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The door opened. The first man to enter appeared to be in his thirties. He was of fairly average height with a thick neck and well-developed frame, and sported a mustache and a grey suit. A smile lingered on his lips, but when he saw Ito he stopped short. “Sherlock, you have a guest,” he said.

The man who followed behind him was exceedingly tall. He must have been over six feet in height, and was thin and gaunt. His slim limbs, jutting out from his frock coat, looked almost unnaturally long.

The man seemed older than his natural years. But that had been the case even when he had been a boy. Ito recognized his hawk-life nose and sunken grey eyes. Perhaps it was the severity of his expression, or his square, jutting jaw, but Sherlock gave an impression now of being even more stubborn and unyielding than he had been before. His facial expression was exceedingly cold, accompanied by a scowl—as if he had just encountered something distasteful. His brow was knit with a heavy crease.

Ito was a swirl of conflicting emotions. “We finally meet again,” he said.

The man in the grey suit reacted graciously. The same could not be said of Sherlock Holmes. He strolled past Ito without a word and took the pipe up from the mantelpiece. Persian slipper in one hand, he stuffed the pipe with tobacco. He never even made eye contact.

Ito was at a loss. The man in the suit glanced at him apologetically. “It is good to make your acquaintance. I am Sherlock’s friend, John Watson.”

Sherlock quickly raised a hand to restrain Watson. As his eyes remained pointed downward as he spoke, it was not entirely clear to whom he was speaking. “I am far too busy to meet anyone without an appointment.”

Watson furrowed his brow. “That is news to me. I remember you allowed time for Miss Helen Stoner, though she came at a very early hour.”

Had Sherlock’s brother not contacted him? “I am sorry for coming unannounced,” said Ito, “but I had no other chance. Today was the only day available.”

Sherlock continued to avoid looking Ito in the eye. He wagged his finger like a conductor as he spoke. “A fact of which I am well aware, Shunsuke… Excuse me, Hirobumi Ito, as you are known now.” Ito felt a sense of relief. “You remember me, then.”

“Hmph,” Sherlock grunted, though the expression on his face remained distant. “I recall the mole on the right side of your nose.”

“I’m pleased you also know my current name.”

“Certainly, you are very well known, numbering among a very few persons now central to the Japanese government. I am in the habit of monitoring the newspapers closely, and could not help but read of you. The red disc in the center of our national flag shall no longer appear like a wafer over a sealed empire, but henceforth be in fact what it is designed to be, the noble emblem of the rising sun, moving onward and upward amid the enlightened nations of the world. Quite the rousing speech.”

So Sherlock was familiar with his San Francisco speech! Ito was delighted, though the hint of mockery in his voice did give him pause. “I must give credit to England for introducing me in my younger days to the concept of a modernized nation.”

Sherlock stuck his pipe into his mouth and lit it with a match. He rested one elbow against the mantelpiece and blew out a puff of smoke. He made no attempt to speak again.

“Perhaps you have a commission?” asked Watson.

“No,” Ito answered. “Now that I am finally in London again, I simply wished to renew our acquaintance. Perhaps Sherlock has forgotten, but I made him a small promise before I left.”

Sherlock finally turned his attention toward Ito. The expression in his eyes was piercing. “Call me Holmes. And if you refer to your promise to educate me in the martial arts, I have two reasons for no longer desiring your help.”

A knock sounded on the door. Watson crossed the room and opened it. Mrs. Hudson stood on the other side, bearing a tray arranged with the tea things. “Mrs. Hudson, good,” said Watson. “They are at it now so I will take the tea in. Which is the sugar?”

“Two reasons?” asked Ito.

“The first reason is that you are now 41 years of age, which leads me to suspect you are no longer in your physical prime. Should you wrench your back, I would rather not be petitioned by the Japanese government for compensation.”

“My country would never make such demands. I am here on a private visit.”

“The second reason is that a very talented Japanese master has opened a dojo on Fleet Street, and thus I have already acquired the basics of jujitsu.”

“I see. But what of karate and kenjutsu…”

“They are unnecessary. The karate master I encountered two years ago was also Japanese. With his short limbs I was able to knock him down with a left straight before he could affect any true damage. The same is true of kenjutsu. A fencing lunge is more than adequate to take the throat quickly. In either instance, they are unsuited to my height.”

Unexpectedly, Ito felt himself growing irritated. With 16 years as a politician under his belt, he prided himself on having cultivated a certain degree of forbearance. Sherlock’s provocations, however, struck a more sensitive nerve. He couldn’t help but take offense at hearing Japan’s martial arts so easily derided.

Watson returned from the door. He held the tray in one hand and deftly cleared the table with the other. “So, what were we talking of?”

“Nothing in particular,” Sherlock said, his pipe still stuck in his mouth. “I see there are three teacups. Mrs. Hudson might have saved herself the trouble. Our guest should be leaving shortly.”

This final comment was too much to ignore. Ito fixed his eyes on Sherlock. “I have been overlooking your rudeness for the sake of old friendship, but I am surprised you find any work as a detective with manners such as this!”

“I see you are angry. Would you care to know the reason for my coldness?”

“I certainly would,” said Ito.

“You burned down the British legation,” Sherlock said shortly.

Ito faltered. Silence descended on the room. The awkwardness grew palpable.

“The situation in Japan was very complicated at the time,” he defended himself, his voice unsure even to his own ears. “The Choshu Domain…”

The detective snorted. “Joui. I assume this is what you refer to? Minister Ito, when I asked you if joui was a person you ought to have corrected me. You burned the legation immediately before you left Japan. Surely such an example would have proved enlightening to me.”

“If I had told you about the legation it would have only upset you…”

“Yes. I may have been a child, but at the very least I doubt I would have asked to go with you.”

“I’m sorry. But it didn’t seem like a good time to explain such things.”

“And what of Professor Williamson? His wife? Had you adequately explained the meaning of joui, I doubt anyone would have permitted you into their home. You and your four fellows were well aware of that fact, that is why you chose to remain silent. Am I mistaken?”

“With joui we had taken our desire for reform too far. After coming to London, I realized our mistake.”

“The only thing you realized was that you required British weapons and technologies to defeat the Bakufu. True civilization flows within the veins of British citizens. Your people are inveterate savages.”

With each sentence the other man uttered, Ito was finding his anger harder to control. “I thought you an intelligent man, but it seems to me that you despise not just me, but all Japanese.”