Chapter Text
“I’m bored, John. I’m bored!”
“Then for god’s sake, get yourself a new case, Sherlock!”
The domestic dispute of two men filled the rooms of 221B Baker Street. It wasn’t an unusual sight but it wasn’t a pleasant one either. Not as another gunshot echoed through the flat, followed by a loud “Jesus”.
“Sherlock, you can’t just shoot at the wall because you are bored! What will Mrs Hudson think of this!”
“She will put it on the rent as usual now shut up, John!” The tousled figure of Sherlock Holmes was standing barefoot on the coffee table, a gun pointed at the painted yellow smiley. “I don’t want to hear from anyone until we’ve got a bloody case!”
“It is not my fault that London’s criminals are not bothered enough to murder someone for your entertainment!” John Watson was sitting in his armchair, newspapers open on the quiz page. He watched as Sherlock wrapped the robe tighter around his body and flipped down on the couch. “Sherlock, will you clean up the bullet cases?”
“Later John. I need a case now before I go insane!” He crossed his arms and closed his eyes.
“Are you still on your nicotine patches?” John glanced to the hallway as he heard a door shutting before reverting his attention to the newspapers.
“My what? Of course, I’m still on nicotine patches. What am I supposed to do? Chain smoke cigars until I can’t think anymore? No, I need my mind cleared and that won’t work when you’re here, Mycroft!”
That finally caught John’s attention and his eyes left the newspapers to catch the sight of Mycroft Holmes, lightly balancing himself on the walking cane he always bore. “Mycroft. Hello.”
“Hello, John. I’m seeing my little brother is being more unbearable today than usual, isn’t he?” He ignored him in favour of sitting down on Sherlock’s armchair. “Today’s crossword answer is ‘Alleyway’ by the way.”
“How do you know? The papers came out thirty minutes ago.” John blinked as he filled in the word, and soon realised that Mycroft was right.
“Ten minutes to get to my office and another twenty minutes to get to Baker Street. I hope you’ll understand that I like to spend my car rides with more than useless chatter.” Mycroft explained before his attention was on Sherlock. “Now Sherlock. I’ve got a case that’s right up your lane.”
“Boring!” He groaned. “You’ll give me a case that is dear to you because of some missing plans that were authorised by the MI6 or another secret service that failed to hire competent agents. And get out of my chair.”
His brother didn’t move. Instead, he seemed to make himself more comfortable by crossing one leg over the other. John just raised a brow at that behaviour. “Now my dear brother. Not everything about me is about MI6. I’ve got a more interesting case this time that is a matter of national importance.”
“You’ve said that last time about the missile defence plans and look where that got us.”
“This is much more than some missile defence plans, Sherlock. This time it is the Queen and Country.”
“The Queen and Country?” John echoed. “I’m sorry but what’s a case that the Queen would be involved in?”
“You’d be surprised, John. Mycroft calls everything ‘the Queen and Country’.” Sherlock finally got up to grab himself a cup of tea. “It is his way of saying, ‘I need you to do fieldwork, Sherlock’ without outright saying it.”
“It is an important matter, Sherlock. There are other parties involved in this of which one will be coming to Baker Street himself to break down the case for you.” Mycroft was getting more pressed about Sherlock’s lack of interest as his new tone in voice showed. “You will be handsomely rewarded for your efforts.”
“I do not care enough about rewards or knighthood. I do not need more attention on my person. All I want is a bloody case. Every unresolved case has another party! It could be a murderer, a thief, or the victim who was robbed or murdered. There is always a second party involved in a case. What do you want me to do? Solve the suicide of a person? They’ve killed themself. There’s your case solved.”
“Sherlock this is not a suicide case. This is not like the apparent serial suicides. Her Majesty, the Queen has personally asked me to refer this case to you and I can’t possibly deny the Queen a request.”
“I do not care whether the Queen has personally requested me or the Prime Minister has or the American President has. I will never lay hands on a case you want me to solve, Mycroft.”
“That is just rude, Mr Holmes. I do remember there being a pledge that all citizens take that puts a certain responsibility on you regarding Her Majesty.” The doorway suddenly gained a voice, a traditionally posh one.
This was the exact moment when John Watson saw both Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes look in shock at the newly arrived person. Neither seemed to have noticed their arrival before which was enough for John’s respect for the man to reach its maximum.
“Then again. I haven’t had to pledge my allegiance in quite a time.” The new arrival had sandy blonde hair paired with emerald green eyes. His eyebrows took up a rather big part of his facial features. He was leaning towards the pale side but that didn’t stop him from wearing a black suit that perfectly accentuated the pale skin. The three-piece suit was seemingly expensive and tailored specifically for the man and even the shoes were shined to be perfect. A cane was laid in his hands despite his young age. “I assume everyone is assembled then, Mr Holmes?”
Mycroft took a second to speak but when he did, his voice was clear as water. “Of course. Right. May I be reminded again with whom we’re speaking?”
The mysterious man didn’t seem to react before nodding his head minimally. “How forgetful of me. I am Arthur Kirkland. I occupy a minor position in Her Majesty’s government. You may not have seen me often, Mr Holmes. I tend to stay abroad more than working from my office. Now, the other Mr Holmes. I have had the pleasure to hear about your avoidance of responsibilities?”
“It is not an avoidance of responsibility, Mr Kirkland when I was not informed whether or not it would be within my capacities. Which is why I have been trying to tell my brother here to leave me alone.” Sherlock admitted though his eyes were on Arthur with the clear intent to analyse him. “Say, Mr Kirkland. What are you hiding?”
That finally brought a little smile. “What am I hiding? Mr Holmes. I am hiding nothing. I’m as open as a book in London’s public library.”
“Will you reveal more details about your person if I decide to take the case?”
“I can’t promise that I will be able to provide the details you’d like, Mr Holmes. I suppose you may find out more about me but there is the question of how much you’d want to know.” He rested the cane against the table. “Dr Watson, I have quite enjoyed your blog. A Study in Pink? Genius writing though I would advise you to tone down the admiration towards Mr Holmes here. You set high expectations.”
“Right. Yes.” John hadn’t been prepared to be addressed. “I will see what improvements may be needed.”
“Excuse me. John, Mr Kirkland. I know you’d love exchanging small talk with each other about your prose but.” Mycroft leaned forward to observe Arthur. “What position do you occupy?”
Again there was this smile that promised ominousness. “My position is best described to be an advisor and a diplomat of some sort.” He leaned forward to look Mycroft directly in the eyes. “Keen on reading me, Mr Holmes?”
“I’m afraid you are written in a different language, Mr Kirkland. I haven’t been able to have a good read on you.” Mycroft admitted.
“All a part of the job.” He took a seat on the deserted couch, ignoring the bullet cases like another decoration. “Nevertheless I would still love to hear all of your brilliant deductions before I explain the case to you.”
“Rich.” Sherlock started. “Your tailored three-piece suit from Saville Row is a clear sign of your material wealth. Additionally, your shoes are polished perfectly. Your cane leads me to believe you are injured but judging by your impeccable walk, you haven’t even suffered a tiny scratch to your leg which leads me to conclude that your cane is a simple accessory.”
“All right, Mr Holmes.” Arthur continued smiling as he watched the two brothers trying to deduce certain things. “Mr Mycroft Holmes. Would you like to make an attempt?”
Mycroft’s eye twitched under the challenge and he leaned forward to see more. “You don’t get thrown off easily, as seen by the bullet cases and blatant ignorance towards them. In addition to your ability to move silently to the extent that we didn’t notice your entrance, I would deduce you are occupied in espionage which would align with your previous statement of spending more time abroad than in your office.”
“You would think that I worked in espionage, right?” Arthur got up to extend a hand towards John. “Maybe Dr Watson should have a look at my hands before you settle on a definite answer for my occupation.”
John looked around himself in surprise when he was addressed but took their client’s hand under scrutinising eyes of both brothers. He paused upon seeing the hands.
“There are no fingerprints.” The shocked doctor spoke.
Sherlock and Mycroft came closer to look at the hands. And just like the doctor said, the hand had its lines across the palm and surprisingly barely visible circles where fingerprints should be.
“This can’t be. Everyone has fingerprints. Considering yours are decisively special, it would mean that it would be easy to identify you.” Mycroft stated.
This finally got something else other than a smile out of Arthur Kirkland. He laughed. “Oh, I should have known you’d say that. But I wanted you to try and read my hands. Seeing as how you thought I was part of espionage, I should have rough hands. There should be harsher skin at the edges due to constant paperwork. There should be an indent at my index finger where the trigger of a gun would be. But what do you see, Mr Holmes?”
“It’s perfectly fine skin,” Mycroft whispered as he turned Arthur’s hand around another time. “Your hands show no sign of work. They are like a baby’s hand. They aren’t roughened and they have never touched a gun. Just who are you, Mr Kirkland?”
“An advisor and diplomat in the service to the crown.” He took his hand back and spared a glance over to the open newspaper page. “Starting with the solution is quite the daring move, Dr Watson. May I?”
“Do what you got to do,” John responded as he laid back in the armchair. “With those specialities, you would have surely been covered by The Sun but there was never a wonder of science that was described like that.”
“The attention wouldn’t do well for my supposed occupation in espionage.” He took the pencil from the table as well as the newspaper and headed back to the sofa. “I haven’t had the time yet to read the papers. My assistant was insistent on getting me here the moment I left my house. Quite troublesome to get here in rush hour.” Despite his focus laying on the papers, Arthur didn’t seem to be absent-minded as he filled in the blanks.
“Mr Kirkland it is obvious you are fooling with us. Your appearance is immaculate and there are no identifying features to your person other than what we could gather from obvious looks.” Sherlock didn’t seem to appreciate not being able to deduce anything from the strange man. “You put obvious facts in front of our faces and expect us to pick up on non-existent details. Your wealth exceeds your age which should likely mean old money but old money wouldn’t flaunt their wealth that easily, and they wouldn’t necessarily flaunt it with an expensive cane. So you must be new money but your hands show no proof of hard work that would toughen them up. Therefore, you are just posing to fool us.”
“Posing to fool you? I was sent on Her Majesty’s orders to request your assistance. I know I couldn’t fool you if I wanted to, Mr Holmes.” He smiled. “This is my natural state.”
“Then who are you, Mr Kirkland.” It was rare that Mycroft didn’t know a person within the government.
“Sir Arthur Ignatius James Kirkland.” He glanced up to catch the look of the assembled people. Then he averted his attention back to the papers. “Advisor and diplomat of the Crown.”
“Sir?” John blurted out. “You have been knighted?”
“I have been knighted a long time ago for outstanding services to the country.” He finalised the last word in the crossword puzzle before handing the papers back to John. “Have a look. This should be it.”
John took the papers back while Sherlock continued to pace the living room. “Sir Arthur, you are throwing facts at us and expecting a statement. What about the case? Could you outline it for us?”
“I will be generous today.” He made himself comfortable. “This is a confidential case so while I’d love to be featured on your blog, Dr Watson, I’d prefer it to be a far less intimate affair.”
“I won’t write about it, Sir Arthur,” John promised as he finally looked back up from the newspapers. “Your crossword solutions seem to be right.”
“My knowledge in crosswords isn’t the greatest but I suppose my other fields fill in for me. Nevertheless, regarding the case.” He hummed. “A few acquaintances and I sit down every year to get together. It is hosted in different countries each year but this year, I hosted it here in London. That itself wouldn’t be an issue. The issue would be that my colleagues occupy minor positions in their individual governments and there is a dead body. Which doesn’t belong to one of my acquaintances of course. Otherwise, I would be more shaken. There is a dead body though and while I doubt any of those people would be arrested for the murder, they are possible suspects. The murdered person is a higher-ranked member of parliament. This affair is insurance that none of my innocent colleagues will be incarcerated for a murder they hadn’t committed. This is also an insurance that the incarceration of an innocent party won’t result in certain international friendships suffering.”
“Wait wait hold on. Your friends and you met up.” John summarised. “An MP died. Your friends are suspects in the murder. Your friends have various government jobs and if they were arrested it would strain international relationships?”
“Acquaintances, not friends. But that does sound unbelievable, doesn’t it, Dr Watson? Though I am very well connected in the world of politics.”
Sherlock stepped closer, pausing as he was dead in front of Arthur. “Tell us more. What were you doing at the same time? Who is the victim and when was the body discovered? Where were your acquaintances at the time of the murder and where are they being held at the moment? Why should we trust you specifically, seeing as how all your associates are suspects?”
“I was getting ready for bed in my home in Knightsbridge. The meeting had been held further away from me in Eltham Palace and my personal assistant and several servants have helped me in preparing for the night. My associates have stayed in the building with enough bedrooms to house them all. I was in bed by 1 AM and received a frantic call at about 5 AM about a dead body. Of course, I rushed right over to witness my acquaintances collectively in panic with the police and ambulance outside the door. I let them enter the house and the body was examined. It… it wouldn’t make sense for the MP to be there. The building is owned by the Crown and access was impossible that night for anyone other than my associates. The body was officially discovered by the police at 5:15. Seeing as how arresting almost 200 people and fitting them in cells is… impossible, they have been kept in the house, each individually guarded. The body is still being identified. We could only identify them as MP due to a torn piece of paper that was inadequately disposed of. The police are searching for other pieces.” He paused.
“I suppose you’d believe that I could have possibly murdered the victim in the timeframe between 1 AM and 5 AM, seeing as how I have access to the house. I have cameras attached to the house and certainly, the public cameras that your brother is manning should get a good view of my house and the fact that I never left before 5.” He mused.
The living room was silent. There were nearly 200 people suspects in the murder and they likely had to interview each.
“How is the Queen involved in this… murderous plot other than the estate belonging to the Crown,” John asked.
Arthur smiled but it seemed to have an edge to it. “I like the question, doctor. She is not personally involved but Her Majesty and I are friends. With her nation’s international ties at stake, it would only be fair that she gets involved and asks for help from the only consulting detective in the world. That is you, Mr Holmes. Mr Lestrade should arrive at some point in the day to give you his recollections of the events as well. If you’d like to speak to my acquaintances, I would recommend speaking to a few people that speak English more fluently. Some of them aren’t perfect and describing the events may be hard for them. It was quite traumatising.”
“Whom of your associates found the body?” Sherlock asked.
“That would be Alfred Jones. He is a government official from the United States but he is also the prime suspect as he discovered the body. It is especially important to maintain a good relationship with the United States, which would prove itself difficult with the arrest of Alfred.”
“Why are your associates that important, Sir Arthur?” Mycroft asked. “I have never heard of Alfred Jones from the United States. Neither have I heard about this meeting of yours.”
“Mr Holmes. It may be surprising for you to find out that government officials and events exist that you haven’t had the privilege of being knowledgeable about yet. Said Mr Jones works for the US with a minor position which he prides himself with. Otherwise, it may be advisable to speak to his twin brother, Matthew Williams. He is a government official from Canada.”
Mycroft’s lips thinned as he pressed them together in an obvious sign that he was displeased at Arthur’s answer. “Now how may that work, seeing as their surnames are different and they work in different governments?”
“Their parents got divorced when they were younger, tragic really. Alfred was taken to the US by their dad whereas their mother went to Canada with Matthew.” He sighed. “You will likely get the best answers out of those two. Otherwise, Ludwig Beilschmidt from Germany has a levelled head in situations like these so he might have a good input. Don’t talk to Francis Bonnefoy or Ivan Braginski. They aren’t going to have a good input so don’t even try. Maybe you ought to talk to Jett or Zack. Australia and New Zealand respectively. Zack is on the softer side so please do not force him to speak to you. Furthermore–“
Arthur’s description was interrupted by the ring of a mobile phone and with an exasperated sigh, he reached for it and pressed accept. “Arthur Kirkland on the line, who’s speaking?”
There was silence as the three other men looked at their client. Not only did Arthur Kirkland seemingly have infinite connections to foreign governments, but he was shamelessly speaking of people Mycroft had never heard about. Seeing as Mycroft was often labelled ‘The British Government’ it was a rather bad sign.
“There has been a shift at the crime scene? Howard, get me the responsible party on the line.”
There was another muted silence as John, as the last of the men, came to grasp the idea that the man with them was more powerful than most men to ever live. Then a lot happened at once.
“Francis for fuck’s sake could you just once not fuck your life over and just comply with the officer at the scene.” His accent had dropped from posh to a modern Cockney drawl. “I know your people are already setting up lawyers for you but that does not mean you should be using them because they are at hand. Do you have any bloody idea how much dismay I went through when I was informed today that I would be relying on someone to prove that you and the rest were not murderers so do not fuck this up and comply. Merci fucking beaucoup.” Then he hung up and looked at the others. “I apologise for my behaviour while talking to a… certain…acquaintance of mine.” The posh was back. “Nevertheless, this goes to show that I will have to take my leave now. I will have a car sent to pick you up, Mr Holmes and Dr Watson.”
“I haven’t said I would be taking this case, Sir Arthur.” Sherlock spoke to which he received a glare from Mycroft. He nevertheless continued “Your case sounds highly unlikely seeing as one of your acquaintances surely has blood on their hands. Furthermore, you are still largely anonymous to me.”
Arthur sat silently on the sofa. Then he started, “Mr Holmes. You are severely addicted to solving cases and I can promise London will not have more interesting cases than this one. Furthermore, you are by law required to help and aid as much as your abilities permit, as stated by this letter.” He placed a letter on the table which Sherlock took and immediately read. “Written by the Queen herself. She was rightfully frightened when she heard what had occurred.” He stood up. “Regarding my anonymity, I am Sir Arthur Kirkland but you may continue addressing me as Mr Kirkland. I’m getting tired of Sir Arthur. You know I have money, the whereabouts of my home estate, my ties to the British government and the throne. You know of my obscure hands and you understand I have more reach than your brother. You know I am a reader of Dr Watson’s blog. You know I am a diplomat and an advisor. You know I am smart, seeing as I have solved a crossword in under five minutes. You know I frequently spend time abroad. Surely you have deduced already that I am close enough to some of the people to know their background stories.”
Arthur was still looking at Sherlock when he finished. “Is that all you know, Mr Holmes or would you like me to run through everything again?”
“One more thing, Mr Kirkland.” Sherlock finally set the letter down for Mycroft and John to read it. “How did you get from one side of London to the other side within 15 minutes?”
Something happened that John wouldn’t catch. Something Mycroft barely caught and Sherlock was waiting to catch since the start of the case. An inconsistency. “I said it was about five am. I do not know the exact time, seeing as I had just awoken. I took a car to the other side of the city.”
“A trip from one side of the city to the other would have taken you far longer and with your fatigue, you must have had a hard time to speed. Why are you lying, Mr Kirkland?”
“I am not lying, Mr Holmes.” He reached for his cane and slightly tapped the ground with it. “I wouldn’t dare lie to the only consulting detective in the world.” He pulled out his phone and looked at the time displayed. “I will have to return to inform Her Majesty of the new courses of action in this case. I will trust that you will solve this case, Mr Holmes. Her Majesty has promised all the support or equipment you will need will be provided.”
“I do not need the royalty’s support or equipment to solve a case.” Sherlock practically spat with frustration evident.
“Sure. Do it that way if you’d like.” He nodded his head. “Well then, have a good day gentlemen. I will leave now to attend to other matters. And please do not murder anyone this time to protect Mr Holmes, Dr Watson.” With those last cryptic words, the mystery of Arthur Kirkland disappeared, leaving behind the two geniuses and John, to fumble over his words.
“How does he know about that last part?” John asked. “Not even Lestrade knows about my shot at the Cabbie.”
“Surely he was just bluffing.” Mycroft started. “It was never filed. He was not at the crime scene. John was never suspected of the murder by anyone other than our suspicions.”
“Mr Kirkland has knowledge far beyond our reach. His ties to the Crown and his connections to foreign countries would ensure him an exemption from arrest if he ever committed the crime. But I do not doubt that he hadn’t committed the murder. His self-confidence wasn’t an act. He knew everything.” Sherlock was stuck staring at the written order. “He has the Queen standing beside him. He is important enough to be personally involved with her but anonymous enough that the handling of the case wouldn’t put any political pressure on him. He is consistent and seems to respond well under pressure. His only inconsistency is the time needed to travel from his home address to the location the murder took place in.”
“The inconsistency itself is suspicious,” Mycroft added to Sherlock’s start. “His pattern of speech had always been a flow, unbreakable. But when the inconsistency was addressed, his eyes shifted.”
“Mr Kirkland was never lying, but he was avoiding the truth. He arrived at the palace within 15 minutes which is physically impossible which means, my dear John.”
“That he is a supernatural being that can fly?” John suggested to which the Holmes brothers looked at him akin to mourning his intelligence.
“It means he may have access to other pathways we do not know of. And if he does, then it may be possible the deceased MP had access as well. The question would be, how Mr Kirkland would have gotten access to the pathways.” Sherlock mused
Mycroft intervened with a tsk. “His connections to the Crown surely would have been enough to warrant access to any type of hidden pathways they possess.”
It was silent for a few more moments as the room was filled with thoughts. Then John spoke, “Do you think Moriarty is involved in this one?”
“It’s well possible. A high-ranking British government official dead, the assembled minor government officials of possibly every nation, a house that can’t be entered, a mystery that is laid out perfectly for Moriarty to challenge me. We need to figure out who was sponsored to do this. No one in their right mind would not have a motive for this murder.”
“What do you think the motive is, Sherlock?”
“Over 200 government officials, all likely wealthy and capable of taking days off work at the same time. A building owned by the crown. A minor government official who has more clearance than Mycroft and who is special, to say the least. I believe it would be easiest to find out the motive by asking Mr Kirkland himself but I doubt Mr Kirkland would explain the motive to us.” Sherlock looked at Mycroft. “How much backing by the government would we receive for a crime as long as it leads to us resolving the main crime?”
“By all means, if you don’t get caught, Sherlock, you would have nothing to worry about. I doubt that Mr Kirkland will be pleased about breaking and entering into his home and I doubt we will receive much government backing afterwards.”
“Then we won’t get caught.” Sherlock smiled. “John! We’re leaving!”
“Sherlock, wait up. You look like a proper mess right now so put on something decent.” John hurriedly passed the newspaper to the table and got up to put on a coat, at the same time Sherlock hurried to dress properly. “Are we going to break into Mr Kirkland’s house at noon?”
“No. There are likely maids working during these hours to clean the house. We won’t be able to enter without being caught. Mycroft, can you provide me with an address?” Sherlock tugged the scarf around his neck.
Mycroft raised a brow. “Sherlock, you know that I can not release such data. I do not doubt either that Mr Kirkland is not officially registered in any type of database or otherwise I would have known about him.”
“He mentioned there were cameras surrounding his home. Surely you can rewind back to find out where he lives.” John called out as he followed Sherlock out, leaving Mycroft alone in the living room of 221B.
Mycroft picked up the newspapers and flipped to the Quiz page once again. The crossword was filled out correctly, every single letter written in an elegant way that would remind the reader of cursive, if it weren’t for the letters being unconnected to each other.
“You know.”
Mycroft’s head snapped up when the familiar traditional English accent was back. Arthur Kirkland stood in the doorframe, the cane still in his hands. “It would have been wiser to investigate whether I had left before openly talking about breaking and entering. Though, who am I to complain?”
“Mr Kirkland.” Mycroft nodded his head once.
“Give them my address. I’d like for them to try and figure out the motive of the murderer. Do not worry about your brother and his partner. I will assure you that this specific crime won’t end them in prison.” He smiled. “I tend to reward recklessness, I like to think.”
“Thank you, Mr Kirkland.” Mycroft still could not read the man but there was this weird comforting feeling to trust him and his every word. “I will ensure that my brother causes no trouble for you.”
“That I am sure of.” Those were the last words said before Arthur left 221B Baker Street.