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Mar 29 - 06:18:01
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A Study in Secrets Started by: LondonHolmes on Jan 09, '19 08:22

London leaned down closer to the corpse: 30 years old, neatly manicured nails, bracelet, a faint whiff of Chanel No. 5. No obvious trauma; likely a domestic.  

Dull. It was hardly worth him abandoning his latest experiment, which he hoped that Elliot was leaving alone.

He rolled his eyes and inspected the woman’s glasses, still perched on top of her head, embedded in her product-encrusted hair.  Next the Consulting Criminal pulled aside the collar of the woman’s shirt and peered at her neck, his eyes roving over her chest and stomach and ending at her feet.

“Move,” he commanded, kneeling next to her ankles.

“What?” Cruz said. “Oh, sorry!"

“This woman wasn’t murdered,” London said. “These aren't her shoes."

“Beg your pardon?” Inspector Cruz asked dumbfounded.  

“It was an accident,” London said. “She was naked when she died, and was dressed in a hurry afterwards. Her glasses are still on her head, which means they were placed there after she fell, and the blouse she’s wearing is brand new, she hadn’t even taken the tag off. Plus one shoe is bigger than the other and they are also on the wrong feet. Therefore, dressed by someone else.”

“So if it was an accident, why didn’t they just call it in? Why are we here?” Cruz asked.

It was like working with trolls, honestly. London sighed.

“The shoe situation aside - the nails, the gaudy and overpriced furniture - shows that she cared very deeply about matching, it was clearly someone who wasn’t familiar with her style, probably an affair, possibly a client. He was in the house, she died, he didn’t want anything to do with any of it, so he dressed her, splayed her out on the floor, and made it look like she’d been attacked. No blunt force, though, no trauma to the neck; he’d have been better off making it look like a heart attack or a poisoning, that’s what I would have done.”

“How reassuring,” Donovan said wryly and Cruz turned to him with a look that told him to shut up before London said or did something to him. Again.

“So if she wasn’t murdered, how did she die?” Cruz asked.

London stood up, pulled off his gloves with a snap, placing them in his pockets and then looked directly at Cruz as he said, “Erotic asphyxiation.”

“Jesus Christ,” Cruz muttered.

“That’s ridiculous,” Donovan said. “Even for you. People don’t - nobody actually - ”

“Donovan what have I told you about speaking to and or questioning me? If you have nothing else for me Inspector, I'm done here.” London turned on his heel and left leaving behind Cruz and Donovan arguing.

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“You were right,” Inspector Cruz said when London strode into his office the next day at Scotland Yard, Elliot trailing behind.

“Obviously,” London replied as he sat down. “What about this time?”

“The woman in Islington, the one who was wearing the wrong shoes. The medical examiner ruled it a suffocation, probably accidental.  Not the business of major crimes, at least.”

“Pity,” London said. “Anything new?”

“The murderers have been quiet, fortunately,” Cruz said, leaning back in his chair. “But I’ve got a robbery at a house in Notting Hill that you might be interested in.” He nodded at a file on top of the towering stack on his desk. “Filing cabinet in a hidden safe with a code known to exactly two people, both of whom were confirmed to have been on holiday in Malta. No witnesses. Live-in nanny didn’t hear anybody come in or out, and the burglary wasn’t discovered until the residents came home and found the safe unlocked and totally empty.”

“Contents?” The Consulting Criminal asked.

Cruz shrugged. “They’re not saying.”

Elliot snorted. “What, you’re looking for something and you don’t even know what it is? How surprising.”

“The safe was in the bedroom of one of the prime minister’s chief advisers,” Cruz replied in Elliot's direction. “Apparently whatever was in the cabinet is of highest national importance. I’m assuming we’ll be taken off the case before long, but while I’ve got it - ”

London quickly rose to his feet.    

“What?" Cruz spat out as London pointed at the door. Elliot held it open and the Consulting Criminal disappeared in a blur. Inspector Cruz leaned back in his chair. He could already feel the headache starting.

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"Dress sharply, pick something from my wardrobe if you must. There’s someone I want you to meet.” London announced as he walked back into the apartment after speaking to his homeless network in the morning and then spending the afternoon around and outside 10 Downing Street formulating a plan.

An hour later, London and Elliot were sitting at the corner table of a club in Notting Hill, watching underage girls and strapping rugby lads vie for each other’s pathetic romantic attentions at the bar. London was scanning the crowd and hoping his homeless network’s information had been worth the 100 quid he’d paid for it.

London arched an eyebrow as a twenty-something in an unnecessarily revealing dress walk by their table. “Charming.”

Elliot cleared his throat. “All right, then, why are we here? It’s obviously not to enjoy the scenery.”

“One of the regulars of this establishment is a 24 year old woman named Claire Dawson. She is employed as full-time nanny and housekeeper by James Milford, the owner of the safe that was apparently burglarized last month. Miss. Dawson claimed that she never left the house that evening, as she was tasked to remain in the home overnight, but my homeless network has been watching her for three weeks and determined that she regularly leaves the premises around 11 pm on nights when her employers are out of the house.”

“So she might be lying about having been home that night,” Elliot concluded.

“And moreover, she might be involved in the crime itself,” London said. “This place is a breeding ground for relationships between wealthy, powerful men and the young women who are attracted to such men.”

Elliot nodded. “You think she might have met someone here who used her to get into Milford’s house?”

“It’s possible,” London said.  

“So what’re we here for then?” Elliot asked.  

London slid his untouched martini across the table to Elliot.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Elliot said. “No, absolutely not. I am not going to pretend to be some sort of - some sort of sugar daddy to question a witness. Why can't you do it?"

"You know why." London quietly said.

“Okay. Fine. You win. You owe me for this.” Elliot said as he grabbed the martini. "Where is she?”

London nodded toward the blonde woman in a booth at the other end of the club. “Get her talking about her employer. If she bites, intimate that you could pay her quite a lot of money if she were to allow you entry into the home.  And do try not to blow our cover.”

Elliot squared his shoulders, pasted a rather disturbing smile on his face, and marched off to talk to Claire Dawson. London watched him go, thinking of a soldier going into battle and smothering a smirk.  Under the guise of going up to the bar for another drink, he followed close behind, positioning himself near enough to Miss. Dawson’s table to hear.

“ - here often, sweetheart?” Elliot was saying.  Oh, god. Really?

“Once in a while,” Claire said demurely, which was an utter lie, the Consulting Criminal's sources had said she came three times a week at least. “I live just down the road.”

“Oh, do you?” Elliot said rather lamely London thought. “This is a, you know, a great neighborhood.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Claire said. Her laugh was tinkling and fake. “Bit out of my price range, though. I nanny for a politician who lives here.”

“Lovely,” Elliot said. He sounded a bit stunned that such an easy opening had been dropped into his lap. “That’s very, uh - very interesting. He doesn’t mind you stepping out for a drink once in a while?”

“Oh, he and I have an agreement,” Claire said, her laugh piercing the room again. “We keep each other’s secrets, you know how it goes.”

Elliot laughed now. “Have you got a lot of secrets then?" London barely restrained an eye roll. He glanced over his shoulder; Elliot was tucking a lock of hair behind Claire’s ear and she was smiling at him, her eyes innocent, the martini forgotten on the table.

“Just a few,” she said, her lips parting as Elliot unconsciously leaned forward on his bar stool. “Would you like to hear them?”

“I believe I would, gorgeous.” Elliot replied.

Right, that was quite enough, if he had to listen anymore he would vomit - London whirled around and stepped between Claire Dawson and the door, blocking her path and looming over her.  

“Is one of them the fact that James Milford asked you to be out of the house on the night of September the 21st and then requested that you lie to police about it?” London said.

Claire’s eyes widened. “How did you - what are you - “

“So he did tell you to leave that night?” London said. “Come now, Miss. Dawson, you can either tell me or I can have you brought in on charges of perverting the cause of justice and, oh, shall we say conspiracy?”

“You’re London Holmes,” Claire said faintly, recognition dawning across her face. “Oh, fuck me.”

“That won’t be necessary, thankfully” London said. “So, would you prefer to talk here or at Scotland Yard?"

“Look, I didn’t know there was anything going on,” Claire said. “He told me to make sure I cleared out overnight, and when I got back in the morning there was a mess in the bedroom. He said to call the police and tell them I’d been there all night but hadn’t heard a thing, and he’d take care of it.  That’s all I know, all right? There’s no conspiracy, it’s not like that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” London said. “But I don’t imagine his children’s nanny and occasional lover would know much about it, anyway.”

Claire pressed her lips together tightly.  “Fuck you.” She snatched her purse from the back of the chair and turned to Elliot.  “And you. Asshole.” With that, she stormed out of the club, her blonde hair swishing behind her as she fled.

London turned to Elliot. "Honestly, have you ever been successful or have all your previous romantic entanglements with them been completely on accident?”

“Well, you tell me! Besides you sort of sprung the whole thing on me!” Elliot fired back. “And anyway, I was trying to get her to talk about Milford, not trying to get into her pants.”

“You didn’t do that very well either, did you,” London said.

Elliot tilted his head back and drained the rest of his drink.  “It didn’t matter, you were always planning to swoop in,” he said sourly.  

“Well, I couldn’t very well let you take her home, could I?” London said.

“Is that jealousy I hear? At any rate, it worked,” Elliot said as they escaped the loud, sweaty club. “Got what we needed, didn’t we? She wasn’t at home, and what’s more, Milford knew it!”

“More like he planned it himself,” London mused. “Which means the entire break-in was a setup.”

“But for what?” Elliot asked. “Why would Milford want to make it seem like someone had broken into his house?”

“I haven’t the slightest,” London said. He held up his hand to hail a cab. “Let’s go home, shall we? You performed adequately, if not admirably, and I'm going to require the rest of the evening to wash the dirt and stench from myself and you can do the same for my clothing. Then tomorrow he shall begin anew."

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“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

London was entirely sure. Almost entirely. Most of the way entirely sure.  

“Yes,” He said. “Are you ready?”

Elliot took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

London nodded, then raised his hand to signal to the two members of his homeless network loitering near the front gates of 10 Downing Street.

“Oi!” One of them shouted.  “Get out of my way!”  He shoved the other man dramatically.

“What’re you playing at?” The second man yelled, a bit too loud, in London’s opinion, but it did the job: the security guards were looking around in confusion, breaking out of their end-of-shift stupor to attend to the commotion.  

“Officer!” The first man said, waving at the guard nearest the gate that led to the side door. “Hey, I think he’s got a knife!”

The guard pushed off from where he’d been leaning idly against the fence and ambled toward the commotion, and London took the opportunity to quickly dismantle the lock and open the gate, heading for the employee entrance. As Elliot hurried along behind him. The shouting in front of the gate was reaching a fever pitch as London ushered Elliot through the door.

The door shut silently behind them and they stood in the carpeted hallway, their eyes adjusting to the darkness.  All was quiet; it was just before midnight, and the building was all but deserted.  

“And you’re sure the prime minister isn’t home?” Elliot whispered as they crept down the dim hallway. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” London said, counting doorways as they passed them. “If he were here, we would have been shot by now.”

“Lovely,” Elliot said.

“Don’t be melodramatic,” London said dismissively.  “We’ve survived being shot before. Here we are.”  He knelt down and picked the lock while Elliot looked around nervously and muttered something about being a genius but he can’t be worth this. London smothered a smile and opened the door to James Milford’s office.

“What are we even looking for?” Elliot said as London began opening desk drawers. “‘Anything suspicious’ was not the most useful descriptor.”

“Milford set up a break-in at his home for a reason,” London said.  “Either as part of a significantly more serious crime, or in order to create a cover story for the disappearance of something he’d stolen.”

“But how will we know when we’ve found it?” Elliot hissed, poking around the bookshelf. “And why would he hide it here, in his own office?”

“He thinks everything’s gone as planned,” London said. “No reason to think anyone’s looking. Well, that’s a bit inappropriate for work, wouldn’t you say?”

Elliot peered into the desk drawer London had just pried open. It was full of handcuffs, money, drugs, a gun, women's under garments and secret documents. “What - oh.”  Elliot chuckled. “Our government at work.”

“Indeed,” London said, poking through it with one gloved hand. “What reason would Milford have for keeping these in his office?”

“Perhaps he likes the risk of getting caught?” Elliot said. “I can see the appeal there.”

London shut the drawer and raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”

Elliot paused as a voice broke the silence. “Seven minutes,” The voice snapped. The Consulting Criminal turned around to face the voice. “That’s all you could give me? I was expecting ten.”

“I had originally planned on five,” Alexander said casually. “Consider it a early birthday present. However I’ve already alerted security; so I suggest you vacate the premises.”

London nodded toward the door, and Elliot slammed the cupboard shut.

“How long do we have now?” London asked, sprinting back toward the entrance, Elliot’s footfalls heavy on the carpet behind him.

“Thirty seconds,” Alexander called out.  

“Dammit,” London yelled.

“Dammit?” Elliot echoed back. “That doesn’t sound good.“

“Shut up and keep moving,” London said. They reached the door and London re-opened it. “When we get outside, you’re going to go towards the park.  I’ll go down Whitehall and we’ll meet at Trafalgar Square in fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t think we should split up, why don’t we - “

“Who’s going to explain Cruz why we both got arrested for breaking into Downing Street? Go,” London said, pushing the door open and shoving Elliot through it at the exact moment that a security guard sprinted around the corner, gun in hand.

Elliot, bless his soldier like instincts, ran full-out in the direction of St. James Park. London launched himself over the shrubs and landed hard on the pavement, barely getting his feet beneath him before he took off toward Whitehall. He heard shouting coming from the security gate, security going off inside the house, and above it all, Alexander's annoying voice screaming orders. The Consulting Criminal vowed to find a singularly cruel way to exact revenge upon his older brother. Perhaps he could break into his house again and move all his furniture 1 centimeter to the left or make a mess of his sock/tie index.

London twisted through the alleys behind the Scotland office before he found a low fence that he vaulted over, glad he’d left his coat at home, and found himself expelled onto Whitehall. It was as empty as it ever was, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, kept his head down and walked with exaggeratedly large strides toward Charing Cross. He thought of Elliot stumbling through St. James and dragged his attention back to the circuitous route he’d plotted, down to the river and back. He wondered if Elliot had made it far enough away from Downing Street to shake off the perimeter they were undoubtedly drawing around the building.


By the time he made it to Trafalgar Square, the wind assaulting him felt like pinpricks of ice. His eyes were wide open, scanning the brightly lit square filled with tourists still snapping pictures of the everything around them, looking for any sign and he found it.

A vicious right hook to his jaw knocked him to the ground.

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Cruz was on his fourth cup of coffee and wishing his headache would go away when the main culprit of said headache arrived at the Yard. He looked up from his current stack of paperwork and shook his head slightly at the sight that met him.“Since I do not need the extra paperwork, I am going to pretend that you weren't responsible for that stunt at number 10.” He said as London, now wearing a black eye, walked into his office. “Also I haven’t got anything new for you, I told you, it’s a holiday, London - “

“This is about something old,” London said. "Something old and ignored and very, very important.”

“What’s he on about?” London heard Cruz say to Elliot.

“No idea,” Elliot replied. “Wouldn’t say a word in the cab.”

“The burglary of James Milford’s safe.” London said.

Cruz blinked.“What, you’ve figured out who stole whatever it was he had in there?”

“No one stole anything,” London said. “It wasn’t a burglary. It was a leak.”

Cruz looked from London to Elliot and back to London. “Come again?”

“James Milford is one of the prime minister’s top advisers,” London said. “He regularly has access to sensitive information - personnel records and private schedules, for example. Information that is supposed to be restricted.”  He turned to Cruz. “If you were the political opponent of the prime minister and you discovered an incredibly damaging secret about one of his chief advisers, what would you do?”

Cruz blinked. “Sell it?”

“Wrong.” London rolled his eyes. “Elliot?”

“I’d use it for blackmail.” Elliot said.  

“Obviously,” London said.

“You’ve been spending too much time with him,” Cruz muttered to Elliot.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Elliot said.

“A scandal surrounding a single politician takes up space in the papers for a few weeks, but once the man in question resigns, the party washes its hands of the situation,” London said. “But if it comes out that a member of the prime minister’s party, one of his chief advisers, is leaking confidential information - well, that might very well be enough for a vote of no confidence.”

“So you think Milford was blackmailed into leaking information,” Elliot said, frowning. “But how?”

“Erotic asphyxiation,” London said.  

“You’ve lost me, again." Cruz said.  

London turned to the evidence wall Cruz had set up and pointed to a photo from a file from September, then showed Elliot and Cruz the image of the hastily-dressed woman. “Sarah Adams, age 30. Her death was ruled an accident by the examiner's office: she died as a result of suffocation.”

“Correct,” Cruz said. “You said it yourself, it was an accident.”

“And quite an embarrassing one, too,” London pointed out. “Did anyone ever come forward, did you ever find the boyfriend who so hurriedly abandoned her?”

“No,” Cruz said, and shifted in his seat. “Didn’t seem worth pursuing, really, not compared to everything else going on.  Hang on a moment, what’s she got to do with - ”

“According to her employment records, Sarah Adams served as the live-in nanny for James and Rose Milford for three years until Claire Dawson took over two summers ago,” London replied. “And considering that Mr. Milford has a penchant for sleeping with the help and a veritable treasure trove of damning paraphernalia in his office at 10 Downing Street, it’s easily deduced that he was sexually involved with Miss Adams, and that he was in all likelihood the boyfriend present at the time of her suspicious death. So easily deduced, in fact, that someone else has been blackmailing Mr. Milford with that very fact in order to force him to give away confidential information from the Prime Minister’s office.”

“So you’re saying he was blackmailed over a woman he didn’t even kill? He jeopardized the safety of the Prime Minister and millions of British citizens because he was embarrassed?”

“People have done worse to keep their secrets safe,” London quietly said knowing all too well.  

“So who’s blackmailing him?” Cruz asked.  

“I have no idea,” London replied. “But we’re about to find out.”

“How?” Elliot asked.

“I’ve been in contact with the nanny. We already knew she was attracted to powerful men; once I assured her I wasn’t going to turn her in for conspiracy, it was exceedingly simple to convince her to keep track of her employer and any suspicious visitors to his home. He asked her this morning to vacate the premises overnight.”  

“Have you considered the possibility that he asked her to clear out because it’s New Year’s Eve?” Cruz asked. “And anyway, we can’t go now, the whole force is out patrolling.  It’s the fireworks in less than an hour.”

London strode out of the office. “I don’t care how you get your officers together, just do it. James Milford is about to leak another government secret.”

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"Exceedingly simple to convince her, hm?" Elliot muttered as their cab pulled onto Holland Park Avenue.  

“Relax. There is no need to mark your territory nor defend your manhood or my honor.” London calmly said. "Let us out here, please. We’ll walk the rest of the way.”  

As Elliot fussed with money to pay the cab driver, London caught sight of one of his homeless network on the corner and walked over to them.

“Any unusual arrivals?” He asked.

“One went in the front door, two went around back,” She said.  

London dropped a fiver into her cup. “Police are on their way, you may want to clear out.”

“Happy New Year,” The woman called, gathering up her belongings and taking off down the street.

“So what’s the plan?” Elliot asked, jogging to keep up with London’s long strides down the road to Milford’s house. “We can’t exactly walk in the front door.”

“That’s precisely what we’re going to do,” London said.  “Milford already has company, after all. He won’t notice.”  

They climbed onto Milford’s front stoop and paused outside the door, their breath visible in the night air. The front windows were dark, and the Consulting Criminal could hear children playing in the house next door. He glanced down the block one last time; the street was hushed, the sounds of traffic muted by the trees and high walls of the expensive neighborhood.

“So who do you think is going to be in there?” Elliot whispered as London pulled out his lock pick.  

“Probably a minor government official,” London said, turning the pick slowly until he felt the groove of the lock. “God, I hope it’s Alexander.  Can you shoot him for me?”

Elliot laughed. “I’m not going to shoot your brother.”

“Why must you spoil all my fun?” London hissed as the lock clicked open. Elliot froze as the door swung slowly inward, his hand buried in his coat pocket.  “Stay here.”

“What?  No- “

“Keep watch,” London whispered. “If anyone arrives before Cruz, do something.” Elliot frowned but turned his back to the door as London pushed it all the way open and stepped into the front hall.

There was a light on at the end of the hall, in the kitchen, and voices echoing down the long hallway. London crept down the hall, listening to Elliot shut the door quietly behind him.  

“ - anything you’re interested in,” A voice was saying: Milford, no doubt.

“You mean you don’t have anything that can’t be traced back to you,” A posh and enormously bored-sounding voice replied. It could've been Alexander. Him and his people all sounded the same. It seemed to be one the job requirements.

“Well, doesn’t your plan hinge on that? At least for now.”

“You knew we’d be here this evening,” The second voice said. “You knew what we wanted. Please do drop the act; I’m incredibly busy.”

“Robert, I don’t have anything,” Milford said. He sounded frightened and frustrated and resentful. “Please, give me another week.”

“I’ve given you plenty of time,” The other voice said. “You’re testing my patience. Don’t you understand how quickly I could destroy you, James? Your wife and children are vacationing in Greece, are they not? Won’t it be a pity for them to come home and find you’ve been arrested for your mistress’s murder?”

“He didn’t kill her,” London said. All eyes falling upon him in shock and surprise as he entered the room.

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James Milford, pale and nervous-looking, gasped and gripped the edge of the table he was seated at. His blackmailer, Robert, a taller man with an impeccable suit, stood near the bar, a glass of brandy in his hand.  

“Pardon me?” The tall man said. His nostrils flared furiously. He’d clearly not expected his performance to be interrupted.  

“Nobody killed her, actually,” London said. “So I’m afraid you’re missing the crucial element of your attempt to blackmail Mr. Milford.”

Robert glanced from London to Milford and back, his lip curled. “Do you know who I am?”

“Someone powerful enough to send others to do his dirty work, but mad enough to want to do it himself,” London replied. “In all likelihood, a politician. Although I honestly do not care.”

The man arched a disdainful eyebrow. London wondered if it was the right moment to point out that he was overdue for his regular anti-wrinkle injections. “James, did you hire this dope fiend of a wannabe detective, who is a disgrace to his family, to do your bidding? That is incredibly unwise. It hardly seems necessary to point out that even Mr Holmes here, will be unable to extricate you from this mess of your own making.” He tutted patronizingly.  

“Indeed, his abandonment of his ex-nanny on the floor of her bedroom was cowardly, but I believe you’re the one who’s been using that information to extort him into turning over confidential information about the Prime Minister. That is incredibly unwise.” The Consulting Criminal made sure to throw Robert's words back at him.

“How do you know about Sarah?“ Milford said faintly.

“I was the one who realized that her death was an accident,” London said. “You thought you were arriving at her home for another lustful evening away from your family, only to have her die before you’d hardly gotten started. More concerned for your own career than for the dignity of a woman you’d been involved with for years, you dressed her in the nearest clothes and left to be found nearly a day later.” London glanced at Milford, who was frozen with shock. “Of course, even without the murder charge, the scandal of a dead mistress is enough to dismantle your career. Probably wasn’t worth the treason, though. Pity.”

“This has all been very entertaining,” Robert said smoothly, “but I’m in the middle of a business transaction that doesn’t concern you, Mr. Holmes. If you’ll see yourself out?”

“Oh, I think I’d rather like to stay and watch,” London stood his ground.

Robert set down his drink and replied threateningly. “You really wouldn’t.”

“Is this about the man you have in the garden? I hardly believe he’s a good enough shot to hit me through the window,” London said. He craned his neck to glance out the French doors that led to the small garden behind the kitchen. “In fact he’s hiding rather poorly in the bushes right now. You may want to consider hiring better help next time you go to blackmail someone. If you get the chance that is.”

“Your brother may not be afraid to throw his weight around, Mr. Holmes, but I think you’ll find that your threats have very little effect here,” Robert said. He glanced almost imperceptibly at the hallway behind London, and he pressed his lips together in satisfaction. He clearly wasn’t the type of man to leave a mess behind; his second hired gun would appear in the hallway and hold the Consulting Criminal at gunpoint while he fled out the front door and directly to safer grounds. Then Cruz and his force would arrive.  

All London had to do was stall.

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“Well, I suppose you are a man who knows something about threats,” London said casually. He heard the man behind him creep down the hall, his footfalls almost embarrassingly loud for someone trying to be silent. “If you weren’t using the information to reveal classified information, I might even be impressed. How many members of the prime minister’s inner circle are you having followed?”

“On any given day?” Robert smirked. “Nearly all of them.”

“You must know all sorts of fascinating secrets,” London said. “Tell me, how many sugars in the Chief of Staff’s coffee?”

His smirk soured. “If you think anyone will believe what you saw tonight,” Robert said, “You are very sorely mistaken. You may be a celebrity, Mr. Holmes, but that doesn’t preclude you from the possibility of falling victim to some tragic - accident.”

The cold barrel of a gun came to rest just below the Consulting Criminal's right ear.  

“Now there’s the threat I was expecting,” London said.  

“Marcus, if you’ll escort Mr. Holmes out?” Robert said. “There’s a car waiting.”

London sighed. All he had to do was admit defeat, take his time getting out, and wait for Cruz to hopefully arrive; it was all so simple.  

“On the other hand,” Robert said thoughtfully, “Perhaps you should just kill him.”

Well. Perhaps not too simple.

“You’re clearly not as good a source as we were hoping for, James,” Robert said to Milford. “Perhaps it’s best to just tie this one off. You’ll take the blame for shooting Mr. Holmes - he was breaking into your home, after all - and no one will ever connect you to the leaks. This actually works out rather nicely for you, don’t you agree?”

Milford’s eyes were very wide; it was clear that he was only just realizing that they were dealing with a madman.  London was determining whether the man with a gun to his head would suffer more from an elbow to the solar plexus or the jugular, calculating the probability that Robert himself was armed, and planning his route back to the front door. Elliot would be furious if he was shot again; they’d certainly be having words if he came out of this case with another bullet wound.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Robert said. “Marcus, if you will?”

“Stop right there,” A voice said from the hallway.

“For the love of...” London said, exasperated.

“Oh.“ Alexander said, equally exasperated, gun in hand as he walked into the room. “You’re welcome for not letting you get shot, you stupid - ” And that’s when the third man came up behind him and hit him in the temple with the butt of his gun.

The moment Alexander hit the floor, London knew exactly what he had to do. His original plan and all the data he had collected was now null and void.

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London elbowed his own captor in the stomach and kneed him in the groin, then stomped on his hand when he reached for his gun. Robert bolted out the back door to the garden, leaving the French doors wide open behind him; Milford dove into the adjoining parlor and cowered behind an over sized chintz ottoman. Alexander's attacker was raising his weapon again when seemingly out of nowhere, Elliot appeared and swung around and clocked him in the side of the head, and he went down like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

London took the gun from the first henchman and counted the rounds. Five, which meant the Consulting Criminal could fire three into the door frame and make it look like Alexander had been shot at before shooting each of the gunmen in the kneecap, should be enough to get any charges thrown out. Before he could fire, a team of police officers burst in through the front door.

“Finally!” London shouted as Cruz followed them in and dropped to his knees beside Alexander.

“Get help in here now!" He yelled as his people pinned down the two henchmen. “London, are you alright?”

“Of course I am, don’t be stupid,” London said, feeling a little off balance as one of the officers cuffed the prone body of the man he’d been standing on. “Robert... “

“Is the building clear?” Donovan interrupted. “Holmes, are you listening to me? How many were there?”

“There was a third, Robert, but he’s gone out the back,” London said. He nodded at Milford, lying on the floor of his own living room with his hands in the air. “This one reports to the Prime Minister, you might want to be careful with him.”

Donovan raised an eyebrow and followed the officer escorting Milford out the door. Around them, police officers were shouting at each other, it seemed like Robert hadn't got far and was resisting the inevitable. London also had a dim impression of people outside shouting. Cruz had his hand on Alexander's shoulder, and London could see blood pouring out of the wound on his brother's temple. He still had not opened his eyes.

“He’s breathing,” Cruz said, looking up at London, and he wondered why he was saying that, of course he was breathing, he was Alexander Holmes, he was always breathing, he would always be breathing, unless he had a direct order to stop. Somebody pulled London out of the way, it was Elliot and London realized that the medics had arrived, they were taking Alexander’s pulse and looking at his pupils and saying something about how long he’d been unconscious, and Cruz stood shoulder to shoulder with London and Elliot as Alexander was loaded carefully onto a stretcher.

“I’m going to pretend I didn't see this,” Cruz said quietly as he handed London his brother's gun.  

“Noted,” London said as he took the weapon and place it in his waistband, staring at his brother's eyelids as he followed the stretcher out the front door.  

“Go on, then,” Cruz said as the medics lifted Alexander's stretcher. “Get in the ambulance.”

"Why?" London asked.

“Norbury." London whirled around. The voice had been quiet, and pained, and distinctly Alexander's and of course he'd choose now to use that word. The Consulting Criminal sighed and walked past a medic and somewhat reluctantly climbed into the ambulance.

“I'm here." London quietly said. In the background, he heard the faint sounds of fireworks going off in the surrounding neighborhood.

“Okay?" Alexander asked.  

“Why do people insist on asking me that?” London replied. “You’re the idiot who walked into the butt of a gun.”

"I had to stop you somehow." Alexander said. London was searching for a reply when the noise of the medics, the blaring lights of the police car and Elliot's appearance by the ambulance door suddenly came into clear focus and disrupted his thoughts.

“See you at the hospital,” Elliot said and shut the ambulance door.

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What were you thinking?” London said as he walked into Alexander’s hospital room two hours later and sat down on another uncomfortable plastic chair.

Alexander blinked at him. “Pardon?” From the chair next to the bed, Cruz rolled his eyes.  

“You knew Milford was the leak.” London said. “

I did,” Alexander replied.

London squeezed the plastic arm rest of the hospital chair. “So why did you put me on the case?”  

“If you’ll recall, I tried taking you off the case two separate times. The morning you broke into my office and helped yourself to the contents of my desk and that night you broke into Milford's office. But I involved you originally because it would have been preferable for the discovery to originate outside my office.”

“Politics.” London replied with a bored tone.

"And, to be entirely honest,” Alexander said, “We were curious as to why. Milford has been a party man for more than thirty years, there was no discernible reason for him to begin leaking government secrets.”

“Sex. It really does make people do stupid things.” London replied.

“And how would you know that, brother mine?" Alexander asked somewhat surprised.

“Don’t be dull,” London said. “I had the situation under control; I was seconds away from driving the blackmailer directly out the front door, where Inspector Cruz would have been able to easily apprehend him. Instead you, brother dear were compelled to, I assume bribe or sneak your way past Elliot and follow me inside and be the hero. There wouldn’t have been any danger if you hadn’t shown up exactly when you did. Robert would not have had the chance to run and you would not be laying here. God forbid you have a shred of faith in me." 

“Well, forgive me for deciding not to stand by while you got shot because you once again acted like a petulant child and disobeyed my original orders. Now if you’re quite finished with your childish tantrum, you can see yourself out. We can further our discussion and wrap things up once you are ready to be an adult.” Alexander said.

London frowned.  

"Inspector Cruz do you mind?” Alexander asked The Inspector who was already on his feet.

“Not at all,” Cruz said, grabbing the sleeve of London’s coat and hauling him to his feet. London stared at the side of his brother's head as Cruz dragged him out of the hospital room, down the stairs, and out to the street. The Inspector finally let go when they were standing at the curb, and London pulled on the collar of his coat. 

“That was entirely unnecessary.” The Consulting Criminal said.

Cruz pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “What was unnecessary was you being an utter asshole when he’s barely woken up from what could have been a very serious head injury. You’ve got the worst bedside manner I’ve ever seen.” He held a cigarette out to London, and the Consulting Criminal snatched it out of his hand before he changed his mind. Cruz lit London's and then his own, and London took a deep breath of smoke before breathing it out.

"Sentiment, Inspector. It'll get you nowhere." London coldly replied.

"No. You’ve just got to stop being such an asshole.” Cruz spat back.

London raised an eyebrow.  “Excuse me?” “

"In there just now,” Cruz said, nodding to the hospital. “He’s waking up with a concussion and you’re biting his head off. Those guys could have just as easily shot him, and you...”

“Precisely, which is why he should have stayed away. I had everything under control. Why does nobody see that?" London said as he took another drag of his cigarette. “Also I fail to see what this has to do with any of the rest of it.”

“You do know why you reacted the way you did, don’t you?” Cruz pointed out. “It’s because you were worried. You were worried and frightened and instead of just bloody saying that, you lashed out at him. And I get that, I really do, but you can’t do that to him.”

London inhaled deeply, paper turning to ash at the end of his cigarette. “You really don't and I didn’t realize when I accepted a cigarette I was signing up for a session with a psychoanalyst. So if you are quite finished playing Doctor, I'm going to find Elliot and then going home. Tell my brother whatever you wish. Goodnight.”

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“You know, someone who lives in this residence is primed to shoot intruders on sight,” London said as he made his way down the hall from his bedroom.

“And a good morning to you as well.” Alexander said, not looking up from the paper he was reading. The headline “Holmes Solves Another!” in block letters on the front page. The Consulting Criminal rolled his eyes. It certainly didn't take long.

London threw himself into his own chair sideways, placing his legs over the arm and glared at his brother. “What do you want?"

“I can’t make a social call on a Saturday morning?” Alexander asked as he folded the newspaper and placed it neatly in the center of the coffee table.

“Oh I'm sure you can. Just anywhere but here.” London replied. It was boringly obvious why he was there.

“It’s unlike you to sleep in,” Alexander said lightly. “Nearly 7-AM. Where's Elliot? Late night?” Alexander said as he took in the appearance of his brother. Barefoot, wearing trousers from last night and the blue silk robe that Alexander had brought him a few months ago after the last one met a bullet filled end in what his brother was calling an "experiment".

London raised an eyebrow. His brother was trying to get him to admit it out loud: irritating, and ultimately useless. When the Consulting Criminal was a child, he’d often maintained a sullen silence in Alexander's presence for days, weeks and even a month at a time if he chose. He would happily do it again right now. He would be that "petulant child".

"Fine. I'm here, despite our disagreement last night, to extend an invitation. Your presence is requested, tonight at exactly 7:30-PM, brother mine. Because a few minor indiscretions, you did your job exceptionally well and there is quite a few people who wish to thank you." Alexander explained.

London threw an arm over his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh as he turned to face his brother, who looked tired and hurting. Why he was already released from hospital, London could not understand. "How incredibly noble and equally boring. They thank me and also take the credit. So please forgive me if I don't accept your invitation with enthusiasm and if the blow to your head did not cause brain tissue to change shape or cause chemical and metabolic change within your brain cells, you can go tell them that and then take yourself right back home or wherever you go of a nighttime." The Consulting Criminal pointed out.

"I will be there as will you. Because I will personally be back here at 7-PM and if you are not ready, I will not hesitate to restrain you and then have Elliot or myself dress you. Understood?" Alexander said.

"Elliot is more inclined to taking off the clothes versus putting them on!" Elliot called out from the direction of the bathroom. Alexander rolled his eyes and London fought down his laughter. "I am serious, brother mine. Whether you like it or not, you are apart of a team and not only that you are now getting paid for your services. So you will attend and you will be an adult about it." Alexander rose from his seat and made his way towards the still open door, London watched his every move from his now semi-upside down position on his chair. 

"7-PM. Do not test me." Alexander reminded the Consulting Criminal one last time before he disappeared from sight.

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