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"Are you sure – “
“Of course I’m sure. Have faith in me, good man. Have I ever led us astray before?”
“There was that time with the Cunninghams.”
“An unfortunate mishap; you must admit the situation was entirely unavoidable.”
“And the affair with the beryl coronet.”
“Now really, how was I to know the boy was innocent?”
“And Norbury.”
Sholmes stopped, the lockpick in his hand stilling as he peered back at Mikotoba. “I said to only bring up that name when I was being truly ridiculous.” He pouted.
“Oh, no, you being truly ridiculous was your insistence that we ignore our mail for the last week because you are upset with your brother for some perceived slight.” Mikotoba shook his head. “This,” he gestured emphatically at the window, “is something entirely different.”
“Come now, my good man.” Sholmes seemed entirely undeterred by Mikotoba’s admonishments. “What were we to do? Not break into Lord van Ziek’s party?”
“Yes!” Mikotoba hissed as Sholmes turned his attention back to the window, shimmying the lockpick around. “You do not even enjoy society events!”
“Perhaps,” Sholmes admitted imperiously as the lock gave way with a satisfying click. “But it is rather the principle of the whole thing, wouldn’t you agree?”
“The principle,” Mikotoba echoed flatly as Sholmes shoved the window open. “Is that why you insisted on this costuming?”
Sholmes raised an eyebrow, hiking up his voluminous skirts with a smooth sweep of his hand. He hoisted himself on top of the window ledge, settling as he looked back at Mikotoba. “You act as if this is the first time we’ve trespassed in such costuming before,” he said lightly before slipping into the darkened room.
“Our previous excursions were for a good cause,” Mikotoba protested, even as he followed Sholmes into the house.
“And the cause here is excellent!” Sholmes was straightening as Mikotoba entered the room, smoothing his skirts out and re-adjusting the feather he had secured to his head with a copious number of pins. “We have been snubbed, Mikotoba! We have regularly assisted Lord van Zieks on cases and he in turn refuses to invite us to his birthday? It is an insult to both of us. Now, focus. Enough of your fretting – do I look presentable?”
In the low light, Mikotoba could barely make out the features of Sholmes’ elaborate costume. He was wearing a scandalously low-cut gown, bright red and utterly shameless. Long white gloves accentuated his delicate wrists, making his narrow hands look like bright, white birds. They flitted gracefully about as Sholmes adjusted his dress, drawing Mikotoba’s attention with each precise and practiced flick of his sensitive fingers. His face had been somehow softened with makeup, his eyes enlarged, lashes elongated, and lips filled out. The entire effect made Sholmes look impossibly elegant and feminine, despite his unnatural height.
Sholmes, Mikotoba realized with some degree of reluctance, made for a very attractive woman.
“You look entirely presentable,” Mikotoba conceded with a sigh. “Beautiful and charming and certainly passable as Miss Irene Adler.”
“And you, my charming escort, Mr. Taro Yamada.” Sholmes reached forward, readjusting Mikotoba’s jacket and straightening his lapels. “Come along then. I want to see if Mary will recognize me.”
“Must you torment that poor creature?” Mikotoba asked. “Every time we visit Lord van Zieks you insist on involving her in your schemes - “
“Mary is not some poor creature.” Sholmes sniffed haughtily. “Because of your narrow notions of class, you fail to realize that Mary is one of the most brilliant minds in this country.”
“You only believe that because she has managed to see through your disguises.”
“Ex-actly.” Sholmes beamed. “She is a marvel. Had she been born into a different station of life, she may have changed the course of our nation. To be regaled as a housemaid for Lord van Zieks because of her birth when she should have been affecting the course of world history. Ah, more’s the pity!”
With that, Sholmes hurried to the door, grabbing the handle and pulling it open. He peeked his head out and, apparently satisfied with what he saw, stepped out of the room and proceeded down the long hallway. Mikotoba trailed closely behind. A low murmur of voices and snatches of music informed them that the party was well under way, and as they approached the main ballroom, the noise only grew louder. Finding the ballroom was a simple task, but Mikotoba felt no small amount of relief when they reached it and slipped into the crowd that had already gathered.
“I am rather surprised,” Sholmes said thoughtfully, flicking his fan open to hide his face as he examined the room. “I had thought Mary would be better prepared for our campaign.”
“You do not think that, perhaps, your vendetta against this poor maid is entirely unfair?”
“It is not,” Sholmes insisted with a slightly manic gleam in his eyes. “She is a worthy adversary - the only worthy adversary I have found in many months - and I am merely paying her the respect she deserves.”
Mikotoba let out a small huff that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh and the corner of Sholmes’ mouth quirked up. “I must say, though,” Sholmes continued, his tone slightly contemplative despite the half-grin on his face, “This is not the challenge I was expecting. Simply breaking in through the window and disguising ourselves – well. It is hardly an exciting way to spend the evening.”
“But there are other ways to amuse ourselves.” Mikotoba was fully smiling now.
“You cannot mean gossiping,” Sholmes raised his voice slightly in mock outrage. “And you call yourself a gentleman, Mr. Yamada!”
“I am simply curious if the lady finds any of these characters interesting,” Mikotoba said innocently, bowing his head slightly. “Take for instance, that gentleman in the corner.”
“The tall one?”
“Yes, with the moustache.”
“Why, that’s easy enough,” Sholmes said, fanning himself. “German, I would say, newly returned to this country, though this is not his first time here. He is wealthy, obtained his wealth through dubious means, and – “ Sholmes broke off abruptly, frowning. “By Jove,” He said after a pause. “Mikotoba, do you recognize him?”
Mikotoba stared openly at the man, also frowning. Now that Holmes had mentioned it, there was something oddly familiar about the stranger, a vague niggling that sat in the back of his mind, the recollection just out of reach.
“He…is familiar to me,” Mikotoba said haltingly. “But I fear I cannot place it – “
“Colonel Lysander Stark,” Sholmes interrupted, the name rushed out in a single breath. “The notorious counterfeiter.”
“The man who terrorized that poor Victor Hatherley!?” Mikotoba hissed. “But surely not – why, that’s absurd!”
“It is not, dear man.” Sholmes shook his head. “What a stroke of luck! I thought Stark had fled to Germany and that the cause was lost.”
“But why would he be here?”
“I cannot say,” Sholmes said, frowning. “Perhaps he has some familiarity with the van Zieks family?”
“Is there nothing we can do?”
“No, we must – “ Sholmes broke off as Stark started moving towards the door. “Oh, blast it all. There’s no time! Quick, your revolver – do not look surprised, I know you never leave the house without it. There’s a good man.”
So saying, Sholmes broke away, scooping his skirts up and hurrying towards Stark. He slipped through the crowd easily, forcing Mikotoba to scramble to keep up, shoving people aside with apologies and half-bows even as he kept his hand on the revolver in his pocket. The commotion that followed in their wake quickly caught the attention of the party guests, including Stark himself. He looked up, clearly startled, just as Holmes reached him, though it hardly did him any good. In an instant, Sholmes had grabbed his wrist and Mikotoba had drawn his revolver, training it on their captive.
The sight of the gun resulted in many panicked yells and, judging by the loud thumps, no small amount of swooning. Stark stared at the weapon, gaping stupidly, his eyes flickering between Mikotoba and Sholmes. He finally seemed to settle on the former, his expression caught somewhere between indignation and terror, but before he could speak a sharp, commanding voice cut through the crowd.
“What is the meaning of all this!?” Klint van Zieks had appeared, his face pale and furious. Sholmes turned to him as Mikotoba kept his gun pointed at Stark. “Who are you two!? And how dare you insult my guest!?”
“Ah, Lord van Zieks. Terribly sorry to have ruined your party like this,” Sholmes said, without the slightest trace of remorse. “But I am afraid that you have, albeit unknowingly, invited a rather notorious criminal into your house.”
“Unhand me!” Stark finally found his voice and spoke furiously, his eyes blazing. “Who are you!?”
“My name is Mr. Herlock Sholmes,” Sholmes responded evenly. “And this is my partner, Dr. Yujin Mikotoba. But that is of little consequence – tell me, does the name Victor Hatherley mean anything to you?”
Stark had gone pale, his mouth opening slightly in shock. He recovered himself quickly though, and, with apparent effort, growled back. “You are mad, man!”
“Oh, there is no use prevaricating,” Sholmes said with a little laugh. “We already know everything – about the house in Eyford, about Mr. Hatherley’s flight, and of course, about the suspicious death of Mr. Jeremiah Hayling. And I would not go for that dagger, if I were you.” Sholmes rapped his fan sharply against Stark’s hand, which had started moving for his pocket. “My good doctor here is quite the crackshot.”
Stark turned his attention to Klint, spluttering. “L-Lord van Zieks!” He cried. “You - you cannot allow this man to abuse me in this manner! He is clearly a complete lunatic – why, he is dressed as a woman!”
“So he is.” Klint seemed almost resigned as he openly studied Sholmes. “And a very convincing one at that. I doubt I would have seen through his guise myself.”
“You would not have,” Sholmes said cheerfully. “Now, Lord Van Zieks – I am sure Inspector Gregson is present, no?”
“You would believe him!?” Stark’s eyes bulged as he stared at Klint in disbelief. “You – does our family friendship mean nothing!? I came here at your insistence, sir, as your guest, I have long been friends with your father – “
“Yes, yes.” Klint waved his hand. “But you must understand that circumstances have changed. I invited you into my house before I knew of your – “ he paused, looking at Sholmes. “Beg pardon, Mr. Sholmes. What was his crime again?”
“Counterfeiting. Murder. Attempted murder. Take your pick.”
“What he said.” Klint nodded, his attention returning to Stark. “You cannot expect me to stand in the way of justice, surely.”
“But you have not even heard this madman’s case!”
“I have unfortunately – ” Klint cast a critical eye over Sholmes and Mikotoba, the latter of whom had at least the decency to look somewhat shame-faced. “– learned that Mr. Sholmes’ deductions, no matter how… unconventional, are generally accurate. Gregson?” The man appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, glaring at Sholmes and Mikotoba as though they were the culprits. “Please.”
“Alright you, come along.” Gregson stepped forward clapping a set of darbies over the wrists of the hapless Stark. “And don’t you two think you’re off the hook for this little stunt.” He jabbed a finger at Sholmes’ chest. “You in particular. What is the meaning of this ridiculous costume!?”
“I do not feel I need to explain myself,” Sholme said haughtily as Gregson held the struggling Stark. “But if you must know this was a result of drastic measures we were forced to take because someone – ” he looked pointedly at Klint, “– was so inhospitable as to not invite us to his soiree, despite our long history of working together.”
Klint looked entirely lost. “But I did send you an invitation?” he protested. “Why, just last week?”
“Just last week...” Mikotoba repeated slowly. “You did not happen to send it by post, did you?”
“How else would I send it?”
“Oh, no,” Mikotoba agreed, glaring at Sholmes, who suddenly seemed fascinated by the crown molding on the ceiling. “You are correct. Indeed, it would be ridiculous if we had missed your invitation because of personal spats with our siblings, no?”
“It might be,” Sholmes said brightly, his eyes still trained on the ceiling. “But no harm in it now, I suppose. And it all is perfectly clear!”
“You mean Colonel Stark?”
“Oh - no, no, not him,” Sholmes said in an offhanded way, looking at Klint. “He has been apprehended. He is no longer of interest to me. I had just been wondering why the lovely Mary had failed to secure the house. But if we had been invited – well.” he smiled at Klint. “Thank you for your wonderful party, my Lord. With your leave, Mikotoba and I will be going now.”
“Going?” Klint sounded surprised. “But you could not have been here long? And we have not had the opportunity to talk.”
“Yes. Well.” Sholmes shrugged distractedly, his tone making it obvious that his mind was no longer focused on the conversation with van Zieks or, indeed, his current surroundings at all. “You know how these things are. The game’s afoot! Or something to that effect. Come along, Mikotoba – I fancy a quarter of an ounce of good shag will set us straight tonight – and good night, Lord van Zieks.”