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During Yujin's time in England, he assisted the great Herlock Sholmes with more cases than he could count. One such case involved a Miss Violet Smith, the solitary cyclist of Charlington, which culminated in an unexpected tragedy. It was near the end of April when Miss Smith first made an appearance at Baker Street. Since Herlock claimed he was too busy practicing his kanji, Yujin was the one that answered the door. He always hated distractions when he was absorbed in something or other, even if it was a potential client. Yet, Miss Smith's insistency eventually pulled him away from his studies. It was evident that she wasn't going to leave until the two of them heard her story.
With a weary smile, Herlock gestured for Miss Smith to take a seat. "It cannot be your health," said he, his keen eyes darting over her, "You must have a lot of energy, cycling so often like that."
Miss Smith glanced down at her feet in surprise. Yujin observed that the sides of the soles were rough, caused by the friction of the edge of a bike pedal. "You really are as observant as they say," she gasped, "I cycle a good deal, yes. It has something to do with my visit today."
Herlock took Miss Smith's ungloved hand and examined it closely. It reminded Yujin of how he used to examine specimens during his training. "Forgive me," he smiled apologetically as he let go of her hand. "I had to check that you weren't in the business of typewriting. It was an easy mistake to make - but you're a musician, correct? Observe, Mikotoba, how the tip of Miss Smith's finger is more broad and rounded than yours. Typists and musicians both have this trait. However, our visitor has a sense of purpose; excitement. A mere typist wouldn't have the same look in their eyes, so I came to the conclusion that Miss Smith is a musician."
"Correct again, Mr Sholmes," Miss Smith confirmed, "I teach music."
"I presume you teach in the country - for you look rather overwhelmed," Herlock deduced with a flick of his hand, "You must not visit the city often. No doubt you had to ask for directions on how to find me."
"My work required me to relocate near Farnham," she explained, "On the borders of Surrey. Have either of you heard of it?"
"We've been near there before, yes," Yujin nodded along, desperate to contribute something of meaning to this conversation. "What happened to you there, which led you to seeking our assistance, Miss Smith?"
"My father, one James Smith, is dead. He used to conduct the orchestra at the Old Imperial Theatre. My mother and I were left with no other relations, par my uncle, Ralph Smith," Miss Smith began, her voice not once faltering in her speech, "Twenty-five years ago, he moved to Africa. We haven't heard a word from him since. We were left with barely a penny to our name when my father died. But, one day, an acquaintance told us about a peculiar advertisement in The Times. Mr Sholmes, you see, the advertisement was asking for our whereabouts."
"And you answered the advertisement?" Yujin asked her.
"Naturally. We were excited - we assumed someone had left us a fortune. In the paper, a name of a lawyer was given. We met with him immediately. There, we met two gentlemen, Mr Carruthers and Mr Woodley. They told us that they were home on a visit from South Africa, and that they were friends with my uncle. Unfortunately, he died some months ago in great poverty in Johannesburg. With his last breath, he implored them to dig up his relations and see that they were taken care of."
"How odd," Herlock mumbled, a frown on his features, "From what you have said before, it seems you weren't in contact with your uncle for quite some time."
"It seemed strange to us, too. Uncle Ralph took no notice of us when he was alive," Miss Smith glanced away, if just for a moment. "According to Mr Carruthers, my uncle had just heard of the death of his brother, and felt responsible for our fate."
"Might I ask when this interview took place?" Herlock questioned, a faint apologetic smile as he interrupted her story.
"Last December - four months ago," Miss Smith replied, "I was struck by how unpleasant Mr Woodley was. He kept making eyes at me, you see. With his puffy face, red-moustached... You get my point. He's perfectly hateful. My dear Cyril would not wish for me to know him, I'm sure."
"Aha! So, Cyril is his name?" Herlock's eyes lit up.
Miss Smith let out a chuckle, her cheeks a faint pink. "Oh, yes. Cyril Morton - he's an electrical engineer. We hope to be married at the end of the summer. How did I end up talking about him..? My point is, Mr Woodley was certainly unpleasant. Mr Carruthers, on the other hand, was more agreeable. He was a much older man and often stayed silent, but he had polite manners and a pleasant smile. When he found out about our financial situation, he suggested that I should come and teach music to his only daughter, aged ten. I didn't want to leave my poor mother, so he suggested that I go home to her every weekend. Did you know, he offered me a hundred a year!"
"To teach music to his daughter?" Yujin crossed his arms in thought. "More than splendid pay. Certainly more than the usual rate."
"I ended up accepting the job. I went down to Chiltern Grange, about six miles from Farnham. Mr Carruthers was a widower, but employed a housekeeper, one Mrs Dixon, to look after the establishment. The child was a joy to teach, and Mr Carruthers had a fondness for music. We spent many pleasant evenings together. Every weekend, without fail, I went home to my mother."
"This is usually the part in the story when events go horribly wrong," Herlock commented, leaning in close to listen to her story. It seemed that it was starting to interest him. Yujin wondered if he already had a few theories about the case, but said nothing,
"You would be correct, Mr Sholmes," Miss Smith said with a sigh. "It was the arrival of Mr Woodley that started it all. He visited only for a week, but to me, it seemed more like three months! He was a horrible bully, but to me, he was infinitely worse. He claimed to love me, boasted of his wealth, said that if I married him I would have the finest diamonds in London, and finally, when I said I would have nothing to do with him... Oh, Mr Sholmes, it was awful! He seized me in his hideously strong arms and swore he would not let go of me until I had kissed him. The cheek! Mr Carruthers came in and tore him off of me, and I gave Mr Woodley a slap for good measure."
"You should've slapped him twice," Herlock chortled, "Such a horrid man would have truly deserved it."
"Unfortunately, Mr Woodley turned violent before I had the chance to chastise him. He turned upon his own host, Mr Carruthers, knocking him down with a single punch. Poor Mr Carruthers had his face cut open! That was the end of his visit, as you can imagine. Mr Carruthers apologised to me the next day and assured me I would never be exposed to such insult again. Thankfully, I have not seen Mr Woodley since."
"An awful man," Yujin agreed, glancing at Herlock. His partner was fully invested in Miss Smith's story by now.
"Now, I come to the curious thing that has led me to seek your advice today, Mr Sholmes," Miss Smith took a deep breath before continuing her story. "Every Saturday, before noon, I ride my bicycle to Farnham Station in order to catch the 12:22 train. The road from Chiltern Grange is oft quiet, especially at one spot. It lies over a mile between Charlington Heath and the woods which lie round Charlington Hall. It is quite rare to see another soul, until you reach the high road near Crooksbury Hill. Two weeks ago, as I was passing this place, I chanced a look over my shoulder and saw a man, cycling behind me, about two hundred yards away."
"What did this man look like?" Herlock asked her.
"He seemed to be middle-aged, with a short, dark beard," Miss Smith replied, "I looked back before I reached Farnham, but the man was gone. I thought nothing of it at the time. However, imagine my surprise when, upon my return on the Monday, I saw the same man on the same stretch of road. On the following Saturday and Monday, the incident occurred again. He always kept his distance and didn't try anything funny, but it was still very odd. When I mentioned this to Mr Carruthers, he told me that he had ordered a horse and trap, so that in the future I at least have a companion with me."
Yujin narrowed his eyes. He had a bad feeling about this. "Did you utilise the horse and trap today?"
"Funnily enough, it was never delivered. I don't understand why - they were supposed to arrive this week. So, this morning, I had to cycle to the station again. As I looked out when I came to Charlington Heath, the man appeared behind me yet again! He always kept so far from me that I could not clearly see his face, but I was sure that it was someone whom I did not know. He was dressed in a dark suit with a cloth cap. Today, I was determined to find out who he was and what he wanted. When I slowed down, he slowed, too. I stopped, then he stopped. So, I decided to lay a trap for him." Miss Smith held back a prideful smile.
"A trap!" Herlock exclaimed, "How brilliant! Tell me more, Miss Smith."
"Mr Sholmes, on the road there is a sharp turning. I pedalled very quickly round this, then I stopped and waited. You would expect him to shoot round and pass me by before he could stop, yes? But he never appeared. I went back and looked round the corner. He was no longer on the road, which stretches for about a mile. There isn't a side road where he could have gone, before you ask. It's most peculiar."
Herlock rubbed his hands together in delight. "This case is certainly peculiar! How much time elapsed between turning the corner and discovering that the road was clear?"
"Two or three minutes."
"He couldn't have retreated down the road in that time," Yujin pointed out, "What about a footpath? He could've gone down one."
"I would've seen him if he went down the side of the heath," Miss Smith replied.
"By process of elimination, we arrive at the fact that he made his way towards Charlington Hall," Herlock said with a proud smirk. "I understand that it's situated on one side of the road. Anything else?"
"Nothing that I can think of. I've been so perplexed that I felt that I needed to seek your advice at once."
Whilst Herlock sat in silence, Yujin turned back to Miss Smith. "Could the man be the gentleman to whom you are engaged? Perhaps he paid you a surprise visit," he suggested.
"Cyril? Heavens, no!" Miss Smith shook her head. "Presently, he is in the Midland Electrical Company, at Coventry. I can firmly say that he would never do such a thing ."
"Have you had any other admirers?" Herlock spoke up, looking directly into Miss Smiths' eyes.
"Several before I knew Cyril."
Herlock leaned closer to her. "And since?"
"Well... Mr Woodley, I suppose. If you could count him."
"No one else?"
Miss Smith opened her mouth to say something, but found herself to be hesitant.
Herlock let out a smirk and leaned back in his seat. "Go on - who was he?"
"Well, it may just be my assumption, but it seemed to me that my employer, Mr Carruthers, takes a great deal of interest in me," Miss Smith stared down at the floor. "We spend a lot of time together. I play for him in the evenings. He has never said anything - always the perfect gentleman. But a girl always knows."
"I wonder - what does your employer do for a living?" Yujin hid a frown with his hand.
Miss Smith hesitated again. "He... is a rich man."
"No carriages or horses?" Herlock questioned her. He had a grave look on his face, one that Yujin had come to know over time.
"Well, he's fairly well-off. He goes into the City two or three times a week," she explained, "He is deeply interested in South African gold shares."
"You must let us know of any fresh developments, Miss Smith," Herlock stood up from his seat and helped Miss Smith up out of hers. "I am very busy as of this moment, but rest assured, I will find time to make some enquires into your case. I trust that we shall have nothing but good news for you."
Miss Smith thanked the two for hearing her story and left. Yujin turned to Herlock and watched as he lit his pipe. Good - he wasn't turning to any of his other habits just yet. Yujin kept track of how many days his partner was free of the stuff.
"It may be common for a woman to have admirers, my dear Mikotoba," Herlock began, taking a breath from his pipe, "It is not common, however, for those admirers to appear on bicycles on lonely country roads. A most peculiar case, isn't it?"
"It is peculiar," Yujin agreed, "That the man should only appear at that one point."
"Exactly!" Herlock raised his pipe in agreement. "Our first effort must be to find out about the tenants of Charlington Hall. Ah, but we must also take into consideration Mr Carruthers and Mr Woodley. Why are they both so keen upon looking up Ralph Smith's relations? One last point, my dear fellow. Why pay double the market price for a governess, but not keep a horse? The man is six miles from the station. Odd, Mikotoba. Very odd..."
"I suppose a visit is in order, then," Yujin said, "When should we go?"
"Not we, Mikotoba - you," Herlock let out a grin. Yujin recognised it - it was the grin that he often used when he was begging for his assistance. "This may be a trifling case, and I'm afraid Mycroft has left me with some important matter. I cannot tear myself away - so I shall give you my instructions. On Monday, you will arrive early at Farnham, conceal yourself near Charlington Heath, observe these facts for yourself, and act according to your own judgement. I have complete faith in you. Once you have enquired about the occupants of the Hall, come back to me with your report."
Yujin nodded along, making a mental note of his instructions. "I don't suppose you'd share any of your theories?"
"Come now, Mikotoba. You know very well by now that I don't like to formulate a proper theory until I have all of the facts," Herlock turned away and walked towards his desk. "Not another word on the matter until we have those basic facts. Then, we can hope for a solution."
----
Since Miss Smith caught the Monday train which leaves Waterloo at 9:50, Yujin decided to start early and catch the 9:13. It would give him ample time to locate the road in question - as well as. a chance to buy lunch from a local bakery. If there was one thing he liked about England, it was the bakeries.
He made his way from Farnham Station, taking bites out of a sponge cake that he was supposed to be saving for later. Yujin soon found the road in question - on one side was an open heath, and the other, an old yew hedge. There were many gaps in the hedge with paths leading through them. The Hall itself was invisible from the road, and the surroundings looked worse for wear.
The heath was covered in golden patches of flowering gorse, sparkling brightly in the English sunshine. It was behind one of these clumps that Yujin hid, watching the deserted road carefully. No longer than a minute after he had taken this position, a cyclist appeared at one end of the road. He was clad in a dark suit and had a black beard. On reaching the end of the Charlington grounds, he sprang from his bicycle and led it through a gap in the hedge, disappearing from view.
A fully-eaten sponge cake and a quarter of an hour later, a second cyclist appeared. Yujin recognised her as Miss Smith, coming from the station. She looked behind her as she came to the Charlington hedge. An instant later, the man emerged from his hiding-place, sprang onto his bicycle and followed her. Whilst Miss Smith looked rather graceful, sitting upright on her bicycle, the man was bending low over his handlebar.
Miss Smith looked behind her and slowed her pace. He slowed also. She stopped. He stopped. With a huff, Miss Smith whisked her wheels round and dashed straight at him. He, however, was as quick as she, and darted off in a desperate flight. She turned and continued down the road towards her destination, her head held high. The man had also turned, keeping his distance until the curve in the road hid them from Yujin's sight.
Yujin remained in his hiding-place, deciding to keep watch for a while longer. It was a good thing that he did - the man had reappeared, cycling slowly back. He turned in at the Hall gates and dismounted. Yujin watched carefully as he stood among the trees. His hands were raised, and he seemed to be settling his necktie. Then, he mounted his bicycle once more and rode down the drive towards the Hall.
From his current position, the man was disappearing from Yujin's sight. He quickly ran across the heath and peered through the trees. The Hall was of a Tudor design, with the drive running through a dense shrubbery. Although, he couldn't spy the mysterious man.
In high spirits (the sponge cake was delicious), Yujin walked back towards Farnham. He still had a few enquiries to make about Charlington Hall. Upon finding the local house-agent, he was instead referred to a well-known firm in Pall Mall, back in London. Before he caught the return train, Yujin made sure to buy another sponge cake as a replacement for the one he had already eaten.
On his way home, Yujin met with a representative. When he enquired about Charlington Hall, he was informed that it had been let about a month ago, and he couldn't have it for the summer. The tenant's name was Mr Williamson, an elderly gentleman, but the agent couldn't say anymore. The affairs of his clients were not matters which he could discuss.
Feeling as if he had been successful, Yujin made his way back to Baker Street. Herlock would enjoy the sponge cake, along with the information he had gathered. He was getting rather good at this.
----
Unfortunately, Herlock wasn't one for praise. As he listened to Yujin's story, the frown on his face grew more and more severe. He barely touched the sponge cake that Yujin had purchased for him. Even when Yujin made a passing comment about how delicious it was, he refused to take a bite.
"Your hiding place, my dear Mikotoba, was very faulty," Herlock began his onslaught of critiques, not once offering a word of praise. "A flower bed? Pah! You should've been behind the hedge, man! You would've had a closer look at this interesting man. Since you were some hundreds of yards away, you can tell me even less than Miss Smith."
"I was not some hundreds of yards away," Yujin retorted with a glare.
"I have more critiques," Herlock proudly announced, eyeing him up playfully. "The man returns to the house, and you want to find out who he is. So, you come to a London house-agent!" He burst out into a fit of laughter, much to Yujin's annoyance.
Yujin crossed his arms with a pout. "I found out some important information! Take the way the cyclist was bending over the handlebars, for example. He is rather anxious about Miss Smith not recognising his features. Surely, you can-"
Herlock was having none of it. "That only confirms my previous thinking. I am convinced that Miss Smith knows the man. Concealment, you see! But, Mikotoba," Herlock placed a hand on Yujin's thigh. "You really have done remarkably badly."
Yujin swatted Herlock's hand away. "What should I have done, Sholmes?" He said with an annoyed grunt.
"Gone to the nearest public-house," Herlock replied swiftly, "They are the centre of country gossip. They would have told you every name, from the master to the scullery-maid. Williamson? The name means nothing to me. If he is an elderly man, then he cannot be our mysterious cyclist. So, what have we gained from your expedition? The knowledge that Miss Smiths' story is true. I never doubted it. That there is a connection between the cyclist and the Hall. I never doubted that, either. That the Hall is tenanted by Williamson. The name conveys nothing in mind."
"I see," Yujin mumbled, his shoulders slumping. He really had done a poor job in his partner's mind.
"Don't look so depressed, Mikotoba!" Herlock chirped, patting his partner's back. "We can do little more until next Saturday. In the meantime, we shall have to make one or two enquires ourselves. Now... when are you going to start cooking our meal, hmm?"
----
Somewhat unsuccessfully, Yujin was trying to teach Herlock how to use chopsticks. It was the next morning, and they were enjoying some specially made sushi for breakfast. Despite the love and care Yujin put into making them, Herlock was adamant on destroying them before they had even entered his mouth.
"I have mastered the chopstick, Mikotoba!" He proudly declared, slamming a chopstick through a maki roll. He popped the pierced maki roll into his mouth, rice flying everywhere. Of course, Yujin would have to clean that up later.
"Didn't you pay attention to my tutorial, Sholmes? You're supposed to hold the chopsticks like this," Yujin showed him for the twelfth time that day the proper chopstick etiquette. "Honestly, what am I going to do with you?"
It was at that moment that the post arrived. Herlock abandoned his singular chopstick and examined the sole letter. "Aha! It seems Miss Smith has given us an update. Since you are far too occupied with your chopsticks, I shall read aloud what our client has to say."
As Herlock read the letter, Yujin realised that it was an account of what he had witnessed the day before. The essence of the letter, however, came in the postscript:
'Something else has come up, Mr Sholmes. My place here has become difficult, owing to the fact that my employer has proposed marriage to me. I am convinced that his feelings are most deep and most honourable. Yet, I have my promise to Cyril. As a result, I refused. He took my refusal very seriously, but also very gently. You can understand, however, that the situation is a little strained.'
"Our friend seems to be getting into deep waters," Herlock said as he finished the letter, "This case presents more curiosities than I had originally thought. I think it's time we spent a quiet, peaceful day in the country. Don't you agree, Mikotoba?"
Yujin stared back at him as he gulped down the remains of their breakfast. "We're to head to the country? Today?"
"Unless you have any other appointments? Surely none of them would be as exciting as my invitation," Herlock grinned at him. "Come now, Mikotoba! I have one or two theories to test. I'll need my trusty partner with me during my investigation. Finish off the remains of our breakfast, and we shall catch the next train!"
Since Yujin didn't have any other appointments that day, he was inclined to agree. He finished off the rest of the sushi and grabbed his coat. If the circumstances were any different, he might've enjoyed spending a day with Herlock out in the country. When it concerned a case, however, he couldn't help but to be on edge. He prayed that nothing would go wrong - Herlock's eccentricity was bound to get them into trouble, like it had done many times before.
----
Herlock dragged Yujin, at his own earlier suggestion, to the local public-house. Yujin glanced up at the sign and saw that it was named 'The Good Companions'. Five theatre masks adorned the sign, although only the centre one looked happy. Yujin briefly wondered how these public-houses got their names before following his partner inside.
He was met with a few brief stares, but he had long since grown used to them by now. Herlock beelined for the bar and summoned the landlord. Yujin hung back, hoping to blend in as much as possible.
"A fine afternoon, my good man!" Herlock smiled at the landlord, tipping his hat at him. "I was wondering if I could perchance a moment of your time? My partner and I are making some enquiries about this area."
The landlord put down a polished beer mug and nodded. "Is that so? I have all the time in the world. Today is a slow day, after all."
"Excellent!" Herlock leaned closer into the bar. "We're looking for a Mr Williamson, an elderly gentleman. Have you heard of him?"
"Williamson? Oh, aye. I've heard of him," the landlord replied, "White-bearded bloke. Lives alone with a couple of servants in that Hall. I heard a rumour that he once had business as a clergyman. Maybe he still is. But..."
Yujin raised an eyebrow. "But...?"
"There were one or two incidents at his place of residence that didn't seem very churchlike," he explained, "There's a fella that says he's from a clerical agency, and he said that there was a bloke by that name, but his career wasn't a very happy one. I can't wrap head nor tail around it."
"I see," Herlock nodded along. "Does this man have many weekend visitors?"
"A warm lot, sir," said the landlord, "Aye, especially that fella with the red moustache... Mr Woodley. He's always there."
Yujin heard the scrape of a chair behind him. "Woodley, you say?" A man said behind them.
Herlock and Yujin turned to see a man with a red moustache glaring daggers at them. Herlock instinctively stepped in front of Yujin. Yujin opened his mouth to say something, but kept quiet.
"Who are you?" The man demanded, "What do you want? Why are you asking such ridiculous questions?"
"From your striking moustache, I deduce that you are Mr Woodley," Herlock stepped closer to the man, to the point where he could smell the beer on his breath. "You overheard our conversation, I see."
"What right have you to ask these sorts of questions?" Mr Woodley snarled, putting his beer mug down on the table. His face burned a furious red. "A man has a right to privacy, you know! He doesn't need two fools digging up personal information! Who are you with, hm? Do you intend to rob me? Well, I'll show you that I am not a man to be messed with!"
Yujin gasped as Mr Woodley gave Herlock a sudden backhand. Herlock winced and smirked to himself. "Well, now. At least I can argue self defence when I send you home in a cart!" He declared, raising his fists. "Are we going to stand round here all day, or are we going to fight?"
"Sholmes!" Yujin hissed at him, the environment turning sour. So much for a quiet, peaceful day in the country. The rest of the inhabitants of the public-house must've seen the change in atmosphere, too. They surrounded Herlock and Mr Woodley, chanting cries of a fight. The landlord said nothing.
Mr Woodley threw a punch, but Herlock dodged nimbly. The great detective returned with a punch of his own, quickly returning his fists to protect his face. This wasn't the first fight he had been in, and it wouldn't be the last.
The crowd pushed Yujin back, shoving him into the back of the room. He was the only person in the room protesting against such a form of violence - the crowd saw it as a spectator sport. As Yujin tried to shove those in front of him to get a better view, he found himself being shoved back.
He tried to peek between the crowds, occasionally witnessing a successful punch by Herlock, or an unsuccessful punch by Mr Woodley. Whilst he knew Herlock was a 'master boxer' as he so proudly proclaimed, he couldn't help but to grow worried.
There was a loud thud and an even louder cheer from the crowd. Finally, they began to disperse, allowing Yujin a peek. He rushed forward to find Mr Woodley out cold, and Herlock standing above the man. He had a cut lip and a discoloured lump on his forehead. Mr Woodley, on the other hand, received far worse injuries.
Yujin bent down to examine the extent of his injuries. "He'll have to be returned home in a cart," he said, "I'm sure the landlord can arrange it. He's not bleeding too badly, but he'll certainly be covered in bruises..."
"Ha! Did I not say that I'd send him home in a cart?" Herlock straightened his collar with pride. "He had it coming, my dear Mikotoba. He should know better than to start fights with great detectives."
With a sigh, Yujin stood back up to examine Herlock's injuries. "I do wish you wouldn't get yourself into fights so often. You do worry me, Sholmes. We should get you cleaned up before we leave."
"And yourself, my good man," Herlock gestured to Yujin's hands. "You appear to have that ruffian's blood on your hands."
Yujin glanced down at his hands to confirm it. In the midst of examining Mr Woodley, he had gotten an awful lot of blood on his hands. He felt his heartbeat quicken.
"Come now! We must both clean ourselves up," Herlock declared, dragging Yujin into the bathroom. He took one look at himself in the mirror and shrugged his injuries off, preferring to wait outside until Yujin had washed his hands.
Now left alone, Yujin stared at himself in the mirror. His breathing became laboured. He raised his hands. Blood. They were covered in blood. As a doctor, this wasn't the first time his hands became covered in blood. However, ever since that fateful day, all that it did was remind him of his mistakes.
There was blood everywhere on that day; the day that he both lost and gained a life. All he remembered was the blood. The sheer amount of blood. It wasn't his first time witnessing a postpartum haemorrhage. Although, it was different when it was his own wife.
Ayame, his wife, had just given birth to Susato. Yujin looked away for one second to tend to Susato when the worst happened. Ayame looked up at him, dazed, as the blood overwhelmed her. It overwhelmed them all. He gained a daughter, but he lost a wife.
He remembered his hands being covered with blood. Even when he had fled the country, every time his hands were stained with blood, he couldn't help but to be reminded of his failure. To him, the blood was always the blood of Ayame's.
"Yujin..."
He glanced to his right and saw Herlock. His hands were shaking. He felt dizzy.
Herlock slowly approached him, a grave look of concern on his face. He held Yujin's arm and lowered his hands into the sink, turning on the tap. "It's alright. I'm here."
Yujin's eyes focused on Herlock as he helped wash his hands free of the blood. "Ayame," he whispered, lowering his head.
"Look at me," Herlock grabbed his chin and raised his head. "Yujin, look at me. What happened was not your fault. Do you understand? There was nothing you could've done."
"Herlock, I..." Yujin's eyes flickered to Herlock's.
"Hush, now. Sometimes... sometimes, actions speak..."
Their faces were inches away when someone else walked into the bathroom. Herlock jumped away and somewhat awkwardly grabbed a towel. "Here you are, Mikotoba! Dry your hands - we'd best be off!" He exclaimed, the previous tension quickly evaporated.
Yujin muttered a curse in Japanese and dried his hands. That wasn't the first time they had been interrupted. One day... one day, they might actually...
----
Back at Baker Street, on the Thursday, Yujin was listening to another one of Herlock's lectures. The post had yet to arrive.
"So, Mikotoba, Hume references Epicurus' infamous problem of evil," Herlock announced with a twirl, "The problem is this: if there is a God, then why is there evil in the world? Is it because God does not exist, or is this omniscient being not as powerful as some might think?"
Yujin nodded along, half-paying attention. "That's all very well and good, Sholmes, but I'd advise against you saying such things in public.."
"There's more-"
At that moment, the post arrived. A single letter fell onto the wooden floor. Herlock paused his lecture to examine the letter. It was from Miss Smith, whom had once again added details regarding her current situation.
'You will not be surprised, Mr Sholmes, to hear that I am leaving Mr Carruthers' employment. Even with the high pay, my current situation is far too discomforting to continue. On Saturday I will leave for town, and I do not intend to return. Mr Carruthers has gotten a trap, and so the dangers of that lonely road, if there ever were any, are now over.
As to the special cause of my leaving, it is not only the strained relationship with Mr Carruthers, but it is also the reappearance of Mr Woodley. He was always hideous, but he looks more awful than ever now with his now-disfigured face. Perhaps he got into some sort of accident. I saw him out of the window, but I am glad to say that I did not meet him. He had a long talk with Mr Carruthers, who seemed to be much excited afterwards. Mr Woodley must be staying in the neighbourhood, for he did not sleep here, and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this morning in the shrubbery. I loathe and fear him more than I can say. How can Mr Carruthers endure such a creature for more than a moment? However, I am pleased to say that all my troubles will be over on Saturday.'
"I believe, Mikotoba," Herlock began, "That it is our duty that Miss Smith is left untroubled upon that last journey. We must spare time to run down together on Saturday morning, ensuring that this case has no untoward ending."
Come Saturday, Yujin noticed that Herlock had slipped his revolver into his pocket. It filled him with dread, and a sense that events may soon a turn into a tragedy. Herlock wore a face on severity - whatever he guessed was going to happen was clearly worrying him.
Herlock noticed Yujin's odd look and sighed. "It's for the protection of us all, Yujin." He said no more as the two left for the station.
What had been a rainy night gave way to a glorious morning. The flowers along the heath sparkled with joy, much unlike the cold slabs of London. They rented two bicycles and soon found themselves cycling along the road, rejoicing at the music of the birds. Spring was blooming.
On the shoulder of Crooksbury Hill, Yujin spotted the grim Hall bristling out from the ancient oaks. Herlock pointed to a far away black dot slowly moving closer to them. He held his hand up, urging Yujin to be patient.
"I gave us a margin of hall an hour," said he, "If that is her trap, she must be making for the earlier train. I pray that we have not already missed her, Mikotoba."
Herlock cycled ahead, having an infinite store of nervous energy. Yujin quickly fell behind, cycling as fast as his legs could manage it. He liked to think he was fighting fit, yet Herlock was moving at such a pace that he was beginning to get out of breath.
As they inched closer to the trap, Herlock suddenly looked at Yujin with a smile. "Did you know, Mikotoba, that I can cycle without putting my hands on the handlebars? Watch!"
Yujin barely got a chance to raise a cry of disagreement. Herlock threw his hands up in the air, his bicycle plummeting into the side of the road. Yujin jumped off of his bike and ran over to Herlock, eyes full of worry.
"What was that about?!" Yujin exclaimed, "You could've hurt yourself!"
"I fear I might've done," Herlock winked at him and gestured towards the oncoming trap. "You should stop that trap and ask for help..."
So that was his plan! Yujin nodded and stood in the middle of the road as the trap came into view. "Excuse me! We have a man... Oh?"
"Mikotoba?" Herlock raised his head off the ground. "Is something the matter?"
"Get up, Sholmes!" Mikotoba hissed at him, "There's no driver!"
At Yujin's command, Herlock shot up, having recovered from his apparent injury. In front of them was an empty trap, the reins trailing, the horse coming to a stop. Herlock threw up his hand with a gesture of grief and despair.
"Too late, Mikotoba! We're too late!" He exclaimed, running up to the side of the trap. "What a fool I was to not allow for an earlier train! It's abduction, Mikotoba - abduction! Murder, even! Heaven knows! Quickly now, jump in, and let us see if I can repair the consequences of my own foolish blunder."
Yujin jumped in the trap next to Herlock, his partner taking the reins. With a sharp cut of the whip, they were off. As they turned the curve of the whole stretch of road between the Hall and the Heath, Yujin's eyes widened. He grabbed Herlock's arm. "That's the man!"
A solitary cyclist raced towards them, fury in his eyes. He raised his bearded face as he grew closer, pulling up, and jumping off of his cycle. His eyes were bright, as if he had a fever. He stared at the two of them in the trap. "Stop there!" He shouted, drawing a revolver from his side pocket. "Pull up, or I'll put a bullet in your horse!"
Herlock, seemingly unfazed by the presence of the revolver, threw the reigns onto Yujin's lap. He jumped off of the trap and approached the man. "You're the man we want to see. Where is Miss Violet Smith?"
The man seemed taken aback. "That's what I'm asking you. That's her trap, and you're in it. You ought to know where she is."
"We ran into this empty trap in the middle of the road," Yujin explained as he joined the other two men. "There was no one in it. We drove back to help Miss Smith."
"Are you sure? Heavens, no!" The stranger lowered his revolver, his eyes widening. "They've got her. That hellhound Woodley and that miscreant clergyman. Come, man, come! If you really are her friends, stand by me and we'll save her, even if I have to leave my carcass in Charlington Wood."
He ran, pistol in hand, towards a gap in the hedge. Herlock and Yujin looked at each other before chasing after him. The horse was left grazing beside the road.
The man pointed to the marks of several feet up a muddy path. "This is where they came through. We should... wait! There's someone in this bush!"
Yujin pushed the shrubbery aside to find a stableboy on his back. He had a terrible cut on his head. Yujin checked his injury - he was unconscious, but alive. His injury wasn't that deep.
"That's Peter, the groom," cried the man, "He drove her. The beasts must've pulled him off and attacked him. Leave him for now - we may be able to save Miss Smith before any harm comes to her if we hurry!"
The three of them ran frantically up the path, leaving the stableboy behind. When they reached the shrubbery that surrounded the house, Herlock raised his hand.
"They didn't go into the house," he deduced, "Their footprints are on the left, besides the bushes-"
A shrill scream interrupted his reasoning. It was from the bushes in front of them. It ended suddenly on its highest note with a choke and a gurgle.
"This way!" The man exclaimed, darting through the bushes, "The cowardly dogs... follow me, gentlemen! Before we are... Ah, too late...!"
Behind the bushes was a clearing, surrounded by ancient trees. Under the shadow of a mighty oak stood a group of three people. One was Miss Smith, a handkerchief around her mouth, looking worse for wear. Opposite her stood a red-moustached man, waving a riding crop triumphantly. Between them was an elderly, grey-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light tweed suit. He had evidently just completed the wedding service, as he pocketed his prayer-book and slapped the back of the red-moustached man in celebration.
"They're married!" Yujin gasped.
"Come on!" Their guide insisted, Herlock and Yujin hot on his heels. His revolver was still in his hand.
As they approached, Miss Smith staggered against the trunk of the tree for support. Mr Williamson, the ex-clergyman, bowed to them with mock politeness. Mr Woodley, the bully, advanced with exultant laughter.
"You can take your beard off, Bob," Mr Woodley grinned. "I've known you long enough to be able to see through any disguise. You and your pals have just come in time for me to introduce to you Mrs Woodley."
Their guide snatched off his beard and threw it on the ground. Then, he raised his revolver and aimed it at Mr Woodley, who was advancing upon him with his riding crop swinging in his hand.
"Yes," said he, "I am Bob Carruthers, and I'll see this woman righted if it's the last thing I do. I told you what I'd do if you did this to her, and I'll be as good as my word!"
"You're too late," Mr Woodley snarled, "She's my wife!"
"No - she's your widow."
There was a deafening shot, and blood spurted from the front of Mr Woodley's waistcoat. He spun round with a scream and fell upon his back.
Meanwhile, Mr Williamson muttered curses unknown to Yujin and pulled out his own revolver. Before he could raise it, however, he was looking down the barrel of Herlock's weapon.
"That's enough!" Herlock demanded, his tone ice cold, "Drop that pistol, now! Mikotoba, pick it up! Hold it to his head!"
The weapon was dropped, and Yujin dived to pick it up. As Herlock said, he held the weapon to Mr Williamson's head.
"Thank you," Herlock muttered, "Carruthers, give me you revolver, too. There's to be no more violence, do you understand? Come now, hand it over!"
Mr Carruthers hesitantly handed Herlock his weapon. "Who are you, then?" He asked him.
"My name, Mr Carruthers, is Herlock Sholmes. That over there is my good friend, Dr Yujin Mikotoba."
"Did you say..."
"Good! You have heard of me, I see. I will represent the official police until their arrival." Herlock heard a rustle in the bushes, and saw the frightened groom appear at the edge of the clearing. "You there! Come here. Take this note to Farnham, as fast as you can." He scribbled a few words into his notebook and tore out the page, handing it to the groom. "Give it to the superintendent at the police station. Until he arrives, I must detain you all under my personal custody."
As a result of Herlock's demands, Mr Williamson and Mr Carruthers found themselves carrying the wounded Mr Woodley into the nearby house. Yujin whispered words of encouragement to Miss Smith, before turning his attention to Mr Woodley's injury at Herlock's request.
Once Yujin had examined Mr Woodley, he entered the room to find Herlock and his two prisoners. Mr Williamson was rubbing face, his cheek bright red. Miss Smith stood nearby, glaring daggers into the man.
"He will live," Yujin told them.
"You're joking!" Mr Carruthers cried, shooting up out of his seat. "I'll go upstairs and finish the job! Do you mean to tell me that Miss Smith is tied to Jack Woodley for life?"
"Neither of you should concern yourselves with that," Herlock replied, "I believe that we are safe in questioning Mr Williamson's right to solemnise a marriage."
Miss Smith breathed a sigh of relief. "Is this true, Mr Sholmes?"
"I have even ordained!" Mr Willaimson cried.
"And also unfrocked," Herlock pointed out.
"Once a clergyman, always a clergyman."
"I think not." Herlock repressed the urge to roll his eyes. "How about the license?"
"We had a license for the marriage. I have it here in my pocket."
"Then you got it by trick. In any case, forced marriage is no marriage, but rather, a very serious felony. Of which, you shall soon discover," Herlock flicked his hat, a sly smile on his face. "You shall have time to reflect on what you have done during the next ten years or so, unless I am mistaken. I rarely am. As to you, Carruthers... You would have done better to keep that pistol in your pocket."
"I was intending to, Mr Sholmes, but when I thought of the danger that would have befallen Miss Smith - for I loved her, and it is the only time that I ever knew what love was - I felt as if I had no choice," Mr Carruthers explained, avoiding eye contact with Miss Smith. "I couldn't bare to imagine her in the hands of that bully. Ever since she has even in my employment, I never once let her go past this house, where I knew these rascals were lurking, without following her on my bicycle to ensure that she came to no harm. I kept my distance and wore a beard so she would not recognise me. I thought that she would not stay in my employment for long if she had thought that I was following her."
"So it was you!" Miss Smith gasped. "Why did you not tell me of the danger, Mr Carruthers?"
"Again, you would've left me, Miss Smith. I couldn't bear to face that," Mr Carruthers lowered his head. "Even if you couldn't love me, it meant a great deal to hear you play in the evenings."
"You may call that love," Yujin said, "But I should call it selfishness."
"Maybe the two things go together," Mr Carruthers chuckled dryly. "Anyhow, I couldn't let her go. Besides, I was well that she should have someone near to look after her with those villains about. I apologise for causing you concern, Miss Smith. But I... once the telegram came, I knew they were bound to make a move."
"Telegram?" Herlock repeated.
Mr Carruthers took a telegram from his pocket that read ' The old man is dead'. " That's it," he said.
"Yes, I think I'm beginning to see how things worked," Herlock mumbled, "Whilst we wait, you might as well tell us what you can. You owe poor Miss Smith that much, for causing her such distress."
Mr Williamson shot a glare towards Mr Carruthers. "If you squeal on us, Bob Carruthers, you'll meet the same fate as Jack Woodley! You can bleat about the girl to your heart's content, as that's your own affair, but if you rat us out to this plain-clothes copper-"
"You needn't be so excited," said Herlock as he lit his pipe. "The case is clear enough against you. All I ask is for a few details to satisfy my private curiosity. If you find that difficult, then I'm happy to do the talking for you. Let's start with the three of you coming here from South Africa with this plan in mind."
"Lie number one," Mr Williamson spat, "I never saw hide nor hair of them until two months ago. I have never been to Africa in my life, so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr Busybody Sholmes."
"He's telling the truth," Mr Carruthers confirmed.
"So, two of you came over," Herlock continued, unfazed by any insults. "You had known Ralph Smith in South Africa. You had reason to believe that he would not live long. You found out that his niece would inherit his fortune. How am I doing so far?"
Mr Carruthers nodded whilst Mr Williamson muttered a curse under his breath. Yujin couldn't help but to smile.
"She was his next-of-kin, and you were aware that the old fellow would make no will," said Herlock.
"Couldn't read or write," confirmed Mr Carruthers.
"The two of you came over and hunted for Miss Smith. The idea was that one of you was to marry her and the other have a share of the plunder. Might I ask why Woodley was chosen as the husband?"
"We played cards for her-"
"Cards?!" Miss Smith roared, "You decided my fate with cards?!"
"You then got Miss Smith into your service, leaving Woodley to mess up entirely," Herlock took a breath from his pipe, chuckling lightly. "Miss Smith recognised him for the drunken brute that he was and would have nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, Mr Carruthers, you fell in love with her, compromising your arrangement. The two of you quarrelled, and he began to make plans independently of you."
"It seems as if we don't have to tell you much, Mr Sholmes. Yes, we quarrelled, and he knocked me down," Mr Carruthers replied, "He made friends with the clergyman here, and I found out that the two had set up residence in a place that Miss Smith had to pass to get to the station. Two days ago, Woodley came up to my house with this telegram. He asked me if I was going to stand by our original bargain, and I said I would not. He asked me if I would marry the girl and give him a share, to which I pointed out that she would not have me, no matter how willing I was. He proposed the idea of marrying her anyway, then seeing how she felt after a week."
"What an awful man," Yujin muttered.
"I said to him that I would have nothing to do with violence. He went off cursing, swearing that he would have her. She was leaving me this weekend, and I had gotten her a trap to the station, but I decided to follow her on my bicycle to ease my mind. Before I could catch her, the mischief was done. I had no idea until I ran into you two gentlemen in the trap."
"I should've known, Mikotoba," Herlock sighed, standing up and glancing out of the window. "In your report, you said that you had seen the cyclist arrange what you thought was his necktie. That alone should've told me all. However, we may congratulate ourselves for the safety of Miss Smith. I spy the the constabulary in the drive. Miss Smith, Dr Mikotoba and I would be happy to escort you back to your mother."
Miss Smith forced a smile. "Thank you, Mr Sholmes. That will be most welcome."
"As for you, Mr Carruthers," Herlock turned to the man. "I believe that you have done what you can to make amends for your share in an evil plot. Take my card - if I am able to assist in your trial, I shall be at your disposal."
----
Once again, Herlock and Yujin were back at Baker Street. They were celebrating the of the case; another mystery solved. They'd even broken out some expensive wine to mark the occasion.
"What do you suppose will happen now?" Yujin asked him, taking a sip from his glass.
"Williamson and Woodley will have years on their sentences, no doubt," Herlock deduced, "I suspect Miss Smith will inherit a large fortune very soon. She's due to get married soon, to that Cyril fellow. Carruthers will still be arrested for assault, yes, but I suspect a few months at most."
Yujin took another sip. "No doubt Miss Smith will be overjoyed, then."
Herlock stayed silent for a moment, studying Yujin carefully. He placed his glass down. "Yujin... I wouldn't blame you if you stopped accompanying me, you know."
He almost spat out his drink. "Sorry - Sholmes, what are you saying? What's gotten into you?"
"I was worried for your safety, too, when I took that weapon with me. I suspected that there would be a confrontation. I... I was... I didn't want you to get hurt," Herlock's eyes stared down at the ground. "You mean a great deal to me, Yujin..."
Yujin put down his glass and leaned closer to him. "Since when did you grow to be so sappy, Herlock? I wouldn't come with you if I didn't enjoy it. Yes, there may be some element of danger, but what would've happened to poor Miss Smith if we decided to do nothing? I'm your partner, aren't I? Besides... someone needs to clean you up when you get hurt."
Herlock chuckled and placed his hand on Yujin's. "I'll have you know that I don't get injured that often. Come now, let us finish this bottle. It'll take us all night at this rate."
For a brief moment, Yujin glanced down at the hand on his. He wondered if Herlock was going to do anything more.
Herlock soon caught him staring and pulled his hand away, a light blush on his face. He turned away to hide it from Yujin.
One day, he'd do something more. One day.