Fic for tripleransom: The Sea of Lies, Part 2 of 2

[methylviolet10b]

Title: The Sea of Lies
Recipient: tripleransom
Author: kathie_d
Rating : PG
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, OCs. Pairing: H/W (established).
Wordcount: 14,925
Warnings: Character death (OC), v. mild horror, period-appropriate racism, angst, H/C.
Summary. Casefic. A diamond believed to be the mysterious Daria-i-Noor finds its way to the British Museum. An old friend from Holmes’s Montague Street days fears a plot to steal it, leading our boys onto the trail of a veteran of the Sepoy Revolt.
Disclaimer – All ACD’s works are public domain in the UK, but of course we are eternally indebted to him for so diligently publishing Watson’s biographies. Political figures and companies referred to are historically accurate, but all major characters involved are completely fictional, and do not intend to reflect any real person, living or dead.
A certain pink diamond is still at large, and its true location remains a matter of debate today.

“Wake up Watson. Brother Mycroft is in the sitting room. He wants to brief us on this affair.”

I groaned and opened my eyes, to see Holmes standing over me, fully dressed.

“What time is it?”

“Half seven. Get up.”

It was not an hour at which I was used to arising, not with my bachelor lifestyle. I pushed myself up in bed, blinking in the light of the lamp, for it was still dark outside.

“Isn’t your brother going to find it queer that I was sleeping in your room?”

The question hung in the awkwardly in air for the moment, before Holmes turned away to fiddle with a bottle of aftershave on his dresser. Last night he had worried me so, sinking into a brown study, and not speaking a word to me the entire walk home. When we got back to Baker Street I had undressed him as best I could, and tucked him into bed. After a moment’s thought, I had slipped into a nightshirt, and climbed in beside him. We didn’t often share quarters, for two reasons. The first reason was of a practical nature; the beds at Baker Street were simply far too small. My back was protesting greatly at the night I had spent cooped up with Holmes and his tall stature. But secondly, and most importantly, neither of us seemed capable of articulating exactly what our relationship was, and whether or not it included the intimacy of the bedroom. More than friends, but less than lovers, it was a partnership built on shared danger, goading flirtation, and a strong, but rarely articulated regard. I could count on one hand the number of times I had had the exquisite pleasure of kissing Sherlock Holmes. Coward that I was, I had to be content with waiting for him to breach any physical boundaries between us.

Last night however, he had seemed so inconsolable, that I had judged it for the best to remain with him. Not that I had been able to comfort him much, and it did not seem his mood had changed with the fresh day. I could not blame him. Yesterday, he had playfully invited me to meet a character from his past. Today, that man was dead.

“I doubt it will shock Mycroft much.” he replied finally. “Mrs Hudson, however, may have a very different reaction. I suggest you rise before she brings us breakfast.”

He left, without giving me a second look. I dragged myself out of bed, and up to my own room. I wondered how long he was going to punish me for seeing his usually carefully hidden emotions exposed. I felt an odd selfish anger at the unfortunate Argall, who seemed to have come between us, just as we had been growing closer than ever.

Still, despite my misgivings, and protestations at the hour, I was eager to discover how Mycroft was involved in the business of the Daria-i-Noor, and I was fully washed and dressed before Mrs Hudson appeared in the sitting room with a plate of kippers. Holmes, to my regret, resolutely ignored the food, and smoked his filthy clay pipe packed with the previous night’s dottle. Mycroft and I however, tucked in with gusto.

“I must admit,” I said, attempting to break the awkward atmosphere “I am surprised to see you here at Baker Street so early in the morning, Mr Holmes. This must be a serious case indeed.”

“Any case that leads my brother into the path of danger is serious.” Mycroft scowled back over a forkful of food. “Unfortunately, he seems to be quite proficient at getting himself into trouble.”

Holmes scoffed at this, and let out a great billowing cloud of smoke.

“Stop stalling, brother mine. What were you doing in Mayfair last night?”

“Precisely what you were doing, I imagine. Calling upon our mutual friend, Captain Vickery-Smith.”

“Captain?” I queried.

“Late of the Honourable East India Company’s 66th Bengal Native Infantry. He disappeared in 1857 during the Sepoy Revolt. Several objects that were in the care of the former Governor-General disappeared along with him. Included in the inventory was the diamond on display at the museum, that we had Mr Argall researching-“

“Argall was in your employ?” Holmes cut in.

“Yes.” replied Mycroft, sounding annoyed. “He did not know it, of course. But the diamond is really of no consequence. Of far more importance were several documents that we believe were in Captain Vickery-Smith’s possession. I cannot of course reveal the contents of these documents, but let it suffice to say that British rule in India would be on shaky ground indeed if they were to come to light.”

“Then let us hope that these documents perished in the fire last night.”

“Captain Vickery-Smith is no more. But of the papers, we know not. The conflagration was certainly no accident. Therefore we cannot afford to assume that the documents have not been stolen. So much for my side of the story. I would be grateful if you could explain the circumstances which led to the unfortunate demise of Mr Jenkin Argall.”

Holmes roughly sketched out our dealings with Argall, the suspected plots against the Daria-i-Noor, and the distrustful behaviour of Sunita Chowdhary. Mycroft listened carefully, and then when Holmes was done, leant back in his chair in silence to consider this new information.

“And you do not believe the diamond was ever really under any threat?” he said at last.

“I find it curious that Miss Chowdhary did not take the stone when the opportunity presented itself. She strikes me as a singularly difficult character, and would have easily been able to subdue Robertson, had she so desired. Therefore, I do not believe the Daria-i-Noor was her true target.”

“Hmm.” Ruminated Mycroft. “The government still does not know for what reason Captain Vickery-Smith returned to England. We suspect of course, that India became too hot for him to handle. Perhaps some associates of this Miss Chowdhary were pursuing him, in an attempt to steal the papers.”

“Perhaps.” Holmes said, in a dangerous voice. “I would rather like to ask her.”

“Hah! I can hear the hidden request in that. I’ve never before heard of her, dear boy.”

“I somehow doubt it will be difficult for you to obtain a certificate of alien arrival.”

During our recent adventure concerning the Bruce Partington plans, Holmes had explained to me that his brother was, to all intents and purposes, the British government. Still, the ease at which Mycroft was able to acquire information always surprised me. When I put my mind to it, I supposed it also should disturb me how readily he would supply this information to his brother. Holmes had never mentioned being retained by the Crown, but when I considered some of his former cases, it was worryingly likely.

“Fine. As long as you have not been supplied with a false alias, I should be able to provide you with an address et cetra.”

“Time will be of the essence.” Holmes replied. “If indeed the documents were her goal, she will either pass them on, or attempt to leave the country as soon as possible.”

“I suggest two tacks, then. I will chase the immigration records. You must discover if any steamers are due to leave for India.”

“Can you not stop any departures?” I asked

“Even I cannot stop the cogs of industry, Dr Watson. Besides, it is entirely possible Miss Chowdhary and her employers are completely unaware that we are on their tail. Far better not to alert them to the trap.” Mycroft Holmes heaved himself to his feet. “How shall I reach you Sherlock? I assume you will not be remaining at Baker Street?”

“The Isle of Dogs seems the most appropriate place to begin our search. I will call at the Canary Wharf Post Office. A telegram may reach me there.”

“Very well. Good hunting, then.” Mycroft tipped his hat to me. “Good morning Dr Watson.”

“There.” Holmes said, after his brother had departed. He was still unable to meet my eyes. “Did I not say that he would not be disturbed by you emerging from my room?”

“I’m not entirely sure that puts my mind to rest.” I began, but Holmes ignored me, jumping up, and clapping his hands together.

“Right. Now to avenge dear Argall. Action is what is required to pull me from this slump. How do you feel to a little disguise?”

I have known Holmes, for better or worse, for fourteen years. He may have been a highly skilled dissembler, but I knew when he was faking enthusiasm. Still, if this was what he needed to cope with the death of his old associate, I was prepared to play along.

“Dock worker?”

“Precisely so.”

It took little more than half an hour for Holmes to get us up in the costume of two dockers. Holmes decreed travelling by cab would be too out of place for gentleman of our standing, and so he dragged me down to the underground station. The smog of yesterday had not yet cleared, and so I thought it useless to protest. Under normal circumstances, I would not usually consider descending into the smoke belly of our metropolis, but the air below was not any more filthy than above. Besides, the costume Holmes had provided me with - a thick black woollen jacket and a flat cap – were already soiled, and there was little enough chance that I could become much dirtier.

Round the inner circle line Holmes took us, before we ascended, and caught the London and Blackwell Railway to Poplar. I have often remarked on Holmes’s encyclopaedic knowledge of the surface of London, but it appeared this knowledge extended to our city’s bowels as well. Quite when he had found the time to commit the maze of tunnels and junctions which comprised the underground railway to memory, I did not know. He was equally at home on the docklands railway, which rumbled above East London on red brick arches. He even exchanged words with our fellow passengers, talking a shared language of the docks that I couldn’t follow. When finally we disembarked, he took hold of my sleeve, and pulled me into a dank alleyway to speak in private.

“What have you been able to discover?”

“Very little.” He replied “Certainly they have seen no-one answering Miss Chowdhary’s description, but as the docks are no place for a woman, it is hardly surprising. But neither have they seen any suspicious gentleman of an Indian persuasion.”

“And what of ships leaving for India?”

“As I’m sure you are aware, there are several different routes East. The gang may have chosen to travel by train through France or Italy, and thenceforth a steamer to Egypt. If that is their intention, then our search shall be in vain. We must trust that brother Mycroft will have those exits from the country covered. From the docklands then, two options present themselves. The arduous journey around the Cape of Good Hope, or the far quicker jaunt to Port Said, the Suez, and then Aden.”

“Surely they must have taken the latter?”

“The former presents certain advantages; they should be far harder to track or pursue. But I believe you are correct. One does not steal precious documents, only to forestall the hoped for mutiny for months. The journey via the Suez is only four weeks. Besides, there is a British-India SN Co steamer leaving for Calcutta, this very afternoon. I have managed to secure some casual work for us loading the post onto the SS Scindia.”

“Oh, how wonderful.”

Holmes ignored my sarcasm.

“It departs, appropriately enough, from the East India dock. It is only a short distance from here. We should hurry, before we are missed.”

With that, Holmes buried his hands in his pockets, and hurried head-down, back into the bustling streets. I trotted furiously after him, trying not to look out of place – a difficult task. The docklands are not an area I am familiar with, and they were terrifying to one who is more accustomed to the wide streets and parks of central London. We were not far from the outskirts of our city here, from the marshes of Woolwich, and yet it felt we were in the very heart of London’s industrial landscape. The Isle of Dogs could have been more correctly named the Isles of Docks. The river wound around us, but the land was punctuated by man-made pits of water and the canals that ran between them. Cranes towered above us, lost in the fog, loading their respective ships up with coal. The quaysides were full of men jostling together with horses, stacks of cargo piled up high and blocking the thoroughfare. I fought off the temptation to grab hold of Holmes’s jacket, lest I lose him. He easily made his way through the confusing maze, to the East India dock, where he caught the eye of a man who waved us towards a pile of crates that had recently been unceremoniously dumped next to the wharf.

For the next few hours I worked harder than I have ever worked since my retirement from the army. Despite the freezing cold of the December morning, it was not long before I had worked up a sweat. My hands, unused to such work, were both numb from the cold, and bleeding from the coarse grain of the boxes. I have never had so many splinters. Both my shoulder and leg ached, and I could not help but feel pity for the working classes for whom this was all in a day’s work. I determined to speak with no-one, lest I give us away, but Holmes happily joked and laughed with his fellow dockers, all in a cockney accent that was impossible to tell from a native of the East End’s. All morning we toiled, transporting the cargo from the quayside to the depths of the steamer, where it was artfully arranged by weight by the sailors. I saw Holmes attempt to strike up conversation with the seamen, but was rebuffed as a landlubber. He caught my eye, and I saw the frustration there. It was maddening to think that the very boxes we were hauling might contain the documents we were so desperate to find. By one we clocked off, and retreated inland, no closer to our quarry than we were that morning.

“Did you discover anything?” I asked, as Holmes ducked into an alley, and lit a cigarette. He shook his vesta out angrily, and glared at me, telling me all I needed to know. “When does the steamer depart?” I asked, weakly.

“She sets sail at four p.m.” Holmes replied bitterly. “And short of checking all passports as the passengers board, I fail to see how we are to catch these villains.”

He gave a shout of frustration, and kicked out at some horse mess on the road, sending the frozen dung flying. Such an action was so out of character for him, that I wasn’t sure if I should step back, or hold him. Holmes was the master at burying his emotions while a case was hot, but the scent had now cooled.

“Holmes.” I said quietly “You are drawing attention to us.”

“What does it matter? All is finished. Argall lies in a hospital morgue, and we’ve no hope of revenging him.”

“No, but we may still retain some hope of recovering these documents. I am sure you read at school, as I did, of the Great Mutiny in India. We may yet prevent some similar tragedy.”

“How am I to protect an entire country, when I lead my oldest friends to their deaths?”

“Holmes, you did not kill Argall!”

He gestured angrily at me with the cigarette.

“You told him to leave town! You specifically mentioned it would be hazardous for him to approach the river. I deduced your morbid thoughts in that direction before Argall even knocked upon our door.”

“True, he was suffering from emphysema. True, the smog was giving him trouble. But it was the fire that did him in Holmes, something neither of us could predict.”

I put my hand to his shoulder, in an attempt to comfort him, but he pushed me roughly away. Was it only yesterday that I was reflecting that times were now easy, and Holmes did not sink into his evil moods anymore?

“Holmes. Please. Don’t do this now. Mycroft is relying on you.”

“Perhaps my dearest brother should find a less idiotic man to help him with his affairs of state in future.” He kicked out at the paving stones again, before wheeling around to lean against the wall of the alley, face buried beneath an arm. I looked at him hopelessly, not sure at all what to do. My hand hovered above his shoulder, afraid to touch him again.

“I am not entirely ignorant of medical science, Doctor.” Holmes said finally. “I could deduce Argall’s illness as plainly as you could. But I chose to ignore it. In favour of an adventure. It is unforgivable.”

“A case of international import…”

“A rock!” he shouted back “That moved!”

“Holmes… please…”

“And what of you, Watson? What pretty bauble will I sell you for? How long until I get you stabbed in a back alley? When will Lestrade come calling to tell me it is your body that has washed up in the Thames?”

“I don’t follow you around blindly, Holmes.” I snapped back “I choose to come with you, knowing the risks. So did Argall. It would be nice if your arrogance could afford me a little of my own agency for once.”

He turned to give me a furious look, anger that masked the hurt underneath. My heart melted, and I instantly regretted my words. I glanced around us quickly, to ensure we were alone, before bringing him into an awkward embrace.

“I’m sorry.” I said brokenly into his ear. “You’ve every right to grieve.”

He pulled away, and passed a hand in front of his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No. You are right. I cannot afford the luxury of breaking down, not when all is still to play for.” He drew in deeply on his cigarette, before passing it to me. He brushed the brick dust off his jacket, and then with a nervous smile, straightened my cap.

“Are you armed? Now the image of you hurt has occurred to me, I cannot shake it.”

“Don’t worry about me.” I said, touched by the concern he did not usually show. “I’m a little more robust than a librarian. And yes, I have my old Beaumont-Adams revolver.”

He retrieved his cigarette, took one last drag, and then crushed it underfoot. He looked at me carefully, touched my face, my moustache, my lips.

“Try to not to die.” He said shakily. “I am too fond of you.”

He was so rarely physically affectionate, and even rarer still, open about his feelings towards me. I felt for a second a frisson of excitement, which was quickly overwashed with guilt. How could I think about our odd romantic entanglement, when he was heartbroken over the death of a friend?

“Holmes… buck up old thing. We’ve been in plenty a dangerous situations before. Somehow we’ve managed to survive them all so far. And… I am also extremely fond of you. I’ve no desire to shuffle off this mortal coil if it means leaving you.”

Holmes smiled sadly, and linked arms with me.

“Then let’s away to Canary Wharf PO. We must hope that Mycroft’s investigations have fared better than our own.”

~

We were in luck. The lad behind the desk handed Holmes an envelope in response to the pseudonym ‘John Verner’. The borrowing of my name amused me, but Holmes was far too involved in ripping open the missive to be embarrassed about it. He read it quickly, and then turned the telegram with its pasted message towards me.

PRINCESS AT BRUNSWICK HOTEL STOP PROCEED ALL DUE CAUTION WILL REQUIRE DOCTOR STOP TIME OF ESSENCE STOP M STOP

“What on earth does it mean?” I blinked “Who is ill? I didn’t bring my bag, not dressed like this…”

“No-one is ill.” Holmes replied, leading me out into the street. “Mycroft has this amusing little idea that you are my personal bodyguard. No doubt he believes this woman is dangerous. We may yet be glad of your revolver.”

“Princess?”

“The name Kaur is Punjabi for ‘Princess’, and it is given to all female Sikhs to indicate their equality to men. Chowdhary is evidentially a pseudonym.”

“And the Brunswick Hotel, is that also code?”

Holmes laughed.

“No, that’s a rather fancy hotel back at the quayside. I can only imagine she means to board within the hour. Feel up to a run?”

We both broke into a sprint, any attempt at maintaining our disguise as dockers left behind us. Men swore and leaped out the way, as we attempted to weave between the figures that loomed all too quickly out of the fog. Too often we weren’t successful, and I had to leave my cap behind after colliding with one gentleman, who shook his fist at me as I started off again after Holmes. The smoky air burned my lungs, and I was glad when Holmes ducked around another corner, and halted, putting an arm out to stop me. He peered around the wall, checking the coast was clear. He turned to me, artfully rearranged my hair into something a bit more respectful, and divested himself of his dirty coat.

“We work for the British-India steamer Co, understood?”

I opened my mouth to question further, but he was already striding out onto the wharf. I felt the reassuring weight of my service revolver, and then followed him into danger, as always I would.

“Good afternoon” Holmes was saying to the receptionist “We’ve been sent from the steward of the Scindia to collect Miss Sunita Kaur. There’s some confusion over her luggage, which she intends for her cabin, and which for the baggage room…”

“Room seven.” Cut off the concierge, with a bored tone. “Top of the stairs, turn right.”

Holmes bobbed a little bow, and beckoned me to follow him. We mounted the stairs, and stopped outside room seven. The corridor was empty, and Holmes gave me a look heavy with meaning. I drew out my pistol, cocked it, and concealed it with my jacket over one arm. I gave Holmes a nod, and he knocked on the door. A lady’s voice bid us enter.

I am not sure what I was expecting. Given the gravity of the crimes, tampering with the Daria-i-Noor, the murder of Captain Vickery-Smith, and the abduction of state documents, I had imagined the room to be bristling with brigands. Instead, one beautiful Indian lady faced us. She was dressed not in a sari, but a European travelling costume of tweed, beside her a valise. One glance at her beautiful noble face told me instantly why Robertson had fallen for her, and I realised she must be a master of disguise herself to have made people believe she was a lowly servant. In one perfectly manicured hand, she held a Webley Bulldog, pointing unerringly at myself.

“Come in and lock the door behind you.”

Her voice was low, dangerous, and thick with the accent of her country. I dropped my jacket to reveal I too had a revolver, but her gaze did not falter. Holmes closed the door behind us in silence.

“Let me tell you now.” she said “If you are come as friends of that beast Vickery-Smith, I will have no qualms about shooting you dead like the dogs you are.”

“The Captain is dead.” Holmes said carefully “And neither of us will mourn him much. May we assume by your hand?”

“By my hand, by my sister’s hand, by the hand of fate itself.”

Holmes and I shared a look. There was clearly more to this case than either of us had expected.

“Madam.” Holmes said, in his most charming voice. “May I entreat you to lower your pistol?”

“You may not.” She shot back, voice cold. “And I must warn you gentlemen that you are in my way. People in my way do not usually remain so for long.”

I decided then to take a gamble. Slowly I held up my gun to show my finger was no longer on the trigger, placed it on the floor, and kicked it gently towards her. I could feel Holmes’ anger at my actions beside me like a palpable thing, but I could not see that a Mexican stand-off would get us very far. The time she had remaining to board the steamer would simply run out, and then she would shoot me. If she was quick enough, she would shoot Holmes as well, although I think I can flatter him with enough speed and strength to overcome one woman. Still, I have been shot once before, and I’ve no real desire to repeat the experience. Far better then, to attempt to defuse the situation.

Without shifting her aim, Miss Kaur flicked her eyes down to my revolver, and back up again.

“A Mark II Adams. You have seen service. Did you fight in Bengal? Answer me honestly, for if you lie, I shall not hesitate to put a bullet through your skull.”

“I have been to India, madam.” I said gently. “But I saw action not there, but in Afghanistan. As a non-combatant – I am a medic.”

Sunita Kaur looked at me carefully.

“You are telling the truth.” She decided. “And you have nothing what-so-ever to do with the Gurkhas?”

“I have not had that honour.”

I had meant to placate her, but I saw a flash of anger in her eyes and knew that somewhere I had taken a misstep.

“Madam,” Holmes begun “I feel we are off on a wrong foot. My name is Sherlock Holmes, I am a private consulting detective. This is my friend and colleague Doctor John Watson. We were engaged by Jenkin Argall to investigate his suspicious concerning the Daria-i-Noor diamond.”

“I could have saved you the trouble.” She said with the curve of a smile to her mouth “It is not in this country.”

“You know Mr Argall, from your subterfuge at the museum?”

“Yes.” She replied, impatiently.

“Then it may disturb you to learn that he is dead.”

“Dead! How?”

“He died of asphyxiation, from the smoke at Vickery-Smith’s lodgings.”

I saw a multitude of emotions flash across her face. Shock, horror, grief, and guilt passed in turn, but then a dangerous cool reserve gained control of her features.

“I am sad to hear it. It is very unfortunate that he chose to meddle with affairs that did not concern him.”

“The Daria-i-Noor concerned him very much. Tell me Miss Kaur, what did you see in the diamond which proved to you it was not the one you were looking for?”

She laughed haughtily.

“Oh, you white men, and your arrogance! It may not have been the stone you were looking for, but it was very much the one I wanted.”

“How so?”

“The engraving. I recognised it as the false one that Vickery-Smith had procured when he wished to trick people into believing he had the Daria-i-Noor. By this method I could confirm I was on his scent. But how I weary of this conversation! Gentlemen, if you would step aside, I have a steamer to catch.”

Holmes drew himself up to his full height. At six foot four he towers above most men, myself included. To the petite lady before us he must have appeared a giant. He can be very imposing when he wants to be, all angles and bones, sinew and muscle, with grey eyes that could cut like knives. I have never had the misfortune to be on the wrong side of that glare, not even when I have truly hurt him. I was glad I was not on the wrong side of it now. It is no slight to Sunita Kaur that she checked herself a little under that heavy gaze.

“Madam.” And where his voice and been polite before, it was now dripping with threat. “A mere matter of circumstance was all that allowed me to detect your crime. I shall credit you then with the intelligence to realise that one cannot shoot two men in a high-class hotel in broad daylight, and imagine to escape.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Killing Vickery-Smith was no crime.”

“Then since your only exit lies through me, I suggest you convince me of that fact. Whether you wished it or not, Argall lies dead at your hands. I cannot forgive this.”

She looked down, but did not lower her gun.

“You must believe me, Mr Holmes, I did not want that. Mr Argall never gave me any reason to dislike him. It pains me to hear of his passing. But you know as well as I that he had been ill for months.”

“That shall be for the jury to decide.”

“You mean to turn me in, then?” she laughed haughtily. “Let me tell you of the crime of which I am guilty! I have rid this world of a venomous snake who poisons all he sinks his fangs into. I am the mongoose that lives beneath your house, Mr Holmes. The women of this world may rest easy now this viper has been dispatched!”

“An admirable defence. But perhaps you do not know the laws of this country as well as you ought. There is no crime passionnel in English law, Miss Kaur. Then there is the small matter of the stolen papers that may undo any motive you present.”

“Papers, faugh! What care I for those? My sister has been avenged, Mr Holmes, and I swear to you that was all the reason I ever came to England. Now I have completed my mission, I shall do you the favour of removing my presence from your precious country, since you find it so very distasteful.”

“Perhaps,” I put in gently. “We could allow Miss Kaur to explain what this man has done to her family to necessitate putting him to death?”

Both Holmes and the lady favoured me with angry looks. Clearly they were not expecting me to break in on their duel of words. Holmes’s look seemed to say: “Not now, I’m working”, whereas Miss Kaur looked annoyed for entirely another reason.

“Dr Watson, wasn’t it? I know your type. Blue-eyed and charming; you imagine you can talk a woman into anything. Vickery-Smith was one such as you. When he met my sister, all those years ago, he could talk of nothing but beauty and riches. After the wedding, he moved us into his palatial bungalow, where we were dogged by white-clothed servants who tended to our every need. Picnics, crochet, high-tea, all the trappings of the memsahib. And let me tell you now, Dr Watson, it was a trap. From the day she entered that contract of marriage we were shunned by all.”

Holmes looked about to speak, mayhap to defend my honour. I held up a hand for silence. He had often maintained that the fairer sex were my department. I hoped he would stand by that now.

“What happened?” I asked, simply.

“You say you have been to India. Then you know how strict our caste system is. You may also know that the British women there believe themselves the very last bastion of the Empire. What room is there for two Sikh girls in that society, especially one who has been so depraved as to drag down an Englishman to her level? But no. That is not the reason I killed Vickery-Smith. If I love a man, I will gladly tie myself to him without further thought to race or creed! But I give myself credit that I would not choose a pig like Vickery-Smith. Dr Watson, he had my beloved sister - my only friend - burned alive. Now I have done the same for him.”

“But why would any man do such a thing?” I said, horrified.

“You have heard of satipratha? I pray you have not. It is an ancient Hindu rite, where the loving widow who cannot live without her husband throws herself on his funeral pyre. It is backward practice that has no place in the modern world. You can be certain my sister entertained no romantic fantasies about such a ritual.”

“But her husband… he died by your hand, not in India.”

“No indeed. That filthy dog had her burned upon the grave of another Englishman. A Lieutenant Hill, of the 1st Gurkha Rifles, which was my brother in law’s regiment during the mutiny. Much has been written of those battles, of sepoy murdering sepoy, of the bodies of women and children piled high in the streets… what the history books do not tell us, and what my sister learnt to her peril, is that some Company officers also slew each other in their machinations to control Bengal. This Vickery-Smith was such a one. Lieutenant Hill was a young gentleman of a more honourable persuasion. He was not alive during the mutiny, but he discovered the evidence of my brother-in-law’s evil doing.”

With a shiver of excitement, I saw her gesture unconsciously to her valise. The papers were in there, I realised with hope, not aboard the ship. It was all I could do to keep from glancing at Holmes.

“When he realised Hill had evidence against him, he made his move to discredit him. He accused my sister of adultery with him – a ridiculous ploy that a child could see through. When he saw that the mud wouldn’t stick, he arranged for Lieutenant Hill to have some little hunting ‘accident’. The young fool was in love with India and her customs, and the pyre was in his will. Vickery-Smith drugged my sister, and paid a servant to ensure she threw herself into the flames. Any idiot should see it for the plot it was, but the officers could not tell one Indian custom from another, and cared not a whit that my sister was not Hindu.”

“I can assure you, the one ‘mercy’ he showed my sister, I repaid to him. When I had seen his false diamond, and knew I was chasing the man himself, rather than just a rumour, I went to his address, and presented myself. Vickery-Smith is as stupid as he is cruel. He believed me completely taken in by the entire story of adultery. It was not hard at all to seduce him into smoking a pipe with me. I ensured the servants had all fled by insisting upon it before the opium. I doubt Vickery-Smith felt much of the flames. I am truly sorry that Mr Argall, a man who has done no wrong, had to suffer a more cruel fate.”

Holmes was perfectly silent, while he considered her story. The clock ticked loudly in the background, and reminded me that with every moment Miss Kaur’s chance at freedom grew slimmer. It seemed to do the same for her. She re-assessed the threat, and I watched with horror as she retrained the gun not on me, but Holmes. He looked down at her with an inscrutable expression. Even I, who have been blessed with brief glimpses into his soul, could not determine what he was thinking.

“The outcome of the punishment would be the same if this case were to come to trial, even if the method was unorthodox.” He said slowly “I cannot forgive Argall’s death, as I say. What lies between you and Captain Vickery-Smith however, is a matter for Providence.”

Miss Kaur nodded, slowly.

“Then let me go.”

“I cannot. Not while you possess documents which could bring down the peace in India.”

Sunita Kaur did not have to think for long.

“Then they may share the same fate as my brother in law.” She kicked the valise over to me, indicating that I should throw the contents into the fireplace. “I only wished to know what price Vickery-Smith had set upon my sister’s life. No doubt history will come to remember the Sepoy Revolt as India’s first war for independence, but for myself, I have seen enough bloodshed.”

“There’s only one more thing I would ask.” I said, as I bent to consign the contents of her suitcase to the fire. “I’m sure it was nothing to you, but there was another man hurt by your actions here. You say if you loved a man it would not matter to you if he were English or Indian. I beg of you to have the same consideration before you break a man’s heart.”

Miss Kaur threw her head back, and laughed. It was the first open and joyful noise I had heard her make, and I felt a heavy weight lift as she finally lowered her pistol. In a trice, Holmes had crossed the room and had flicked it out of her hands.

“Fear not for poor James, doctor.” She said, still laughing. “I’ve no doubt he is having an awful time of it, but I’ve every intention of wiring him from Port Said. He will love Bengal. Seeing diamonds in the rough is far finer than viewing them within a case in a dingy museum. I will confess everything to him, and if he’ll still have me – well – then that is his choice.”

Holmes seemed far less than amused. While he did not lower the pistol at her, I could see he very much wished to.

“Get out. Get out of this country God damn you, before I change my mind.”

Sunita Kaur smiled beautifully, and executed a curtsey that was fit for the Queen, before rushing from the room in a rustle of tweed. I glanced up at the clock. If she ran, I imagined she would very well make the boat.

I got up from the fireplace, and looked to Holmes. The man was veritably shaking. I had begun to step towards him, when he grabbed me roughly by the lapels, and kissed me fiercely on the lips. He broke away again just as quickly.

“Not that I’m complaining… but what on earth was that for?”

“If I ever, ever have to see you on the wrong side of a gun again, dear one,” he said, voice thick with emotion “I’m not sure I can be responsible for the consequences.”

“Easy… easy.” What could I say to him, but that in our line of work, it was a distinct possibility? I reached up, and kissed him again, softly, sweetly. I felt my heart unfurling like a rose when he did not stiffen or pull away, but instead put a hand to the small of my back.

“Your nerves are frayed.” I said “I prescribe a strict course of rest and recuperation.”

“Home, then.” He replied. And as I held him and looked into his eyes, I knew that despite all that came between us before and since, in that moment in time, home was nowhere else.

FIN

Author’s notes:

Many thanks to [redacted] for the beta read. Any mistakes are mine and not hers. Also thanks to my own personal surgeon for medical details, and tripleransom for the perfect prompt. <3 Please forgive the Deus ex Mycroftia.

Apologies must go to the British Museum, for inventing my own Gem and Ornament Room, with all the necessary windows, etc. It’s what ACD would have wanted. ;-) Also, apologies to Indian readers… I am White British and have no idea what I’m talking about. Please forgive the colonialism.

Chronology: http://blog.smartmemes.com/2010/03/sherlock-holmes-a-complete-chronology/. I placed this story in December of 1895, hence no ref to 3GAR, despite all the wrong-side-of-a-gun whatsit.

Thank you for reading.