Chapter 1: The Adventure of the Suspect Vampire
Summary:
Holmes grins, which can only mean disaster is about to strike. "My dear fellow," he announces, "we are about to uncover whether Lord Barok van Zieks is a vampire!"
The suite goes dead silent.
That time Holmes roped the rest of the Baker Street family into investigating the greatest mystery of them all.
Notes:
Written for Day 1 of The Greatest Family Week:
letters/ investigationthis is basically a really long setup to one (1) joke. enjoy
Chapter Text
Ryuunosuke doesn't know what he expected to see when he came downstairs.
Holmes is inspecting a large cork-board covered in newspaper clippings and photographs. Discarded scraps of paper carpet the floor around him. Vials filled with varying shades of red fluids bubble on the table nearby. Every once in a while, he seems to make some realisation and excitedly connects a pair of pins with string.
At Ryuunosuke's approach, Iris turns from the spectacle to face him. "Good morning, Ryuu!"
"Morning, Iris. What is..." He gestures vaguely at... everything, really.
"Oh! I... think Holmesie might be better at explaining than me. Holm—"
"Hello there, Mr. Naruhodou!" Holmes says, popping in front of the duo out of nowhere. Ryuunosuke wonders how he always does that. "We have quite a day ahead of us, so I do hope you had an excellent night's rest."
"...What do you mean?" he replies, even though he doesn't think he wants to know.
Holmes pushes his goggles onto his forehead, looking not unlike a mad scientist... which might be apt, thinking about it. "We are on the cusp of cracking open the biggest case that London—no, the world!—has ever seen!"
"Didn't we already do that?" Ryuunosuke points out.
Holmes shakes his head. "Dare I say it? The untangling of this mystery might have greater implications than the Professor case."
"I wouldn't say that..." Iris says. But she shoots Ryuunosuke a meaningful look, and he sighs.
"Alright, I'll bite. What is it?"
Holmes grins, which can only mean disaster is about to strike. "My dear fellow," he announces, "we are about to uncover whether Lord Barok van Zieks is a vampire!"
The suite goes dead silent.
I don't know why I ask anymore, Ryuunosuke thinks.
The staircase creaks as Susato descends. "Good morning, everyone! I see I slept in a little..." She eyes the scene curiously.
"Trust me," Ryuunosuke tells her, "you'll wish you slept in for longer."
"Come now, friends! I shall endeavour to simplify my great deductions for you all." Holmes seizes both of them by the forearms and half-drags them over to his impromptu lair.
Now that they're closer, Ryuunosuke can see that all of the matter pinned to the board relates to either van Zieks (headlines about cases, excerpts of interviews) or the broader topic of vampirism (pages apparently ripped from novels, notes on the "phenomenon"). One photograph has the prosecutor's face circled, and an adjacent sketch compares his features to a pallid man with a widow's peak.
"You see," Holmes explains, "I've had my suspicions for some time. I mean, what mortal man drinks that quantity of red wine?" (Ryuunosuke is inclined to agree with that.) "The only explanation is that it is a different liquid entirely. Here, Mr. Naruhodou," he continues, removing the stopper from one vial. "Would you like to take a sip?"
"No."
The Great Detective starts cackling, but mulling over his words... "Iris," Ryuunosuke adds, "do you remember when we saw those casks in Lord van Zieks's office?"
Iris looks at him, eyes comically wide. "You don't think we were right, do you?"
Ryuunosuke remembers van Zieks's enraged scowl and pauses. "Why am I going along with this?"
"But Mr. Holmes," Susato chimes in, "we know Lord van Zieks wouldn't kill anyone, correct? How could he... drink blood?"
Holmes nods sagely. "Ah, so you have come upon the same problem I did when first concocting this theory. However, there is a solution: our ex-Reaper friend could drink the blood of some lesser creature. I have, for instance, read of vampires eating mice to quell their gruesome urge."
"I..." Susato looks as baffled as Ryuunosuke feels.
"So, my dear fellows: shall we conduct our investigation?"
"Where did the 'we' come from?" Ryuunosuke protests, but Holmes is already dragging the group to the door.
Ryuunosuke had forgotten how intimidating the Prosecutor's Office looked after his time in Japan. Rising before them, it has the same atmosphere as the lobby in the Old Bailey: oppressive, as though he were waiting for fate's inevitable hammer to strike. He is once again thankful that he doesn't work at a place like this.
"Holmesie, I think people are staring," Iris whispers.
The four of them are not exactly hidden. Ryuunosuke, Susato, and Iris are stacked on top of each other as they peer around the corner of a building. Holmes is standing behind a street-lamp, as though being completely still could compensate for the fact that it isn't nearly wide enough to block him from view.
"Do not fret," Holmes replies. "Look! Here they come."
A hansom rattles past, pausing before the Office. Two figures step out, easily identified by their contrasting clothing: van Zieks and Kazuma. The latter is nodding at some remark when a small object dashes out of the adjacent alleyway.
Ryuunosuke squints. "Is that... a cat?"
"You would be correct, my dear fellow! Let us observe how our pair of prosecutors reacts."
The cat—around the same size as Wagahai, albeit with grey fur dappled with white spots—slinks around Kazuma's boots and nuzzles against van Zieks's leg. The ex-Reaper has never seemed like the kind of person who would kick a cat, but Ryuunosuke expects him to mutter under his breath about the inconvenience before walking inside. To do something of that nature, anyhow.
He does not expect van Zieks to crouch down and pet the cat.
Ryuunosuke gawks at the sight, as do his companions. van Zieks proceeds to reach into his bag and pull out a sandwich, which the cat eagerly scarfs down. Kazuma has taken a few steps back, but judging by his posture, he looks like he's trying not to laugh.
"I wouldn't have expected Lord van Zieks to be a cat person," Susato murmurs.
"This is kind of eerie," Ryuunosuke adds. "I feel like I'm watching something I'm not supposed to be."
"Oh, but the cat is so cute!" Iris chirps.
Finally, Kazuma looks like he's managed to hold back his amusement; he walks over to his superior and taps his foot impatiently. The man gives the cat one last pat on the head before the two of them enter the office. Ryuunosuke swears he hears Kazuma say something like "You always do this, van Zieks," and thinks, I can't believe neither of them noticed us.
"He didn't seem bothered by the sunlight," Holmes remarks. "This does put a dent in my hypothesis."
Ryuunosuke splutters. "How is that the takeaway from this? And besides, we've literally seen him walking around countless times."
"In any case," the detective continues, pointedly ignoring his remark, "what about that friend of yours—Mr. Asougi, correct? Did you notice any vampiric tendencies about him when you visited?"
"You think Kazuma—"
"It's no use," Iris says with the shrug of someone who has dealt with Holmes's shenanigans for her entire life. "He's too deep into his deductions now."
Holmes waggles a finger. "We cannot rule out the possibility! For example, he might have appeared paler than normal, or had trouble sleeping, or..."
As he rambles on, Susato leans over to Ryuunosuke and whispers, "...Should we tell him?"
He folds his arms thoughtfully. To be honest, Kazuma had looked a little dishevelled when they reunited with him, but at their concerned expressions, he said that he was fine—just exhausted what with the reconstruction of the entire British judiciary. Susato offered to brew him a relaxing cup of tea the next time they visited, which cheered him up. It was definitely a more reasonable explanation than whatever Holmes was thinking of—
"Oho!" Holmes says. Of course now would be when I mumble my thoughts out loud, Ryuunosuke thinks. "During the process of becoming a vampire, victims have been reported sleepwalking. Something to do, I think, with their nocturnal nature."
"Haaah..."
Holmes claps his hands together. "This has been an enlightening stakeout—ah ha ha ha! See what I did there? I will have to refine my theory for next time." With that, he marches off, leaving the three of them utterly bewildered.
"Is it just me," Ryuunosuke says, "or does he seem more... uh, all over the place than before?"
"I think Holmesie is just excited to have you two back, as am I!" Iris replies. "Though his method of expressing it is a little..."
"Unique," Susato finishes.
Ryuunosuke sighs again—something he suspects he'll be doing a lot over the next few days. "By this point, I'd take the 'who are you, again?' treatment over this. At least there wouldn't be the chance of Lord van ZIeks yelling at us for following him around."
Susato gives him a sympathetic look. "I'm sure Mr. Holmes will get distracted by something else in time."
None of them quite believe that.
"Mr. Holmes, please do not bring that anywhere near me."
The man in question, who is holding two strings of garlic in his hands, says, "But it is absolutely necessary, my dear fellow! How else will we know our ex-Reaper friend's reaction?"
Ryuunosuke pinches the bridge of his nose, both to combat the stench and to stymie his oncoming headache. "Then why don't you do it?"
"A Great Detective must make his deductions from afar!"
"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Naruhodou: we may have a problem," Susato interjects.
They glance over to see five lithe men trailing behind van Zieks in the park below. This might not be an issue by itself considering they've been doing that themselves, except all of them are clearly concealing something in their coat pockets.
"What should we do, Holmesie?" Iris says, though she already has a cannon mounted on her shoulder. (Where it came from, Ryuunosuke has no idea.)
"Well," the detective answers, "as much as I would like to see the vampiric combat arts in action, our ex-Reaper friend is outnumbered. We ought to lend him a hand."
Before Ryuunosuke can ask what exactly those combat arts are, he finds himself sprinting downhill with his other three companions. It's well-timed, too, since the potential attackers dart forward at that very moment.
Without turning, van Zieks draws his blade and parries the first assailant's knife. He blocks and disarms the second man by violently twisting his sword. It's almost like a dance, and Ryuunosuke wonders how often people have attacked the prosecutor for him to become this practised.
A third scrambles around to his blind spot when Iris yells, "Watch out, Barry!" The attacker turns and is promptly punched by a boxing glove fired from her cannon. He collapses, knocked out cold.
The fourth assailant charges at Iris to avenge his fallen comrade, but she easily ducks out of the way. When he spins around, he is met by van Zieks's blade centimetres from his throat.
"Pray forgive the discourtesy," he hisses. The fury in his glare is palpable. "I thought you were about to attack an eleven-year old girl."
"N-No!" the would-be assailant squeaks. "I'll, I'll be on my way now!"
The other three men attempt to take advantage of van Zieks's momentary distraction when a loud hum rings out over them. "Come, gentlemen," Holmes cries. "Don't leave me out of the fun now!"
Two of them lunge at the detective until they realise they are empty-handed. Holmes laughs and brandishes the humming device in his hand: apparently a magnet, since the assailants' weapons are all stuck to it. The third leaps at the detective anyway, only to be met by a swift uppercut to the jaw and another hit to the side of the head.
Didn't know Mr. Holmes could actually box, Ryuunosuke thinks.
"Hey, ain't that the Eastern lawyer?" one of the two remaining men interjects. "Let's get hi—"
Before he can finish his sentence, Susato grabs him from behind and tosses him onto the pavement. He wheezes loudly as she, standing over him with her hands on her hips, says, "I don't think so."
Ryuunosuke turns to the only man left, his hand on Karuma's hilt. In truth, his swordsmanship isn't particularly great, but it's the intimidation factor that counts. "Seeing all of this... do you really want to stick around?"
The failed assassin blanches. "Uh... nope! I'm good."
He scurries away, leaving the group breathing heavily from the action. "I suppose I'll take care of this," van Zieks huffs, prodding one of the three unconscious men with his boot. "But for now, do tell me why you four were coincidentally nearby when this... incident occurred."
"Um..."
"Marvellous day for a walk, wouldn't you say?" Holmes answers cheerfully. "For brushing up on boxing, too." He jabs the air a few times for emphasis. van Zieks gives him a blank stare.
"We wanted to make sure you were okay! And... I did want to test my KO Cannon," Iris adds, gesturing to the launcher on her shoulder.
van Zieks bows his head, a faint smile on his face. "An excellent invention as always, Iris."
"It's lovely to see you again, Lord van Zieks," Susato chimes in. "We hope you've been well these past few months."
"Quite—though, as I imagine Prosecutor Asougi told you, the Office has been mired in bureaucratic work. I am... glad to see both of you have kept in health, as well."
"That's unexpected," Ryuunosuke mumbles under his breath. van Zieks glowers at him, though there is less malice than there once was. "I, I mean—the same to you, Lord van Zieks."
"...On another note, Mr. Naruhodou," the man says, "is having garlic on your person some Japanese tradition of which I was unaware?"
He blinks. Sure enough, there are two heads of garlic shoved into his pockets... and Holmes is nowhere to be seen.
How did I get myself into this situation? Ryuunosuke thinks.
This goes on for another two days. Holmes's suggested antics range from offering van Zieks unleavened bread ("Under what circumstances would that be considered normal?") to presenting him with silver jewellery ("I think that's for werewolves, Mr Holmes").
While it's exhausting being dragged around by Holmes, seeing van Zieks outside of the courtroom is sort of... refreshing. His day-to-day life is surprisingly normal; he takes walks in London's few green spaces and feeds stray animals with his lunch. Even if Ryuunosuke knows that the ex-Reaper was never cursed in the first place, it's nice to see that for himself. Maybe this was what Mr. Holmes intended to showcase all along, on top of investigating with his companions like old times.
"I don't think breaking into Barry's house is such a great idea," Iris says.
Holmes waves his arms dramatically. "But what if he sleeps in a coffin? It would be the perfect proof!"
Susato tilts her head to the side. "Mr. Holmes, it might be time to give it a rest."
He slumps a little. "Alright, I confess that was not one of my better ideas. Perhaps you are right—"
"Pray forgive the discourtesy."
All four of them jump a metre in the air when van Zieks apparates next to them like a shape-shifter (nope, Ryuunosuke thinks, that's Mr. Holmes getting to you). His gaze is steely, and Ryuunosuke immediately feels as though he has presented the wrong piece of evidence.
"You continue to follow me," he says. A statement, not a question.
"No!" Ryuunosuke blurts at the same time Holmes says, "'pon my word!" and bursts into laughter.
van Zieks shakes his head. "I think I would rather Mr. Megundal's goons be after me than you lot. At least I could understand their motives."
"Our apologies, Lord van Zieks," Susato says with a slight bow. "It's... complicated."
He nods in acknowledgement. "Do elaborate—though," he adds, eyeing Holmes's continued cackling, "perhaps I should not press."
Ryuunosuke, Susato, and Iris exchange glances before the first of them caves. "Mr. Holmes thought... you were a vampire."
van Zieks's expression is completely blank for three seconds before shifting into one of utter offence. "Didn't I already tell you, man?! I am not some bloodthirsty creature of folk-lore."
"Hey! It wasn't my idea!" Ryuunosuke protests.
"When have I burned in sunlight, or cowered before a cross, or transformed into a, a bat?" he says. (Ryuunosuke is mildly impressed by his comprehensive knowledge of vampire tropes.) van Zieks shakes his head and continues, "Regardless, I ask that you cease to trail after me. It is distracting, if not incredibly disconcerting."
Holmes waves a hand, still grinning. "My ex-Reaper friend, you know I am a detective. I do not act without proper cause. You ought to stop by 221B sometime; we can present you with the mounting evidence!"
van Zieks looks like he's about to explode, so Ryuunosuke jumps in. "We'll get Mr. Holmes to stop. Promise."
He folds his arms. "Good. Then, if there is nothing else, I bid you adieu." Without, in fact, waiting for a response, van Zieks strides away.
"I didn't even get to do my Theatre of Logic and Reasoning!" Holmes calls out after him.
Back at the Office, Kazuma samples van Zieks's red wine. Something about how it's a hallowed experience any man should be honoured to have. He's trying to be polite, really, but he can't fathom how the man drinks twenty bottles of his a day. It tastes horrible—almost like iron.
Chapter 2: The Sign of Fatherliness
Summary:
"Yes, I... I've been in a sort of writer's block these past few months, and since you were returning with Ryuu and Susie, I thought I could ask you for advice!"
"Me?" He's slightly taken aback by that.
"Of course! You were there during all of these adventures; you would know them better than anyone!"
That time one Watson-of-sorts advised another Watson-of-sorts on an upcoming story.
Notes:
Written for Day 2 of The Greatest Family Week:
childhood memories/ reunionswow iris, the queen of england let you have THREE dads?
Chapter Text
It is early spring when Yuujin returns to Great Britain. Snow still covers the streets of London, but the breeze on his skin is warm. Comforting, in a nostalgic sort of way. Taking a deep breath, he smiles.
He arrives at 221B Baker Street unaccompanied. Susato and Ryuunosuke are visiting Kazuma at the Prosecutor's Office, leaving him to his own devices. Yuujin knocks once, and the door swings open to reveal a young girl with pink pigtails.
"Professor Mickey!" Iris chirps. "Oh, I'm so glad you came."
"Hello to you as well, Iris," he answers. "Might I come in?"
"Mhm! I'll have tea ready in just a moment." Iris flounces off with him in tow.
Yuujin takes the moment to look around the suite; after all, he didn't exactly have the luxury to let it sink in the last time he was in London. The space is much more furnished than it was when he left it all those years ago, with baubles and strange inventions scattered about. Well over a decade has passed since Yuujin lived here, but it is still home in a unique way.
"Here you are!" Iris says, interrupting his reverie. An ornate tea-set balances on the tray in her hands. "I've been experimenting with blends lately, so I do hope you enjoy this one."
"Thank you," Yuujin says with a slight bow. He seats himself—the chair is comfortable, if not built for someone smaller than him—and takes a sip from the cup. It is just the right warmth, with a sweetness he does not recognise but appreciates nonetheless. "It's excellent, Iris," he adds. "I can see why my daughter spoke so highly of your special blends."
Iris practically glows. "Oh, thank you so much. I'm very happy to hear that!"
Yuujin knits his eyebrows together. "...However, I assume you haven't invited me simply to drink tea, correct?"
She clasps her hands before her. "Yes, I... I've been in a sort of writer's block these past few months, and since you were returning with Ryuu and Susie, I thought I could ask you for advice!"
"Me?" He's slightly taken aback by that.
"Of course! You were there during all of these adventures; you would know them better than anyone! Well, besides Holmesie, but he can be... forgetful, sometimes."
Yuujin laughs fondly. "Yes, I know what you mean. Alright, then—what did you have in mind?"
"Let me show you!" Iris makes her way to the trunk and pulls out a set of notes. He instantly recognises the spidery handwriting as his own. "I've been particularly interested in this case involving the Copper Beeches," she says, gesturing to the papers.
"Now that is a phrase I haven't heard in a long time," Yuujin remarks, a smile curling at his mouth as he reminisces. "The one involving Miss Violet Hunter and her employers, yes?"
Iris nods. "Your notes were very good, as always! But... I was hoping you could tell me about it yourself. Hearing the details from you could help a lot."
So Yuujin obliges. The details have grown a little fuzzy with time, but he still recalls the Rucastles' curious requests and the discovery of their daughter's imprisonment. Iris notes his every word with dutiful fervour. Part of him suspects that there is more to this exercise than Iris lets on, but she says nothing save the occasional prompt when memory fails him. Besides, he has always wanted to see her writing process for himself: the rhythmic clatter and ding of her typewriter, the excerpts she reads aloud for him to give input on.
Yuujin is in the middle of recounting one of his conversations with Holmes—something about the complexities of commonplace crime—when he runs out of tea. (Like he said, it is excellent.)
Iris notices immediately and gets to her feet. "Would you like another cup?"
He nods. "That would be lovely, thank you."
"You're welcome! I'll be right back."
After a few minutes, she returns with another pot and a thoughtful expression on her face. Iris pours the tea and adds, "Are you enjoying your visit, Professor Mickey?"
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
"I was just thinking—this is a reunion, right?" Iris gestures around the suite. "I was wondering if I should have prepared something more special. Like... some balloons, or some music!"
Yuujin is reminded briefly of the bizarre German records that Holmes liked to listen to and holds back a laugh. "Ah... in my opinion, this reunion was quite nice. Your tea was marvellous, I got to reminisce about my time with Holmes—what more could I want?"
"I'm glad you think so! But..." She hops back onto her chair and swings her legs back and forth. The contemplative pause lasts for a bit before she adds, "Well, I'll put it this way. I thought of you as my daddy for the longest time, though I know it's much more complicated than that now. So it's a little odd that our meeting is so... regular."
"I hadn't thought of it like that, but I suppose it is strange," he muses. "For my part, you wrote countless stories based on my notes. Perhaps I should be asking for an autograph from my biographer?"
"Ooh! I could certainly do that," Iris says, plucking a quill pen from her desk. "...Just kidding! Speaking of which, though, could I ask your thoughts on my stories? It's something I've always wanted to ask, whenever I got the chance to meet you."
Yuujin folds his arms. He remembers when Holmes had sent him Iris's first manuscript, two or three years ago. How shocked he was at the quality, let alone the fact that it had been written by the infant he had left in his partner's care! Between the imaginative lens and the accurate reconstruction of their first case together, however, the writing was so clearly tender, as though the memory were crystal and the author wanted to treat it with the utmost care.
I told Iris you were her father, Holmes had written in one of his letters. Not the details, obviously, but she seems to have taken to the idea. Of having such a figure, I mean.
(It was doubly ironic, then, that Susato became such an avid fan of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Yuujin ran from being a father for six years only for his daughter to adore that period of his life. He came out with two daughters when his cowardice had sent him away from one alone.)
"Your novels have always been excellent," he tells Iris at last. "Even having experienced them myself you manage to bring something new to the table every time. If you had shown them to me two decades ago, I would have been floored. "
Iris beams. For the briefest of moments, she reminds him of Susato, six years old and waiting for him at the train station. Bright and young and with the whole world at her fingertips. "Thank you, Professor Mickey!" she says, clasping her hands together. "I'll do my best not to disappoint with my upcoming story."
"Susato and I will eagerly await the day you publish it," he answers. Then: "Would you mind if I asked a question of my own?"
"Go for it!"
He considers the opportunity. What to ask the infant, hardly one month old, that he left in London all those years ago? (What to ask the unwitting child of Klimt van Zieks?)
With myriad options swimming through his mind, he settles on one: "Forgive me if this is self-centred, but... what was your favourite story to write?"
Iris's eyes light up, as though the question is one she has wanted to answer her entire life instead of one she must get constantly. She talks hurriedly about The Beryl Coronet and laughs at the recollection of The Blue Carbuncle and admits, however hesitantly, that The Hound of the Baskervilles keeps a special spot in her heart. For his part, Yuujin recounts their encounters with a noble bachelor and an illustrious client, their adventures in the Boscombe Valley and the Wisteria Lodge, and it is easy to lose track of time.
When at last their conversation comes to a lull, Yuujin glances out the window and realises with a start how much time has passed. The reddish hues of sunset colour the street outside. "I suppose this is my cue to leave," he says, "but thank you for the chance to relive these moments, Iris. It was a pleasure making your reacquaintance."
"To you, as well." Iris curtsies, smiling back at him. "Take care, Professor Mickey!"
Yuujin puts his bowler hat onto his head and grabs his coat, yet he can't help feeling that there is one more thing he ought to say. He takes a step out of 221B, breathing in the cool evening air, and turns.
"I would have been honoured to see you grow up into the capable girl you are," Yuujin says, "but I think Holmes has done a better job of raising you than I ever could have."
He intends on walking away before seeing Iris's reaction, but she stops him before he has the chance. Iris grabs his hand and, as he glances down, shakes it firmly.
"Come back soon," she says—a demand, not a question. "You're part of our family, so you're always welcome here!"
Yuujin ducks his head in affirmation. She lets go of his arm, then, and waves. With that, he is on his way.
Chapter 3: The Adventure of the Glorious Dog
Summary:
The suite floor was swamped in a sea of vibrant fabrics, and the two girls were seated in its centre. Beside Iris were early designs depicting an outfit for Toby that matched Gina's own.
"I dunno anyfin' 'bout this fashion stuff," Gina admitted. "You're the one who wanted to dress 'im up all fancy-like anyway."
That time Iris and Gina dressed up Toby and reflected a little on his namesake. (But mostly dressed up the dog.)
Notes:
Written for Day 3 of The Greatest Family Week:
birthdays/ pets
Chapter Text
"Ginny, what do you think of this colour?" Iris said, holding a scrap of pink silk to Toby's fur.
The suite floor was swamped in a sea of vibrant fabrics, and the two girls were seated in its centre. Beside Iris were early designs depicting an outfit for Toby that matched Gina's own.
"I dunno anyfin' 'bout this fashion stuff," Gina admitted. "You're the one who wanted to dress 'im up all fancy-like anyway."
"I know..." Iris tapped her chin thoughtfully. "But I thought he deserved something nice for his hard work! Both of you, really. I mean, you've been helping the Yard a lot these past few weeks, not to mention how much you helped Ryuu and Susie before."
Toby barked in approval.
"That's right!" Gina triumphantly presented her badge, now much less homemade. "They're finally treatin' me like a bona fide inspector now. Couldn'ta done it wivout Toby, neither. Told ya that 'e'd make an excellent police dog, ain't I?"
"Oh, yes!" Iris gave Toby a scratch behind the ears. "I'm sure everyone's so proud of him."
"Y-Yeah..."
Though Gina's smug expression faltered only for a moment, Iris frowned. What could have triggered that reaction?
Deciding not to press just yet, she held up a bolt of olive-green fabric. "What do you think of this? I could use that silk as trim, too!"
"Hmm..." The odd mood having passed, Gina mimed a rectangle with her index fingers and thumbs and framed Toby in it. "Think that could work."
Iris nodded and put the fabric to the side, where Toby started sniffing at it. "Alright, now we should pick which outfit you want! I've never really designed something for a dog before, so I wasn't sure how complicated I should make it. It's up to you!"
"Yeah, Toby 'ere's real picky."
Gina hummed as she squinted over the sheets of paper. Toby, too, trotted over and gave the designs a curious sniff. After a thorough investigation, he pawed at one and barked once.
"You like that one, boy?" She knelt down next to the dog, who barked again. "Mm, doesn't look 'alf bad... though, maybe lose the fancy ruffle thing."
The proposal in question was fairly simple, designed to look almost like an exact mirror of Gina's outfit. A pair of goggles—unnecessary, of course, but practically Iris's signature at this point—would balance on the front of the cap. The tiny jacket would drape over Toby's back, and the sleeves would attach to bracelet-like cuffs around Toby's legs so he wouldn't be stuffed inside the outfit. And, of course, there was a cravat for extra flair.
"I'm so glad you like this one!" said Iris. "I thought it was fashionable without standing out too much. And yes—maybe we could just keep Toby's normal bandana?"
Toby scampered over to weave between Iris's legs and promptly slobbered all over her boots. Which was... probably a good sign.
"Sounds like a plan." Even though she claimed to have no fashion sense, the corners of Gina's mouth curled upward at the idea of Toby walking around like a miniature version of her. Imagining the prospect as well, Iris grinned and clapped her hands together.
Next came the part where Iris actually put the outfit together—tedious, but she had always found this process fun. Toby squirmed constantly as she adjusted the measuring tape, but by sheer force of will (and a lot of treats from Gina's pocket; "you greedy bastard," she muttered fondly), Iris managed to get what she needed. Then, she moved on to cut out the pieces of fabric and sew them together.
"Look at this, Ginny!" Iris chirped. In her hands was the mostly finished frock-coat. "Here, do you want to try putting this on Toby?"
Gina, having grown bored with playing with her canine companion after the first hour of watching Iris work, sprang up from the couch at the latest development. "Jeez, lookin' like a proper outfit already. C'mere, Toby!"
Toby bounced over obediently. Somehow, he managed to stand still long enough that Gina could drape the jacket over him. The dog waddled forward, unused to the clothes, but then he leapt onto Gina's lap and started licking her cheek.
Iris giggled. "I guess that means he likes it!"
"Ye—ack, back up a bit, Toby—yep! You're a genius as always, Iris."
Then, Gina paused and sighed. Her expression turned into a slight frown, as if she were thinking about a distant memory. As she deliberately placed Toby on the ground, it was clear that she wasn't trying to be obvious about her sudden melancholy, but Iris had always been good at noticing these things.
"Ginny? Is something wrong?"
"Nah. Just... well, 's kinda silly, thinkin' on it."
"It's not silly if it's bothering you!" Iris replied. "You can tell me if it'll make you feel better."
She gently grabbed her arm and guided her friend to Holmesie's favourite chair. Sitting down, Gina pulled her hat from her head and idly fiddled with it. After a long pause, Gina folded her arms and looked Iris in the eye with a glitter of defiance and... sorrow, Iris thought.
"'s just... I've been thinkin' 'bout the Boss," she began. At Iris's surprised expression, she continued, "After that 'ole Professor biz, the Yard was in a right tizzy. Almost got kicked out meself, 'cause I was just 'is apprentice an' all." She grinned and picked up Toby. "Good thing this pup convinced 'em otherwise."
"Aw, that's good!" Iris said, giving Toby a scratch between the ears. The company of a dog must have done much-needed wonders for the inspectors' morale. "But I'm sorry about that, Ginny. That must've been tough to deal with."
Gina waved her off. "Nah, 'olmes was right 'bout wot 'e said when 'e introduced me to the Boss proper. Most o' the inspectors ain't worth their salt. Speakin' o' which, some o' them wanted me to change Toby's name also, 'cause of all that."
"...It's hard to imagine calling him anything else."
"That's the trouble, innit?" Gina sighed again. "I mean, I know the Boss wasn't a... I know 'e did some bad things, but 'e also took in some'n like me, yeah? That's gotta count for somefin'."
"I think so too," Iris mused. "Gregsy and I knew each other for a long time, you know. He was one of my earliest supporters when I started publishing The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. He always treated me politely—and maybe he overdid it, sometimes—but he had good intentions, so I got used to it."
Gina grinned wryly. "Real difficult to imagine the Boss bein' all 'Your Ladyship!' 'round the other inspectors. 'e'd 'ave tossed 'is food at us if 'e didn't value fish-an'-chips so much."
"Yes, yes," Iris said, laughing. "What I'm trying to say is, we knew different sides to the same person. Gregsy might have done... those things, but he also wanted to be a better role model for you." She clasped her hands in her lap. "So I say you shouldn't change Toby's name! It's in honour of the Gregsy you knew."
After a moment's consideration, Gina nodded. "You're right, Iris. Screw wot they say! Ain't that right, Toby?"
The dog in question had dozed off during their conversation, but he perked up at the mention of his name. He barked twice before curling up on Gina's lap again.
"It's a yes from 'im," Gina translated. "An'... thanks, Iris. This mushy stuff ain't my style, but... I guess it was good talkin' 'bout it."
Iris tilted her head to the side. Looking at Gina, still clutching her cap in her hands, she was reminded of that day she appeared at the flat to deliver the news about Gregson's death. Tears had welled in her eyes then; now, there was nothing but a smile on her face.
"Of course!" Iris said, beaming. "Now, let's get back to work. This outfit won't make itself!"
Gina cackled. "I bet the Boss is rollin' in 'is grave 'cause we're playin' dress-up with Toby."
As the two of them put the final touches on Toby's matching outfit, however, Iris only had one thought on her mind: I think Gregsy would have been happy to see how far Ginny has come.
Chapter 4: A Squabble in Bohemia
Summary:
But when Kazuma looks up, the wyrmling's tail is coming down on his ally—and she still has that cocky, unsuspecting expression on her face.
He acts on instinct, Karuma raised to block the blow.
That time Kazuma and Gina, fighter and rogue of the party, reconciled their rivalry. Sort of.
Notes:
Written for Day 4 of The Greatest Family Week:
free day/ AU!kazuma and gina are the 2 cousins that fistfight at every family reunion while everyone watches in horrified amusement
Chapter Text
THE WYRMLING SHRIEKS as Ryuunosuke fires another arrow into its hide. The dragon is heavily wounded, flapping its leathery wings in a futile attempt to flee. It's only a matter of time before the group collects their well-earned bounty.
"Outta the way, 'sougi!"
Gina shoves Kazuma aside, leaping up to jam one of her myriad daggers into an already opened wound, worsening it into something that might be fatal. The wyrmling staggers, spitting dark blue ichor onto the ground.
"I swear to the gods," Kazuma mutters under his breath. If he lets Gina of all people deal the finishing blow, he'll never live it down. He rushes forward, his own katana raised for another strike.
"Ooh, what's wrong?" she mocks as the dragon bats away one of his slashes. It's followed up by a sputtering burst of flame from its toothy maw; Gina springs out of the way with ease, but some of the fire catches on Kazuma's pant leg. "Bit slow on the uptake, 'sougi."
"This isn't the time," he snaps, extinguishing the embers with a frustrated swipe.
But when Kazuma looks up, the wyrmling's tail is coming down on his ally—and she still has that cocky, unsuspecting expression on her face.
He acts on instinct, Karuma raised to block the blow. Enchanted metal meets scaly whip, and his katana might have cleaved straight through sinewy flesh given enough force. But the wyrmling retracts its tail, angling it harpoon-like before jabbing the point through Kazuma's side. He staggers away and, through gritted teeth, calls out, "A little help would be nice!"
"Got it!"
The air vibrates with the telltale crackle of a spell being cast, and a beam of light narrowly misses him and Gina. Instead, the Lightning Bolt runs straight through the wyrmling's body. It thrashes violently from the electricity before collapsing.
Susato dealing the final blow, he can take.
"Nice work, Susato," Kazuma calls out. He approaches the dragon cautiously, poking it with his katana to ensure that it's dead. He signals with a hand gesture, and his four companions rush up from behind.
"Kazzy! Are you alright?" Iris says, though her hands are already aglow with a Cure Wounds spell. He shrugs even as the white magic seeps comfortingly into his skin.
Their cleric moves on to heal the others until the rest of her magic is exhausted. Gina and Susato, meanwhile, busy themselves with cutting up the dragon: prying off its shimmering scales, bottling what ichor remains in its veins. By the time they've collected what they can, the sun is dipping behind the trees that ring this forest clearing.
"Guess we'll have to set up camp here," Ryuunosuke says. "Are you all okay with that?"
Kazuma nods. "As much as I'd like to get back as soon as possible... we can't risk getting ambushed by something else."
So they put up their tents, and Susato hurls a Fire Bolt at a pile of gathered branches to ignite a cosy campfire. Kazuma takes first watch—adrenalin keeps him alert even hours after a fight—and no one challenges him.
It's quiet for the first half-hour or so. This time of night is peaceful, he muses; nothing but cricket songs and my own thoughts to keep me company. He cleans and quietly sharpens his katana, ears alert for the approach of anything bigger than an owl.
Something rustles.
His hand tightens around Karuma's hilt, and his eyes dart around for the source of the noise. Then, he sees something emerge from the girls' tent.
Gina.
"Of course," he says out loud.
She glares daggers at him. "Couldn't sleep. Got a problem wiv that?"
"Nope," Kazuma says, in a way that conveys yeah, maybe.
Gina leans against a nearby tree and folds her arms. Instead of retorting, she stares up at the ink-black sky, mouth pressed into a thin line. It's a little unnerving, having her silently present, but Kazuma forces himself to ignore her.
"...'sougi," she begins, finally. "Thanks. For t'day."
"What did I do?" Kazuma frowns as though he genuinely does not know. Mostly because it's more entertaining if she admits it herself.
Gina glowers him as though he's just committed the gravest offence imaginable, which cancels out whatever sliver of gratitude was being expressed. "The dragon, yeah? You blocked the 'it." She scuffs the ground with her boot. "Tail looked like it woulda left a nasty scar."
"It did," Kazuma says, gesturing to his side. "But you're welcome. Iris would have patched you up either way, though."
Somehow, her expression sours even more. "Jus' take the thanks, 'ight? I don't wanna repeat meself."
"Yeah, wouldn't want you to hurt yourself," he agrees dryly.
They've always been like this, ever since Gina joined up—no, ever since they met. (To be fair, she had tried to swipe Karuma off of him; it's a nifty sword, okay? she protested when the four of them confronted her). The two front-line fighters of the Irregulars are rivals; with Gina's defiant personality and Kazuma's competitive attitude, how could they not be? They're contending for the spotlight, the opportunity to be a hero to the others and, to be frank, Kazuma finds it godsdamned exhausting.
"Wot're you lookin' at me like that for?" Gina interjects, eyes narrowed.
"No reason." Kazuma pauses before adding, "Tell me this, Gina: why did you join us?"
She blinks. "Ain't 'ave a choice, did I. You all jus' told me to com wiv ya, so I did. Simple as that."
"True. But you're stealthy. You could sneak away at any time, and we would have no way of finding you."
"W-Well..." Gina splutters, "D'you really think I'd be that rude? Proper manners an' all. Not that I'd expect you to know, course."
"Right," Kazuma replies, raising an eyebrow. "Forgot that I'm in the presence of courtesy incarnate."
"An' 'ang on a second! Wot's up wiv the interro—inte—questionin'? You're not plannin' somefin', are ya?"
"No, no." He presses a hand to his chin. "I just thought, maybe there was some reason you stuck around. Don't you have, I don't know, family or something?"
Gina quiets at that, tipping her head downward so that her hat shades her face. Finally, she retorts, "I don't! S'that wot ya want me t' say?"
"Oh." Kazuma bites his tongue. "My apologies, Gina."
She raises her head again. Her expression isn't watery, really, so much as annoyed. "You're real daft, y'know? I wouldn'ta picked your pocket if I was livin' wiv some 'ighfalutin family in the first."
"Fair enough." He pauses again, considering whether he should make the next comment. "You know, I don't have any blood family either. There's Susato, maybe, but my mother and father, ah... weren't around for long."
Gina stares blankly at him. "...'kay. Wot, are you expectin' me to shed a few tears for ya? World's tiniest violin?"
"No, I'm trying to be relatable—oh, never mind. That's the last time I try to be nice."
She scoffs, and they fall into a tense sort of silence. Gina idly fiddles with her daggers (those are also kind of cool, Kazuma thinks, though he would never admit it to her). He, on the other hand, sheaths Karuma, satisfied with its renewed sheen. Again he listens for the approach of a potential enemy, as is the point of him taking watch; nothing, however, appears to save him from this conversation.
"Look," Gina says, and he glances up in surprise. "To answer your question from 'fore: I did think I could make a good few bob, wot wiv the mercen'ry work an' all." She plucks a platinum coin from her bag and flips it in her palm as proof. "'sides, you lot are fairly able. Better runnin' wiv a group than alone."
He nods. "We watch each other's backs."
"Yeah! So... 'm only lookin' out for num'er one. Nothin' more to it." Gina crosses her arms once more, daring him to disagree.
"If you say so." Kazuma shifts his posture on the fallen log, so that he can lie on his back and stare at the stars above. It sounds like a terrible lie to him—and aren't rogues supposed to be good at that?—but at this point, he doesn't have the energy to instigate anymore.
"Oy! Now that you've got me chattin' on an' on, it's your turn to talk about yerself, innit?"
"I wasn't aware we were taking turns," he says placidly, "but fine. What would you like to know about me, Miss Lestrade?"
Gina taps her foot on the ground in thought. "A'ight, how's 'bout this: why're you lot travellin' together, anyhow?"
Kazuma hums. "It's nothing grandiose. I wanted to... see the world, so to speak. Get more life experience, return home, and shake things up, right?"
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gina squint at him. "You oughtta get better at lyin', 'sougi."
"Excuse me?" He sits up.
"I thought it was a fluke at first, but you touch the 'ilt o' your sword when you lie." Gina scowls dramatically, holding her dagger downward as she adds, "I'm 'sougi, an' I ain't suspicious at all. Like that."
"I don't," Kazuma says defensively. Well, maybe I do, he thinks, but it's another thing he would never tell her.
Gina rolls her eyes. "Wotever. 'ow 'bout the others?"
"Susato and Ryuunosuke are friends of mine, so when I told them I was going on this quest, they agreed to tag along. Iris joined along the way. Just like me," he says pointedly, "she wanted to explore, so she travels with us as long as she checks in with her father—a famous bard or something; Susato was a fan—every so often."
Another reason Kazuma still hesitates to accept Gina as a member: he simply does not have the same familiarity with her as he does with the others. Susato and he have known each other for a large portion of their lives; Kazuma clicked with Ryuunosuke from the moment they met; and Iris treated everyone with such bubbly charm that it was difficult not to be kind to her.
"Guess that makes sense, yeah. An' ya don't feel bad 'bout it?"
Kazuma stiffens. "What?"
"I mean, by explorin'—" Gina uses air quotes around the word— "you're kinda puttin' 'em all in danger, yeah? Take t'day: we all got real roughed up, an' Iris's magic 'as got limits." She pushes up her sleeve, gesturing at a discoloured patch of skin that marks a magically healed burn.
"...You really try my patience," he says. If that were said by anyone else, Kazuma would need Susato to stop him from running them through.
"S'what I'm here for, ain't it?"
It's not something he hasn't considered before. Kazuma tells himself that he didn't force his friends to join him, but they're both sticklers for etiquette; they would never express doubts if they had them. Plus, though Iris asked to join their party, he isn't particularly happy about bringing a ten-year old into battle.
Perhaps this journey to find my father was a mistake, he thinks.
"My bad, 'sougi," Gina says—a rare instance of her backing down. "Guess that question really rattled ya."
"It's quite alright. Just another thing to bottle up, no?" Gina snorts at his half-joke, which Kazuma finds an odd sense of pride in. "In any case, I do have my reservations from time to time. However, I am glad not to be adventuring alone. I imagine I would have been killed long ago if not for Ryuunosuke's backup, or Susato's counsel, or Iris's healing..."
"Ain'tcha forgettin' someone?"
He rolls his eyes. "Or your help, Gina."
"Score."
"So I thank you," Kazuma continues, fueled by momentum while he has it. "In this motley family of ours, we look out for each other. I helped you out earlier; I should hope you would have done the same for me."
"I wouldn't," she replies without hesitation.
He throws his head back and laughs. "Well then," Kazuma says wryly, "I'm glad the occasion never arose."
A few minutes pass in silence—heavy, although not as tense as it might have been previously—before Gina mutters, "Protectin' each other... that's family, huh?"
Kazuma bows his head in a nod, smiling.
Chapter 5: How Naruhodou Learned the Trick
Summary:
"Hey! Come at me again; I'm sure I've got it do—"
Without warning, Susato rushes at him. He flails uselessly as she flips him onto his back, knocking the air out of his lungs once more. He tries to protest with some measure of dignity, but it sounds more like a wheeze.
That time Ryuunosuke and Susato tried to teach four things to one another. Emphasis on tried.
Notes:
Written for Day 5 of The Greatest Family Week:
sibling squabble/ teaching!
Chapter Text
"Ow..." Ryuunosuke mumbles for the thirtieth time.
He's staring at the greyish sky, trying to regain his breath. Blades of grass tickle the sides of his face, and he holds back a sneeze.
"Are you alright, Naruhodou-san?" Susato says, but judging by her amused smile as she peers over him, she can't be terribly concerned.
"Yeah," he replies. "My ego, well, that's a different story." Ryuunosuke sits up—oh, that's going to hurt later, he thinks—and runs a hand through his unruly hair. "Man, martial arts… are not as simple as I expected."
"It took a while for me to learn from Father as well. You can imagine a child would require a great deal of practice to master the motions," Susato says. It's an attempt at comforting him; her tone, however, betrays that she was probably a natural when she was younger. "If I might ask, Naruhodou-san, why did you want me to teach you, anyhow?"
He clasps her outstretched hand, and she pulls him to his feet with easy strength. "I guess I was just curious. I mean, I've seen you use the Susato Toss so many times, I thought it'd be good to learn a little."
Ryuunosuke remembers that day on the S.S. Alclair, when he had been the subject of Susato's wrath. He's thankful that this time, he's landing on soft soil instead of hardwood floor. (Plus, he's not being accused of murder. That's always nice.)
"It is a wonderful way to stay in shape," Susato remarks, laughing, "though I should wonder if you don't have your work cut out for you."
"Hey! Come at me again; I'm sure I've got it do—"
Without warning, Susato rushes at him. He flails uselessly as she flips him onto his back, knocking the air out of his lungs once more. He tries to protest with some measure of dignity, but it sounds more like a wheeze.
"I didn't mean it to be insulting," she amends, though she hides the upturn of her mouth behind her hand. "You have your talents in the courtroom and in other areas. Perhaps the 'Ryuunosuke Reversal' isn't in the cards."
Ryuunosuke sighs and sits up on the ground. "Maybe not. But still..." He gestures vaguely. "I dunno. It could come in useful someday."
Susato gives him a sympathetic look. "There's no harm in attempting once more. Here, stand like this…"
"...And pull back the bowstring like so."
Susato furrows her brows in concentration. Her stance, as far as Ryuunosuke can tell, mirrors his own: the footing and posture, the right way of drawing the bow, the arrow's alignment with her cheek. But when she releases the string, the arrow flies past the makeshift target and buries itself in a tree trunk thirty metres away.
"Well," he comments hesitantly, "at least it went pretty far."
She nods, mouth pressed into a thin line. "I apologise, Naruhodou-san. I, I thought I had it this time…"
"No, no! If anyone should be apologising, it's me. I'm not really the best teacher…"
The two of them walk through the field to gather the arrows scattered about. Susato still looks bothered as she returns them to her yazutsu; though she doesn't explicitly voice her feelings, Ryuunosuke knows her lack of success with this distance is frustrating her.
In an effort to break the tension, he adds, "It's my turn to ask, Susato-san: why did you want me to teach you?"
She pulls the final arrow from the bark, which is already pockmarked by other unsuccessful attempts. "I suppose, like yourself, I wanted to try something new. You've mentioned your love for kyudo on occasion, so I thought I might try it out. It, ah… has not been going as well as I had hoped."
"You're doing fine! You nailed the makiwara earlier," Ryuunosuke replies quickly. "You know, I wasn't really a prodigy myself. I just practised shooting in my free time—until I met Kazuma, and I realised it was one of the things I could beat him in."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I mean… he just excelled at everything, you know? So I was surprised to find out that he couldn't aim at all." He smiles wistfully at the memories: Kazuma almost dropping his bow when it swung around unexpectedly, the several times his string snapped and Ryuunosuke had to lend him a new one.
"I can see that," Susato says, a hint of a smile playing at her mouth. "Kazuma-sama could be a little too impatient for his own good, sometimes… oh! But we should return to practising, correct?"
"Ah, that's right!"
Once they return to training, however, Susato seems more level-headed—in part because of the brief distraction, Ryuunosuke hopes. In fact, her next arrow hits the target perfectly. He grins and turns to Susato to celebrate.
Susato is glaring daggers at him.
Ryuunosuke, having just returned to their office, freezes over the threshold. "Uh… good afternoon, Susato-san! What did I—"
Before he can finish his sentence, she drags him over to her desk. Susato pulls out a small box, which he recognises as her sewing kit. The sight is so familiar that he glances down at his armband out of instinct and notices the slight tear. It must have gotten caught on something on his walk back.
When he looks up, Susato has a needle and thread in her hands already. She has always been ruthless when it comes to fixing his clothing; Ryuunosuke could hardly forget the horrified look on her face when he showed her that a button had torn from his uniform. Not that any of that is a bad thing, of course—Ryuunosuke appreciates her precision. This time, however, she pauses.
"Is… there something else?" he asks. The rest of his clothing looks fine, and his desk doesn't look any more disorganised than normal (though, according to Susato, such a scenario would be impossible). He, then, has no idea how to read her expression.
"No, Naruhodou-san, I was just thinking… why don't you try sewing your armband together yourself?"
Ryuunosuke splutters. "What? Why?"
Susato tilts her head, that cool expression still on her face. "Well, as much as I enjoy it, I don't think I can be around to re-sew your clothing all the time. Realistically speaking, in any case. So, you might as well learn to do it on your own, no?"
"You sound like my parents," he grumbles, and Susato gives him a light-hearted shove. "Fine, I'll give it a shot."
Holding the thread and needle in his hands, Ryuunosuke is reminded of his six-month disbarment, during which Iris had made him assist with sewing projects of her own. He hadn't been very involved back then, had only given simple thoughts on her designs with his minimal knowledge of æsthetics, but she told him it helped nonetheless. Besides, he thinks, I watched her work sometimes. This shouldn't be too difficult, right?
Once again, Ryuunosuke is proven wrong. He doesn't consider himself a particularly clumsy person, but the sewing implements feel far too small for him to use. His hands start shaking if he focuses on them too much, which Susato chides him for. When at last he manages to angle them properly, the needle stabs his finger through the fabric. This happens a few more times before he gives up.
"You can do it, Naruhodou-san! Here, pay close attention."
Susato deftly threads the needle through the armband, in mere seconds doubling the work that had taken Ryuunosuke painstaking minutes to perform. The difference in quality is startling: Susato's portion would be unnoticeable if he hadn't just watched her do it, whereas his handiwork is… obvious.
"Can we go back to the tossing?"
"Oh, come now," Susato says, though her eyes sparkle with amusement. "It's not that—well…"
"You didn't have to cut yourself off like that," Ryuunosuke complains. "Haaah… good thing we don't have a case for a while."
"...About that."
Ryuunosuke looks at his desk once more.
A nine-by-nine shogi board is placed upon the surface, and the two of them are seated on either side. Susato frowns at the puzzle set before her: the promoted rook is, at the moment, the only piece attacking the enemy king, nestled against the rest of its pieces. Her hand hovers over the rook, but at Ryuunosuke's not-so-subtle cough, she hesitates.
"The captured pieces," he whispers.
Susato turns to the handful available. Her eyes brighten suddenly, and she sets the gold general where it places gote 's king in checkmate. She clasps her hands together with delight.
"Thank you, Naruhodou-san." Wryly, she adds, "However, I'm not sure whether solving shogi puzzles is particularly relaxing, especially after a trial."
"Sorry, Susato-san." Ryuunosuke scratches the side of his head bashfully. "I thought it seemed like the kind of game you'd enjoy."
She gathers the pieces and begins resetting the board: lance, knight, silver general, gold general… "I appreciate the sentiment. It is a lovely game, don't get me wrong! Just a little… stressful."
Ryuunosuke nods in understanding. "I get that. Sometimes shogi does help me unwind, though. Different way of using my brain, I guess."
Susato pauses after placing the last pawn down. "You know how to play chess as well, don't you?"
Early during their stay in London, Holmes challenged him to a few games of chess (in hindsight, Ryuunosuke suspects it was one of his attempts to distract them from the dog collar they discovered). What was supposed to be a casual match had turned into him being demolished over the board; Holmes sacrificed pieces left and right to unleash devastating attacks. Ryuunosuke was absolutely stunned, though he should have known the Great Detective would have a few tricks up his sleeve. Who knew a guy who ate soap could calculate twenty moves in advance?
"It was quite a spectacle to watch," Susato comments, no doubt remembering the same thing as him.
"It's why I prefer shogi," Ryuunosuke says, "though… I hate to admit it, but Holmes-san would have probably destroyed me at that too."
"Yes, he did say his partner—Father, really—taught him to play when you mentioned it…" Susato trails off, her eyes drawn to the far corner of the room.
"What is it, Susato-san?"
"Ah, my apologies." She presses a finger to her cheek, deciding how to phrase what she wants to say next. "How do you think our friends in London are faring? Kazuma-sama, Holmes-san, Iris-chan… everyone, really."
Ryuunosuke rests a hand on his chin. "I hope they're alright," he says. We could send a wire is the next phrase that comes to mind, but he knows that isn't what Susato meant; thinly veiled beneath her words is what do you think they're doing right now? A letter can hardly replace the mundane moments spent with others, built up over time to form a bond. They lived on Baker Street for less than a year and still it feels like a second home.
"You're mumbling again, Naruhodou-san."
Ryuunosuke grins sheepishly. "If only I could learn to stop that habit."
Susato smiles as well when she continues, "I know what you mean. Our time in London had such a dramatic effect on us… It's strange to think those days are so far away now."
"Yeah…" He folds his arms and, after a long while, adds, "But we're still changing, even now. I mean, maybe it's not as drastic as before, but I don't think Kazuma'll expect me to toss him to the ground the next time we meet."
Susato giggles. "Now, that would be a sight to see. I think you have a unique perspective, Naruhodou-san, but… you're right." She punches the air with renewed enthusiasm. "Okay! Show me another shogi puzzle, then. I'll get it this time."
Chapter 6: The Problem of the Great Exhibition
Summary:
Gregson has a pinched expression on his face, as though he were deciding between two equally unappealing choices. His hand clenches around his pen so tightly that it might snap. Finally, he interjects. "Alright! I get it. We can go to the Great Exhibition. Surely there's some part that hasn't been blocked off."
Both of them blink, wide-eyed.
"We?" Susato blurts before she remembers herself.
That time Gregson somehow got roped into visiting the Great Exhibition with the rest of the family.
Notes:
Written for Day 6 of The Greatest Family Week: family outings /
holidays & festivalsthe great exhibition as a plot device should be a trope by this point
Chapter Text
Around two days have passed since that tumultuous trial—where Professor Dobinbough was acquitted of murder, a ten-year old mystery was revived, and Kazuma was…
Kazuma-sama was…!
…While Susato is grateful for the reprieve from such a head-spinning incident, it has left her and Naruhodou with little to do besides mull over all that had been revealed.
At last, Iris had enough of their moping ("I already deal with enough of that from Holmesie!") and sent them out on errands. Now, the two of them are wandering London, boots clicking on the cobblestones, slick with slush. Save the harsh autumn wind on their skin, it's quiet; neither of them are in a particular rush to confront the proverbial elephant strolling alongside them.
Until Naruhodou taps Susato on the shoulder: "Miss Susato, is that who I think it is?"
She glances across the street. Even at this distance, Susato would recognise that grey coat and bowler hat anywhere.
"Oh! Inspector Gregson!"
"Should we say hi? He looks… occupied."
Indeed, he is seated on a bench, one hand scrawling notes in a pocket-book while his mouth devours the fish-and-chips held in the other. The deep scowl on his face could either be from intense concentration… or his normal expression.
Susato tilts her head. "I suppose we don't have anything better to do. A simple greeting couldn't hurt."
They move towards the inspector, who looks up when they're a few metres away. Immediately, he snaps his pocket-book shut and glares at them in a way that makes them both stand at attention. It's a reminder that, for all their familiarity with Gregson, they stand on opposing sides more often than not.
"Uh—nice day out, right?" Naruhodou says, a little too loudly.
Gregson waves his fish-and-chips at him. "Can't you see I'm busy? What do you want?"
Susato steps in. "We were just passing by, and we wanted to say hello. Always nice to see a friendly face, no?"
He folds his arms. "I s'pose. Well, hello: there you go. Anythin' else?"
"Yes, actually. We wanted to thank you for your help during the trial the other day. The Professor—" Naruhodou pauses. Susato can tell they have the same thing in mind: the face of Genshin Asougi, carved in wax. But he shakes his head and continues, "The Professor's autopsy report really came in handy."
Gregson waves dismissively. "Blame it on that blasted Holmes. Always has the Yard at his beck and call."
"Perhaps..." Holmes—and his lies. Agh, this conversation isn't exactly 'taking my mind off things.' Susato brushes her hands against her hakama and says, "Ah, but what a shame about the Crystal Tower! I would have loved to see the festivities properly."
Naruhodou picks up on the change in topic quickly. "Oh, yeah! I only saw a little bit of the Exhibition with Iris, and Miss Susato, you only visited it as a crime scene, right?"
The two of them continue talking wistfully about the hot-air balloons and delectable treats certain to be found at such a showing. All the while, Gregson has a pinched expression on his face, as though he were deciding between two equally unappealing choices. His hand clenches around his pen so tightly that it might snap. Finally, he interjects. "Alright! I get it. We can go to the Great Exhibition. Surely there's some part that hasn't been blocked off."
Both of them blink, wide-eyed.
"We? " Susato blurts before she remembers herself.
"You… really don't have to," Naruhodou adds.
"I don't—" Gregson sighs loudly. "Bloody hell. Well, I said it, so I might as well go through with it, eh?"
The two of them exchange looks. On one hand, spending a day at the Great Exhibition with Gregson of all people is a strong competitor for the most unexpected event this week. On the other, this could be a much-needed distraction from… everything else.
"Alright," Naruhodou answers carefully. "Sounds like it could be fun. We should bring along Mr. Holmes and Iris as well, right?"
Gregson looks like he wants to scream at the suggestion. "Might as well bring Gina and half the damn city while we're at it. Fine. Fine!" He adds, under his breath, "Gettin' soft in your old age, Tobias."
Indeed, the Exhibition is mostly cordoned off in the wake of that dizzying case. There are a handful of sightseers pestering the inspectors to be allowed near the Crystal Tower, but otherwise, the tail end of the festivities is relatively peaceful.
As they roam around the remaining attractions, Susato thinks the six of them must look like quite the ensemble—two Japanese students, a child with bright pink pigtails and a Great Detective striding alongside her, and a blonde girl whose teasing of the moustachioed inspector next to her is non-stop.
"Still can't believe you got the Boss to go along wiv this, 'Oddo an' Sooze," Gina says, cackling.
"Well, we didn't push Inspector Gregson into anything," Ryuunosuke replies. "He kind of just… offered."
"Listen here," Gregson snaps. "You lot were rattlin' on and on about the Exhibition, so I thought you were tryin' to get at somethin'."
"What did I tell you, inspector? Your powers of observation need some work." Holmes bursts into laughter at his own remark.
"Can it, Holmes."
"Ah, look!" Iris interrupts. "We should sit down over there."
The others glance at the set of grand fountains she has pointed out, towering some fifteen metres in the air. Crystalline water gushes from the top of each structure and umbrellas off its lower two levels.
"Lovely idea, Iris!" Susato says, eager to stymie the two detectives' argument, as one-sided as it would be. The six of them weave through concession stands and other exhibition-goers to stand by the centre-most fountain. Iris and Gina hop eagerly onto the edge, munching at the fairy floss they purchased from one of the vendors earlier.
"So sweet," Gina mutters. "Feel like my teeth're gonna fall out o' my 'ead. In a… good way, though?"
"Yes, it's marvellous!" Iris exclaims, eating the last of hers. "Gregsy, you should've bought some for yourself."
"Well, Your Ladyship, sweets are not my thing—unless it's your wonderful tea, of course! Besides, you know there's only one food for me," Gregson replies, brandishing his fish-and-chips.
"Don't tell me that's all you eat," Naruhodou mumbles. Gregson either doesn't hear or pointedly ignores his remark.
Susato turns her attention to the rest of the Exhibition for the moment. With late-autumn afternoon giving way to evening, the sun peers over the skyline and casts the surroundings in a soft scarlet hue. Other visitors stroll about with various baubles and snacks in their hands, lazy chatter filling the air. The Crystal Tower, though off-limits, still looms in the distance— the pinnacle of modern engineering, the newspapers called it. Its beauty makes it easy to forget that one of London's most despicable men died there.
Beside her, Susato hears the others arguing about what they want to visit next ("Ooh, can we ride the hot-air balloons again?" Iris suggests; "Please, no…" Naruhodou mumbles) and smiles. If, a year before, someone had asked her what she thought she'd be doing in London at this time, she would hardly have answered "spending time with detectives straight out of novels" nor "laughing along with my new friends."
Kazuma-sama, she thinks, allowing her thoughts to wander back briefly, what would you think if you were here?
"Thank you!" Iris chirps. "Here, Gregsy."
Susato turns to see Iris tying several balloons to the inspector's arm. Most are simply round and colourful; the foremost, however, is fashioned in the shape of a pig. Gina and Holmes are practically rolling on the grass with laughter, and Ryuunosuke looks like he is a hair's breadth away from them. Gregson has a remarkably mixed expression on his face, his over-enthusiastic attitude toward Iris thinly veiling his indignation about this entire debacle.
"I appreciate it, Your Ladyship," the inspector says tightly.
Iris nods, pink pigtails bobbing. "Mhm! Let me know if you would like more."
"I am very… satisfied with this amount, thank you very mu—"
"Oh!" Gina manages to say between snickers. "I saw a face-painter back where we came from, an' I bet the Boss would love to get somefin' done. Ain't that right, Boss?"
Susato giggles at the image of London's most celebrated inspector having his face painted on the whims of two young girls. Gregson, on the other hand, wheels around on his apprentice. "Why, you—"
"Fantastic idea, Ginny!" Iris says. "Show us the way."
The person to save Gregson from his fate is, unexpectedly, Holmes, who steps in and says, "My apologies, friends, but I'd like to speak to the good inspector for a moment. Go ahead, if you'd like."
Iris pouts. "Okay… let's go, Susie and Ryuu! Ooh, I think Ryuu would look lovely with cat whiskers drawn on his face."
"Why me?!" Naruhodou protests.
Nonetheless, the four of them make their way to the aforementioned stand and, watching the others have their faces painted, Susato decides that today has been a good day.
You've reminded me I need to be true to myself, Tobias writes.
It's a few minutes after midnight, and the inspector is finishing his letter from earlier in the day. Holmes had chewed him out for still being in London even after his warnings. Tobias hates conceding anything to the "Great Detective," but his serious expression was damn intimidating.
Not nearly as intimidating as Vortex, though.
He considers the day's festivities. It really was painful for Tobias—not only because he had to walk past his subordinates with ten balloons tied to his wrist (God, he thinks, what rumours are goin' to be spreadin' around now?), but because he was well-aware he did not deserve the happiness. Tobias is a man with blood on his hands, willing to throw caution to the wind as he plans to drench them in more. But perhaps taking them out was his way of repenting for what happened ten years ago: trading three Japanese students for two plus an apprentice.
And then, he finishes, I've gotta complete your education in the art of deduction 'à la' Gregson, as they say.
Chapter 7: A Study in Souvenirs
Summary:
It's the one that he harassed Professor Mikotoba into taking, with a camera that he inexplicably had on him. Susato is wiping away a tear; Iris is holding a calico cat; Holmes poses as dramatically as ever. Ryuunosuke smiles with Karuma clutched in his hand. And there is you, standing off to the side with a faint curl to your lips.
Seeing this photograph makes you feel strange. Like scraping rust from old metal, or brushing dust from a desk in disuse. It's something you haven't felt in nearly a year, tightening your chest where it once was absent, and you—
You fold it up and slide it back into your pocket.
That time Holmes showed Kazuma how his friends lived.
Notes:
Written for Day 7 of The Greatest Family Week: family photos /
hand-me-downs!thanks for sticking with me through this wild and wacky ride <3
Chapter Text
You are proud.
There is a photograph in a box in your room. You bury it beneath spare bed-sheets and forgotten assignments (and that letter; after years of reading it over and over and over, every accusation is branded into your mind).
The photograph, when you allow yourself the weakness of looking at it, is of you standing next to Father. You grin with the unwavering joy of an eight-year old; Asougi Genshin smiles with the self-assured respect of an honourable man. The memory is a fire-bird you fetter in your ribcage, warm beneath your beating heart. It is a fire-bird that scathes you, knowing the poisonous soot beneath its surface.
Later, you will have other photographs. In one, you and Susato stand next to Professor Mikotoba at a research presentation. In another, the head of Imperial Yuumei hands you an award for your outstanding work. In a third, you feature as a runner-up in the speech competition that Ryuunosuke won.
They should be family to you. They are. But you, proud soul—you hesitate to forget the blood in your veins. You always want more, don't you?
You are proud.
On the day of your friends' departure, you do your best to give them a light-hearted sendoff. Susato and Ryuunosuke look at you, eyes shining with tears and words unsaid. You only laugh.
"Until we meet again," you tell them. "You have your paths to walk, and I have mine."
You called your judicial assistant (your sister) a stickler for etiquette when she visited your office. Perhaps it runs in your makeshift family. When you watch your friends board that mighty steamship to Japan, you raise a hand in a simple farewell. Perhaps you do not trust your own tongue to say any more; if you opened your mouth, what might come out? Come back; we have so much to talk about; don't leave me in this foreign land with this hollow in my chest.
Don't leave me.
Now, you stand at the harbour with Iris and Holmes—hardly more than strangers to you, really. "Kazzie," the former says, sympathetic. "Do you—Would you like to come home with me and Holmesie?"
It is easy, if not mildly depressing, to summon a facsimile of a smile to your face. "Thank you, Iris, but I'll be fine," you reply, and it is not an outright lie. More broken things have been fixed with glue and molten gold.
Iris looks like she wants to say something more, but she decides against it. "Okay..." she relents. "But if you want to take a break from your prosecuting duties, come visit us! I'd love to make you a cup of tea!"
This smile is a little more genuine. "I'll keep that in mind."
With a cheerful wave, she flounces away. You look to the sunrise, painting the sky in brilliant hues of scarlet and gold, just before Holmes says, "I second that proposition, my dear fellow."
You turn back to him. His expression is disarmingly shrewd, as though he is staring directly into your soul. It reminds you that he has outsmarted murderers and masterminds. It reminds you that, if it had been necessary, he might have left you to die.
But it evaporates in an instant as he presses his pipe to his mouth. "I imagine you're curious about your companions' capers in the Capital, and even I must wonder whether Mr. Naruhodou's hair was always so spiky." This makes you snort. "So, if ever you are in the mood for reminiscence: call it an exchange of memories."
You mull over his words. It is an offer, not a demand, and you are curious how Susato and Ryuunosuke fared overseas. "Alright," you reply. "I'll consider it."
"Excellent!" Holmes grins widely at you. "Do stop by when you have the time." With that, he strides after his daughter.
On the carriage ride back to your own meagre apartment, you notice the photograph folded into your pocket. More than likely, Holmes slipped it there when you were distracted.
It's the one that he had harassed Professor Mikotoba into taking, with a camera that he inexplicably had on him. Susato is wiping away a tear; Iris is holding a calico cat; Holmes poses as dramatically as ever. Ryuunosuke smiles with Karuma clutched in his hand. And there you are, standing off to the side with a faint curl to your lips.
Seeing this photograph makes you feel strange. Like scraping rust from old metal, or brushing dust from a desk in disuse. It's something you haven't felt in nearly a year, tightening your chest where it once was absent, and you—
You fold it up and slide it back into your pocket.
You are proud.
It takes you months before you visit 221B Baker Street. Of course, personal stubbornness is not all that keeps you away. In the wake of that tumultuous trial, your schedule has been packed with office work and meetings. Not exactly the picture of martyrdom and redemption evoked by your bold declaration to your friends, but you knew what you were getting into.
Finally, one January morning, you take a carriage to Holmes's flat. It is quiet: the wind is still, and the slate-grey clouds watch like the eyes of an expectant god. You steel yourself in front of the door (how are you more nervous visiting a detective than threatening one? you think dryly, which helps) and knock.
"One moment!" Holmes calls, followed by muffled cursing as something shatters.
A minute later, the door swings open to reveal the man himself, goggles pushed onto his forehead and mechanical oil staining his sleeves.
"If it isn't Prosecutor Asougi!" he says. He looks... not surprised to see you, but curious. "Are you here for a haircut? You know, after that debacle with that redheads, I've been wanting to master the art of barbery, and you would, I think, be an excellent—"
"I'm going to stop you right there," you interject. You hope Susato didn't tell him that you cut your hair with your sword. "I am perfectly fine with my appearance. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something else, Holmes."
"What a shame..." Holmes slouches slightly. "Alright, come in, come in."
"Thank you." You stomp slush from your boots and follow him inside.
The various knickknacks lying about give the suite a lived-in atmosphere. The fireplace provides respite from frigid temperatures, and... there is definitely something smoking on Holmes's desk. Based on what you know of the man, though, you don't question it.
"Iris is off on some errands at the moment," Holmes explains, still looking a little downcast. "But how might I be of assistance, my dear fellow?"
This dampens your resolve slightly—between the two of them, Iris is surely the more approachable—but you are a man on a mission. "I—"
"Hold!" He waves a finger to silence you, a devious grin spreading across his face. "This seems a marvellous opportunity for Sherlock Holmes's Theatre of Logic and Reaso—"
"That won't be necessary," you interrupt. Here goes nothing. "I wanted to... know what it was like. For Ryuunosuke and Susato, living here."
For a moment, you expect him to burst out laughing and say "Who are those people?" or "If you want to know, you'll have to pay up rent, my dear fellow!" However, Holmes takes on a more sombre expression as he runs a hand through his hair. "I see. Well, you're in luck, prosecutor!" He marches over to the mantle and returns with a small box. "Open this, why don't you?"
You obey and are greeted by a number of photographs. The vast majority are monochromatic: your friends in Western-style dress, the group outside of the Crystal Tower. There are newspaper clippings with headlines like "Oriental Lawyer Trounces Reaper!" and "Meet the Eastern Student Rocking the Judiciary," which feature Ryuunosuke standing awkwardly before the camera. There are a few design sketches from Iris—Organizatron 3000 for Ryuu, one is labeled—as well as doodles by Susato. You remember she liked drawing when she drank her morning tea and smile.
The picture at the bottom gives you pause.
It's one of the precious few in full colour. Ryuunosuke points with a determined expression, even as the calico cat springing from Iris's arms knocks his hat from his head. Holmes leans over his shoulder, and Susato grins at the photographer. It's quaint and... it makes your chest ache. You think about that photograph in your pocket. What stories could I have told, you wonder, if I had been there? What would we have been? Would I have—
You close the box.
"My apologies," you tell Holmes, realising that you have been staring at these photographs in silence for far longer than is polite. "I was... recollecting. They've grown a lot, haven't they?"
Tell me what they were like, you want to ask him. Tell me about my sister's smile while she read her novels; tell me whether my best friend muttered legal clauses in his sleep. Tell me how they grew apart from me, the man frozen in time.
Holmes gives you that same scrutinising look, and you force yourself to glare back. "They have indeed," he replies, "in no small part from my counsel, of course! But... it was—is—an honour to know them. To see them grow into the people they are today."
"You don't need to say that twice," you say, and the fondness in your voice surprises you.
He nods. It's strange, seeing the eccentric Great Detective act so seriously. The moment you think this, however, he claps his hands together and says, "Well, my dear fellow, that's enough of that! Would you like me to brew you a cup of tea?"
"That would be lovely. And," you add as he moves from his seat, "could you... would you tell me about them? Ryuunosuke and Susato. I would like to know the stories behind these photographs."
He turns his face slightly back towards you, and you see his mouth curl with a similar grin. "It would be my pleasure," he answers.
When Holmes returns with the tea, he tells you all about your friends. Some of these stories must be fabricated, you think, and when Iris returns ("Kazzie! Oh goodness, I didn't know you were coming today!"), the stories are indeed more grounded in reality. They speak of a jittery exchange student that Ryuunosuke defended when everything seemed stacked against him, and Susato's attempts at organising their office, and the adventures that were had simply strolling about London.
"By the way, Prosecutor Asougi," Holmes says, "you should know that this tea will turn your hair green. I simply couldn't resist!"
"Holmesie!"
You spit the tea back into your cup, and the detective cackles through Iris's scolding. You don't know if he is simply messing with you, let alone how you could ever explain that to van Zieks.
But even in this absolutely mortifying moment, your heart feels more whole than ever. You miss your family dearly, but remembering their profound resolve during that trial makes your heart soar beneath the complex events tangled with it. It is better, you muse, to be warmed by a memory than to be tempered into a weapon by it. As you glance around this cosy suite, you thank your friends for that privilege.
Of them, you are so, so proud.