Chapter 3
Meanwhile, Yon returned to the apartment. He took off his coat and sat down in a chair at a desk he kept in perfect order. From a drawer, he took out a notebook locked to a tiny lock, unlocked it, and began to write. He was the first to record today's date, what was the date of his day on Earth, the course of his mission, and he concluded by telling of Sherlock Holmes and his case today. The more time he spent with the detective, the more the thought of leaving him for good began to weigh on him. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes, wondering what to do next. He had to repair his ship. Find a spy and eventually come home as a hero. The first part shouldn't be a problem for him. The problem will be finding the cunning rat. If like him, he disguised himself as an earthling, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. He sighed and looked down at the paper, which slowly showed Sherlock's face. He was completely unaware that he had unwittingly sketched the detective while he was thinking. And he had to admit he had done a good job. Especially with his piercing eyes.
Sherlock did not return to Baker Street until late in the evening, humming happily. He bypassed his homeless network, gave them a new assignment, and before that dropped by the newspaper printer. The publisher owed him a small debt for a case with his perpetually unfaithful wife. With this perfect tactic, they catch the killer in no more than two days. He was sure of that.
The following morning, the detective was up rather early for his taste, and as soon as Yon sat down in his chair across from him with a cup of coffee in his hand, he tossed him today's copy of the paper.
„Such service. Thank you,” Yon said and began to read. It became a sort of morning routine for him, and at least it made him more aware of the world. Or at least about this country.
„The penultimate page. The one with the adverts,” interrupted Holmes, settling himself more comfortably in his chair. Yon obeyed, switching sides with the ads, which included one with a photograph of a very familiar ring.
„It's the ring from the murder,” he said, shocked.
„Exactly. Read on,” he said.
„It’s a gold lady's engagement ring, found around Lauriston Gardens. The owner of the ring may report to Dr John Watson, 221B Baker Street,” he finished, looking at the detective in disbelief.
„Because, my dear Watson, everyone knows me. And then we wouldn't catch the killer,” he replied, lighting his pipe.
„What if the killer himself comes?” he said, apprehension in his voice. He could kill them both.
„That's what I'm counting on,” for he knew that sooner or later someone would call.
And he was right, too. It was nine o'clock and there was a knock at the door from below. Neither man bothered to pick up and go to the door.
„John, you have a visitor,” smiled Mrs Hudson as she entered the room, leading a middle-aged woman behind her. I have to go back to the kitchen." and with that, she left.
„Nice to meet you. I saw your ad in the paper and I couldn't believe it at the time. You were sent by God himself. Could I please pick up the ring? Although I could see him first, if it's really him?” she went straight to the point.
„Certainly. Is that him?” the detective stood up and showed her the ring.
„Yes, that's him. Just as I remember him,” she replied enthusiastically.
„So it belongs to you?” asked Sherlock pleasantly, noting that the woman was already wearing another, a wedding ring.
„Gosh, no. It's not mine, but it belongs to my daughter Stella. I'm picking it up after her. My poor baby cried all day about it,” she said sadly.
„I'm glad we can return the ring to its rightful owner,” he smiled, handing her the ring.
„Thank you very much. God bless you,” she hugged him, then began to remove her wallet.
„Save it. We didn't do it for the money,” he stopped her.
„I don't know how to thank you enough for that.”
„You will thank me by not losing him again,” he replied pleasantly, escorting the woman out the door. If he hadn't, she might still be thanking him. She thanked him one last time before walking to the cab that stood outside their entrance.
„13 Duncan Street,” she said suspiciously aloud to the driver before climbing into the cart.
The cab sped off, and as soon as it turned the corner the detective ran after it. He followed it from a good distance to the final address, where the woman finally got out. Sherlock had disguised himself perfectly during his pursuit so that neither Yon nor anyone else would have recognized him at all. Instead of entering the house, she had given the driver, the woman crossed the street and headed somewhere else entirely, a few blocks away. She kept turning as she walked, as if afraid of being followed. This suspicious behaviour further strengthened Sherlock's lead. He had followed her across the quarter of London before she finally slowed down and was about to enter one of the row houses when Holmes, dressed as a beggar, came up to her, gave her an awkward little shove as if he had tripped and asked for change. She looked at him indignantly, threw him a few shillings, and disappeared into the house. He watched her for a moment longer before returning home disappointed.
He threw off his coat, washed his face, and slumped into a chair. He sighed and pushed one of the pillows under his hand to one side, revealing a hidden compartment of assorted items. Mostly there were various bottles of drugs, which included heroin, of course. Wearily, he reached for the first bottle he could get his hands on. He opened the cork and drank deeply. He wiped his mouth and stared into the fire. It made no sense at all. The woman had definitely the ring when she left Baker Street. She had it even when she entered the cab. But there was no one but the driver. She had no one to turn it over to. So where did he go? He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn't even notice how Yon had reached him.
„You don't look too good,” he said, walking over to the detective and grabbing the vial from his hand. „A cure for eye surgery?” he read, looking at him quizzically.
„It doesn't make sense,” he said to himself, ignoring Yon completely. Yon rubbed his eyes and put the bottle on the table.
„What doesn't make sense?” he asked, and without realizing it, as he rubbed his eyes, his eye camouflage was switched off and his sky blue became his natural sunlight colour again.
„Who could she have given the ring to? It wasn't her daughters, that's for sure,” he said, looking into Yon's eyes as if looking for clues.
His breath caught. They were blue this morning, like the sea itself, right? He took Yon by the chin with one hand and pulled him close. They were almost touching noses. Sherlock was still studying his eyes. He had never seen anything so fascinating. They were absolutely charming, but how was that possible? At first, Yon's gaze darted all over the place before he plucked up enough courage to meet Holmes's eyes. He saw his reflection in them. What's more, he saw in them his original, piercing eye colour. He immediately pulled away from the detective. He wanted to go back to his room and activate the masking device again, but he couldn't. Sherlock grabbed his wrist, his large brown eyes silently begging him to stay. Yon hesitated a moment before finally relenting. His secret was revealed anyway.
Sensing the change, the detective pulled the doctor into his lap. There he hugged him, rested his head on the pillow, and looked into his eyes again. They had a hypnotic effect on him. They were something so new to him, strange even mysterious. Something that needed clarification.
He stroked Yon's face before he smiled wearily. He sighed, resting his head this time on the doctor's shoulder and closing his eyes. He didn't mind all the loud thoughts that kept him awake most of the time. But now? Now he felt calm. Relaxed. Maybe it was a later effect of the drug, but he honestly didn't care. Finally, in that position, he fell asleep, unknowingly slobbering slightly on Yon's shoulder.
After about ten minutes of being absolutely sure the detective was asleep, he broke free of his arms. He covered the sleeping man with a blanket and returned to his room alone. He should work on himself. He might have been lucky today. But what about next time? Had Holmes not been dazed, he would surely have discovered him by his powers. He should get to work and get the job done as quickly as possible.