"An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Come to Finsbury Park, I want to play with you. Use the side entrance at Hornsey Wood Tavern Gate and go straight on. You'll know when you're at the right place. Oh and please do come alone. I can't emphasize that enough. I'd hate to eliminate any uninvited guests and there's nothing I hate more than spilling blood unnecessarily."

London held on to the note with more force than necessary. He closed his eyes and saw one door after another slamming shut in his Mind Palace and one exit after another being blocked.

Outside the apartment, the sun was going down and the light faded slowly but surely. London stared into space as if bereft of all sensation. It finally happened. They had done it. The net that had descended on them unseen for so long was now too tightly woven. There was no way, other than to do what had been demanded and go there all on his own. He had to cut that net down.

London took a deep, focused breath through his nose.

His lips pressed together into a thin, resolute line, and a cold, hard gleam appeared in his eyes. He was going to do it. He was no coward. And whoever was responsible was going to see that for himself. He was prepared to do anything. It was more than likely London's fault, as usual, that this situation came about in the first place... someone had singled out his pressure point in order to drive him into a corner. London was going to make someone pay for that. He didn't know yet precisely how, but he'd think of something.

"It's only me." Elliot said in greeting as he entered the apartment. "I was just about to..."

"Someone has taken Alexander." London cut off whatever remark Elliot had planned.

"How do you know?" Elliot asked briefly. 

London handed him the scrunched up note. "Are you familiar with the study of graphology? The psychological analysis of handwriting. The upwards strokes on the 'p', the 'j', the 'm' indicate a genius level intellect. The flourishes on the lower zone denote a highly creative yet meticulous nature. But if one observes the overall slant and pressure of the handwriting there is a suggestion of acute narcissism, a complete lack of empathy, and pronounced inclination toward... moral insanity."

Elliot stared at London as he spoke seemingly in to thin air.

"Okay? So pretty much your own handwriting style?" Elliot looked at the note and could not see what the hell London was going on about. The writing looked fairly normal to him and there was no mention of Alexander being taken. How did London arrive at such a conclusion based on writing? "But I still..."

London sighed in annoyance. "Don't understand? Of course you don't. If you'd just allow me to continue, I shall give you further evidence. That note was tied to a brick which was..." London pointed to one of the windows that overlooked the street. "Rather rudely thrown through that window moments after I had witnessed a black  limousine that did not belong to him or any of his 'Men in Black'." 

Elliot raised an eyebrow, walked over to the broken window and briefly looked down at the street. "But he still got inside?" He asked somewhat skeptical. "I thought the British Government was a little smarter than that?" The sarcasm did not escape London's notice.

"One must pick and choose their battles, especially when a gun is pointed at ones head." London could be just as sarcastic as anyone. "Do you require anymore proof that Alexander was taken?" London asked as he stood next to Elliot at the window. When Elliot shook his head in the negative, London walked away from him and the window and headed towards the front door. He already had wasted enough time but paused with his hand on the door knob to give Elliot possibly one last request.

"Excellent. Now as much as I loathe to request this but I require you to go and be a nuisance at my father's office. I have a feeling he knows who could be behind this situation. Do not leave until he gives you answers. Then once you have them, even though I may or may not be dead, make your way to Finsbury Park yourself and stay out of sight the best you can. Understood?" London didn't wait for a response and walked out the door.

London set off in his car directly after leaving Elliot behind in the apartment. When he arrived at his destination, he left the car in a side street, crossed the Seven Sisters Road, and stopped in front of the side entrance to Finsbury Park. The picket fence wouldn't have posed any obstacle to him, but he checked whether the gate was open anyway. It turned out it swung open easily after he gave it a light push. His tongue ran across his cold, dry lips.

Then he took a step onto the slightly uphill path that stretched out before him into the night, away from the lighted street. But no sooner had he reached the asphalt lane that ran around the perimeter of the park than he saw a flickering light close to the ground a few yards ahead. Three figures stood in the darkness, illuminated by the shimmer at their feet. The Consulting Criminal left the path and took a few steps closer, realizing with a vague sense of dread that the light was a candle set in the grass along the shorter side of a large field. The field was bordered by several evergreen bushes and naked trees on the left, and seemed to extend into infinity on the right.

London thought he could make out the McKenzie Pavilion in the background, but he wasn't sure. He only had a vague sense of his surroundings, as it had been a while since he was last in this park. It had been bright daylight back then, and he'd stoned out of his mind on Cocaine. With every step he took, he tried to see whether he could recognize any of the figures but the thin, dim light that the candle gave off was insufficient for recognizing anything especially faces. All three of the men were wrapped in thick coats and jackets, unlike London who was also risking hypothermia alongside a bullet to the head by being at the park.

It was bitter cold that night, and London wasn't the only one with white clouds forming in front of his face, clouds that dissolved like smoke in the darkness. The other three figures' breath condensed in the air as well.

The frosted grass crackled beneath his feet with every step.

When London was just a few steps away from the three men, he was finally able to get a better look at their faces. They seemed vaguely familiar, which was a rather unpleasant discovery. They were part of a group of men he'd seen lurking in Carlton's front office a few times.

"I'm here." London said bluntly when he'd reached the three men. "What now?"

"This way, freak." said the third man, who had remained silent up to now. "The parlor's right through here!" He said, accompanied by a ugly laugh, as he bent over, and pushed aside a wooden board that lay on the ground, something which even London hadn't noticed.

The Consulting Criminal's heart leapt into his throat when a narrow, square hatch appeared under the board, opening like a yawning, black abyss before him. As if responding to an invisible command, a weak beam of light suddenly appeared on the surface from somewhere below the hatch, and a vertical shaft became visible, with metal rungs fixed into the sides to serve as a ladder. Light footsteps could be heard for a brief moment, but then all was silent again. He leaned over and saw that the shaft descended approximately four or five yards down into the earth. At the bottom, he could make out a cement floor, but beyond that he couldn't see anything. There was barely a sound to be heard either. There was no telling what might be waiting for him down there.

Lurking...

For the first time, he began to have doubts as to whether this had really been such a good idea to serve himself up like this. And for the first time, he began to have doubts as to whether  Alexander was even down there. He was torn for a moment. Should he just do what he'd been told and climb down into that hole? (Which looked more like a trap than anything he'd ever seen before.) Or should he refuse and in doing so... put Alexander's life on the line? If he turned on his heel and left right now, it would mean a death sentence for Alexander and  London was certain of that. He'd never have another second of peace in this life with that on his conscience. He had no choice.

He closed his eyes for a moment, sending up a brief prayer to the heavens that his brother  was really down there waiting for him, and that whoever was responsible would keep his word. Then he knelt down at the edge of the hole and began the descent. He hadn't gone more than a yard or two before he heard a noise above him. When he lifted his head, the board was being slid back across the opening.

Locked in.

A cold, hollow feeling spread through his gut. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and continued the descent until his feet couldn't feel any more metal rungs beneath them, instead hitting the smooth, hard ground. In a single, fluid motion, London let go of the ice-cold rungs (regretting leaving his leather gloves behind), took his gun out of the back of his trousers waistband (a rather foolish rookie mistake by the men who greeted him and sent him down underground) and turned around. He found himself in a small room, the brick walls of which he might just barely have been able to touch if he'd stretched out both arms. There was an open passageway in the wall in front of him, where a petroleum lamp stood. London identified it as the light source whose dull glow had shone up the entry shaft to the outside. Here, it additionally illuminated the staircase that opened off the other side of the passageway, leading steeply even further downwards.

Frustration arose in him as he realized he still hadn't reached his goal, but then he heard weirdly distorted sounds floating up the staircase. Were those steps? Whispers? It was hard to say. He started down the stairs, remaining alert. The passageway became wider and wider, finally ending in a spacious landing where yet another lamp stood, its warm light struggling valiantly against the darkness.

The Consulting Criminal stopped where he was. A space opened up in front of him. It seemed enormous. Without meaning to, he opened his mouth in both awe and silent horror. Brick after brick... formed into oval archways and massive, stocky pillars that rose up out of low walls, extending yard after yard in surreal symmetry until they were swallowed up in impenetrable blackness.

Several petroleum lamps distributed along the tops of the walls cast their soft light on the reddish surfaces, arches and pillars, creating bizarre shadows and reflecting in the murky water that had gathered in the arrow-straight aisles between the walls, like canals.
Everything in the gallery was either round or oval, aside from those canals. Even the low, broad walls echoed the curvature, becoming so wide at their base that they led into the water with a gentle sweep, creating an effect more like a shallow-banked tarn than an artificial reservoir. There were just a few more steps between him and the final landing, which barely rose above the surface of the water. He continued down the stairs, feeling slightly light-headed, until he'd reached the bottom landing.

The air was stuffy and stale. It smelled like soil and bricks, mold and neglect. Although he tried not to, he was getting nervous. To the left and right of him was nothing but water. Where was Alexander? He'd definitely heard something before... hadn't he? Where was the source of those sounds now? He was about to take another step when...

There!

Distorted by the reverberation of the echo. Footsteps! Weren't they? London wasn't sure. He couldn't even say for certain which direction the sounds were coming from.

The uncertainty grated on London's already frayed nerves, and the sheer mass of the walls surrounding him and the vaulted ceiling overhead pressed down on him. The entire weight of all those tonnes of bricks seemed to rest on his shoulders alone. The noises had stopped again. Now and then, the hall was filled with the gentle report of dripping water. But aside from that an oppressive silence reigned, as if in a crypt or a cathedral... a cathedral of horrors. Nothing but row after row of those endless pillars and weird oval arches, like empty eye sockets staring into the void. If he stood at just the right - or perhaps the wrong - angle, the pillars lined up in a self-repeating row, creating the disturbing impression of a hall of mirrors. London almost expected to find himself face-to-face with an image of himself any second now, but instead...

Someone suddenly stood before him.

"I'm only doing what your son asked me. I didn't ask you to tag along, especially since it turns out you are partially responsible for one if not both your sons getting killed tonight. So congrats on that." Elliot angrily said as he snuck as quietly as possible through the bushes in Finsbury Park along with Carlton Holmes, whom he had been arguing with ever since they left his office.

After doing what London had told him, earning a slight beat down from some of Carlton's goon squad in the process, Elliot had gotten an answer, a one worded answer, only after he had thrown the note at him, quite the accomplishment he thought. With his one worded answer, he quickly stormed out of Carlton's office, when he was suddenly stopped by Carlton's voice once more. He and he alone (much to the dismay of Carlton goon squad/men in black) was going to accompany Elliot to where London and possibly Alexander could be. 

They'd taken a different way in than London had been directed, seeking a spot that was more or less protected from curious onlookers in order to climb over the fence that separated the park from the rest of the city. Since the park was closed after sunset, they hadn't had any other choice in order to gain entrance to the grounds. Now they moved cautiously toward the McKenzie Pavilion, which was near the rendezvous point the Consulting Criminal had taken.

"Those three men are standing over there now, do you see them?" Elliot whispered to Carlton.

They'd been hiding in the shelter of the McKenzie Pavilion for a while now, and had been able to observe London arrive, only to promptly be swallowed up by the earth. They'd then seen the three men leave the field for the protection of the hedges.

"I'm not blind, Elliot."

"Do you actually know what's down there?" Elliot asked, indicating the field in front of them.

"Yes."

"Well? Care to enlighten the rest of the class?" Elliot hissed in a low voice.

"The former Hornsey Wood Reservoir is located underneath this section of the park. One of the decommissioned reservoirs providing drinking water to the City." Carlton replied in the same manner London often did when he was bored by the lack of intelligence of those around him.

Elliot fell silent.

"Don't suppose there's another way in?" He asked finally.

"No other way in." Carlton confirmed. "At least not that I know of."

Elliot fell silent again, staring at Carlton in the darkness with both disbelief and annoyance. "God, why did I let him go? I can't believe I'm about to say this but for once I wouldn't be opposed to having the police here."

"Elliot... if the police were here now, there's sure to be a bloodbath down there in the reservoir. Is that what you want?" Carlton waited a moment before adding, "Not that I wouldn't be against such a thing happening."

"Bullshit." Elliot swore softly. "Your sons mean something to you... no matter what you say. You worry about them. More importantly you worry about London."

"Constantly." Carlton admitted with a tortured sigh that reminded Elliot so much of London. "Although I have to say he also constantly does insist on making trouble for me wherever he can. Now I assume you know what's to be done next? Despite the orders my son gave you?" 

"We take care of those three idiots. " Elliot said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"One of the men is separating himself from the group. Taking care of a sheep that's wandered off from its herd should be child's play for someone like you. And then you can lure another one of them away and..." If Carlton thought he was getting out of this with his hands clean, he had another thing coming.

"You're taking care of the luring." Elliot growled. Then he sighed heavily and slipped away from the Pavilion, ready to knock out the man that had wandered off once Carlton did his part.

It all ended up being less fuss than they'd thought. The two men who were still huddled together lit a couple of cigarettes, making them easy to spot in the darkness. 

The rustling sound that the first man made when he fell down, unconscious, brought one of the others out toward Elliot. He was taken care of just as quickly as the first man.

Carlton knocked the last man off his feet with the help of the handle of his gun. When he lay senseless on the ground too, Elliot glanced at the three fallen men.

"Now what?" Elliot asked in Carlton's general direction.

Carlton let his gaze slide over the man at his feet. "We should tie these gentlemen up."

Elliot raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I carry rope or cuffs randomly around with me?"

"No handcuffs?" Carlton drawled. "I must say I'm disappointed."

"Don't be." Elliot retorted dryly. "The handcuffs are right where they belong. Ready for use. In my bedside drawer."

The senior of the Holmes men tilted his head slightly to one side and pursed his lips. "What you and my son get up to is none of my concern. However luckily for us..." Carlton reached into his jacket and trousers pockets and threw two pairs of cuffs and cable ties to Elliot.

"Like father, like son." Elliot replied as he followed Carlton's lead and bound the hands and legs of the still unconscious men.

Several years lay between the memories of the past and the man who now stood before him in the flesh, but there was no doubt it was the same person. That flickering look in his eyes, not just a trick of the petroleum lamps, this would stay with him for the rest of his life.

All of a sudden, a calmness settled over London. He'd reached his goal. He was no longer trying to fight smoke and the torment of uncertainty. Now the threat had become corporeal, visible, and... vulnerable, with a name and a face.

He inhaled and aimed at James' chest.

But then James pulled Alexander out from behind one of the pillars, holding a gun to his temple. London flinched back. He hastily lessened the pressure of his finger against the trigger of his gun. However, he still kept the weapon trained on James, whose footsteps rang through the high, dismal gallery as he walked along the top of the low wall, dragging Alexander with him.

Alexander, who stood upright beside his adversary, towering over him. The Holmes height ran deep and Alexander knew how and when to use it.

London's breath caught, only to fall back into a regular rhythm with a sigh of relief.

Alexander was here. He was alive. He was unharmed.

His eyes flew over Alexander's body, trying to take in every detail in an attempt to see if he were injured after all. He was tied up and gagged, which solved the mystery of why he hadn't drawn attention to himself earlier. It simply hadn't been possible for him to call out to London or warn him in any other way. Alexander's arms were tied behind his back, and it looked as if his lower arms were completely bound together. Another piece of rope was wrapped around his thighs so that he was only able to hobble along, making it additionally impossible for him to ram either of his knees into certain opposing body parts.
 
The entire image Alexander presented was not simply the result of practical considerations - no one knew better than London how important it was to keep prisoners secure; it was likely also meant to humiliate the captive. But despite the fact that all of the evidence was against it and it shouldn't have been possible, Alexander exuded a calm, quiet dignity that made him appear virtually inviolable. He blinked at London once in silent acknowledgement.

That one look, that one blink, told the Consulting Criminal more than words ever could. He was fine. London needn't worry about him anymore. Now he could direct all of his attention to James again.

He kept his weapon aimed at James' chest, his hand steady, his eyes firmly on his adversary.

"I wouldn't if I were you." a female voice said from London's left.

London exhaled in surprise but didn't turn, instead keeping his focus on James and his brother. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blonde woman aiming a pistol at him. She'd come out of nowhere. Silently... like a panther... like a cobra. Ready to kill. London knew a killer when he saw one - and this woman definitely belonged in that category.

Naturally, he was now expected to lower his gun. Well, they could wait until they were blue in the face. He kept his aim on James, not to be distracted.

"Pretty here, isn't it?" James remarked casually after a while, as if he were at a garden party. "An old drinking water reservoir from the Victorian era. It's not in use anymore... in danger of collapse. A shame. How do you like it, Holmes?"

"Tad melodramatic, but you always did have the flare for it." London replied.

A reptilian grin appeared on James' lips. "I've developed a special affinity for water and fire over the years, especially when it comes to certain... enterprises. Although I'd hoped the water here would be a bit deeper."

"What do you want?" London was getting bored already.

An aggravated sigh sounded. "God must you be such a spoilsport? Everyone wants to get straight down to business." James complained. "No one appreciates the fine art of conversation anymore or places any value on a cultivated dialogue. All right. Fine. What do I want? I owe you a fall."

"Sebastian..." London was quickly piecing things together.

James nodded. 

London blinked. "That's... all? You went to the trouble of coming up with a plan which must have taken weeks if not months. Executing said plan, taking my brother, writing a note and breaking one of my windows in delivery, thank you for that by the way. Then waiting deep underground for my arrival? Why not just knock on my front door and shoot me the moment I opened it?"

"I told you I wanted to play. So why not get big brother involved as well? I wanted to see if you could be a good little boy for me. I also warned you long ago. I told you. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you. I will burn the heart out of you." James replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

London squared his shoulders and raised his gun slightly. "I have been reliably informed that I do not have one."

James tightened his grip on Alexander, who was still very much the ice man, despite James' gun being firmly placed against his temple. "Oh we both know that's not quite true."

"This is about me and you, correct? Well let Alexander go. He's got nothing to do with this." London demanded in an icy tone.

"If you shoot yourself right here, right now, I'll let him go." James replied in a cold tone.

London thought for a moment he hadn't heard right.

James sighed in annoyance. "Is that so hard to understand? Really, Holmes, I thought you were a genius! Sebastian is dead. Because of you. I want revenge. Eye for an eye. Tooth for a tooth. A life for a life. And in order for that to happen... you or your brother need to die, unfortunately. So... if you would please just send a bullet into your skull or Alexander's, I'll be on my merry way." James waited, but nothing happened. He took a breath, irritated. "I can also let Mary shoot you she's just dying to, you know. And if you don't die right away, I'd be pleased to stand on your neck until you've either drowned in this soup or your bones give out. But I'd really rather that neither of us get our hands or shoes dirty on your account." James waited again, and again, nothing happened. "Oh, for heaven's sake... then we'll do it like this," he muttered and untied Alexander's gag enough so that the cloth rested loosely around his neck. "Go on... big brother. Tell him what to do. Tell him to be a good boy and do what's right."

London gripped his gun harder than needed and raised it to place it under his chin. A Holmes was going to die and it wasn't going to be Alexander. The older Holmes gazed deeply into London's eyes before speaking with that unshakable calm which would always remain a mystery to the Consulting Criminal.

"Shoot me."

"WHAT?" London still refused to take the gun off himself. Mary and James seemed to be nonplussed and taken by surprise as well.

"Shoot me." Alexander repeated. "No matter what he says, no matter what he promises you... I'm not leaving here alive. The charming Miss Hooper here made that crystal clear during our tête-à-tête in the car. If you shoot me, at least you'll finally be free, and you'll have a sporting chance. You can go on living any way you please. My death is a done deal, and if I'm to die, then... I want you to be the one..." His voice quavered a little, but then he gathered himself again and spoke the rest in a clear, firm voice: "I want to die by your hand, not by his or hers." He delivered the final words with so much scorn that James shrank back a bit, although still keeping the muzzle of his pistol pressed against Alexander's temple.

"No." London said softly, shaking his head. Placing his gun even harder under his chin.

"London!" Alexander insisted, and there was something urgent in his tone. "Vatican cameos, brother mine. Vatican cameos!"

They held each other's eyes.

Time was running out for the two of them, and for only the second time in his life, London didn't know what to do. It was a hateful feeling this time as well.

Alexander wanted London to kill him... it was the last decision he was able to make for himself, his last request. Could London deny him that final wish?

London returned his brother's intense gaze without saying a word. Then he took a deep breath and whispered, "Okay." He'd made his decision.

He turned away from James, removing his gun from it's home under his chin and aiming instead at Alexander.

Adrenaline raced through London's body, and everything around him slowed. As if he were viewing the scene on time lapse, he noted how astonished and dismayed Mary and James were at this turn of events. London aimed mercilessly at Alexander's chest. When he pulled the trigger, his wrist jerked.

Alexander collapsed onto his knees, pulling James who had been holding his arm, partway down with him. Alexander tipped to one side, slipped down, and ended up motionless at the base of the wall, his face just a couple of finger breadths away from the murky, filthy water.

James' gun, left without a target, now pointed at empty space. London whipped around and shot at James, who gaped at him with a look of horror. A small red spot bloomed on the white shirt that was visible under his coat. London heard the woman scream something inarticulate, the sound ringing in his ears. He ducked instinctively. A bullet went flying past just over his head. He rounded on her and fired two more shots from where he was crouched.

A red fountain sprayed out of her neck, but London had already forgotten about her before she hit the floor.

Still gripping the gun in both hands, he waded through the water, which rose just about above his ankles. He reached James just as he was about to take a step down the sloping wall, right before he lost his balance and collapsed, an expression of utter bafflement and surprise on his face. The hand which was still holding his gun hung limply at his side, while his upper body was more or less upright. He was basically dead. 

The message simply hadn't reached his brain yet.

He would have liked to say something right then. Something meaningful. Something that would express all his revulsion and contempt. He felt the urge to give some explanation that would make his adversary understand his actions. But the only thing that came to mind was "Human error." He spat the word into James' face and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the shot echoed everywhere, the loudest volume being inside London's head. James fell forward and came to a rest with his face in the brown water. Blood flowed out of the exit wound in the back of his head. 

He was dead.

With a jerk that London felt physically, reality stopped for a moment, only to continue at its normal pace just a blink of an eye later.

Probably only a few seconds had passed since he'd shot his brother, but it seemed like half a lifetime to the Consulting Criminal. He took a deep, cleansing breath. He would have liked nothing more than to pump the entire contents of his magazine into James' lifeless body. Two bullets seemed far too few.

Alexander groaned beside him and London hurriedly knelt down to him.

"Alexander?" He patted his cheek. Had he possibly miscalculated?

"I'm not dead..." Alexander murmured in a daze. London breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Sorry to disappoint you once again, brother mine, but I merely shot you in the thigh. Rather non fatal, I assure you, but you will be rather incapacitated for a period of a few days." London explained, taking a look at the wound. There wasn't much blood. That was good. The data he had acquired before firing hadn't failed him. At least it wasn't pumping out of the entry wound in time with Alexander's pulse, which London was measuring at his neck. No arterial hit. 

The Consulting Criminal reached in to his left pocket and pulled out his switchblade and got to work. With one smooth and precise move, praying that Alexander did not attempt to move, he tore the trouser leg, from ankle to hip on Alexander's ridiculously expensive suit.

"Cease and desist this instant. I am not Elliot. This suit is custom made, so refrain from destroying my clothing!" Alexander complained.

"I need to get a closer look at your wound. These pants, no, your entire ridiculous suit is ruined. I'm doing you a favor." London declared in a feigned teasing tone that probably wasn't fooling anyone. He inspected Alexander's leg as well as he could. It was a clean shot, straight through, and there still wasn't very much blood. The artery was still intact. At least all the evidence indicated as much.

The bones didn't seem to be injured, but he couldn't say much about the tendons or muscles. Now that that was taken care of...
 
London cut through the bonds on Alexander's arms and rolled him onto his back. "As far as I can tell, the artery's most likely not damaged." He loosened the ropes around his brother's thighs, only to re-tie them above the entry wound on his left leg in order to prevent Alexander from losing any more blood. "I need something for the wound..." he muttered. His eye fell on the handkerchief, which still hung loosely around Alexander's neck. He untied it, smoothed it out in preparation for folding it back up to put over the wound... and paused. "This is... I gave you this." He realized, perplexed. "How did James get hold of it?"

"I had it on me..." Alexander admitted hesitantly, but before he could say anything more, there was a scraping noise and then from the direction of the entry hatch came..

"LONDON? ALEXANDER?"

Alexander's gaze hardened and he glared at London. "You dragged your lap dog and our father in to this?" He accused him harshly.

"I did no such bloody thing!" London said.

"Yes, he bloody well did!" Elliot replied as he appeared at the foot of the staircase.

Carlton Holmes appeared behind him, taking in the situation with a single look and stayed where he was on the last step and looked around as well. When he spotted the dead woman, his eyes widened.

"Miss Hooper?!" He turned to London. "What's my secretary doing here?"

"Oh and we are fine, by the way." London remarked smugly, only to promptly turn his attention back to Alexander and fixing the handkerchief to the wound with another piece of rope. He also had torn off a piece of Alexander's shirt for the exit wound, earning him another protest against further destroying his older brother's wardrobe.

Carlton took the final step, stepped down and walked towards his sons. "You may want to rephrase your words, especially if anyone finds out about..." Carlton pointed at the bodies, including Alexander's and the place they were still currently in. "Whatever this is. So before that becomes a reality, I suggest we waste no more time. London, you made this mess, you will fix it. You will arrange for medical care without the police or anyone else getting wind of it. Do it yourself if that's what it takes."

London nodded his agreement.

Carlton smiled coldly. "Good. Because there's rather a lot on the line for me here as well, and I don't have any particular desire to find myself on the wrong side of an investigatory committee."

"Wouldn't be the first time." London remarked. "Alexander's injuries can be taken care of, but in order to do that I have to get him to either my car or yours, father." London looked towards Elliot. "I'm going to need help with that."

Elliot reluctantly nodded.

London knew it was going to be difficult enough to transport Alexander up the vertical rungs in his condition. He needed all the help he could get. Even if it involved an angry father, who would only be thinking of the scandal London once again brought him and a psychopathic best and only friend who would rather see Alexander in pain rather than getting medical attention.

Carlton was not going to let a shootout involving one high ranking British Government official that is one son getting shot and the Consulting Criminal that was the other, responsible for it plus two others, he would definitely not let it go. Carlton and London were going to have words after this was all said and done.

London sent Elliot back above ground to wait for them, while he and Carlton, well London more so, got Alexander out.

"There is no way..." Alexander protested when London had stood him upright and picked him up, essentially carrying him like a parent would with a child, or like the many times Alexander had to do with London when he was out of his mind on drugs and on the verge of his numerous overdoses. London was determined and he was going to fix the mess, that Carlton had pointed out, he made.

Carefully and yet as quickly as possible London carried Alexander to the stairs. Once there, he set him down gently on the landing, placed Alexander's injured leg on a higher step, the adrenaline in his body had been almost all broken down by now, and London was exhausted not just physically, but mentally as well. He took a moment to search his Mind Palace for what to do next. 

Carlton watched his sons with a pensive expression..

"London... what about the gun?" Carlton asked tentatively.

London turned to his father for a moment. "Please for once, have a little faith in me. I would not have done what I did if I knew it would not be in my favor. I can assure you that no one will be able to prove I was the one who fired based on the bullets and as far as the gun goes, I have a way of disposing of it in a untraceable fashion."

Carlton raised an eyebrow as if to ask how that was possible. London let out a frustrated sigh and explained.

"I was able to not only make the bullets, but the gun as well. What took me a few days to create shall only take a few moments to destroy." London replied. He really did not want to give his father a science lesson right at that moment.

Finding the data he required, London resumed his task of getting his brother to the surface. Alexander, in an attempt to save his equally injured pride from having his little brother continue to man-handle him, insisted that he could pull himself up rung by rung while London climbed up behind him, supporting him. It was nerve-wracking and, in spite of the cold, sweaty work, and as soon as Elliot grabbed Alexander's hands from above, he hauled him the rest of the way out.

Now Alexander lay on the cold ground, completely exhausted and gasping for breath. London himself was fighting down the betrayal of the transport he called his body, from the same fate.

"Alexander..." London whispered to him. "Come on, brother mine, I really must insist you hang on."

"I'm alright." Alexander answered in a tight voice that told London quite clearly he was not.

To London and Carlton's astonishment, Elliot had taken his own jacket off and handed it to London, motioning that he should put it on Alexander.

"What?" Elliot replied when he noticed the looks he was receiving from the Holmes men. "Well..." he pointed briefly at London. "You don't have a jacket, which further proves your idiotic tendencies, by the way. And you..." He pointed at Carlton. "No comment." He glanced down at Alexander. "However beyond that? I don't know about either of you but if I was you." He looked at London. "I would be a little pissed if after all I went through for Alexander, like you have, if he ended up dying near the finish line from a mix of shock and hypothermia. So take the damn jacket and put it on him, before I choke you with it. Again!"  

"Thank you" London said as he took the jacket from Elliot which seemed to catch his father off guard.

"That reminds me..." Carlton began. "before I forget... just in case you were wondering, the three men who were standing guard here... they're lying over there in the bushes. Bound and gagged, and quite thoroughly incapacitated for the moment."

London sent Carlton and Elliot appreciative looks. "I honestly forgot about them." London replied and pointed in the direction he'd come from not all that long ago; it seemed like an eternity. "Elliot, can you please go ahead and get my car. That's if it's still there and not at the bottom of the Thames."

London didn't wait for an answer. He looked down at Alexander, his eyes were closed and face was distorted with pain. Time was running short. He bent down to his brother and once more lifted him to his feet with surprising care. In another surprising move, Carlton helped London put Elliot's jacket on Alexander. Together they settled Alexander between them, and lead the injured man toward the exit with his weight hanging heavily on their shoulders.

When they got to the wooden fence, Carlton left London with his brother and went ahead to the street to get his own car. Wanting to avoid a passing car or pedestrian noticing them, London hid with his brother behind a small brick building near the gate, listening to his worryingly shallow respiration and hoping they didn't arouse any attention.

"He could have just set up in business as a competitor. Kicked me out. Or simply had me killed."

Carlton leaned back in the chair behind his ridiculous mahogany desk as London distracted himself by looking through his father's extremely large and diverse book collection that sat on a impressive bookshelf that took up several walls around his office. Alexander was still recovering at his own home and would be for several days meanwhile Elliot was god knows where, doing what London guessed would bring him back several hours from now a bloody, wired mess and baring 'gifts' as he called them.

Which left London somewhat alone and having to face his father and continue to clean the mess that Carlton himself had started months ago by dragging him into it and asking for his youngest sons help.

The Consulting Criminal paused in his search for a book he had last seen when he was a child, a book Carlton had given him for his 6th birthday to try and satisfy his youngest sons need for reading material, regardless of what it was and turned to face his father. "Boring. And time-consuming. And so very dull. Sure he could have had you shot and taken your place. But there are several reasons why that simply wouldn't have been a good idea. First, regicides don't live long and usually aren't accorded much loyalty by their new subjects. That might work with stupid schoolboys... but later... later it's not effective anymore. It's always better if the king abdicates... or is eliminated by his own people. Then his successor is usually celebrated as a messiah. You know, the king is dead, long live the king."

"Sebastian" Carlton interjected. "Was supposed to be my successor." London gave up his book search and walked over to his father's desk and sat down in front of him like he had done so many times as child. He always felt like a suspect in an interrogation and he still felt the same way, except now he knew what his father did and did not want to hear.

"Precisely. Sebastian was supposed to work his way up through the hierarchy. It was no problem with the help of your own people, namely your secretary and didn't take long. In the meantime, they began work on weakening your position in secret, eventually sowing discord and discontent among your underlings. So..."

Carlton chewed on his lower lip, his expression grim. "Northampton." He practically spat the word out. 

London nodded and continued for his father. "All the problems in Bayswater Road... and Soho... the fake invoices... the drugs.... the bribes. You see, Sebastian was all ready with his people. He had heard that there was something foul about the elections in Leicester as well... and from that moment on decided to keep an eye on you as well especially when he heard of your rather public voicing in regards to your own ambitions on London and the elections, he thought it was about time to plant dear Mary as your personal assistant using a pseudonym and forged papers, of course."

His father looked on the verge of a stroke and it only fueled London even further. He needed Carlton to understand.

"Sebastian was to take over your position. James wanted to remain in the background. Make plans... organised crimes... build up an empire. He would have left all the day-to-day details, the tiresome monotony, to Sebastian and Mary... the letters... the bills... all that nonsense... that was nothing for a genius like him to waste his time with." 

Carlton dragged one hand down his face and let out a small groan of realization and reaching into his desk drawer for a glass and a bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a drink before replying. "Then Sebastian was killed." London waited to see if his father would admit that he WAS the one behind it. "On your orders." London spoke the words Carlton seemed hesitant to speak. 

"But you knew more than you were letting on didn't you? Otherwise you would not have had Sebastian killed. However despite that, knowing full well the consequences, you still dragged me into it. Did Alexander know or did you decide discretion was the better part of valor and only hopefully only set up one son to be killed?" London replied trying to keep the venom from his voice but judging by the look on Carlton's face he had not been successful. "Did you know that your so called secretary happened to be James and Sebastian's sister?"

The glass of whiskey dropped from Carlton's hand and went crashing to the floor, much like his father's world suddenly had.

"Sentiment, father, is a chemical defect found on the losing side. So I hope, for your sake, you at least won some pleasure by sleeping with her." London replied with such smugness what it would certainly earn him a slap in the face from his father, it would not have been the first time. He steepled his fingers under his chin, leaned back in his chair and waited for said slap in the face.

Except.

It never came. 

Instead Carlton stared at him. The surprise of being blindsided by his son had seemed to render him somewhat paralyzed and speechless.

"You are wondering how I could possibly know that? Of course you are. So I shall start with the moment I found myself sitting in this very chair six weeks and 3 days ago. While you may remember, I was going through withdrawals, much to your surprise and amusement of several of your so called "staff", I was still coherent enough to not only see but observe a few things." London calmly replied and briefly held up one finger and lowered it before continuing. "You have a very unique smell about you, yes, smell. It's bergamot contrasted with mint, cedar and suede. You seem to think it makes you more sophisticated and smart, yet I have never been able to figure how you've arrived at that conclusion but I'm afraid I'm straying from the path, for which I apologize." A second finger was raised. "When I was escorted to your office door by Mary, I noticed the same smell about her, while it would not be anything out of the ordinary, she was frequently around you, however there was something different that particular day..." London trailed off, was that fear he could see in his father's eyes?

"She did smell of you and it was not only her clothes, no. I could smell it in her hair and on her hands. Her entire body. If she had just been in and out of your office all day there would have only been hints of it and it certainly would have not been present in her hair or hands at the levels I was able to smell and it should not have been mixed with masculine sweat. Now what could we deduce about that? Hmm?" London once again paused long enough to see if his father would reply. He didn't, instead he wore an odd expression mixed of disbelief and curiosity about what his son would or would not say next.

"Seeing as I am hearing no admission of innocence or guilt, I shall continue." A third finger was raised and lowered. "She was wearing several pieces of rather expensive jewelry, when there was no way she could afford such things on her salary, so someone had to have brought them, but who? The jewelry in question, I noted, had come from a store I know you frequent rather often; ' De Beers Jewellers' over in Mayfair and yes I paid them a visit after I left here."

Carlton's continued silence fueled and annoyed The Consulting Criminal. So London carried on hoping to break his father.

"The next piece of data came from Alexander, oddly enough. He had mentioned some concerns of his own to me a mere three days before you had summoned me. While I admit I was somewhat impaired at the time, even through his yelling at me and Elliot in regards to my state at the time and who was responsible, but I was still not impaired enough to completely ignore even Alexander and his concerns. It was quite the feat but once the yelling of Alexander and Elliot ceased, I managed to store and file away in the appropriate folders what he had told me with a promise to visit them at a later date. Looking back it is rather foolish that I did not. Human error on my part. Which brings me to the next and final piece of data which solidified your own human error and made every piece of data I had collected, fit perfectly together."

With that announcement, Carlton moved forward in his chair, straightened his back and clasped his hands in front of him on his desk with a slight smirk. A smirk that London wanted to and was going to remove from his face in a matter of moments.

"Alexander wasn't the only 'Holmes property' I found underground. I also found..." London reached into his jacket pocket and slowly pulled out something and carefully, almost hesitantly, reopened his hand for his father to see. It was a bracelet "This." The intake of breath and look on Carlton's face said it all. "18K white gold and prong set with 0.20-carat round diamonds from 'De Beers Jewellers'. I had to ask Alexander for some clarification but..." London's voice had all but dropped to a whisper on the follow up. "This was mother's." London placed the bracelet back inside his jacket pocket before Carlton could get his hands on it.