Curtain Falls | tag: richard/casual

[philosopher]

we've all got a part we must play

The clock struck five. The rumble of car wheels came up from the gravel pavings. A great many people were strolling under the trees, Holmes noticed as he drove by. Two women seated on a bench beside a block of buildings were keeping watch over some children playing about the pavement, which shone rosy red under the sunset, and made the attached building cast a long, slanting, blue-gray shadow.

Holmes inhaled deeply, the air seeming to freshen as the sun sank lower. Farther off, the city stood out golden against the colourless clear sky, which made the cypresses on the park look jet black.

And now the weight of his discovery deferred created a fresh angle for him. Minds that have the habit of imaginative contemplation and poetic dreaming attribute to inanimate objects a soul, sensitive and variable as their own, and recognise in all things. Be it form or colour, sound or perfume - a transparent symbol, an emblem of some emotion or thought; in every phenomenon and every group of phenomena they claim to discover a psychical condition, a moral significance. A monstrous murder.

A shadow stole up the little flight of slope as Holmes' car pulled into the driveway, and as he stepped out he stopped, put a hand out and pinched the bridge of his nose. Too fast, he had gotten out too fast. Take it steady, was another thought that doctors liked to force-feed him. At times his vision was so broken, yet lucid as to produce actual pain in such minds, he could sometimes feel himself overwhelmed by the plenitude of it. And at the same time, shaken by the phantom of his own creation.

'Spit spot, Holmes.' He said vaguely from the bottom of his throat, craning his neck side-to-side to relieve the banging headache. And the hurt pride. 'Get in there, take no prisoners. Good lad.'

Slowly turning away from the vehicle, the detective pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat and lead up the path that lead back to Plantagenet manor. In his investigation, every outline, every hint harmonised with some image, was a note in a chord of progress, an element in an ecstasy of passion. A passion of progress. The very nature of Holmes' tastes led him to seek for an accomplishment. It was only natural that he should, in the end, derive a great part of his case from a world of external objects.

From his own point of view, his stage was certainly quite perfect. He had his killer.

An attendant saw to opening the door, upon hearing it rapped. He shrewdly, but passively, took a moment to inspect the ruffly-haired gentleman. 'Good evening, sir?' He greeted, with question in tone.

Holmes produced his wallet, which fell out onto his lawful identification. He pressed his finger down hard on the lamenate surface, and smiled - most affectionately. 'Detective Sherlock Holmes. Here to see the Mayor, if you would. Its very urgent.'


(So I have no idea if Rich would have domestics XD Then again would be really be expected to answer the door, idk. Mindscrew.)

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

Calm. Quiet. Peace.

Ordinarilly Richard wasn't a man for such things, but after the past few weeks of near incessant protests outside his place of work, it was difficult not to appreciate it.

The library was an excellent place to come for quiet; he was the only one in the house that made use of it, as a rule. Having found a book on the shelf that took his fancy, Richard settled himself into one of the Victorian-styled armchairs by the unlit fireplace and began to read.

His peace was short lived, however. It must have been due to the sheer volume of silence in the room that he was able to hear it; a knock on the front door. Having almost dropped the heavy volume with surprise, Richard managed to compose himself, mark his place and replace the book on its shelf.

As he moved towards the front door, out of the library, back through the billiard room, just off the foyer, he was able to catch at least the latter end of the conversation.

'Detective Sherlock Holmes. Here to see the Mayor, if you would. Its very urgent.'

Richard wasn't sure whether to be surprised that Holmes had turned up so quickly, or worried that he had done so. Then again, why be worried? He knew exactly why Holmes had come and what was to occur whereas the detective had no idea of the...surprises Richard had in store.

The attendant knew better than to betray any of his own emotions at this announcement; this was not his business. He simply nodded and ushered Holmes' inside, closing the great door behind him.

"If you'd be so kind as to wait here a moment sir," he said, with his usual cordial tone now returned. This said he headed in the direction of the library (which was through the billiard room) only to find Richard already there. If he was surprised, he didn't show it; he'd been in this job far too long.

"Sir, there's a Detective Holmes to see you. Says its urgent."

Richard managed to fein surprise.

"Is there?" he replied. "Well, in that case, I'd better go find out just what the matter is, hadn't I?"

This said, he swept past the attendant and out into the foyer, spotting Holmes instantly. Donning the mask of politeness he'd worn the last time he'd been in Holmes' presence, Richard gave him a small, but nonetheless warm, smile.

"Detective Holmes,"

The niceities done with, he dropped the smile somewhat in light of what he'd been told about Holmes' nature for coming to Plantagenet Manor.

"I was informed you have come here as a matter of urgency, Detective?"



ooc: I wish I'd be able to reply earlier - that post was magnificent. Sadly I only saw you'd posted it a few minutes before I had to leave for school. XD /fail In answer to your query, yes, Rickyboy would have domestics; a chap like him can't be expected to answer his own door. =P

[philosopher]

Holmes rose and passed into the octagonal room. The sight brought back certain memories to him, and he noticed as he tucked his wallet neatly back into his inside pocket, that nothing was changed since then. A host of memories were associated with these things, the flowerpot and the way that lead into the dining area for example, on which his eyes rested.

Crossing the room, he walked slowly while fiddling with the odd ornament. Looking around, he said to the attendant, 'Right you are.'

Scenes of that time rose up vividly and tumultuously before him. Months after the former Mayor's death, Holmes was going to cross his threshold once more. The sun shone through the lace window screens and sparkled on the floor tiles, its reflections imparting a delightful sense of movement to the air. He felt in the best of spirits, and at the same time completely cursed. Keep in mind he was inexpressibly happy when he was working, all that was most frivolous, most capricious, most worldly in him awoke with a bound. But when he began to feel the necessity of expansion, that was when he starting mixing in the world of pleasure, and peril.

Assuming a more straighter standing, Holmes looked upon the entering Richard for a moment with great interest. It was as if the surrounding objects had the power to evoke a medley of events in him. His sensual curiosity, his elasticity, his ubiquity of mind reappeared.

'Mister Plantagenet,' He broke gaily into a smile. 'Oh right, Mayor Plantagenet, sorry about that - keep forgetting you've been elected and all that. Congratulations too, by the way. It must be an exciting time.'

He tried to imagine the scene beforehand, to compose some phrases; he looked about him in the room, considering where would be the most appropriate spot for the interview. 'Yes, very urgent actually. As urgent as they come. But first, um .. maybe we might want to go somewhere that, you know .. ' Holmes pouted and reclined his head back a little. ' .. isn't the foyer.'

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

As Richard entered the foyer he noticed Holmes' stance become a little more upright. He thought nothing of it as he approached, seeing the man return the smile with even more warmth than Richard had assumed possible, considering why he was here.

'Mister Plantagenet...Oh right, Mayor Plantagenet, sorry about that - keep forgetting you've been elected and all that. Congratulations too, by the way. It must be an exciting time.'

Plantagenet nodded, his smile still in place He was curious as to what Holmes could mean when he said he kept forgetting he'd been elected (it was still obvious, even months on...Edward, for one, had never provoked protests) but resolved not to mention it.

"Thank you Detective," he replied. "It most certainly is."

Holmes' eyes scanned the room for a moment or two before he spoke again.

'Yes, very urgent actually. As urgent as they come. But first, um .. maybe we might want to go somewhere that, you know...isn't the foyer.'

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Richard was unable to help a small chuckle at how Holmes had phrased the need to go elsewhere.

"Of course, Detective," he said, his laughter abating and his smile fading a little. "My office then, shall we?"

He proceeded to lead the way up the staircase and towards his quarters, looking back over his shoulder a couple of times to check Holmes was on his tail. Edward's part of the house, to mention in passing, was all shut up and locked...it was thought by all that this was for the best.

Opening the office door and allowing Holmes' to enter first, Richard indicated that the Detective should take a seat. This done he closed the door behind him, locking it for good measure.

The room was quite large and handsomley furnished, its numerous shelves crammed with books. The heavy curtains were drawn due to the time of day, and the room was lit with the artifical glow of the chandelier above.

If one was to look beyong the room's elegance, however, there were subtle touches about the place that hinted at Richard's current role; both as the grieving brother and new Mayor. The picture of himself, George and Edward on the City Hall steps had been relocated from Edward's bedside to his desk and nearby was a framed news clipping of the day of his inauguration.

It was almost as though the room had been staged. Almost.

[philosopher]

'After you.'

The man's lips parted in a smile that was rendered mysterious from the rest of his face, amidst all his assumed manner. And so he did follow, carrying off the restraint of the evening so ingeniously that no one would have suspected any deeper elements of joy or pain beneath the smooth surface of Holmes' steadiness of mind.

They took no part in conversation, which was deliciously ironic considering the things that could have been said. But it was fine, the day was young. At length even the spirited detective's flow of conversation seemed to fail at the best of times, and he gave hints about aggitating the silence - little things, such as couching or sighing a bit too loudly. Until they eventually crept, unobserved, to a sort of sitting-room. Holmes entered as tactfully gestured, and stood almost as silent as ever; but even in his very silence was a beautiful, thoughtful repose.

It appeared Holmes was observing the room at range, tall and slight with the grace of a girl. Peering out, narroweyed expectantly, and craning his long neck to keep a constant eye. He held the belief that he had not been to this room the last time, and with that thought Holmes started to casually pace - tactfully avoiding the offered seat. Critically he glanced upon this and that, and when he approached a desk full of newspaper clippings he betrayed his instinct to pick them up and shuffle through them. He stared hard down at them for a moment, then softly, let them go.

'So Mayor Plantagenet, how are you coping these days?'

He said it with his eye still on the papers, but span around on the spot just before finishing to face Richard. He smiled at the man's unworldliness, and thereby betraying that, innocent as he looked, his was not the innocence of ignorance. Gently, Holmes would begin speaking of his affairs, of which the whole of New York was in a state of entire ignorance. He rose the sharp edge of his eyebrow jestingly, for he had fallen into quite familiar jesting now. Perhaps not the wisest idea.

Floating around the topic, Holmes continued. 'What I mean is, what with the pressures of running a city and the former Mayor's death still wafting around in the breeze - rest his soul. You must be off your feet all the time with the amount of catching up, but still, it was a long time coming I suppose. The man did, afterall, have cancer ... '

His eyes immediately shot back to Richard, secretly self-possessed into listening and watching. Apparently to show that no power on earth, gentle or strong, should wrest this awareness from him.

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

As Holmes entered the room he did not take the seat that had been offered to him. Instead, he began to pace the room, scrutinizing and examining it with, what was it Chandler had said? Ah yes. Lazer vision. Richard had found the notion humorous, but the narrowedness of Holmes' eyes as he observed the room seemed to confirm it was true, to an extent.

'So Mayor Plantagenet, how are you coping these days?'

Holmes' eyes had been on the newspaper clippings, but at the last second he spun on his heel to face Richard who was still standing, somewhat awkwardly, in the doorway. He took a few steps forward to accompany a reply to the query, but before he could open his mouth the detective spoke again.

'What I mean is, what with the pressures of running a city and the former Mayor's death still wafting around in the breeze - rest his soul. You must be off your feet all the time with the amount of catching up, but still, it was a long time coming I suppose. The man did, afterall, have cancer ... '

Aha. The reason why Holmes was here. Undoubtedly. Richard could feel Holmes' eyes upon him and he stared right back, unwilling to be the first one to look away.

The detective's manner of speaking, had Richard not known Edward's death was the reason for his coming to the manor, would have confused him. Surely if there was an urgent matter to discuss he wouldn't have spent time on the niceties, even though he was addressing, as he himself said, the man who ran this city?

He took the seat that Holmes had neglected to occupy; despite the severity of the situation as he saw it he wanted to appear a degree at ease with his surroundings; not to do so in the detective's presence might, he feared, come off as suspicious, as though he had every intention to leave the room if an accusation was levelled at him.

"It was indeed a long time in coming, although the initial diagnosis came as a shock to us all." He paused. Then, still staring hard at Holmes, he continued. "I hope you'll forgive me for saying so, Detective, but inquiring as to how I'm feeling and bringing up my brother's death...this doesn't present itself as a matter of urgency. If you would care to elaborate on that I would be most grateful."

A small smile accompanied these last words, as though he was ignorant of the fact that Edward's death, and how it had come about, was the matter Holmes wished to discuss.





ooc: I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you! D: The NessieComputer and Nessie aren't getting on, I'm afraid.

[philosopher]

(Don't worry about it, your Nessieness.)


Sherlock Holmes was a person not likely to waste much time on the sentimentalities of such a meeting; and neither was the new Mayor by the looks of it. He soon dashed into the common-sense question of what exactly was he onto that demanded his precious attentions. A light thrill of a smile came over his face, looking down upon the seated man.

'Yes, you're right and I'm sorry. I should have just cut to the quick, straight off.' He leant back quite at ease, against the desk behind. 'No arsing around now.'

Whether by Holmes' real inclination, or by some unnoticed influence of Richard's, who, gentle as his manners were, through a score of other opposing wills seemed silently out to attain his own. His hospitable schemes were overruled. It was with a readiness which had yet its pleasure, that he arrayed himself for this, the time of taking head and closing the doors on what was one of his more intricately combined cases. Glancing about the grand luxuries of the room, he recurred his mind back to his speech.

'As you may or may not know, I've been conducting a bit of an investigation and .. well, I've come to a whole hill of results.'

Like a flash of lightning, his eyes darted from one side of the room back to Richard. The attitude in his voice stooping. 'Edward Plantagenet died, yes, but not from cancer. No matter how much people'll try and pretty it up, his death was not a long time coming - at all. It was quick, and bloody well cruel. He was snatched right from under our noses, Mayor. He was murdered.'

He rose. Enlarging upon his point with one of his more famous, intense stares. 'I came here to see if you wanted to know who murdered him.'

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

'Yes, you're right and I'm sorry. I should have just cut to the quick, straight off. No arsing around now.'

Richard raised an eyebrow at Holmes' words, that and his relaxed stance as he leant against the desk. However he made no move to reply, seeming to sense that it was Holmes who should be the first to speak.

'As you may or may not know, I've been conducting a bit of an investigation and .. well, I've come to a whole hill of results.'

Well of course he had. How could it be otherwise? How could Richard even have attempted to try and deter him? He knew as soon as Chandler had informed him of the investigation that it had been an unwise move to try and make him see Faustus as the culprit...but at least he'd bought himself some time.

Richard nodded.

'Edward Plantagenet died, yes, but not from cancer. No matter how much people'll try and pretty it up, his death was not a long time coming - at all. It was quick, and bloody well cruel. He was snatched right from under our noses, Mayor. He was murdered.'

Despite the fact he'd anticipated this moment coming, it was difficult for Richard to decide on the most appropriate reaction. Holmes knew he was guilty, Richard himself, of course, knew he was guilty. Why try and assume innocence? And yet...why simply admit to guilt? Holmes had figured out every last detail of his scheme, a plan years in the making only spurred to fruition by his brother's illness. That warranted a less anti-climactic ending, surely.

He shook his head.

"Murdered?" he repeated, his tone somewhat mocking. "I don't believ-"

Holmes had raised himself off the desk now, and was staring at Richard intently, so firm a gaze that even he was somewhat cowed, though he refused to let it show.

'I came here to see if you wanted to know who murdered him.'

"Well of course I wish to know!" Richard snapped. "I believe I have a right to...if indeed he was murdered, which I highly doubt."

[philosopher]

You would.

Holmes was bothered that the man was fighting with him to monopolise the time he had given him, down and out admitting to nothing. After that first very fluffed statement, he naturally relied on the loyalty of his face, that forbid any appearance or outlook of yielding. He replied grimly, 'Well, you know what they say, Richard. The past is always present.'

He fell back a pace and looked at him with insistant eyes. Before his earnest scrutiny ordinary denials became impossible; he could answer nothing but the truth. 'I'll start from the top then.'

In his old determined fashion, he squared his shoulders and slowly began to pace. Was the man mad? Was he one of those morbid creatures who developed hallucinations in his lonely hours, and who, having once become possessed of an idea, proceed to nurse and coddle it into a full-grown mania? All the danger flags were flying, and indeed a battle was looming ahead.

'Edward Plantagenet was a very influencial man, had all the right powers to do just what he wanted. But of course, being a man who only used them when he needed and not when he wanted, he was bound to meet some jealous enemies down the road. Closer to home then you might think.' He looked steadily up at the ceiling, letting a silent minute flow. 'What did we have for starters, that night? Soup and bread rolls I think it was, and that had me first believing that it was down to that Doctor Faustus. It would have been a real kick in the nuts for Edward if were were having battenburg for desserts - as much as I like the stuff, it's containing almonds. The sweet variety, mind you. not the kind the poor late Mayor was fed.'

The unfolding became very animated, the detective turning and walking rapidly. Waving his hands and unfolding the story with characteristic Holmes enthusiasm. 'Bitter almonds, thats what had me hooked on the doctor. That whole, it containing deadly cyanide thing. That was what killed your brother, by the way, cyanide poisoning. So I bung Faustus into my office and keep him there until I find out that, he's not got that .. I don't know, what would you call it ... concept of elegance about him. However, he did have his uses.'

His brow clouded over as he stopped a distance away from Richard, rising his arm straight and twirling his finger with coaxing attitude. 'So then the moving finger points ... ' The arm settled, stopping his finger purposely onto the man. ' .. to you, Richard.'


(Sorry for the silly wait )

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

'Well, you know what they say, Richard. The past is always present.'

This was said in a grim tone, Holmes' ferevnt gaze becoming all the more so as he continued to speak. Richard had to admit, despite the circumstances, he was intruiged as to how Holmes had riddled this all out. Thus he listened to what the detective had to say, inwardly enraptured but outwardly endavouring not to give himself away.

'Edward Plantagenet was a very influencial man, had all the right powers to do just what he wanted. But of course, being a man who only used them when he needed and not when he wanted, he was bound to meet some jealous enemies down the road. Closer to home then you might think.'

Richard couldn't help an inward chuckle at Holmes' use of the phrase 'closer to home', that and his description of Edward. It seemed, despite only meeting him briefly on the night of his death, Holmes had respected his older brother...and the notion of respecting Edward, to Richard at least, was laughable.

As Holmes continued to tell Richard all he knew, his pacing became more rapid and he gesticulated wildly to accompany his words. Richard remained seated, barely moving, simply observing Holmes with beady eyes, somewhat amused by his apparent enthusiasm.

'Bitter almonds, thats what had me hooked on the doctor. That whole, it containing deadly cyanide thing. That was what killed your brother, by the way, cyanide poisoning. So I bung Faustus into my office and keep him there until I find out that, he's not got that .. I don't know, what would you call it ... concept of elegance about him. However, he did have his uses.'

Of course he did. Those uses being, presumably, telling Holmes all the details of the plan. For what felt like the hundredth time, Richard inwardly scolded himself for allowing Faustus so much insight into his plots against Edward. Then again, if he'd tried to go about the murder himself, would it have been possible to pull it off with such success? Until now, that is.

Holmes stopped his pacing, a short distance away from where Richard sat, his gesture exaggerated and his point obvious in spite of it.

'So then the moving finger points ... to you, Richard.'

After Holmes' decleration, there was a moment's pause. He was waiting for a reaction, clearly. And Richard didn't plan to dissapoint. His eyes widened at first, before he burst into a bout of incredulous laughter. He couldn't help it. The fact Holmes was still clueless as to who had the upper hand and his (in Richard's opinion) arrogance in feeling he had the case closed...it was all rather amusing.

"To me?" he said at last, his laughter having abated though the laughter was still present in his expression. "You honestly believe I would murder my brother?" He shook his head in disbelief before looking Holmes right in the eye. "You must be joking, Holmes. Either that or you're mad. What sort of man do you take me for?"









ooc: That's perfectly fine and understandable; that post was well worth it. ;D By the way, I too am a fan of battenburg. XD

[philosopher]

(Food of gods!)

'I hate that word. I really, really hate that word.'

Then came a quick review before the glass, hearing it all in spite of Richard treating the situation with ridicule. This would not get a moment's peace, Holmes knew, as he drew in his lips and stared fixedly at the man; looking unaffectedly decided.

'That word, believe, it says to me that whatever I'm saying is only accepted as my opinion. When I know for a fact - Rickyboy - that it's the bare arsed truth. You killed Edward.'

There was a dead silence, waiting a full moment with eyes that flashed with an expression of magnanimous superiority. He went off into a reverie, turning over in his mind the names of different papers and magazines, planning, wondering, weaving dreams, while the omnibus made its way down. Covering every scrap, all indicatives that were outward signs that the man that sat before him was guilty. The Plantagenets were evidently a distinguished clan, note them well. Consider their features and triumphs, so that they may be recognised by the public or the media. They had made an impression, and here was a lead indeed. It sent him to work more vigorously than ever.

'I could go off on this long, long explanation as to how you did it - every note I've made, every piece of evidence I've sniffed out over the last few months and every filthly little detail .. but I won't. Because, honestly, it would be a big waste of our time and I want to get home for seven, The Simpsons is on. Really, though - I have a big brother myself, and I hate him at the best of times, but you. Oh you. You've gone and won bronze, silver and gold in the 'Little Sibling From Hell' Olympics. Congrats and all that. Betcha Mummy's proud.' He said, getting more serious and severe as he progressed.

Holding that expression - an expression that seemed to imply that he had seen his like before, Holmes eventually affected a smile of superiority. This seemed to satisfy him, and his pride made him represent the interview in its most favourable light. Here he had the makings of a successful case.

'I won't keep you any longer then, Rickyboy.' Holmes suavely, pointing with a thin forefinger to himself and then the door, indicating tactfully. 'I'll just be off, pick up a few bits and pieces, take them down the station and I'll have you out of office and in jail just in time for dinner. Thanks for your time.'

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

'I hate that word. I really, really hate that word. That word, believe, it says to me that whatever I'm saying is only accepted as my opinion. When I know for a fact - Rickyboy - that it's the bare arsed truth. You killed Edward.'

At first Richard had been listening to Holmes' words in a mildly amused fashion, a smile still lurking about his lips, garish when the subject matter of their discussion was taken into account. However, at Holmes' use of one of the many nicknames Edward had coined for him, Richard visibly flinched, as though Holmes had struck him.

It wasn't as though he felt guilty, hearing a phrase his brother frequently used to torment him. It wasn't that. It couldn't be that. But it shocked him all the same. And he hated how his reaction had been so obvious.

'I could go off on this long, long explanation as to how you did it - every note I've made, every piece of evidence I've sniffed out over the last few months and every filthly little detail .. but I won't. Because, honestly, it would be a big waste of our time and I want to get home for seven, The Simpsons is on.'

Richard raised an eyebrow, all traces of mirth gone from his face. Although, he had to admit the man was right. Telling him exactly how he'd found out Richard's plans would waste their time...though that wasn't to say Richard wasn't intruiged. Just how had he discovered it all? Faustus couldn't have told him everything...he didn't know the full details...

'Really, though - I have a big brother myself, and I hate him at the best of times, but you. Oh you. You've gone and won bronze, silver and gold in the 'Little Sibling From Hell' Olympics. Congrats and all that. Betcha Mummy's proud.'

Richard might have been amused by this were it not for the tone Holmes was using. He shouldn't be surprised at the serious tone he had adopted, nor his look of superiority (the detective was under the assumption, of course, that the case was closed). But just because he wasn't surprised didn't mean to say he wasn't irritated...he knew he had the upper hand, he knew he would soon be able to take Holmes down a peg or two...but that air of smugness just made his blood boil.

That and the fact Holmes had mentioned his mother. That really wasn't helping matters. The woman was still, all these months later, traumatized by the sudden and unexpected death of her eldest son. God, it made everything all the more awkward.

'I won't keep you any longer then, Rickyboy.'

That nickname again. That, combined with the smug smile on Holmes' countenance, made Richard want to hit him. Though he doubted that would do much for him in this sitautaion. And besides, he had something else, something better, in store to bring down Holmes' pride.

'I'll just be off, pick up a few bits and pieces, take them down the station and I'll have you out of office and in jail just in time for dinner. Thanks for your time.'

Richard got to his feet, all anger and frustration gone, to be replaced with the same calm cordiality he'd assumed when Holmes first entered the manor.

"If you wouldn't mind me detaining you for just a little while longer, Detective," he said, with a small smile, moving towards his desk.

Having reached it he pulled open one of the desk drawers and produced a small sealable plastic bag, inside of which was a syringe. The one Holmes had accidentally left in the manor on the night of Edward's death.

"Would you be so kind as to explain this? I get the impression I'm not the only one here with skeletons in my closet."




ooc: Couldn't agree more. (: Hope that post works for you. ^^

[philosopher]

With coolness and deliberation, Holmes glanced around himself, unusually contented. It seemed as if a heavy and dull dream had withdrawn out of his mind, and still with this strange heightened sense of life stirring in his mind, he drew his hand gently over his chin and confronted the closed door, filled with proud satisfaction.

This had to a certain extent calmed his mind and given him confidence - too much, in fact. Feeling to have won, he swirled around carelessly on the spot and faced Richard from the distance of the room space. Something deep in those dark clear pupils, out of that lean adventurous face, gleamed at the older man, the distant flash of a heliograph, as it were, height to height, flashing. Holmes gazed at him steadily; and Richard's wild blue eyes seemed to be giving a hard, incredulous, almost cunning glint right back at him. He opened a drawer, and in the midst of this confusion, out of the infinite as it were - took out a syringe.

Everything sank into utter stillness. For what might have been for the first time in his life, Holmes was utterly, and well truly, stunned.

Hitherto he had met the little difficulties of life only to vanquish them with ease and applause. Now he was standing face to face with the unknown. He arose to it, and began to walk softly, swiftly, toward his only focus, that needle. His needle. Walking only three steps, he stopped at the fourth and raised a glance, that was the bone of contention, into that awful, unseen, brightly-lit profile of Richard, passing swiftly over the tranquil surface of his face. The power of concentration was gone again.

And, unblinking, Holmes said nothing.

[RICHARD PLANTAGENET]

As Richard spoke he saw Holmes turn; the detective's manner seemed to indicate he thought nothing was amiss. And why should he think otherwise? He doubtless presumed the case was closed and he had no further reason to stay.

As Holmes' eyes alighted upon the syringe in Richard's hand, however, it became clear to Richard that his state of mind had taken a turn for the worse. He looked...well...shocked. Very different to his previous expression of smugness, and a lot more satisfying to the now triumphant Richard.

It was as though all Holmes' focus was on the needle as he took a few steps forwards, towards him. This indicated to Richard that he was right and, although he knew he was in the first instance, it was still satisfying to see. The rapid pace at which Holmes moved also served to confirm his suspicions.

Then the detective looked up, his gaze steady despite his surprise, eyes unblinking. Richard stared right back, awaiting a spoken response to this clearly unexpected turn of events.

Yet none was forthcoming.

"You seem surprised, Holmes," Richard said, at last, the silence leaning towards the unbearable in light of the situation. "As was I, I must admit, when this was brought to my attention. Found by one of the staff, I believe. At first I had no idea just who it might belong to. It was then I recalled you leaving the room during dinner...'off to visit a bathroom twice the size of my kitchen', wasn't it? Presuming it was yours, I decided to do a little...investigating of my own, just to be sure. Now, I don't know about you, Holmes, but I think the London bureau are going to be rather surprised themselves to learn of your...condition."

All this was said with a smirk akin to the one Holmes' had worn previous lingering about his lips. He was enjoying this, as he knew he would.

[philosopher]

With that anxious irresolution which illness so often brought in its train, he had hesitated for a few minutes before actually entering back into it. Holmes, grimly, turned his back from the Mayor for a moment, staring vacantly at ground and rubbing his chest with fretting fingers, dimly aware that his heart was beating with an unusual effort.

For nearly a minute, Holme stood head to foot icily still, without the least feeling, or thought, or stir. Then an inconceivable drumming beat on his ear. A warm surge, like the onset of a wave, broke in him, flooding neck, face, forehead, even his hands with colour. He caught himself up and wheeled deliberately and completely round, his eyes darting to and fro, suddenly to fix themselves in a prolonged stare, while he took a deep breath, caught back his self-possession and paused. Then he once more confronted the changed, strange face of Richard.

In a rather low, monotonous voice, Holmes said, 'What do you think you know?