightly in what passed for a nod at the moment. Watson glanced between the two of them, frowning. The look he gave Victor was less than friendly, but not so much as a glare. Certainly if Victor had done anything to insult or provoke the detective Watson would see that he heard from at least him about it, but that didn't seem to be the case.

"See that you do," was all Holmes said.

Victor's response was dry. "Of course. Otherwise there would have been no point to hiring you on to the case and I would not have done so in the first place."

He turned and resumed his seat at the desk, turning back to his papers and his correspondence and the decisions he had to make. It was a clearly dismissive gesture, and while Holmes stepped forward to say something further Watson closed his hand on the man's shoulder, steering him with the most subtle of pressures on his arm to the door. Victor waited until they had gone and closed the door behind them to slump forward. He was starting to understand why Katherine complained of being so exhausted because of him.



Holmes's shoes made an angry clatter on the cobblestones as they walked down the road and finally managed to hail a cab back to Baker Street. Watson wondered if his friend's thunderous expression had something to do with the difficulty finding a cabbie even in this district, especially considering his friend's reputation with cabbies. Perhaps, or perhaps not.

"You could ..." Watson started, and then gave it up before he'd gotten more than those two words out. Holmes would never put down a case once he'd taken it up, and certainly not one as aggravating and mysterious as this.

Holmes gave him a look as though he heard exactly what Watson had said, would give the exact response Watson could think of but with perhaps more sarcasm and glowering, and thus they needn't have the conversation at all. Which was true.

They got into the cab.

"It needn't affect the investigation," Watson insisted.

Holmes grunted. Of course it needn't affect the investigation, what could she do to affect the investigation? She would be present at no scenes of crime, she would not follow him, they need have no contact at any point and yet she irritated him.

Watson took a breath to pursue it but was cut off. "She won't affect the investigation. Neither will he. We are conducting our own investigation, Watson. We were hired to find a murderer and a traitor and that is exactly what we will do, no matter what Special Branch or its women say." There would have been more of a follow-up to that, but Holmes degenerated into staring blackly out the window and Watson declined to inquire as to what specifics he meant to put to that. Their investigation of the scene of crime had been interrupted constantly by Special Branch, there were few enough leads. Watson had the feeling that even retiring to Baker Street to ponder the evidence wouldn't provide Holmes with enough intellectual stimulation to alleviate this dark mood.

"Cabbie..."

"Stop!"

Watson blinked at Holmes, and then he heard it. A woman's scream, more in outrage than in fear but still a scream.

"Stop the cab!"

They vaulted out of the doors, each to an end, looking around as soon as they'd set shoes to stones. Watson saw her first, a female figure in deep lavender or rose or something of the sort, skirts whisking around between two large men in working clothes who were trying to take her down a side alley. She was putting up a courageous fight, kicking at their ankles and swinging fists rather than slaps but they had several advantages over her, not the least of which was size and reach and mobility.

"Holmes!"

He didn't have to shout twice. Holmes came around to his side of the hansom and then they were sprinting towards her. Watson had his walking stick, it would do in a pinch for a club. Holmes, for all that he affected the personality of the arrogant, bored intellectual, had a wicked way about his fists.

She ducked out of the way as they came. Either because Watson was already swinging his cane at the nearer man's knee or because she saw them and recognized them, because as he neared he realized he knew her face although he could not, in this chaos, put a name to her. She ducked, and he and Holmes swung. Holmes' fist impacted on the other man's temple as Watson's cane knocked the first man's knee forward, then came up to hit the protruding edge of the man's arthritic spine. Watson had seen that much from the way he had moved.

It was enough for her to jerk her arms out of their grasp, and Holmes followed up the blow to the temple with two to the ribs and a series of well placed hits and kicks to joints. Watson missed what precisely was hit but the end result had both men on the ground and groaning, neither attempting to stand.

Katherine smoothed her hands over her skirts and pressed her lips into a thin line of disapproval as she caught her breath. "Thank you, gentlemen."

"I don't suppose this will convince you to leave matters well enough alone," Holmes commented, as Watson pinned down one of the unlucky thugs with the end of his cane. "No, lie still, the both of you. You'll find better accommodations, no doubt, in Southwark, but for now the street will have to do for you."

"Now you're being sarcastic," Katherine even smiled, which drew Watson's puzzled attention. "You do resort to sarcasm when you're upset."

Her lips pressed together again as Holmes turned his death glare on her. Watson took her arm rather than let them get into yet another skirmish. "Let's get you upstairs, shall we? I think we could all use a good cup..."

"Yes, take her upstairs, Watson, I'll wait by these two stout fellows for the wagon."

Watson spared him a momentary death-glare for the sheer bloody-mindedness of his antagonism against the Inspector and everyone connected to him before taking poor Katherine upstairs to their rooms on Baker Street. At least Mrs. Hudson would provide some more practical comfort.




Victor had arrived at Baker Street within a quarter of an hour. It was the first time Watson had seen any significant display of emotion in the man. His eyes were blazing, face white and pinched with fury. His hands were trembling and knotted into fists up until the moment he was shown into their rooms and saw Katherine sitting in Holmes's chair. At which point he went and knelt by her, laid a hand on her arm with a touch so gentle the white-hot rage of a moment ago might not have existed at all.

Watson exchanged a look with his friend, sober and wary. He couldn't explain what sat so uneasy with him about the way that had transpired, but it put his guard up. It made him less inclined to trust Callahan, or at least to trust his judgment.

"Are you all right?" were the first words out of his mouth, which at least showed concern and humanity and that his priorities were in the right place.

Katherine covered his hand with hers. "I'm fine, Victor. Our friends showed up just in time, I wasn't hurt. Just a bit..."

"Just a bit shaken, no harm done." Holmes broke in, but with much more calm and softness around his words than he had shown to either of them yet. Watson wondered if Victor's obvious affection for Katherine struck Holmes as a weakness, making him the superior mind, after all.

Victor nodded to Holmes in acknowledgment of his words but looked to Katherine nonetheless, his eyes searching her face for some sign of something Watson didn't have the context to identify. She allowed it for a moment, then shifted her hands to curl both of them around his.

"I'm fine, Victor. I promise. I'm all right."

He hesitated, but while he did so she looked up to Holmes. Watson broke in before either of them could say anything. "Perhaps you'd better go home and get some rest, hmm?"

Katherine favored him with a smile. "Thank you, doctor, but I would like to go over the incident as quickly as possible, while it is still fresh in my mind."

Holmes's eyebrows arched ever so slightly. Despite himself, Watson saw, he was impressed with her composure and her presence of mind to think of such things.

"Very well."

Both of them ignored Victor's weak-voiced protests. Katherine straightened up in her chair and assumed a posture that Watson realized a moment before she spoke was that of a school teacher instructing her students. Straight backed, head high, hands clasped. What was even stranger was that both men seemed to respond to it, subconsciously. Victor rose to his feet and stood back, Holmes's attention focused on her with a sliver more respect, something Watson doubted either of the other two would notice.

"Apart from the roughness of their manner their hands were particularly rough, calloused, and their nails dirty. They were obviously laborers but their callouses were along the pads of the palms just under where the fingers spread, suggesting that they have some sort of work where they hold a shovel or a pole. There were few abrasions that suggest rope, which may eliminate certain other trades."

Holmes's eyes widened slightly.

"They smelled of dirt and manure, although their clothes were conspicuously clean. They may have been given clothes for that particular purpose, or the smell might have come from the clothes, I didn't have time to tell which..."

"That's all right," Victor interrupted for a moment. "We should be able to tell now that they're in custody."

"Assuming they stay in custody," Katherine muttered. Holmes' lips twitched.

"Do you remember anything else about them?"

She frowned, head lowering for a moment as she thought. "Their accent places them in London, but to a particular district I couldn't say. I think most likely the East End, but that is more supposition based on fragmented memory than experience. They did not smell of tobacco or pipe smoke. One of them had stains on his mouth, dark stains, I don't know what they were from but they were odorless and appeared sticky."

Holmes nodded. "Day laborers, most likely. The sort who contract out to anyone who needs a ditch dug; we'll see what we can discover among them."

Katherine nodded slightly. Then rose to her feet, more unsteady than she had expected by the way her hands tensed, spread, by the way she froze for an instant before she straightened up. "Perhaps you're right, Dr. Watson. Perhaps I had best be getting home."

"Of course," Victor said immediately, stepping up to offer his arm, which she took with a smile. "Good night, gentlemen."

"Good day," Holmes corrected, gathering his coat as well from where it had been slung over the back of a chair. "If this is in any way connected with our case, and I can't think why it wouldn't be unless Miss Walsingham has more enemies than she lets on..." And his tone suggested that he wouldn't find that unlikely.

Katherine smiled at him, a smile that held some bite. "I don't." Holmes ignored the smile and responded to the words.

"Then we had better see to those men."

Watson stepped up before Victor could turn any more protective. "I'll see Miss Walsingham home, if she doesn't mind, while you two discuss matters..."

Victor looked none too happy about the prospect of letting her out of his sight, but he couldn't disagree. Holmes nodded. "Excellent. Inspector, you may leave her to Watson's capable hands, I trust him with my life."

This didn't seem to be as rousing an endorsement as Watson would have wanted. However, he did make it out of their rooms without incident or much more than a dubious grumble from the Inspector. Katherine, with no such hesitation, took his arm and walked easily apace with him as they looked for another cab.

"I'm sorry about Victor," she told him, settling wearily into the other side of the cab. "He means well."

"Oh, it's quite all right. So does Holmes."

For no reason either of them could explain, this sent them both into peals of laughter that didn't abate until they arrived at her doorstep. Both cabbie and horse were most confused.



It did amuse Victor somewhat how neatly Katherine and Watson had managed them both. He had been managed by her for long enough to know when it was happening to him, though if Holmes understood what Watson had just done he didn't show it. Victor rather thought that he didn't. But that might have been only because he was preoccupied with the attack.

"Quite the level head she has," Holmes commented after they left. It was a backhanded apology and a rare compliment he delivered to another person, let alone a woman.

Victor smiled. Less agressive and more proud, Holmes noted the expression with an arched eyebrow. "She would say she only tries to pay attention."

"But she is aware of the significance of paying attention, and how much may be required in order to do so effectively." Grudging praise, still. Victor almost laughed.

"Just what is it about her that you find so hard to accept? The idea that someone might be as clever as you? I assure you, your keen mind and narrow focus are not so unique. The idea that one of those might be a woman? As I recall, a woman bested you..."

"Yes, I remember the case," Holmes interrupted. "It needn't be a factor."

Victor's eyebrows shot up even higher. "Everything is a factor." But he didn't explain more than that. He had the feeling Holmes was attempting to make Victor convinced that his past defeat at the hands of Irene Adler wasn't relevant to his treatment of Katherine, rather than convincing himself of the same. "And there have been others of your enemies who have employed women you found formidable at the time."

"So Watson says," Holmes shrugged slightly as he took his seat. "But the fact that my enemies employ women in their service shouldn't be an incitement to do the same."

"I don't employ Katherine in my service, she is quite the volunteer." And sometimes, though it wasn't something he felt he should share with Holmes, a very vocal volunteer.

Holmes didn't look convinced. He leaned forward, hands clasped over his knees. "Then, as an Inspector of Special Branch and as her paramour, it is incumbent upon you to protect her even against her own instincts, if circumstances require it."

Victor laughed. "Clearly, you have never been married." Or even had any long-standing relationship with a woman. Or had to compromise on any relationship in his life, Victor thought. Katherine hadn't run into that particular problem. "She needs very little protection, and her instincts are sound. She was able to protect herself from you, admirably. How much do you know about her?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "And how much do you imagine she knows about you, without betraying very much of herself?"

Holmes sat up, sat back, and stared at him. For several moments, until he came back with "Do you think that an ability to predict human behavior will protect her from hired thugs on the street?"

"I think that her ability to predict human behavior is what protected her from the thugs until she was able to shout for assistance." He knew that had been a dig. Both at his status as an Inspector whose duty was to protect the crown, the country, and its people, and at his status as a gentleman. And at her. It was meant to get him angry, and it did. But he would not let it cloud his judgment.

And it was a clumsy maneuver anyway. With another, it might have worked. And three or four years ago, it might have worked as well. That it didn't was a troubling sign.

"She was lucky. She might not be so lucky again." His tone, his inflection changed. Grew sharper, harsher. More angled.

Victor stood. "She takes the risks she feels are appropriate. It is her right. And in any case, short of locking her up there is very little I can do to keep her from investigating as a private citizen as you do, yourself." And if he were to start locking up private citizens for conducting investigations, he was more likely to start with Holmes.

Which they both knew. And yet if he pushed harder, the detective might wonder why he was on the case at all. Victor needed him to solve this murder. Perhaps he had better reign in his temper.

"I'm sure you know the way out," Holmes commented, without leaving his chair.

Victor nodded. "Of course."



Watson returned some time after Victor had left, long enough that Holmes was starting to wonder what he was up to. He came in with a more cheered air than he had left, heartened by how calm and assured Katherine Walsingham was, and also by the presence of her friend Rowan and the Spanish young man who had turned up shortly after. If there was any emergency, they assured him, they would take care of her.

"I see the house is still standing," Watson commented dryly, looking around and noting that Inspector Callahan had left. Possibly to his offices again; he hadn't seen the man coming up to the lady's place. "You must not have come to blows."

Holmes didn't even respond to the quip, pacing in slow circles around the table, the armchair, over to the mantel and back again. "Why was she attacked at all? Was it because Callahan is too close in the case?" His voice was distracted, worrying at Watson a little because when he was distracted while on a case it never amounted to anything good. Enemies had been known to present puzzle after puzzle to Holmes to keep him off his guard, keep him worrying at one problem while he was supposed to be focusing on another.

"If it has anything to do with the case it would have to be at the behest of someone who knows who she is and that she is connected to the Inspector," Watson pointed out, and received an irritated wave in return.

"Yes, yes, I know," Holmes shook his head. "But we have no way of knowing how many people in Special Branch are aware of their relationship, or what the specific tenor of the official position is."

Watson took a seat, having long since learned that when his friend was like this it was best at least to stay out of the way of his pacing. "I don't believe Special Branch can officially intervene in the off-hours personal relationships of its men." Which might not have been entirely true, but it was what he heard. In the Army it had been different. Men did what they did and no one questioned it, unless it became a problem.

"They may not officially intervene, but this is hardly solely an official matter. Someone was conducting business through unofficial channels, selling secrets." Which, Holmes didn't need to point out, meant that there was a far greater chance that others were also conducting clandestine business. Perhaps some of that included watching Victor's lover or interrogating her, having her shadowed or investigating her business.

"You think someone is watching her?"

Holmes snorted. "I think someone is aware that Victor is employing non-conventional associates and consultants. None of this has been by the book, Watson, not since we were brought in on the murder. No one is behaving as they should, and no one is what he seems."

Which aggravated Holmes, he realized. Even the great detective who assumed, generally, that everyone lied and everyone had something to conceal had a breaking point, that being that Special Branch should only conceal the secrets he expected to find. This was not one of those, and it aggravated him. To the point where he was pacing up and down their rooms, face white and pinched, hand white-knuckle clenched on the pipe. Not for the first time, but certainly for the first time in a while, Watson wondered if his friend might not be nearing some edge of tolerance both physical and mental for his labors.

"Holmes..." Watson started, then realized as his friend turned towards him with eyes blazing that it would be no use. "Perhaps we had better start with the murder. If we have the facts of that crime in order we can then investigate the other..."

Holmes relaxed, setting the pipe down again unlit and nodding. "Of course. You're right, of course, Watson, and we have some facts straight off. Firstly, that the murderer committed the murder and then attempted to conceal certain aspects of the act. Secondly, that information was not stolen at all, but the murderer wanted it to look as though it was. Thirdly, that the man worked for the diplomatic offices, which means he had access to sensitive information."

"And who benefits from a potential spy in the ranks?" Watson leaned forward, intrigued. And silently relieved that Holmes seemed calmer and at least more like himself now that they had begun to discuss the case itself, rather than the aspects of it which upset him. As for the curious case of Sherlock Holmes, he would have to put that off, much as it galled him and worried him to do so.

Holmes snorted. Then stopped to consider. "Any government wishing to undermine Her Majesty's interests might benefit from having a spy in the ranks, but for having the rumor of a spy... It breeds unrest, it incites suspicion and the entire office, at least, would be distracted with watching each other."

Watson nodded slowly. He couldn't help but think that, if Katherine was as astute a judge of character and and as shrewd a mind as he suspected, this was exactly why Victor wanted her on the case. Saying it would have been tantamount to inviting a tirade or a tantrum, though. "Victor wanted you in to conduct your own investigation because you wouldn't be concerned with this, I expect. What do you think of the cause of death?"

"The manner of death is homicide. The cause of death... poison. What were the symptoms, Watson? Blue tinge to the lips and fingernails, no sign of froth... cyanide poisoning?"

The fact that Holmes's words had more of a question to them than a statement was worrying. "There was no sign of petechiae and no indication that the man had been strangled. Certainly lack of oxygen to the blood was a factor, but whether or not this was because he was poisoned or smothered I could not say."

"There was very little in the room he might have been smothered with, and the body was not moved from the moment of death; the rug beneath the body was undisturbed. He died where he fell."

"Then yes, I would presume the most common cause, cyanide poisoning."

Holmes nodded, the last of the tension in his face and hands fading away. "In which case, we must then determine who would have known of the existence of the poison in close proximity to the victim, and then who might stand to benefit from an increase in suspicion in the diplomatic offices and those of Special Branch."

"And for that," Watson reminded, not fond of the idea. "We will need to consult Victor in the morning."

"In the morning, yes." Holmes seemed almost disappointed that they would not get to roust the other man out of his bed, but after what had happened with Miss Walsingham, it was better not to. After a moment's pouting he squared his shoulders again. "In the morning, old boy, we shall beard the devil in his den, eh?"

Watson may have murmured something to the effect that Victor was hardly the devil and if either of them could be said to possess a den, it was Holmes. But the detective did not hear him.




He did go to Callahan's offices, early the next morning, before even the match girls and flower stalls had opened for market. It helped somewhat that he hadn't slept the night before, that he wanted to get to Callahan before Watson woke and started nattering on about something or other and why they should let that woman join them in the investigation. That woman with her infuriating observations and her refusal to see certain basic facts, such as her lack of experience or proper temperament or...

"Sir?"

Holmes blinked, looked up at the man. He was at Special Branch's offices, all right. That was good. He had business there.

Another blink and he'd cleared his thoughts of whatever cobwebs had caused that momentary mental stuttering. "I've come to see Inspector Callahan."

He didn't quite know what to expect. Perhaps the Inspector wouldn't even be in yet, but he was, coat still damp from the morning dew and hat perched where it had been thrown on the corner of the open door in his office. Holmes wondered briefly what that meant, and decided it meant nothing at all except that the man was frustrated and annoyed.

"What information is missing?" he asked, blunt and immediate. Callahan looked up at him with a dull lack of surprise. "Is there any information missing to begin with?"

The Inspector leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "There is. So far the only information that is not where it is supposed to be is a series of itineraries and private train schedules. The problematic aspect of this is who they belong to, a certain foreign dignitary whose name, unfortunately, I cannot reveal..."

"Yes, yes, the Sultan from the Straits Settlements and the Governor of the colony, I know about that."

He had caught Callahan by surprise. It was quite a relief to know that he could still catch the damnably infuriating and clever man by surprise. And to the point of dismay, by the silence.

"You were saying?"

"Er, yes. The Governor will be arriving first and then the Sultan after him, and his itinerary must be secured and known only to those who can be trusted. It is speculated that a subversive group will attempt either to kidnap him and convince him of their cause or hold him hostage, or blow him up to convince our government that they are serious in their demands."

His eyebrows shot up higher. "You suspect this spy of having anarchist leanings?"

"I suspect the spy of financing or furthering three or four anarchist and subversive groups in order to destabilize this country. Which of them the spy is inclined to wholeheartedly believe in, I don't know. But the anarchists have taken greater root in this city in the last three years than they have in the ten years before that, and that is not by chance."

Holmes nodded, coming further into the room to pace in a slow circle around an imaginary armchair. It wasn't improbable that the man was being paranoid, but then again Special Branch was paid to be paranoid, weren't they? They were paid to be suspicious of everyone.

"What other documents was the man in charge of that might perhaps not be discovered as missing..." Callahan gave him a look that suggested he was being too convoluted. "Did he pass any documents between himself and other members of the diplomatic office?"

The Inspector made a thoughtful face, then rose from behind his desk. "I don't believe so, but they haven't yet sent over the list of documents to which he was permitted access. They're dragging their feet in the hopes that I don't uncover some other indiscretion."

Holmes snorted. "Of course they are. But the summation of these documents would indicate that ..." And there he stopped, realizing the trap he was about to fold himself into. No guesswork. Never guesswork. Facts, he needed data before he could draw conclusions.

Callahan offered opinions anyway. "Would indicate that the man dealt with travel arrangements and security, yes, he did. And that meant he had access to the places where many important persons would be and how they would get there. If someone wanted to sell secrets or access to secrets he would be well off taking that position, and if someone wanted to make a scapegoat so that their own spying would be obscured, he would make an excellent one."

"We have no facts to indicate either way, it would be premature to speculate." Although Holmes did like that latter idea, the man's death had displayed great effort to conceal many things, that the death itself would be concealing some larger purpose would not be out of the realm of possibility. "Have you that list I asked you for?"

"Ah, yes," Callahan rifled through the papers on his desk, then pulled out a small list, folded. "His comings and goings, the places he frequented, as taken down by my detective from his friends and colleagues. You think this will help you in some way?"

"I think it is better to have an assortment of data from which to draw conclusions than no data at all." He took the list, examined it for a moment before slipping it into his pocket. He and Watson could go over the locations, question the folk there, discreetly. It was odd, some of them looked familiar, and yet he was certain he had never been in that district before, and certainly not for very long.

A previous case that was escaping him at the moment, it mattered very little. Callahan was looking at him inquiringly, and he was not about to confess his confusion to the other man.

"I assume you have everything you need for the moment?" was all the Inspector asked, after a protracted silence.

"I believe I do. I will, of course, contact you should I find anything. Of importance." Tempering the statement with a condition made him more likely to make it sound like a promise.

Callahan didn't question it. He nodded. "Of course, I will let you know what we find and," he added, just to twist the knife. "What Katherine discovers."

Holmes felt his lips stretch into a feral, uncomfortable smile. "Of course."



Through the streets of London, wearing out good boot leather on cobblestones stained with the effluvium of pubs and music halls, bawdy entertainment for the mid-level government employee who remained a bachelor and wished to be diverted rather than return to the emptiness of his rooms in the evening. The man had had no business being here. And Holmes himself had even less business except that he was following the trail of a dead man who liked his liquor and his entertainment a little more than was prudent. Which was perfectly reasonable. And it did not explain the nagging feeling that he had been here before.

No case had taken him to these streets before; he would have remembered. He made it his business to remember such things. And indeed he did remember a scene two streets to the north where there had been an incident with a carriage chase that ended in a battle of fists, and a pub to the east where he had sat up all night waiting to catch a murderer.

But he had never been to these streets before. And yet that pungent familiarity hung around every building and storefront and teased the edges of his mind with memories he couldn't shake away. It was aggravating, and it gave him a headache.

Perhaps there was no grand plan, no great traitor, and all of this was simply to spare the diplomatic offices some embarrassment from an official who enjoyed too much of a good time. Or perhaps Inspector Callahan was right and the man was a scapegoat. Guesswork, all he had was guesswork and shadows and very little proof either way, thanks to the damnably haphazard way that man ran his investigations. As though he didn't want anyone to be caught.

Which perhaps was the case. Holmes stopped at a street corner and pretended to be fumbling for a cigarette, thinking it over. Victor Callahan was the one who had brought him onto the case, the famous detective; if there was any traitor or spy to be found he would be the one to find it. All of the reasons Callahan had given him for including him on the case, and Katherine for that matter, also held true if Callahan was the spy and wanted to ensure without a shadow of a doubt that all blame would be placed on someone else. Or that all evidence of a spy was erased.

For that matter, Katherine Walsignham might be a spy herself, with Callahan as her dupe. She lived alone, unless her Special Branch paramour lived with her. She had no visible means of income except a supposed inheritance from her deceased family. She had few friends of note and even fewer of name. The one person of greatest prominence who could vouch for her was the son of the Spanish Ambassador, innocuous enough on the face of it, to be sure, but where had she come from? Who were her people, her family? She looked more like a woman of Iberian descent, or even from the Americas, rather than a woman of English blood and English soil.

And she was certainly possessed of a mind quick and capable enough to detect his little quirks and curiosities. Much as he disliked the thought, she was quick enough to keep up with him in conversation, which meant that she was quick minded enough to outwit half of Special Branch and all of the police force. It would be easy for her to arrange a murder, or commit one herself, especially one by poison.

Holmes pushed himself off of the lamp-post against which he'd been leaning. He should speak with her again, see if he could draw her into a slip. He had to formulate a plan. Guesswork, this was all guesswork, supposition and rumor and theories without evidence. It galled him that he was being denied the evidence with which he could have done his best work; he had never been so thwarted, not since Reichenbach Falls.

Well, Katherine Walsingham was hardly in a position to throw him off a cliff, or any other thing for that matter. He would be careful, and he would take a pistol. He would refuse all food or drink and so she would have some work to do to poison him, and he would see what it was that she was hiding, ferret out all her damnably dirty little secrets.