Sherlock Holmes in 2012: LORD OF DARKNESS RISING (6 page)

“I rather need one, yes, thank you, Mycroft.”

As they were delighting in their afternoon tea, Mycroft said, “I’ll call Sherlock to let him know that I’ve landed and ask him what his plans are before dinner.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, scrolled down to Sherlock’s number and pressed the “send” digit.

A strange voice answered. The man had a definite Hispanic accent – someone had Sherlock’s phone – but where was his brother, Mycroft wondered instantly. “Oh, hello… ?”

“Yeah… ,” the man said. “What’s it you want?”

Irene lifted her eyes from her plate and looked at Mycroft intently. She sensed something was wrong.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Holmes,” Mycroft replied, returning Irene’s gaze.

“Ain’t here. You got the wrong number!” the fellow declared, ringing off in Mycroft’s ear.

“What is it? What happened?” Irene asked, having deposited her plate on the side table with a trembling hand.

“I don’t know, my dear, but someone other than Sherlock answered his phone.” He stood up and stepped to the night table. He picked up the receiver and dialled Sherlock’s room. When the call was left unanswered, Mycroft put down the phone and picked up his jacket from the back of the chair. “Let’s find him, Irene. I think we’ve left him too long to brew over the past 24 hours’ events. He must have gone back to the Majestic or is roaming Broadway in search of Adnan.”

“Good heavens above,” Irene exclaimed as she shot out of her seat. “I’ll grab my coat on the way downstairs,” she added, already in the hallway of the suite and following Mycroft out of the door.

As the elevator’s doors opened in the lobby, they practically collided with Sherlock!

“What are you doing here?” Irene demanded as if speaking to a wayward child.

Sherlock stepped back and guffawed. “Did you think my mind had come unhinged and I had perhaps gone back to the Majestic or had been roaming Broadway in search of Adnan?”

Mycroft and Irene exchanged a meaningful glance, before Irene asked, “How did you know what we were thinking?”

“Simple, my dear Miss Adler – or have you forgotten who I am?”

“Alright, Sherlock,” Mycroft cut in, “Let’s go sit at the bar and have a little chat, shall we?”

“Big brother has spoken!” Sherlock remarked jocularly, taking Irene by the arm to follow Mycroft’s hurried paces into the lounge.

Once they were sitting in a far corner of the place, Mycroft didn’t wait a moment before he said, “Of all the darn and stupid ideas! Why didn’t you tell me you lost your phone?”

Sherlock chortled. “How I love to get your knickers in a knot, my dear brother! As a matter of fact I have only found out that I had left this little gadget in my coat pocket this morning when I abandon the item in the cab.”

“You mean you just left the coat on purpose in the taxi?” Mycroft sounded more baffled by the minute.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I did; and that on the advice of a rather charming woman I met on the train when I was on my way to New York.”

“A woman? Which woman?”

“No matter, Mycroft – she’s of no importance now. However, she was kind enough to tell me that I looked exactly like Sherlock Holmes – of a century ago. So I had to shed the coat in favour of more discreet apparel.”

“That’s why you accompanied me without too much reluctance this afternoon when we went shopping… ?” Irene put in, smiling now.

“Precisely, Miss Adler.” Sherlock returned his attention to his brother. “As for my phone”—he pulled another cell phone out of his jacket pocket—“here is a new one that I have just purchased!”

“Did you think of cancelling the contract with the phone company, by any chance?”

“Yes, my dear brother, I did,” Sherlock replied, toying with the phone. “I may appear somewhat out of my depth in this world, but I haven’t lost any part of my brain on my way from the last century.”

“Let’s have a drink, shall we?” Mycroft suggested, knowing that Sherlock wouldn’t appreciate being questioned any further as far as his afternoon wanderings were concerned.

Once the drinks arrived, Mycroft decided it was high time to let his brother know where he stood. “Alright, Sherlock,” he began, “you must have gathered by now that you are no longer welcomed in this country.” He riveted his gaze on his brother. The latter didn’t emit a sound; he just sipped on his scotch and soda. “And I believe your visa will expire in the next two months – is that right?” Sherlock nodded. Irene was watching this conversation, shooting a fleeting glance from one brother to the other. “Well then, have you thought of where you would like to go when you leave the United States?”

Sherlock deposited his glass on the table, crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to ponder the question before he answered, “I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?”

“But, you do, Holmes,” Irene countered, suddenly opening her mouth again. “You could go to any of the Commonwealth countries, and there are a number of them, I believe.”

“Yes, Miss Adler, I have considered these possibilities already, as you may well have imagined. However, there is my house to consider. As you know, I have not even entered the premises since I signed the purchase documents and I would very much like to have it maintained and looked after while I am abroad.”

“But, Holmes, you could engage a housekeeper who would look after everything for you,” Irene suggested helpfully.

“Precisely what I thought of doing whence I would have furnished it.”

“But all that does not answer my question,” Mycroft said, “where would you like to go after leaving the US.”

“I was coming to that… ,” Sherlock replied. “When I bought the house on Baker Street, and since I didn’t have a United States’ passport or even an immigrant visa, I had to give them an address for taxation and other purposes.”

“And which address did you give them?” Irene asked impatiently.

Sherlock smiled. “I think you will appreciate my answer, Miss Adler.”

“And why would that be?”

“Because, Wellington in New Zealand is what I gave as my residence, and I suspect that you were about to suggest the same tonight, weren’t you?”

“I am not going to ask,” Irene replied, tittering while looking over the rim of her glass of wine.

“Are you saying that you would be willing to live in New Zealand?” Mycroft was somewhat surprised that he didn’t have to coax his brother in that direction.

“Precisely, my dear brother. I had practically no choice in the matter, since the government of the United States – the CIA to be exact – only saw fit to give me a New Zealander nationality when I first landed in their country.”

“But why would they do such a thing?” Irene demanded. “Even if they doubted who you really were – and I think they must have – why wouldn’t they give you a British nationality?”

“Ah, very good question, Miss Adler, and one that deserves only one answer.” Sherlock shot a glance in his brother’s direction. “The US government has been dealing with Mycroft Holmes for years, which fact was confirmed soon after our official meeting in August… .” Mycroft fixed his gaze on Sherlock. “And they didn’t want to give rise to undue questioning or create an international incident by revealing a possible relationship between us.”

Mycroft sank back into his seat, depositing his glass on the table. “I knew these people had dealt you a dirty hand, Sherlock, the moment you revealed that you had a New Zealand passport. And they knew I could not do anything about it – it was too late, as it were.”

It had always been difficult for Sherlock to express his feelings to anyone at any given time, and tonight was one of those times. He was sitting in a comfortable chair in his brother’s sitting room, looking down at his glass of port. Mycroft had invited him to his suite to talk for a while before retiring and after they had accompanied Irene back to her room.

“Why don’t you tell her how you feel, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, knowing that his brother was rather unwilling to open up when it came to such subjects as romantic pursuits.

“Because I don’t know how I feel,” Sherlock said, shaking his head. “Irene Adler was denied to me by circumstances a long time ago, and the only feeling that remained from that encounter is one of admiration.” He put his glass down on the coffee table. “I admire her for her perspicacity, her acute sense of rectitude and perhaps also for her cunning.”

Mycroft had to smile. He knew all too well how cunning Irene could be. “Alright, but tell me: Do you worry for her when she is absent from your sight or when you know that she may be in danger?”

“No doubt of it, Mycroft. When I saw her at the theatre this morning, I thought how silly it was of her to have followed me, and I was worried about what Adnan could have done if he had known she was on the premises.”

“And did you realize she felt the same about you?”

“Yes, that was obvious as the nose on my face, Mycroft.” Sherlock leaned back in his chair. “But apart from those so-called feelings of admiration and obvious esteem for her, I don’t know that I harbour any other emotions towards “
the
woman
”.”

“Well then, I would suggest that you stop pussyfooting around and ask her if she would consider accompanying you to Wellington.”

Sherlock joined the tips of his fingers in front of him and began flexing his hands rhythmically. “Do you think she would prefer accompanying me as opposed to staying in Washington and looking after the house?”

To say that Mycroft was taken aback by the suggestion, would be an understatement – he was literally outraged. “How could you?” he uttered, getting up from his seat. “Irene Adler is a lady, Sherlock – not a housekeeper!”

“I would not think of her that way, Mycroft, and you know it – but who is there that I could trust with the house? I would want to return to it and find it in the same state as I left it, not transformed into a guesthouse or lodging of some sort…”

“Hold it right there,” Mycroft blurted, returning to his seat. “I will personally see to it that your house is well looked after, Sherlock – that’s not a problem. However, I don’t want you to use the house as an excuse not to ask Irene to accompany you.” He took his Cognac snifter from the table and drank from it. “As you know by now, I can travel to Washington as I please and as quickly as a five-hour flight would take me, but I would not be able to do the same if you were to live in New Zealand. Air transport these days is fast and reliable, I grant you, but Wellington would be some 20 hours’ away in any given condition.”

Sherlock nodded. “And I still don’t know anything about New Zealand. Perhaps it would be good for me to have a companion in this venture,” he said musingly. “I wish Watson was here,” he added, thinking of his friend.
Where
would
he
be
now?

An hour later, Sherlock had decided, once they were back in Washington, to ask Irene to help him furnish the house in Baker Street, and then accompany him to Wellington. Mycroft, although pleased with the decision, was somewhat sad. After finding his brother again, he secretly felt as if he was about to lose him once more. He quickly shrugged the feeling away, reminding himself that New Zealand wasn’t that far after all, and that correspondence was only seconds away.

If Sherlock had not many choices in the matter of going to New Zealand, Irene had not either. She had spent the rest of the evening pondering the possibilities offered to her. She could return to 1890 and resume her life on the stage or she could stay in this century and remain in Washington – 
doing
what?
was the question – or she could accompany Sherlock to Wellington.
But
would
he
be
willing
to
have
a
woman
at
his
side?
was another question that needed answering.

At about 3:00AM that night, the silence enveloping the hotel was shattered by a loud explosion of some sort nearby. The horrendous noise was soon followed by a series of whining sirens from fire-trucks, ambulances and police cruisers. It didn’t take long for Mycroft to be on his feet, and looking out the window, for his worst fears to be confirmed – Broadway was alight with security and safety vehicles of all kinds. He slipped in his trousers, shirt and jacket in a hurry, grabbed his keys and phone from the night stand and made his way down the stairs to Sherlock’s room. He was not as worried about what Irene would do as he was about his brother’s possible reactions to this latest turn of events.

Sherlock was about to shot out of his room and rush down the hallway, when he was stopped by his brother who pushed him roughly back into the passage. “Don’t even think about going out there, Sherlock,” Mycroft ordered, keeping both his hands on his brother’s shoulders.

All the while Sherlock was hollering, “What do you think you’re doing? I need to see what happened… . Let me go, will you… ?”