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Despite the hustle and bustle of the crowds around them, the exhibitors shouting for customers, and children screaming at their parents’ heels, the World Expo was a spectacle of silence for the residents of 221B.
In front of them stood a figure–man or woman, Ryuunosuke didn’t know–dressed too cozily for the uncommonly warm July afternoon. Body covered in jacket and scarf, face hidden with glasses and a wide-brimmed hat…they were exactly the kind of person you would force your gaze away from, afraid of the consequences of lingering too long.
“It’s a funny thing, really,” they casually remarked in high tones, “that the Japanese fellow ended up dying anyway. Asougi Kazuma…to think someone from a backwards island country of the Orient would have a bodyguard. My access to him was limited as a result.”
Ryuunosuke was seething, hands twitching at his sides and ready to move at any minute. The others were tense beside him, barely moving, though Sherlock had enough sense to move Iris behind Susato. He then moved up toward Ryuunosuke, though angled towards him instead of the mysterious figure a few feet ahead.
“I thought I had lost my chance, but then! Oh, to think he would die in an accident!” The dark figure laughed for an uncanny length, the pitch shifting and warbling as if they couldn’t get a handle on it.
The laughter went on, and on, and on….the longer it went, the greater the urge Ryuunosuke had to draw his–no, Asougi’s–sword, and end it with his own hands.
But then, they stopped.
“What a fitting end for someone who wanted to trust so deeply in others. Dying because he wasn’t trusted in return.”
Ryuunosuke’s entire being snapped to attention, running on a murderous autopilot as the same sounds and screams and shouts of anguish turned and turned on in his mind
Asougi…! My friend, my partner! How dare you! How dare you take him away from me!
He crouched, ready to run, ready to draw his sword. The feeling of finally, finally being able to look at someone and say “It was your fault!” overrode even the most sensible of words he was sure Asougi himself would have whispered into his ear. None of that mattered. The one standing in front of him was no doubt a monster, and there was no better weapon to take it out than the very sword sheathed on his hip.
He could also hear voices behind him. Scared shrieking, passionate calling. “Naruhodou-kun”, “Naruhodou-sama”, “Mr. Naruhodou”…..no, no, that wasn’t the way he wanted to hear it.
And so he continued to run at the monster in front of him, who showed not a bit of surprise. Instead, they smiled…and disappeared into the crowds.
Ryuunosuke stopped, sword held in front of him just as he remembered Asougi holding it. His eyes darted into the walking masses, oblivious to the strange looks others were giving him and the laughing and pointing of children. He started to head off again, straight in front of him–
“Naruhodou! Get a hold of yourself!”
Arms grabbing his own, a heavy weight on his back. The name–so plain, no extras necessary–jerked Ryuunosuke out of his rage. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a recognizable tan jacket…
“HOLMES!” Ryuunosuke yelled, formalities forgotten. “Let me–let me GO! We can’t just let that thing get away!”
He continued to struggle, but Sherlock’s hold was firm. “That fiend is gone,” he whispered. The calming tone soon had an effect on Ryuunosuke as well, and his struggling stopped.
“They took….my friend.” Ryuunosuke choked. He slowly turned around. Sherlock quietly took the sword from him and put it safely back away into its sheath. Ryuunosuke simply let him, feeling far too defeated to even think of fighting back anymore.
“I know,” Sherlock could only whisper back.
He didn’t want to hear that kind of voice from Sherlock. It was…too quiet, too sad. And something else…
Ryuunosuke collapsed on the fairgrounds, as if removing the strength from his legs would give him that much extra to help fight back the tears. “My friend, my partner…the one who saved me…he’s…”
Sherlock knelt beside Ryuunosuke and drew him close. It was a tight hug. And something Ryuunosuke didn’t realize he needed.
“I know,” Sherlock affirmed again, even softer than before. “You have a friend and compatriot in me, Naruhodou. I know.”
Ah.
“You knew….about Doctor Watson?”
Upon asking, Ryuunouke immediately regretted it; Sherlock’s hand had stiffened on his back momentarily, though he had done an amicable job of hiding it.
“I am afraid to look at Iris and tell her that her last thread of hope is lost,” he finally said, drawing back a bit to look Ryuunosuke in the eyes. “So I am going to ask something unfair of you.”
Ryuunosuke silently nodded.
“For now–at least you need to stop putting on a farce. Don’t hold back. Cry for my part too,” he said, smiling all the while.
Sherlock’s smile–so characteristic of his energy, but also hiding a deep sadness and longing–finally sapped Ryuunosuke of the strength he had been trying to build up. He cried out, voice breaking and cracking with every sob.