Mycroft Holmes and the Adventure of the Desert Wind Read online

  “Mycroft!” Watson exclaimed and drew my attention back to the present. Only then did I realise that I had completely forgotten the doctor in my pursuit. “Would you please explain what’s going on?”

  “You know Sherlock wouldn’t ask for help if not pressed for it by extraordinary circumstances. The fact that he didn’t even have time to post the letter himself speaks for itself.” I had already departed the room and made for the entrance door of the building, so Watson had no option but to follow me.

  “That’s not what I was talking about! The sand...”

  “Is of no consequence,” I said with emphasis. Whatever had happened was strange, but didn’t change a thing about the obvious course of action. “The post office stamp is already six days old. There’s no time to lose - I need to depart for Milan immediately.”

  “Milan?”

  “Yes, Dr. Watson. I am going to Italy,” I said and opened the door to the building with force, so it swung wide open, much to the dismay of Mrs. Hudson, who had exited her room to investigate the commotion. Freezing air rushed in, bringing with it snowflakes, which melted on contact with the warm hallway floor.

  “Farewell.”

  Watson quickly stepped in front of me, and blocked my path with crossed arms, legs spread wide. “I will not sit idly by while you rush off to the Continent. In fact, I insist on accompanying you.”

  For a moment I blinked confusedly in the face of the doctor’s persistence. Even though my brother held him in high regard and had subsequently taken to bringing him along on any case he could possibly manage, I had my reservations. It was easier to move alone. Improvisation had always been my most prized skill - impossible to employ when you have a short, slow and untrained man glued to you side.

  But even though I could have easily brought forth any number of convenient arguments, I couldn’t use them. If something should happen to Sherlock while I had forced Watson to stay behind, I would have a hard time reconciling with him. The secret-keeper could quickly become a great liability. I sighed internally and cursed myself for allowing the circumstances evolve like that, just out of lazy convenience. No... there was no choice in the matter.

  How could I have even thought of leaving the faithful Watson behind?

  “I will be back in half an hour and expect you to be travel ready by then.”

  Watson nodded and gave way for me to exit the building. I could see some fear and uncertainty in his face, but also resolve and gratitude, and that was enough... for now. I prayed that I wasn’t going to regret the decision.

  My hansom cab was still outside, the driver wrapped in a thick blanket, the horse breathing steady clouds of steam into the winter air. I didn’t turn around as I climbed into the cab and gave the order to take me back to the Diogenes. There was no time to pick up anything from my private residence, and I had some things to arrange which would require the facilities of the club.

  The Diogenes Club was my home away from home, housing not only the Secret Service city headquarters, but also an office space I almost never left while I conducted my business for Queen and country. And, yes, I did indeed possess a much used armchair. That much of Watson’s account was true, even if his stories of Greek interpreters have been the product of his boundless imagination.

  I entered my office, relished in the way the world fell away as soon as I closed the door behind me and breathed in the smell of old wood and paper. It was quiet here, as always - an island of silence in the middle of the bustling city. I lit a single lamp at my desk, which threw an ornate shadow on the ceiling and put the room in a warm twilight. The selection of spirits in their crystal decanters sparkled invitingly from a sideboard, but as much as I felt the need for a stiff drink, there were more pressing matters. At my desk, I was privy to the luxury of a telephone, which enabled me to call in a few favours to make the start of our travel as painless as possible. In this situation there was no need to play humble, and I had every intention of using my high status within the Secret Service to my advantage, even if not on official business.

  A note, with a rudimentary explanation for my absence, was quickly drafted and placed into an envelope to be delivered to my superiors in the morning. I wouldn’t wait for permission and was fairly certain that my lapse would be frowned upon, but Sherlock had been a valuable asset to the agency on several occasions. And if I had overstated his importance sometimes, it only served to enable my self-proclaimed consulting detective brother to carry out his job as he saw fit.

  In the end, the siren call of the spirit was too strong and I gave in, quickly downing a glass of whisky to keep me warm, before I left my office. A bag of travel essentials was always prepared for me, so I wouldn’t have any problems starting the journey immediately. I left the note for my superiors with the footman at the door and once again made use of a cab.

  Dr. Watson was already waiting for me when I called upon him again at 221b and exited the building together with Mrs. Hudson. They exchanged a few words, during which both tried to assure the other not to worry, but it was a futile effort. When they were finished, I approached the housekeeper and handed her a small envelope.

  “I am sure Dr. Watson has already suggested that you take leave for a while. In fact, prepare the house for a longer absence, take the dog and stay with your family until you are sent for again.” I tried to put on my best encouraging smile. “Christmas might be over, but there is never a bad time to visit your loved ones. Consider this a late gift from myself to you.”

  Much to Mrs. Hudson’s credit, she didn’t open the envelope, but put it into the side pocket of her skirt, in which I knew she also kept the keys to Baker Street. She looked at Watson in a way a mother looks at her son, before she faced me with a much sterner expression.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but please, Mr. Holmes. Bring those two home safe. I am too old to look for another employer,” she joked, but there was an almost undetectable waver in her voice.

  I made myself smile again, this time reassuringly, then tipped my hat and motioned for Watson to join me in the cab before the housekeeper could utter more sentimental words. The situation had a feeling of finality to it, which wasn’t unusual to me, but served to make the doctor feel anxious, which spoke clearly from his every movement. He watched Mrs. Hudson see us off until she disappeared behind a thick wall of snowflakes. The hansom plowed on through the piled-up white. Progress was slow, even though we were travelling on the main road. The familiar sounds of horseshoes on cobblestone were muffled by the icy blanket, and the whole atmosphere felt as if the world were wrapped in cotton wool.

  For a long time, neither Watson nor I seemed willing to disturb the silence. What little warmth I had retained slowly slipped away as a creeping cold began to set into my limbs. I watched the doctor wrap the thick coat tighter around his shoulders and rearrange the scarf to cover more of his face, as the carriage wasn’t entirely draught proof. For myself, I didn’t feel the need to take any action to counter the cold. On the contrary, the freezing temperatures helped me to focus my thoughts. And there was so much to contemplate. Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Watson cleared his throat noisily. I inclined my head slightly to indicate that he had my attention.

  “From your hasty reaction I assume you know a great deal more about the situation than I do.” As soon as the words had left the doctor’s mouth, I saw him flinch in the corner of my eye, probably because he realised that he could have insulted me with his wording. “I mean, there must be a reason...”

  “Dr. Watson, I simply have the desire to return my brother to London. Preferably alive. I assure you that I had no prior knowledge of the situation and was confronted with the information in the same way as you were.”

  There was no need to inform him of the note Sherlock had left me, as it made no difference at this point. I turned towards the man, who would now have to be described as my traveling companion, a
nd picked up on a few conflicting emotions displayed openly on his face. While I had never given the man any reason to doubt my actions, it didn’t offend me to see a healthy amount of distrust in his. I can’t stand people who trust blindly.

  “I couldn’t refrain from an examination of the strange sand briefly before I had to depart,” Watson said, proud but still in a slightly apologetic tone. “There wasn’t time to do a proper analysis, but in the end I could detect nothing out of the ordinary. Simple, coarse sand grains, slightly reddish from exposure to iron. No foreign matter.”

  I nodded, not letting my surprise show. Sometimes I forgot that the addendum to my brother was capable of individual action.

  “Then I can’t explain the reaction I felt by anything other than my imagination,” I concluded, even though it pained me to say it.

  “You said it felt... electric?”

  “Like a small lightning bolt entering my fingers,” I confirmed. “Exceedingly hot to the touch. Maybe a thing on the desk had a charge I wasn’t aware of. I wouldn’t put it past my brother to have any kind of odd implement lying out in the open.”

  The doctor nodded in a way that told me more than any words could have.

  “As I said earlier: It’s of no consequence. Odd as it may be, a bit of sand is no reason to question the road lying in front of us.”

  “You are right, of course. So... do you have a plan?”

  I produced a small pack of paper from a hidden pocket on my coat and handed it to the doctor. While he untied the string around it, I started to explain.

  “As I am leading this excursion, we will work by the book, which means taking every possible precaution. This contains everything you need for your temporary identity on our journey,” The occasional light falling into the hansom from the street was not enough to illuminate the papers sufficiently, so I elaborated on their contents. “Your alias will be Richard Brewer and mine Ian Ashdown. We are to be tailors on our way to Rome to find new trading partners. I have used these aliases many times and they have always served me well.”

  Watson shook his head, but quickly added words to indicate that it was not out of disapproval but rather disbelief. “I have no qualms with the identity, but is this really necessary? It seems like an excessive measure.”

  “Dr. Watson,” I pinned him down with one of my most icy stares to emphasise the point I was about to make. “If you want to travel with me, you will follow my rules. There is no other option. You either agree or leave this cab right now.”

  Watson was stunned into silence by my strong words and stared at me for a few long moments. I could clearly see the disapproval of my behaviour in his eyes.

  “There is only one problem...”

  “And what might that be, doctor?”

  “I know nothing about tailoring.”

  I Have Taken the Hippocratic Oath

  When we arrived at Victoria station, it was void of the usual hustle and bustle of the city. The last trains of the day had not yet departed, but passengers were few and far between. While this made it easy for us to move quickly, I felt dreadfully exposed out in the open. There shouldn’t have been any threat for us at Victoria, but I had been caught off guard once already that day, which was one of the reasons why we didn’t depart from Charing Cross.

  Watson joined me after I stepped out of the cab and looked as nervous as I was secretly feeling. I appraised his appearance more out of routine than curiosity. The short man looked very much like the middle-class city dweller he was, in a dark coat, bowler hat and worn-out shoes peeking out from underneath dark-brown tweed trousers. He gave no indication as to his profession in his outward appearance and at least he blended in, so it would have to do.

  I turned on my heel and walked through the entrance of Victoria station, once again leaving the doctor no choice but to follow me. He hurried along, but didn’t complain, as he was probably used to this kind of treatment from my brother. I led the way to a small carriage attached to a single engine, which had been arranged for us per my earlier request sent out from the Diogenes. This was my last chance to leave the doctor behind, but I pushed the thought out of my head as soon as it appeared, as it was clearly beneath me to be as fickle-minded.

  The train carriage was uniformly black and as non-descriptive as the cab we had arrived in, with curtains blocking the view to the inside and no signs or writing anywhere on its exterior to give a clue as to its origin or destination. We were greeted by a very small man in an even smaller coat, who was standing on the platform. He hid his face behind a voluminous scarf and what remained of his head under a large top hat. On first glance you might’ve not even recognised him as a person, but rather a pile of discarded cloth, on which someone had the silly idea to place a hat. I sighed an exasperated sigh. Of course it must’ve been him to deliver the goods - who else would be present for work on such a dreadful night?

  “Good evening Ignatius,” I said in a low but mock-cheerful voice. Watson was not to listen in on our conversation, so I had to bow down considerably to meet my colleague’s ear.

  “Holmes,” he answered curtly and held up a small bag. “The requested items.”

  “Most kind.”

  I grabbed the container, but Ignatius wouldn’t release his hold on it. Instead he raised his head and stared at me with narrowed eyes, which peeked out barely from underneath his large hat. We held eye contact for only a few seconds, but it was enough time for me to soak up all the annoyance he projected about being called out here in the middle of a freezing winter night. My pride prevented me from a simple pull at the bag, but I couldn’t let go either.

  “Next time you go frolicking off to the Continent, you fetch your own damn things, Holmes.”

  “My sincerest apologies,” I mouthed, not even attempting to make it sound truthful. “I am most grateful for your assistance and I am sure my brother will extend the same gratitude to you once I have plucked him off the streets of Milan and dragged him back to London.”

  “Ah, so it’s about Sherlock,” Ignatius said. Immediately his features softened and he let go of the bag.

  I refrained from rolling my eyes at what I had come to call Behavioural Pattern A: Disdain for my own person, consideration and fondness for my little brother. That people should choose him over me was a riddle I seemed to be destined to chase after my whole life.

  “Much appreciated,” I added and didn’t let my own irritation get the best of me. “Now, if you’ll excuse us. We have a boat to catch.”

  “Right. But are you sure about that?” the small man inclined his head towards Watson, who stood at a wise distance and made no attempt to join the conversation.

  “That is my brother’s associate and not taking him will get me into more trouble than leaving him behind.”

  “I didn’t think anyone would be able to get the great Mycroft Holmes into trouble. How far you have fallen,” Ignatius smirked, satisfied by the unfortunate situation I had found myself in. He beckoned Watson over, then indicated we should board the train.

  “Not one more word, Ignatius Craig,” I warned him and he showed me a broad grin as a response. “Or I will tell everyone just what you did on Christmas in 1893.”

  That one usually got me punched, but this time Ignatius merely squinted his eyes at me. I boarded the carriage via some narrow steps and watched Watson follow me as he exchanged only a polite nod with my colleague.

  “Godspeed, Holmes,” Ignatius said before he closed the door behind us.

  “Thank you,” I answered, this time with sincere gratitude.

  No matter how much we tended to tease each other, in the end we were fellow agents.

  What greeted us on the inside was easiest to be described as a comfortably sized room, furnished with everything one could desire for a relaxing evening, complete with a low dining table and a well-stocked bar. With the only
light in the carriage emanating from a small lamp over a writing desk opposite a divan, you could almost mistake the space for a tiny, but expensively furnished living room - constantly in an earthquake. It was obvious that the carriage hadn’t been heated recently, but it wasn’t freezing either. The small dose of whisky from my office had long since deserted me, so I took a seat in the armchair between the bar and the desk - just in case.

  The carriage was already on its way to exit the station and rattled over countless railway switches in the progress. From my seated position, I could see Watson struggling to keep his balance until he ultimately lost it and stumbled rather ungracefully onto the divan in front of me. I could not refrain from showing an amused smile as I watched him fight and lose against the forces of the train.

  “So,” the doctor said as soon as he had sorted his limbs. “This is a private carriage, isn’t it? Your own private train?”

  “Dr. Watson, you overestimate me,” I answered with a smirk on my lips, both out of amusement and to cover my pleasure about the fact that he considered me as someone who could afford such a thing. “No, this is one of the royal carriages - used when wanting to travel in comfort, but hidden from the prying eyes of the public.”

  Watson actually sputtered. “A royal carriage? But how...?”

  “Let’s just say that a lot of people owe me a lot of favours. I rarely call them in, which makes it easy to get what I need in a real emergency, which our current situation more than qualifies for.”

  The thick, blue, velvety curtains, which were draped over all windows and the items decorated with golden ornaments on an even darker shade of blue, should have been obvious clues. I watched the way Watson studied the details intently, waiting for the moment when the realisation would hit him. And that moment was recognizable ever so easily.