Chapter 2
It's been about a week since Yon-Rogg moved into Baker Street. During his stay, he never stopped to think for a minute about his original goal, though he had found himself many times before, during his conversation with Sherlock, losing sight of the conversation itself and instead only hearing the detective's melodious voice and his throwing his arms enthusiastically and pointing at various experiments during his speech. Very often he engaged in various discussions with him when he thought he had enough knowledge of the matter. Unfortunately, he always ended up staring in disbelief at how, despite all his arguments, which were unquestionably verified, he had convinced him by deduction to the contrary. And it always came out of his mouth as something completely basic. It made him feel like a complete fool.
He kept a diary for his notes on his mission but instead wrote down notes about his roommate. At one point, he was even recording his knowledge of things like politics, chemistry, biology, etc. After reviewing his research, he was beginning to think that the famous Sherlock Holmes must have been from another, much more advanced planet. None of the Earthlings could have been this brilliant. He looked stupid next to him, too.
In the time he lived with the detective, he never saw him leave the room. Except, of course, for short walks, when he went out for tobacco and other narcotics, as he had found out. One day Yon was collecting mail and, as always, there was a nice pile of letters addressed to Sherlock. He took them and walked over to the detective's room. He was about to knock on the door when there was a loud bang from inside. Without thinking, he threw open the door and burst in. Thick, black smoke engulfed the room. He immediately ran across the room, opening every window there was. Thanks to his prompt actions, the room began to brighten slowly as a worried Mrs Hudson hurried upstairs.
„Oh, my God, what happened here? You are seriously trying to ruin this place. John, please, talk to him. That's the third time this week,” she pleaded Yon.
„Yes, ma'am, I'm already working on it. Now please go and rest. I'll take care of this,” and sent her down with a reassuring smile. She took one last look at the mess before leaving completely.
„Holmes, what are you doing?” he said to his room-mate, who was still coughing and covered in smoke. He helped the detective to his feet and put him in a chair near a window where the air was better.
„I was that close,” he muttered in frustration, fumbling in his pockets for his pipe. He needed a smoke.
„Close to what? Destroying the house?” Yon began, as a concerned parent.
„No, I was working on making a special powder to help me investigate cases and the subsequent culprit. Instead, I had to make a mistake somewhere and instead invented a new kind of gunpowder. Fantastic, don't you think?” he smiled innocently. Yon merely sighed. If it was anyone else, he'd be furious. But he couldn't say no to him. Plus, when he was smiling at him so innocently.
„I have your mail,” he said, changing the subject and tossing the letters into his lap.
„I'm sure it's the same thing. A missing gem, a missing husband, and similar requests,” he replied, bored, and glanced at them quickly, tossing the uninteresting ones to the ground. Only one of them caught his eye. It was a letter from Scotland Yard. He thought it must have come a little while ago.
„My dearest Sherlock Holmes,
something very bad happened at three o'clock at night in Lauriston Gardens on Brixton Road. At 2 a.m. he saw a light in one of the houses. He knew that the house had been unoccupied for a long time and so he suspected that something had happened there. He went to investigate. The door to the house was open, the furniture completely bare, and he found the body of a rather expensively dressed man who had a card in his pocket in the name of Enoch J Drebber, Cleveland, Ohio, USA. This was not a theft, nor do we have any clues as to how the man may have died. There are signs of blood, but there are no superficial injuries on the man himself. We reached the dead end. It would be best if you came here until noon at the latest while I'm here. We've kept everything intact for your sake until I hear your expert opinion. If you can't come, I'll send you a detailed message. I'll be very grateful for your opinion.
Faithfully
Tobias Gregson”
„Um, Gregson and Lestrade are the smartest in Scotland Yard. There is nothing left but to help them,” he murmured with a grin after reading the letter. He got up, got a clean coat, wiped his dirty face in the old one, closed the windows, and started for the door. There he paused as if remembering something important. „Coming?” he asked Watson after turning to face him.
„Oh, go alone. I'm not a detective. I'd only get in the way of you and Scotland Yard,” he replied.
„That's nonsense, and you know it. You could go for two simple reasons. First, in the time we've lived together, I've observed that you have considerable knowledge of medicine. Doctor it is. He's always perfect for a crime scene. And second, you would go as my moral support. Plus, the advice of a good friend is always useful. So I ask you one more time. Coming?” he asked again, with a winning smile.
„It will be my pleasure,” Yon replied, following him. Again he was amazed at what Sherlock could find out about him. As a soldier in the service of the Kree, he must have had a basic knowledge of medicine if anyone was injured on missions. It may have been the basics for him, but on Earth, it was enough to call a doctor. A doctor, that could be an excellent cover.
Together they ordered a cab and drove to the address. Within minutes they were at their destination, and the police let them in without much trouble. At least, the Sherlock they knew. Yon was a new face to them, a new unknown who could be a threat to their homeland and so it was clear that they did not trust him and did not want to let him in.
„Gentlemen, this man is with me. If you don't let him in, you'll leave me no choice, and I'll be forced to leave,” interjected Sherlock, who knew he was popular with the police and, most importantly, that they were screwed without his help.
„Certainly, sir,” one of the policemen replied, immediately releasing Yon to the scene.
They followed a cluster of police until they were in a grey, square room. You could tell that no one had lived here for a long time. Slowly, dirty wallpaper peeled off the walls, a dead fireplace, and a single-window that was so dirty you could barely see through it. The top of the glacier was a thick layer of dust in which fresh footprints were clearly visible.
„Here you are at last,” said the inspector, „as promised, no one touched anything.”
„I'm glad that's something since the others managed to perfectly trample any footprints in the backyard,” he replied sarcastically, stretching his arms and kneeling beside his body. Meanwhile, Yon met Gregson and examined the body himself from a distance.
The man on the ground was maybe 43 or 44 years old. He was on his back, so you could see his face. He had short, curly hair and a trim beard. He was fully dressed. He was already wearing an expensive coat, an ornate waistcoat, and a hat laid beside his head. He had a rather blunt nose and a low forehead. These features made his face look more like a monkey. At the same time, he had clenched fists and dead eyes that hid a hidden horror and a certain hatred. What must he have seen before he died?
„Are you sure he didn't suffer any injuries?” Sherlock's voice interrupted Yon's thoughts.
„Absolutely,” replied the inspector.
„Then it's certain the blood belongs to someone else. Probably our killer. When it came to murder, that is. It reminds me very much of the death of Van Jansen in Utrech. He was barely 34 years old. Do you remember that?” he asked the inspector.
„I'm afraid I can't remember,” he said.
„Then look it up,” he replied, continuing to search the corpse. Tactically and expertly, he searched all pockets, folds, and hidden places then returned to his original state with perfect precision. During all this, however, he had a distant look, as if he were oblivious to anything around him. Towards the end of his exploration, he sniffed at the deceased's half-open mouth and carefully examined the soles of his boots, and when he was absolutely certain that he had not overlooked anything, he rose and nodded to Gregson. He commanded his men, who took the body by the legs and under the shoulders and carried it out. As they lifted the deceased, they revealed the ring on which he had been lying all along. Holmes immediately took the ring and examined it closely. It was a lady's engagement ring.
„Sir, you need to look in the next room right now,” said one of the officers assigned to search the rest of the house. Sherlock looked at John, and there was that look in his eyes of a little boy getting a new toy.
„Come, Watson. There is a mystery next door that yearns to be solved,” he commanded, and accompanied by Gregson, the pair entered the next room, to which a policeman was pointing. Like the rest of the house, it was empty. The only thing worth noting was the bloody writing on the wall. RACHE.
„Could the victim have been trying to write to Rachel but not finished? Maybe that's why he had the ring on him,” the inspector mused.
„Anything is possible,” agreed Yon, as Sherlock took a magnifying glass from his coat and began to examine the inscription in detail. Once he was done with the wall, he lay down. Facing the floor, he examined something again. It might have reminded some of a hunting dog that had just found a scent.
Some might find the detective's methods unusual, odd, and possibly unnecessary, but Yon suspected there was more to it than that. Something he couldn't find in normal ways. After about twenty minutes, Sherlock got up and walked over to Yon's door.
„We're done here. From what I've heard of your thoughts, I must say you're on the right track. You can make this case without my help,” he smiled pleasantly, if slightly falsely. But no one noticed. „Just one last question. Who found the body?”
„John Rance. He's off duty at the moment,” the inspector replied.
That was all Sherlock needed before he left the scene in peace. Yon was right behind him, of course. Holmes took one last look at the muddy footprints in the yard and on the path by the fence before he and Yon walked slowly away.
„They have no idea who did it,” the detective chuckled as they were halfway to Baker Street.
„But you said yourself they were on the right track,” Yon said.
„They certainly are, but as I know them, they're bound to go in quite the opposite direction. They'll try to find a person named Rachel. In vain, though,” he replied simply.
„How so?”
„Because it was revenge. The victim was poisoned. Our killer is approximately five feet tall, smokes and has a square sole of his shoes, and I can also assume that he and the victim were acquainted. They went into the house together. It is certain, then, that they came together. The horse of the cab they came in with had three old horseshoes and a new one,” he explained calmly.
„But how did you find all this out?”
„Elementary, my dear Watson. There were trace amounts of poison in the victim's mouth. But I am not entirely sure what the poison was. Maybe it was some kind of mixture. However, there were two pairs of older shoes in the backyard and the house. One belonged to the victim. The others must have belonged to the killer. I could tell his average height by his size. Subsequently, I found the remains of tobacco ash on the floor by the wall with the inscription on it. And I identified the horseshoes using footprints in the mud outside the house. One of the tracks was deeper, so the horse had to have a new horseshoe.”
„This is unbelievable,” he gasped.
„Not much. Rather, you should learn to watch better,” he replied, clearly pleased by Yon's remark.
„What now?” he asked expectantly.
„Now? Now let's go talk to John Rance,” and with that, they went to the officer who discovered the body.
„Well, I was on my classic rounds when I noticed the lights in the house. I didn't pay attention at first until you realized the owners had gone away. I went to the door and knocked. When I pulled the handle, it was unlocked. I went in and found the poor guy. Subsequently, I went out to send for colleagues,” the constable recalled.
„Was anyone else there?” asked Sherlock.
„Well... That is, if I remember correctly, there was a drunk leaning against the fence. Nothing unusual for that hour of the night. Although I haven't seen a guy this drunk in a while. He could barely stand up,” the detective's eyes sparkled at this.
„And was there a cab by at the time?” he asked.
„No, sir,” he replied.
„Thank you for your time.”
„The drunk was coming back for the ring,” he told Yon.
„You think so?”
„I'm sure of it,” he replied. Together they walked up to Baker Street, from where Sherlock had gone somewhere else, with the excuse that he had some urgent business to attend to.