Thread by @TheRealDoctorT

((The following thread is part three of my “Sherlock Saturdays” series. The story is titled “The Invisible Army.” A link to part two (and part one) is provided below.

Sherlock and Watson travel to Chatsfield Manor in 1890, after getting a mysterious letter asking for help...))

https://twitter.com/TheRealDoctorT/status/1304827754349694976

The gentle rocking motion of the train is soothing. I find my eyelids growing heavy.

Holmes sits across from me, his gaze fixed on the English countryside as it flashes past the window.

The urge to ask him what he’s thinking is strong, but I don’t.

Somehow, he senses it. 1/

Arching a brow in that way that is uniquely his, he looks to me.

“What is it Watson?”

I hate it when Holmes’ powers of deduction focus on me, so I lie, “Nothing.”

“Nonsense. You wanted to ask me a question. Ask it.”

“Just wondering what your thoughts were, on the case.” 2/

Sherlock smiles wryly, “I have no thoughts on the case.”

“None at all?”

“None at all.”

I don’t believe him, “So... what were you thinking about just now?”

“Euclid’s fifth postulate.”

“Hmm. So... no thoughts about the case we are journeying to solve.”

“Absolutely none.” 3/

I fall silent, and Sherlock’s gaze returns to the window.

Long moments pass, before Holmes suddenly breaks the silence.

“You expect me to be solving the case already, Watson. To be making deductions. But firstly, we don’t even know what the case IS, what the crime IS.” 4/

I nod, as he carries on.

“And secondly, my mind is always a blank slate at the start. How can I observe impartially if my mind is already cluttered with theories and suppositions? Observe, without bias. Let the facts tell their own story. They have no need for guidance.” 5/

The rest of the train ride is spent mostly in silence. Midway through Holmes takes out his violin from his luggage and proceeds to play something extremely melancholy.

I’m grateful when the conductor finally announces our imminent arrival.

The train pulls into the station. 6/

As we disembark, Holmes stretches like a cat. He looks around the station with interest as we walk, his sharp gaze missing nothing.

“Looking for something Sherlock?” I inquire.

“Well, Watson, only one person knows we might be coming here. The person who sent that letter.” 7/

After spending a few minutes scanning the crowd in the station, Holmes seems to relax.

“We seem to have gone unnoticed.”

I nod, “Alright Holmes, let’s head into town. I’m exhausted.”

“Of course, but first there’s one thing I must do. Disguise myself, so I remain secret.” 8/

I wait for Holmes outside the station restroom, and am surprised when an elderly gentleman slowly walks out. His back is bent, his gait slowed, his hair white, his skin wrinkled.

“Brilliant, Sherlock!” I exclaim.

Holmes grins through his disguise, “Lead the way, Watson.” 9/

The inn where I have booked our lodgings is called “The Wayward Fox.” It is an older building on the outskirts of the village, with an air of general disrepair.

I introduce myself to the innkeeper as Robert Stone, my usual alias, and ask if my rooms are ready.

They are. 10/

While I head upstairs to deposit our luggage, Sherlock, still in the guise of an elderly gentleman, decides to mingle with the people at the inn tables.

I unload my luggage into my room. My bags are always less bulky and cumbersome than Holmes’.

Damn his violin. 11/

I consider going downstairs to join Sherlock, but fatigue is overwhelming me.

Instead I decide to close my eyes for a few moments. I must be more tired than I thought, for “a few moments” quickly turns into hours.

Awakening, I find Holmes sitting in a chair, by the window. 12/

“Blast Holmes, how long have you been sitting there?! And why are you still disguised?”

“I’ve been sitting here for a few minutes, Watson, and thinking. And I’m still in disguise because I enjoy being invisible. I am a master of disguise!”

Suddenly, a knock at the door. 13/

I get up, glancing at my watch. Almost midnight. Who could this be?

With one hand on my service revolver, I make my way to the door, “Who is it?”

The voice on the other side of the door sounds drily amused, “It is the Voice of Reason.”

Sherlock sighs, “Oh damn it all.” 14/

Confused, I open the door. Standing before me is a tall, angular gentleman. He bears a striking resemblance to Sherlock, but is dressed impeccably with a haughtier demeanor.

He nods a greeting to me, “Ah, you must be Dr. Watson. Hello. And hello Sherlock, nice disguise.” 15/

Sherlock rubs his brow wearily. “Hello dear brother... why are YOU here?”

Brother? I realize this is the legendary Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock’s older brother, and spymaster with British Intelligence.

He grins, “That, actually, is a terrible disguise Sherlock. Dear God...” 16/

Before Sherlock can respond in irritation, I jump in to defuse the situation.

“Mycroft, what are you doing here?”

Mycroft steps into the room, looking around with an air of general distaste, “Dr. Watson, merely keeping tabs on my little brother. I know he was summoned.” 17/

Sherlock’s eyes flash, “Snooping through my mail? That’s low Mycroft, even for you.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes, “Calm yourself. I’m a spy, Sherlock. It’s my job to know everything, including what you’re up to.”

I speak up hastily, “And... what have you found here so far?” 18/

Mycroft’s eyes narrow as he looks to me.

“Nothing, Dr. Watson, I’ve found nothing out of the ordinary. I met with Lord Simon Byron last night, and he is in marvelous health, as is his family. My spies have found not a single thing awry.”

Sherlock scoffs loudly, “Hmph!” 19/

Mycroft rolls his eyes, “You can harumph all you want Sherlock. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re wasting your time here. I’m heading back to London. Say hello to Mrs. Hudson at 221B for me. Dr. Watson, a pleasure.”

He nods to me, and I nod in return.

And he leaves. 20/

I close the door after him, and turn to Sherlock, “Well? You heard him Holmes. Why are we wasting our time?”

Sherlock doesn’t respond. His lips are pursed in thought for a long moment.

“No, Watson. Now I’m more convinced than I was before. Something is afoot here...” 21/

Getting up, Sherlock walks to a mirror on the wall.

He looks into it as he begins to remove his disguise, peeling off false eyebrows, fake wrinkles.

“You see Watson, everything set out before us has been meticulously arranged, by someone who is a true master of disguise...”