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Herlock Sholmes sat in his arm chair, cradling Iris and soaking up the warmth radiating from the fireplace. With the sun about to set, very little natural light or heat lingered in the flat. Iris was, naturally, starting to doze off. She let out an adorable little yawn, and Herlock smiled.
“All right, Iris,” he murmured. “I think it’s about time to tuck you into bed. What say you?”
The young girl babbled sleepily in protest.
“I’m afraid that’s not much of an argument, my dear,” Herlock said. “Come on, off we go.” He stood from his chair and started in the direction of Iris’s room, but he had hardly made it three paces when he heard several sturdy knocks on his door.
Who could it have possibly been at this hour? A new client wasn’t out of the question, but not many Londoners ventured to roam the streets just before sunset, especially during the winter. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson had stopped by to remind him of his overdue rent. Again.
To his surprise, however, he opened the door to none other than Barok van Zieks. Not a stranger to Sholmes’s suite by any means, but not a face that he had seen for a while. The fallout of the Professor case left each of them with new responsibilities to bear: Barok had taken it upon himself to continue his brother’s legacy and fight crime as a prosecutor, while Herlock had rent to pay, a business to grow, and an infant to raise all on his own. A chasm had grown between them, one that Herlock wasn’t sure how to close. Still, he resolved not to let another person slip out of his life.
“Ah, Barok! Always a pleasure to see you. Please, come in, you must be freezing.”
“Thank you, Herlock,” Barok replied as he entered. Perhaps it was just Herlock’s imagination, but his polite smile was even more half-hearted than usual. “My apologies for showing up so late unannounced. I’m afraid I got carried away in my work.”
“I know the feeling. Here, have a seat while I put the little one to bed.”
Barok sat down on the settee, crossing his legs and folding his arms over his chest. He looked abnormally tense, even for him, and that scowl had grown even deeper since Sholmes saw him last. No doubt something was troubling the prosecutor, but what?
“How is she?” Barok asked once Holmes had returned to the living room.
A warm chuckle escaped Herlock’s chest as he settled next to Barok. “A handful. But I can’t complain; she’s so adorable that it makes all the effort worth it. Can I get you anything, by chance? Any tea?”
“I’m fine. There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
“Are you sure? It would be quite easy for me to–”
“Sholmes.”
Barok’s voice cut through the attempt to stall, sharp as the blade he insisted on carrying at his hip. The man was deadly serious. Whatever he had come to ascertain, he would tolerate no obstructions. Sholmes steadied himself; he couldn’t give away that he had something to hide. “Yes, my dear fellow? What’s on your mind?”
Barok fixed his piercing gaze on Sholmes. “You haven’t been telling me the truth.”
“I haven’t? About what?”
“Don’t be daft,” Barok said, frowning. “I can see through your little facade, Detective. You forget how well I know you.”
Sholmes hummed. “Do you?”
“Well enough to know you’re concealing the truth about that girl.”
“Iris?” Had Barok come all this way just to inquire about her? No, he was too intelligent for that. He undoubtedly sensed there was more to her story than met the eye. “Why, I’ve done nothing of the sort! It’s just as I told you: Mikotoba showed up with her one night, and I agreed to take care of her.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that’s all there is?” Barok scoffed. “Where did he find her? Was it truly a coincidence that you took her in around the same time as the Professor trial?” He paused before continuing in a low voice. “...Or is there something else about that case you’re hiding from me?”
These questions were treading into dangerous territory. Under no circumstances could Herlock let Barok discover the truth about the Professor or his connection to Iris. To do so would jeopardize her safety as well as put Barok through more suffering he was undoubtedly unprepared for. So, Herlock feigned ignorance once more. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do know something, don’t you?” Barok’s eyes widened. He could tell he was on the right track. Taking Sholmes’s silence as confirmation, he continued. “You’re an exceptionally observant man, Herlock. I’ve no doubt there’s something you’ve pieced together that I haven’t. So please ,” he clasped his hand around Sholmes’s, “tell me.”
Barok was too persistent, too invested in prying the truth out of Herlock. Any attempt Herlock made to divert suspicion away from himself would only draw further scrutiny. There was no way to throw the prosecutor off his line of questioning, not when Barok knew he was close to an answer. Sholmes’s innocent charade wouldn’t get him much farther. He took a deep breath and held Barok’s gaze. “No.”
“...What?”
“I can’t do that.”
Barok felt his face grow hot with anger. “Why not?”
“Iris is my daughter,” Sholmes replied. “I promised to protect her no matter what.”
“Herlock, you know how that case has affected me.” He gripped Herlock’s hand tighter, desperation and indignation mixing in his voice. “It took my brother from me. If you have a lead, evidence, anything at all, then I deserve to know!”
“...My answer has not changed.”
Barok’s expression hardened. “Fine, then. I see where your priorities lie.” He retracted his hand and stood from the settee.
Sholmes swallowed the dread bubbling in his throat. “Hm? Where are you running off to now?”
“Out,” Barok replied, refusing to face Sholmes as he walked away. “You clearly have no intention of being honest with me. One would think a ‘Great Detective’ would be able to grasp that a prosecutor values the truth above all else,” Barok sneered.
“You cannot be serious,” Sholmes said as he trailed behind, hoping to change Barok’s mind before he reached the door. Please don’t leave.
“Oh, I’m just as serious as you are, I assure you.” Barok reached for the handle and pulled the door open. He paused in the entrance and spared an icy, over-the-shoulder glance at Sholmes’s forearm. “I was such a fool to trust a third-rate, drug-addled detective.”
Sholmes recoiled at the unprompted jab. As he preferred when he was at home, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, leaving his forearms exposed. A myriad of pock-marks littered the left one, all left by his syringe. The blemishes were faint–he hadn’t injected anything in almost six months, after becoming Iris’s guardian–but pointing them out was a calculated move on Barok’s part. Why should anyone trust you? You can’t even be trusted with yourself. Herlock quickly rolled his sleeve down, attempting to hide the embarrassing evidence of that half-decade-long habit.
Alright, then. Barok wanted to be callous? Herlock could be callous.
“Well, isn’t that rich!” Herlock shot back. “The Reaper of the Bailey, who drains two bottles of his hallowed wine like it’s child’s play, lecturing me about my substances! Is that the only way you can cope with your brother’s death?”
Barok fully turned to face Sholmes, eyes wide in disbelief. “What did you just-“
“It seems to me like you’ve discarded your grieving attire too early.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s all too easy for you to say. You have no idea what I’ve suffered!”
“You may think that you lost everyone who cared for you in that trial,” Herlock spat. “But if you’d look up from your damned chalice, you’d see that I’m still here.”
“How dare you claim to care for me!”
“Oh, for the love of– Of course I do! Everything I’ve done is to protect the people I hold dear.”
“You hide the truth and call it affection?”
Herlock’s eyes, for once, brimmed with sincerity. “Yes. You must believe me,” he pleaded.
Barok forced himself not to concede under Herlock’s desperate gaze. He turned back around and pinched the bridge of his nose, curling in on himself. “How can I?” His voice had lost all trace of venom; he just sounded exhausted. “If I cannot trust you with this, then I cannot trust you at all.”
Sholmes’s face fell. “So– What, then? Do you plan to leave, just like that? Forget everything we’ve been through?”
Barok stood silent for a moment, gloved fingers still pressing against his nose. His shoulders raised, then slumped as he let out a deep sigh. “You only care about yourself,” he said, refusing to look back. “I have no choice.”
“You don’t believe that.” Sholmes’s voice came out less controlled, more frantic, than he intended. Don’t leave. I can’t lose you, too.
Barok’s hand moved to the doorknob. “Goodbye, Sholmes,” he said, closing the door as he left.
Just like that, another person walked out of Herlock’s life.
He stood there, staring at the door, for longer than he should have. Maybe, somehow, he could will Barok to come back. Maybe they could apologize, start over, work out a solution.
No, he thought. It was always going to end this way. Barok’s life had been destroyed by men who hid the truth; he could not endure another betrayal. Sholmes’s secrets were bound to come to light, and when they did, they would tear Barok and Herlock apart. It was just a matter of when.
Eventually, after accepting that Barok would not return, Herlock stepped back into his flat. The sun had set and the gas had gone out, leaving the living room barren of any light. All its warmth had been drained. Mercifully, though, it seemed Iris hadn’t heard the argument and was still sleeping soundly. He carefully twisted the doorknob to her room and pushed the door open, sneaking over to her crib so as not to disturb her.
Iris was so precious when she slept. Her tiny limbs sprawled out in every direction, and her curly hair was similarly strewn out beneath her head. She was still, no nightmares causing her face to contort or her limbs to twitch. A little puddle of drool lay at the corner of her mouth. Herlock found the strength to smile.
“I’m sorry, Iris,” he whispered. “I made another blunder. It seems like it’s just going to be you and I for the foreseeable future.” He knew talking to her risked waking her up, but he needed someone to talk to. There was no one else. A six-month old would have to do.
“I won’t let any harm befall you, I promise. I’ll protect you. I’ll protect our family.”