soledad_writes

SHERLOCK & THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT
by Soledad

Author’s note: A few lines of dialogue are borrowed from “The Adventure of the Illustrious Client”. Baron Gruner is “played” by Richard Armitage.

Timeframe: After Sherlock’s return. John has been married to Mary for about a year and moved out of 221B Baker Street.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER 05 – IN THE LION’S DEN

September 4th 2014

After releasing John to his reconciliatory dinner with Mary, Sherlock called Shinwell Johnson, giving the man detailed instructions about what kind of information he would need. Then he spent an hour considering the various possibilities he could follow. When he finally came to a decision, he jumped to his feet and hurried down to 221C.

“Billy, I think I’d like to come to close grips with my man,” he told his young sidekick. “I’ll go and meet him eye to eye and see for myself the stuff he’s made of. Get me a cab; I’m going out to Kingston.”

Even though Billy could not, in any way, be compared to John, he did have one advantage on the good doctor: he was an adventurous soul who didn’t really think of the possible danger and neither did he care about the likely consequences. Diving headfirst into everything was his preferred method.

“Can I go with you, Mr Holmes?” he asked excitedly.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment. On the one hand, he didn’t want to endanger Billy; the boy was very useful, and he’d have hated to lose him. On the other hand, it might be practical to have somebody outside the Baron’s house to call the police if necessary.

“Very well,” he said. “But you’ll have to wait for me outside. Should I not return within the hour, you’ll call Lestrade. Understood?”

Billy nodded eagerly. Several times, in fact. “Oh yes, Mr Holmes!”

“All right, then,” Sherlock hesitated for a moment whether he should put on his Belstaff – an exact replica of his trusted old coat that had been irreparably ruined by his ‘suicide’ – but in the end decided against it. He might feel like a naked snail without it (in fact, he did), but temperatures had risen considerably since the previous day, so that wearing a greatcoat would not only have been uncomfortably warm, it would also have been ridiculous.

And if there was anything Sherlock hated with a passion, it was being ridiculed by idiots who compensated for their lack of intellect by mocking a genius.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Therefore he decided that a suit and a silk scarf (serving purely decorative purposes) would have to do and off he went, Billy waiting with a cab for him already. He briefly regretted not having John – not to mention John’s gun – with him but that couldn’t be helped at the moment. John was at the Babur with Mary, enjoying the dinner he had organised for them, and he had to get used to the fact that his best friend no longer was exclusively his.

The trip to Kingston took longer than expected, mostly because they got caught in the rush hour, but it was still full daylight when they reached Vernon Lodge. The large house was every bit as pompous and tasteless as it looked on its internet photos, but there was no use disputing 19th century fashion and architecture. Some periods simply had an unfortunate preference for overdone pomp.

Plus, money wanted to show off, no matter at which time.

“Wait here for me with the boy,” Sherlock said to the cabbie. “I won’t be long. Billy, you remember what you have to do?”

“Yes, Mr Holmes, sir,” Billy beamed with excitement.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but didn’t comment on the young man’s childish delight. After all, wasn’t he the same every time a new, promising case showed up? At least Billy was here with him.

That reminded him that he needed to keep John informed, so he quickly fired off a text message.

Johnson is on the prowl. Meet you tomorrow at Simpson’s; usual time, usual table. SH

There was no immediate answer. John had most likely switched off his phone. Or muted it. He wouldn’t check his messages more often than once an hour. That was Mary’s only allowance during a family dinner.

Sherlock suppressed an impatient sigh, shook his head and headed towards the front door of the sprawling mansion. It was time to face the lion in its den, and sometimes a direct approach was the best. If Violet had truly fallen for the Baron as much as Sir James seemed to believe, she’d already have told him about her connection to the Holmes family.

The question remained, of course, if that made the Baron realise whom he was up against.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Unlike poor Billy earlier in the afternoon, the smooth, middle-aged butler who answered the door could have directly stepped out of the set of Downton Abbey.

“Can I help you sir?” he asked with a North Yorkshire accent that, too, would have made the showrunners of that particular TV-show weep with delight.

Sure, it was a false one, but magnificently falsified.

Sherlock handed him one of his more elaborate business cards; the one with the Sherringford family crest in the corner. He didn’t really like the fancy card, but it did have its uses. Like now.

“I’d like a word with Baron Gruner if he’s affable,” he replied, with just a hint of Mycroft’s more emphasized accent in his voice. He could do posh with the best of them, even if he usually chose not to.

His card was put on a small silver tray that the butler produced seemingly out of nowhere – it was an excellent sleigh-of-hand move; Sherlock mentally warned himself to check his pockets before leaving the house – and the man bowed slightly.

“I shall ask the Baron in a moment, sir. If you’d be so good as following me to the foyer in the meantime…”

That was very much to Sherlock’s liking because it would give him the chance to make some undisturbed observations about the house itself. He’d have to be careful, of course; and excellent and highly successful antagonist like Gruner would have his own surveillance devices installed everywhere, so making records – written or electronic ones – wouldn’t be advisable.

Fortunately, Sherlock didn’t need such crude methods to remember things. That was what his Mind Palace was for.

So he waited in the ground floor foyer, his eyes systematically cataloguing the marble staircase leading to the upper floors, with gilded bronze candelabra standing at each turn, the antiquated cabinets – made of dark, polished wood and intricately carved – displaying the finest pieces of the Baron’s Chinese pottery collection, the ancient yet clearly functional weapons mounted on the walls within easy reach, and filled away every detail for further use.

He was certain that he’d have to return to Vernon Lodge later, and for such a case knowing the exact place of everything in the foyer could prove vital.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He was almost done when one of the doors on his left opened and out came the Baron himself, wearing black Armani slacks, a tailored silk shirt and hand-made Italian leather slippers under a dressing gown of heavy, figured black silk. He could have descended the marble staircase for greater effort but he clearly didn’t feel the need for such theatrical gestures, which spoke of considerable self-confidence.

Albert Gruner might not have been nobly born, but he definitely had breeding in him – a real aristocrat of crime he was, with a superficial suggestion of afternoon tea and all the cruelty of the grave behind it. He gave Sherlock a cool smile that never reached his very dark, almost black eyes, and with a sudden jolt of excitement Sherlock realised that he was facing the first true adversary of his own calibre since the demise of Jim Moriarty.

“I rather expected to see you sooner or later, Mr Holmes,” the Baron said in a silky voice by way of greeting; it sounded like the purring of a cat who thought to see a prospective mouse. “You’ve been hired, no doubt, by General Merville to try stopping my marriage with his daughter, the lovely Violet, am I right?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Quite frankly, I haven’t seen the General since I was sixteen years old, I think, and even then, he made no secret of his contempt towards me. Few of my father’s… associates ever did.”

A sarcastic eyebrow rose towards the Baron’s slicked-back, dark curls. “Then why are you here?”

“Because my brother loves to interfere with other people’s lives and unfortunately, I’m in his debt,” Sherlock admitted morosely.

Sometimes the truth – or part of it – was the best lie; and it seemed he’d chosen the right answer, as the Baron shot him an amused glance.

“Oh, yes, Violet told me about your childish little feud that has gone on for more than thirty years,” he said. “As you can see, I know well enough who you are, Mr Holmes. And I must admit that I’m impressed by what you’ve achieved so far.”

“I’m flattered,” Sherlock said flatly.

“You should be; very few people manage to impress me,” the Baron replied. “It would be a crying shame to ruin your excellent reputation with a case in which you can’t possibly succeed, though. You’d only waste your valuable time; not to mention endanger yourself. Let me give you a piece of well-meant advice: back off as long as you still can.”

“That’s odd,” Sherlock answered with thinly veiled irony. “I was just about to give you the same advice. I’ve researched you, Baron, and I’ve come to respect your intellect. What little I’ve seen from your personality hasn’t lessened that respect a bit.”

“I’m flattered,” the Baron echoed his previous words.

“You should be; not many people manage to impress me, either,” Sherlock said. “So let me give you a fair warning. Nobody gives a flying shit about your past, as my friend Doctor Watson would so eloquently put it. All that happened in a different time, in a different country, and is not our concern. But if you persist in this marriage, you’ll raise some powerful enemies who’ll make sure that England would become too hot to hold you. Is the game worth it?”

“Isn’t the game the only thing that makes worth taking great risks?” the Baron turned around the question. “Isn’t it how you’ve lived all your life, Mr Holmes? Do you really think that people like General Merville, or that old fool Sir James Demery can make me back off? Or that you can?”

“I wasn’t speaking of the General or Sir James,” Sherlock said. “You’re right; they’re men of the old school and therefore mostly harmless for the likes of you and me. But I have an obligation to other people who are powerful and ruthless beyond even your imagination; and yes, I think I can make you back off if I put my mind to it.”

For a moment the Baron seemed to consider his words. But then he just shook his head and chuckled.

“And I think that you’re trying to play a hand with no cards in it, Mr Holmes. It’s an excellent bluff, no-one could do it better, but it’s rather pathetic, all the same. Not one colour card there; nothing but the smallest of the small.”

“So you think,” Sherlock replied, although he was bluffing, and they both knew it.

“So I know,” the Baron said. “My hand, on the other hand, is so strong that I can afford showing it. I assume you’re planning to talk to Violet; to ‘open her eyes’ as those naïve old fools would say, in the hope that she’d change her mind about marrying me when she gets confronted with my shadowy past, aren’t you?”

“Not if I can help it,” Sherlock answered bluntly. “I know you’ve already done so and fed her your own version; and while I don’t know how you’ve done it, knowing how incredibly stubborn she can be, I don’t like wasting my time. Besides, Violet and I never liked each other. I always made great efforts to avoid the necessity of speaking to her – it’s tedious and boring and utterly useless, most of the time. I might make an exception this time, though; if only to see whether she’s still as annoying and self-absorbed as she used to be.”

“Careful, Mr Holmes,” the Baron said, and for the first time there was a faint touch of enmity in his voice. “It’s my future wife you’re speaking about.”

“So what?” Sherlock returned. “Her intent to marry you against all sensible warnings doesn’t rise my respect for her intellect half a notch, and if she insists on doing so then, I think, she deserves her fate. Unfortunately for you, there are some people who disagree.” He looked around, taking in the objects and dimensions of the foyer one last time. “Well, this was all very interesting, but I think I’ll take my leave from you now. It seems we both have said everything we had to say, and I for my part am not for idle chatter.”

“Neither am I,” the Baron replied congenially; but when Sherlock already had his hand on the doorknob, he stopped him for a moment. “By the way, Mr Holmes, I understand you knew Le Brun, the French agent?”

Sherlock nodded. Le Brun had been one of the people he used to work with on taking down the French connections of Moriarty’s web… quite successfully. That the Baron would know about their association was disturbing but not truly surprising. The higher ups in the criminal classes always kept tabs on each other.

“I heard that he was beaten up by some unknown attackers while working undercover on a case in the drug scene and was crippled for life,” he said slowly. “It happened last year, if I remember correctly.”

The Baron nodded, smiling in that inscrutable way of his.

“Quite true, Mr Holmes; terrible business, wasn’t it? By curious coincidence he’d been intriguing about my affairs only a week before. Don’t make the same mistake, Mr Holmes; it’s not a lucky thing to do. You wouldn’t be the first person to find that out; not the last one.”

“Are you threatening me, Baron?” Sherlock asked softly. It was a tone that usually made strong men weep, but the Baron didn’t even blink.

“Not at all, Mr Holmes,” he said. “Just a friendly warning. If you’re really as smart as you’re said to be, you’d head it, though. Good-bye.”

“Then let me return the favour and give you a friendly warning,” Sherlock said. “It’s not a smart thing to challenge Sherlock Holmes. Challenges are something I find hard to resist; and once I’ve picked up the gauntlet, you won’t get another chance to back off. Good-bye.”

He turned around without hurry and walked out of the house to where Billy and the cab were still waiting for him patiently.

“Let’s go home, Billy,” he said. “The game’s on, and I’ve got the feeling that we’ll need to collect all our cards if we intend to win. This time we’re playing with a wickedly good player.”

Billy just stared at him with suddenly very mature eyes and shook his head.

“You shouldn’t enjoy this so much, Mr Holmes,” he said solemnly. “Things tend to take a turn to the worse every time you’re like this.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You’re worse than John sometimes. Let’s go, we’ve got work to do!”

Billy opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then changed his mind and climbed into the cab after Sherlock without further arguments.

~TBC~