Chapter Text
The year is 1885 in London, a grizzly city known for its harsh weather and even harsher people, and despite the late hour the city still hums with activity. Grey clouds had deepened in colour and procured drizzles of rain which began to seep into the earth or patter against the cobblestones. The moon had taken occupancy several hours ago as she walked down Park Lane, the warm light from nearby street lamps doing nothing to bite the chill which nipped at her. Nonetheless, her stride was never broken, a certain address in which she had learnt off by heart her target.
Her dress left little room between her and the wet cobbles, the bottom hem of the fabric growing in dampness despite her quick strides and the umbrella shielding her from the rain. Adelaide wore a grey dress (a rather suitable match to the weather) with long sleeves and a fitted bodice. A shawl was draped precariously over her shoulders as her black boots clicked against the streets, her dress swishing behind her as she made a right turn onto Oxford Street. Some people still resided, the sight almost surprising as people seemed relatively calm despite the threat lurking around each darkened corner. Life never stops, not even for cases of murder popping up around London.
Baker Street had become somewhat of a well-known place as the works of Sherlock Holmes dominated the papers and filled the streets with wonder, but for Adelaide Cropper, it was not that infamous house she planned to see as she rounded a right corner. She heard the club before she saw it, the steady hum of chatter and friendliness greeting her all in spite of the uncomfortable weather. The black sign protruded from the wall and swung occasionally when a gust of wind greeted it whilst the light from inside spilled from the slithers between the velvet curtains and out onto the street, illuminating the pavement in a yellow glow. The Diogenes club. It was a place she had frequented many times, and by frequently she meant standing outside and being passed books from within. Her entry had been denied many times over the last six months but it did little to keep her away- in fact it may have only spurred her on.
Now standing in the doorway of the club before the ornate wooden door, her knuckles lightly rapped against the mahogany before she took a slight step backwards. It didn’t take long for a man to answer, dressed in the usual attire for the patrons of the club. A lavish suit with shoes so polished she concluded they may be used as a mirror and a hat perched on his balding head.
“Have you arrived to bother the well-paying patrons of the club again, Adelaide.”
His words were more of a statement rather than a question, the stench of expensive cigars clutching to every word.
“I wish to speak with Mycroft if he may have my audience.”
Adelaide spoke with a voice laced with sweetness, a tactic she had picked up from similar encounters like this to improve her chances of getting what she needed.
“I think it’s best if you were to-”
The man is cut off by that all too familiar voice in which she had grown accustomed too.
“Chadwick allow the lady in, and take her coat if you would. I'm sure she has much to discuss and will not be denied.”
With a reluctant nod and a few grumbles of protest, the older man steps aside with a hand outreached to take the umbrella that she had now lowered and put away and the coat that she had wrapped tightly around her. Adelaide placed her belongings into his wrinkled hands as she turned to face the man himself. Mycroft Holmes.
Mycroft sat alone on one of the many plush armchairs within the club, the red velvet emitting a sense of luxury and wealth steadily illuminated by the warm lighting that filled the room, leaving no corner dark. His chair was poised in the corner beside the window, the view of the street covered by large curtains as the smoke from his pipe wafted up above them and clung to the ceiling almost as if mimicking the dark clouds that loomed outside.
“Please, do sit.”
He spoke calmly, seemingly unphased by Adelaide’s visit as he took another drag from the pipe resting between his fingers.
With a small moment of hesitance, she was moving, taking a seat in the armchair opposite. The only thing that separated them now was a small spruce coffee table which was almost completely hidden beneath files of paper with annotations sprawled across the lines in red ink. It was almost like a mystery unraveled for Adelaide as she took in the interior of the club she had been denied admittance from for several months. It was larger than it appeared from the outside as the building seemed to stretch further from her every time she glanced, the occasional gentlemen walking past or browsing the collection of books displayed proudly on bookshelves lining the walls. She couldn’t help but allow a small peek at one of the many papers lying before her, a feast for her mind, but the paper was quickly moved aside by Mycroft, who now regarded her with a slight impatience.
“I presume you are in need of something? Make it quick before I change my mind allowing you into my premises.”
With a glance back up at him, Adelaide speaks.
“I believe you have a book in your possession that I need.”
“Oh? And what one would that be? Did you want to continue your reading of the Dickens novels?”
She pauses for a moment before continuing.
“There is a guide for the sewer systems of London co-written by Joseph Bazzalgate. I need it.”
The etching of surprise grew on his face- one that quickly morphed into a look of mild worry.
“I see… and what would a woman of your stature need with such a book? I would hate to think I helped progress your rather… unsavoury hobby.”
She was quick to mirror his frown.
“Well I would not have to be doing so if your brother did his job, so perhaps you should have a word with him.”
The jab hit close to home, and she half expected him to send her out and the small agreement that had begun to blossom would be broken down; but he merely laughed instead.
“I admire your tenacity, Ms. Cropper, it is not often I find guests insulting my family whilst actively borrowing my possessions.”
A moment of contemplation, before he spoke again.
“And if I were to lend you this book, I would expect the book, and yourself, back in pristine condition. It would be a shame if my favorite amateur detective was untimely killed in the sewers of London.”
She allowed a small smile to form on her face.
“Of course, Mycroft, I’ll even mention your name in my findings if that helps sweeten the offer.”
She proposed, and with her final statement he lifted himself up from his chair and disappeared into the depths of the club. She knew he would be a while searching through the copious amounts of books, so she quietly and efficiently took her chance to discover.
No-one was seemingly paying attention as she quietly scanned through the police reports that littered the table, it almost made her want to scold him for the battlefield he called a workspace, and began making mental notes. The disappearance of Nancy Parker. She had heard this name before, seen it in the newspapers and shouted down the streets by the local paperboys. Perhaps a case she could take on… after the murders are solved. With the same efficiency she used to poke and prod, the table was returned to its former state by the time Mycroft returned.
He now stood before her with the book outstretched, and as she reached out to take it he pulled it away, his voice suddenly serious.
“I want to see you in the following weeks, Adelaide, with the book and your findings, no matter where you are in regards to the case. It is already unorthodox that I allow you to continue with this hobby of yours, if you were not producing results I would have already reported you.”
With a begrudging nod, Adelaide took the book and stood up from the chair, Mycroft stepping aside to allow her to take her leave, and after shrugging on her coat and taking her umbrella, he spoke out again.
“And Adelaide, you’ll need proper wading boots.”
With that, the young woman grabbed the door handle of the mahogany door and exited back out onto the damp (now foggy) streets of London with a newfound excitement building. She turned back onto Oxford street and began her journey home, shielding the book beneath her umbrella and coat.
After Adelaide had left, Mycroft returned back to his chair and found himself rather distracted by this new development. The sewers were no place for anyone, let alone unaccompanied women, but he could do little to stop her, he just had to assure that she returned in one piece so that her death would not weigh on his mind.