Chapter Text
“’Nother one?” Sherlock muttered. He flipped over his newspaper. It was the third time this week. Nobles had been dying left and right in England for nearly three years now. The people were getting restless. There had been a lull in the killings for around a year or so, but recently the killings became more frequent again.
“That’s just awful,” Sherlock’s flatmate said. John looked up from his coffee with a worried expression while Sherlock absentmindedly poked at the paper. It was early morning on 221B Baker street. The sun filtered in through the windows, illuminating the dust particles in the air and casting a light yellow light over everything.
“If only the Yard would let me investigate…” Sherlock sighed. He set down his paper and walked over to the breakfast table where he sat down with a huff. “I do have a hunch, although every time I tell someone, they look at me like I’m mad.”
John gave Sherlock an amused look. “Sherlock, vampires aren’t real.”
For the past few months, Sherlock had been insisting that there was another vampire outbreak in England. Nearly a century ago, it was rumoured that there was an outbreak in vampirism. Many experts brushed it off as an unknown disease but still, it was believed amongst many that it was vampirism. Sherlock included.
Sherlock frowned at John. “There's no other plausible explanation! How else would you explain puncture wounds and the bodies being completely drained of blood?”
“Those are rumours.” John tried to remind him.
“John. There is no way the press is telling the truth about these murders. They all happened at night. They all died and had the blood drained out of them. I’ve peeked at Lestrade’s reports—”
“You did what?”
“—It stated that there were puncture wounds to several major arteries of the bodies.”
“It could just be how the murderer kills.” John said. Sherlock gave him a hard stare.
“Really. And the murderer would take weeks to finish the victim off, and oftentimes leave the victim to be bedridden days before they die?”
“It could be poison.” John argued.
Sherlock lit a cigarette and took a drag.
“No. The Yard would’ve at least figured that out. Useless as they are, they can’t miss something like that. And besides, I’ve never been wrong before.”
Just then, there was a knock on the door.
“Who could it be at this hour?” John scratched his head as he got up to answer. The door opened, revealing a tall man. He looked interestingly like Sherlock, but with a shorter and slicked back hairstyle. He had the same dark, midnight blue hair and nose, along with the same sapphire blue eyes. He was also well dressed, which was something Sherlock never did. He spoke Queen's English,* very distinct from Sherlock’s Cockney* accent.
“Good evening. Is Sherlock Holmes home?” He asked politely.
“Uh– yes…?”
“You must be the army doctor back from Afghanistan. Dr. Watson, was it?”
“I see you’re familiar with my writing!” John looked pleased.
“Please excuse my bluntness, but you should watch your health, Doctor. It seems you have gained seven pounds as of late.”
John stared at him, confused. He was about to open his mouth to speak when the man stepped inside. John stepped aside to let the gentleman in. He walked upstairs and John followed him as he opened the door to Sherlock’s room. He immediately took out a gun and before John could process what was going on, he was already aiming it at Sherlock and ready to pull the trigger. Sherlock sprang up to defend himself. He kicked at the man, but the man managed to block the kick and shot a bullet at Sherlock’s head. Fresh blood leaked from the wound.
Sherlock fell down and John immediately rushed to his side. His body was already moving by the time his brain caught up.
“Sherlock!”
As John was panicking, he noticed Sherlock’s eye twitch. Relief and confusion flooded through John. How was he alive? Sherlock slowly sat up, groaning and rubbing at his wound.
“Bloody hell… Why don’t you just drop dead, brother!”
John sat back in shock as the man let out a hearty laugh.
“So, Sherly. I believe that brings me to 673 wins to your… What was it? Zero? I’m starting to wonder if you’ll ever win against me!”
John stared at them in shock, looking back and forth at the two brothers.
“He’s your brother…?” John asked a little skeptically
“Yeah! His name’s Mycroft and he’s an arse!”
“What do you think of this new revolver, Sherly? Turn the barrel clockwise and it shoots paint-filled blanks.” He tapped the barrel of the gun.
“Hell if I care! Leave!”
Mycroft walked over to sit down across the room from Sherlock. A few moments later, Miss Hudson came upstairs at the sound of the commotion.
“Oh! Sherlock, I see your brother’s visiting again! I’ll get you gentlemen some tea.” She rushed off.
Mycroft turned to John.
“Apologies for the late introduction. My name is Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s older brother. I hear you’ve been taking good care of him?”
“Uh– it's nothing, really.” John said bashfully. “ Are you sure you two are related? You two are very… different.”
“How so?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow.
“You speak the Queen’s English, and you also carry yourself like a noble. Very different from um– Sherlock’s behaviour.” He explained.
“Hah!” Sherlock huffed. “I see he’s still gallivanting around, pretending to be a member of high society. This chap can’t even keep a good maid around.”
“I’m guessing he deduced something by looking at my shoes. These marks here are the result of having them polished. My dear little brother must have deduced that I employed a careless maid when he looked at them. Sherlock’s deductions have always depended too much on assumptions–”
“Oh shut the hell up, will ya!” Sherlock snapped as he threw his shoe at Mycroft’s head. It missed and bounced against the wall. Mycroft gave him an amused look as Sherlock scowled at him.
“I will have you know, Sherly, my maid may be a bit scatter-brained but the speed she works at—”
“Don’t care.” Sherlock interrupted. “Why are you here anyways?”
Mycroft got up and walked across the room to stand in front of Sherlock.
“Beware of women.” Mycroft said in a dead serious tone of voice. He tapped Sherlock’s forehead and looked him straight in the eyes. “Seeing through a woman’s lies is even more difficult than unraveling the thread leading to the criminal.” Mycroft paused for a second. “With that, I’ll take my leave.”
John walked Mycroft to the door to see him out. He noticed that Mycroft rode a government carriage, which was interesting. He had to ask Sherlock about that. John returned to see a comically forlorn Sherlock.
“Sherlock! Are you alright? You look like you’ve had the life sucked out of you.”
“He bloody exhausts me…” Sherlock sighed. “I don’t even know why he would come all the way here to warn me of women. I’m not even interested in women.”
John gave him a curious look. “You’re a homosexual?”
Sherlock shrugged and pulled out a cigarette. “Does it matter who I’m attracted to?”
“It kind of does. It’s against the law to commit acts of homosexuality.” *
“The law isn’t always right.” Sherlock said.
John nodded.“Oh also, does your brother work for the government? He was riding a government carriage. What branch does he work in?”
“Oh my dear Watson… you simple man. Mycroft doesn’t work for the government. That man is the government.”
“He’s that high up?” John asked, shocked. Sherlock grunted in response.
“Enough about my brother. Look at this letter we got today.” Sherlock picked up a letter from his nightstand and handed it to John. John noticed there was no address, signature, or even a date as he read through it and shared his discovery with Sherlock.
There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o’clock, a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the utmost importance.
Your recent well-received deeds to England have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated. This account of you we have from all quarters received.
Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor wears a mask.
“Let’s hear what you think, John.” Sherlock said.
“Me?” John asked, delighted. Sherlock normally never lets him express his thoughts. Maybe Mycroft could annoy Sherlock into deflating that bloated ego of his. “Based on the handwriting, I think a man wrote this. Furthermore, I deduce that he is a well off one! I reckon you’d have to pay a good amount for such high quality paper!”
“Good job, John. My intelligence is rubbing off on you.” Before John could say something back, Sherlock moved on. “Hold the paper up to the light.”
John did as Sherlock said, walking over to the window and raising it up. There were letters he didn’t see before. EGPGT.
“What’s that? Is it a paper manufacturing company?”
“Spot on! PGT is German. It’s short for Papier Gesellschaft. In other words, Paper company. The EG at the beginning, however, is the most important part. If you skim through Continental Gazetteer…” Sherlock picked up a thick book and started flipping through it. He paused every now and then. “Eg… Aha! Egria! A city in Bohemia, which is a German speaking country. The paper was made there.”
“So our mystery person speaks German? And he’s going to come in wearing a mask? I’m… intrigued.”
A carriage pulled up to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock watched through the window as a man stepped out of the carriage. He couldn’t see much, as the night concealed most of everything, but from the faint flickering street light, he could see a vague silhouette of a tall man. A few moments later, he heard a knock on the door and Miss Hudson’s voice.
“Sherlock, your client is here for you.”
A man stepped into the room. He was tall, broad and very, very handsome. Sherlock could tell even through the masquerade mask he wore. His hair was brown and styled neatly. He wore a black cloak and was holding a black hat. Sherlock glanced over at John to see that he was absolutely enchanted by the man’s beauty. Sherlock sighed and introduced the both of them.
“I’m Sherlock Holmes and that’s my assistant, John Watson. I read your letter. What is it that you need from us?”
The man took off his coat and sat down. He was cloaked in the finest of fine clothing, something only very wealthy noblemen could afford.
“You may call me Count Von Kramm. I am a nobleman from Bohemia. Please excuse me for appearing in front of you with a mask. Whom I’m employed to has asked me to not show my face, and I may confess I am not using my real name either.”
“I know,” Sherlock responded.
“A very serious situation has fallen upon the royal house of our great kingdom Bohemia and we need to act to avoid this becoming a scandal.”
Sherlock eyed the man up and down. He had the glint in his eyes he usually had before he was about to reveal something crucial.
“If your majesty can stop beating around the bush, it would be easier for us to help you.”
*Basically how the rich people spoke lol
*Cockney is a dialect of the English language mainly spoken in London, particularly by the working class.
*Homosexuality wasn't decriminalized in the Uk until 1967