by Janina Woods
We might as well have stepped into a separate world as soon as we turned the corner. A market, though small and constrained, presented itself in front of us. It was a curious thing of little booths, set up in a way they presented their wares from windows and boards tied in front of them. It was impossible to run straight through the corridor, which was indeed no wider than the arm span of a grown man. One would have to perform a slalom run to avoid bumping into anything - or anyone.
I congratulated myself on my rapid deduction of our surroundings, as this was exactly the type of place I had wanted to find. Waving for my traveling companions to follow after me, I ducked and ran away beneath the wooden boards in a crouched position, as though through a very low tunnel. I trusted the others to follow suit as there was really only one way to go from here. Indeed I reached the other side of the market quicker than they could hope to achieve and saw them both dodge, duck and scramble along behind me.
But just as they caught up with me, two gunshots rang out in a quick succession from the other end of the market, and as if they had practiced it, all traders and visitors immediately filtered out of the space into the buildings, in what seemed to be just an instant. Boards retreated into the houses, windows closed and merchandise was dragged to safety. I saw Moriarty’s henchmen on the other side, now with easy access where I had hoped to lose them for good - all the advantage we might have achieved through our shortcut melted to almost nothing. Without hesitation, I produced my weapon, aimed and shot at our pursuers. The fact that we had a pistol at our disposal came as a surprise to them, as one was hit and fell to the floor, while the others took cover behind and inside various buildings.
More shots rang out as soon as they had positioned themselves. I couldn’t pinpoint who had fired them, as the noise echoed in the narrow passage and made the very air vibrate. I didn’t have much ammunition left, even counting the pilfered bullets, so we wouldn’t be able to hold this position for long. I took a look around.
We were crouched in the space between two high buildings, and at the end of the path I could see a busy street with many people passing by. The noise of the street life seemed to overpower the gunshot echoes, because no one reacted to the fight. We could have made a dash for it and tried to disappear within the crowd before Moriarty’s men could reach us, but I would’ve rather gotten rid of them before that. Then I spotted what could be our salvation.
“Watson, Victoria,” I hissed between my teeth, addressing them without taking my eyes from the corner. “Kindly join me.”
Watson approached my position cautiously, as I pointed my gun into the alley with a motion that made it clear to look for what I had seen. He drew back a few steps to the opposite wall and walked out as much as he dared, so he could follow my line of sight without being in danger of getting shot.
“The bags up on the balcony?” he asked as quietly as possible and flinched as another shot rang out just then.
I returned the shot, not with the intention to hit anyone, just to make clear that we were indeed still able to defend us, then nodded. “Their shape suggests that they are filled with a substance like flour or spices. I have three shots left before I have to reload. When I stop my responses to their shots, they will realise that and take the window of opportunity. You two run ahead and I’ll shoot the bags. With the powder in the air, it will be very hard to see and breathe... which will hopefully incapacitate the bastards for a while. And if not, at least I will have given you a head start,” I returned another shot. “Two now. Turn left at the end of the path, follow the street until you see a large column, wait for me in its shadow. Don’t worry about me, I am much quicker than you are.”
Victoria grabbed Watson’s hand without waiting for his response and they were off, jumping over heaps of garbage and unidentifiable objects to get away. I watched Watson almost fall head first into a puddle, but he managed to catch himself at the last second by grabbing the wall on each side. Finally, they emerged onto the street, and I turned my attention back to our pursuers and returned yet another fire.
One shot left. I angled my gun around the corner and knowingly exposed my position while carefully taking my time to aim. The response was instant: Shots rang out, deafeningly loud, piercing the corner of the building I had taken cover behind. I wanted to flinch, but I didn’t. With one eye closed, I held my breath to eliminate any quiver in my hands and pulled the trigger.
A cloud of yellowish dust exploded in the street as the bullet of my gun ripped through the bag and exited on the other side. I didn’t stick around to witness the result of my actions, but noted that the shooting of firearms had ceased and been replaced by angry shouts, interrupted by frequent coughs and the crashing of some objects. I followed the same path as Watson and Victoria, made an effort to avoid the puddle that had almost been the doctor’s downfall and emerged on the broader street into the blinding light. My eyes had trouble adjusting to the strong rays of the midday sun, but I couldn’t afford to wait for them to catch up to me, as my appearance on the street wasn’t only very sudden but also very unusual. My clothes were ruined and soiled, my hands bloody and I had no illusions about being able to blend into the crowd like this.
With limited vision, I pushed my way forward and elicited angry comments in a language foreign to me. With all the noise, colours and the strong light assaulting my senses, I almost missed the pair I tried to find near the column, which was exactly where I had pictured it to be.
“They are incapacitated for now,” I said as I dragged them along through the crowd and didn’t stop even for one second. “Quickly now, through here. Follow me closely.”
We stopped in front of a narrow building in an even narrower street, almost hidden behind a mountain of crates and other storage containers. I produced a small key from my pocket - sent a quick thank you to any deity responsible for keeping it safe during the ordeal - and opened the door, which seemed to lead into a derelict place. But as soon as we entered the space, we were pleasantly surprised by the complete opposite. A well-furnished, albeit very small, house welcomed us - something which you would have never guessed given the looks of the building from the outside.
But then again, that was clearly the point of it.
“We can clean up here and change clothes into something more inconspicuous,” I explained after I had securely locked the door behind us. “If Moriarty didn’t infiltrate the agency, his thugs don‘t know about this place and we should be safe here. The Secret Service has safe houses all over the city, located in strategic places. A heightened safety measure, following the British occupation of Egypt. Still, we’re lucky this one is located within running distance.”
I couldn’t miss the surprise, which was still written on Watson’s face. He nodded mutely and moved in the direction I indicated as the location of the washroom - it was in a back room of the ground floor. But after only a few steps, he stopped and shook his head.
“Please, Victoria, after you,” he said and inclined his head slightly.
She raised one eyebrow at me, daring me to step in front of her, then moved past the doctor in the narrow hallway. “I won’t decline such a generous offer.”
Watson and I were left to sit down at the table in the only other room big enough to fit two people. The noise from the street filtered dampened through the walls, much like the little sunlight illuminating the room through barred windows. We exchanged a glance, and it took only seconds for us both to break out in senseless laughter. I knew it was only compensation for the tense minutes we had just endured before, joy about a successful escape without bodily harm, but I relished it regardless.
It was rare for me to share these moments with another person.
“Wait here, I will bring you a change of clothes,” I said before I stood up and walked in the direction of the narrow stairs. I left him behind, slightly dazed from the dissipating rush of adrenaline. Any moment now the fatig
ue would set in, which would definitely make him feel his years. It was no different for myself, but I had learned to disguise these occasions with grace.
The damp clothes had started to dry and were clinging uncomfortably to my body. I had planned to wait until I could use the washroom, but there was no time for all of us to clean up properly. As I reached a small room on the upper floor, a large wardrobe greeted me, in which I knew I would find a replacement set of clothes for all of us. The used clothes could be left here and would be collected at the next convenient time. There were advantages in working for a large, influential organisation.
I picked sand-coloured linen suit pants, complemented by a vest on top of a blue shirt, which would enable me to pass easily as a British visitor to the city. For Watson, who was a lot shorter than me, I picked a similar combination, but in darker colours. With a set of matching shoes each, we were well-equipped to make our way back to the embassy, pick up our luggage and procure a boat to take us upstream along the Nile.
As I peeled myself out of the ruined uniform, I made sure to transfer all items to the pockets of my new suit - first and foremost the silver pocket watch, which I gave a cursory cleaning and rewind, so it would be usable again. The acquired gun and remaining ammunition found a place under my jacket as well. Dried off perfunctorily, I slipped into the new clothes and longed for a hot bath to be properly clean. A comb made sure my hair was neatly aligned, and I finished off the picture with a burgundy coloured scarf around my neck. No need to be careless with your look, even if on the run.
After I had tied my new shoes, I grabbed the clothes for Watson and made my way back down the stairs. I found the doctor at the table in a state of partial undress. The items he had salvaged after our dive spread out on the table. I could make out a ruined cigar, the scroll he had tried to save, and his waterlogged gun. As I moved around the man, I saw the small pocket watch he clutched in his hand. The front of the watch was open, and I could see him gently caress the picture of Mary, which had miraculously escaped any watery damage.
I politely cleared my throat to indicate my presence and he closed the watch, put it onto the table next to the other items. “Here is a towel and a change of garments,” I said and let a bundle of clothes drop onto the table next to him.
“The Secret Service is well-stocked,” he remarked, but I just shrugged.
“It might seem like it, but that’s only because we had a lot of trouble in the city in recent years, which resulted in a higher count of agents and more supplies for the area.”
“Ah, not everyone is happy with the British reforms of the country, I take it?” Watson asked rhetorically.
“Believe me, these houses are not as well-maintained in any city we operate in. Sometimes they are missing altogether. This was a lucky circumstance,” I explained. “Almost so much, I am afraid we have used up our luck for the coming days.”
“Please, Mycroft, I don’t want to hear things like that,” Victoria emerged from behind me. “We’ll save that stupid Sherlock. We’ve come so far already.”
I smiled at her and made way for the agent to join us in the tiny kitchen space. She wore a set of clothes consisting of light brown trousers, a patterned shirt and a pair of dark boots. Her long hair was still wet, and she kept drying it with a towel as she sat down on a small chair.
“I suggest you change into some more suitable clothes, doctor,” I grinned and pointed at the stack still lying on the table. It was only then he realised that he was sitting next to us in what were basically his undergarments, clinging wetly to his body. With haste, he grabbed the pile of dry clothes, rushed off to the bathroom area and closed the door behind him fast. Victoria laughed brightly at his actions, which made me smile as well. Somehow I was glad that despite the grim situation, we could still enjoy ourselves at least a little.
“Are you alright?” Victoria asked as the doctor was gone.
“Only scraped my hands. A few bumps here and there. I’ve had worse.”
“No need to play tough with me, Mycroft.”
I shook my head. “That’s not it. It’s really nothing to worry about.”
Victoria inclined her head as we locked eyes in an inquisitive gaze. She stood up and proceeded to search the cupboards for what I knew was an emergency stash of medical supplies. Sure enough, she pulled a couple of bandages and some disinfecting alcohol from a small box. I willed myself not to flinch as she cleaned the wounds on my hands, one after the other, and we sat in silence, both simply staring down at the damage.
“Sometimes I wish I had never met your brother,” she said quietly, as she was finished.
“You always know just how to push the metaphorical dagger deeper into my heart.”
She opened her mouth to retaliate, and I could see her posture straighten in protest, but then Watson opened the door in the noisiest way possible.
“My apologies, I didn’t want to disturb you,” he lowered his head apologetically. “If you have something to discuss, I can give you some privacy.”
“Very kind of you, Dr. Watson, very kind,” I interrupted him. “But not necessary. We should leave here as soon as possible.”
I glanced at Victoria. There was no room to argue needlessly, as we both knew the subject matter only too well and had iterated on it ad nauseam. We gathered our personal things, left the soiled clothes in the bathroom and returned to headquarters in record time, where, once again, nothing went as planned.
I Swear to God, I Will Find You
We arrived at headquarters to find the place in disarray. From the outside, nothing was apparent, but after being let into the heavily guarded fortress, we fell into a cauldron of chaos. There was shouting, people running about, but most important of all: large blood stains on the floor. Even - or rather especially - the quarters that had been given to the Secret Service were wasted. A chill ran down my spine as I thought of the implications this could have.
I found myself alone in the office of one, Marigold Bates. Victoria and Watson were being held in the hallway for further questioning - because that was exactly what this was: an inquiry. The brilliant, blue eyes of Bates gleamed with anger, barely restrained, until she closed the door behind me and finally exploded.
“You come here against all orders, convince me to support your foolish quest and after only a day of your presence in the city, three of my agents are dead and several more severely wounded!” she shouted and brought her fist down on the broad wooden desk for emphasis, which made her writing pen fall from its stand.
“If you tell me what happened, I can try to explain...” I responded calmly.
“What happened? I can tell you what happened: You are a walking liability, Mycroft Holmes, inviting the enemy into our home by simple carelessness. I should’ve known when I saw the corpses that accompanied you into the city,” Bates was not about to back down, and even though I felt the subconscious need to retreat, I knew that every concession would potentially cost us the valuable time we needed to reach Sherlock in time.
“With all due respect, the victims were not my responsibility. And we brought their murderer...”
“Yes! You brought that woman here. Assured us she would stay put until your return. And what good did that do us?”
“Wait!” I exclaimed. “This is about Elizabeth Moran?”
“What else did you think?”
A number of conflicting emotions coursed through me. Contempt for the Moran woman for making my life so hard. Shame, because I allowed this to happen to a branch of the Secret Service. But most of all anger toward myself for being so utterly stupid. Again. In my single-minded pursuit, I had not properly assessed the situation and felt responsible for the deaths of my fellow agents.
My emotions must have all been visible on my face, as Bates graciously let me regain my composure before she continued talking. “I’m sorry, Holmes. But in light
of these developments I have to do what headquarters told me to: Detain you and your friends.”
“But my brother...”
“Is not of international importance, despite what he means to you personally. I cannot stand by this reckless behaviour anymore,” the branch manager said gravely. “You will be able to defend yourself when the time comes, but right now I won’t allow any argument. Please leave this room and send in your companions.”
In any other case I would have started to argue right away. I was confident in my ability to wrap everyone around my finger. But that would take time, because the moral high ground was on Bates’ side. I didn’t want to waste any time. No, there was only one option. We would have to run once again.
I nodded curtly at Bates, who narrowed her eyes at my silent acquiescence. We had crossed paths before, and it had never been this easy to get me to agree to anything. But her feelings were of no matter to me. I turned around and left the room without uttering another word, only to find my companions had deserted me.
When I entered the room, which an agent indicated to me, Watson was in the process of stitching up a leg wound on an unconscious man in front of him while he sat on the floor. His clothes were bloodied, but he didn’t seem to realise this, as he looked to his work with an expression of utter concentration. Two other men lay on improvised bedding on the floor of the small chamber, bandaged haphazardly.
“The blade used on them was serrated and the wounds are still bleeding. The doctor has offered his expertise to patch them up properly,” Victoria explained, as she was leaning against the window - the only place with a bit of fresh air.
“I see,” I just said mutely. There was much we had to discuss, but the image of Watson jumping into the fray like this made a bigger impression on me than I would’ve liked to admit. He didn’t rush, but worked diligently along the edge, pressed the flesh together with his hands, without regard for his own cleanliness.