She said it so simply that he could only assume it was mere flattery. He thought to answer her with self-deprecating sarcasm, but then Ikuko withdrew a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. He hesitated. The young ladies of Japan were very refined. They were not as apt to display emotion as the ladies of the West. Sentimental or not, Sherlock felt somewhat melancholy as he realized Ikuko’s true feelings.
Asako, however, was more open than Ikuko. She beamed at Sherlock, but fat tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. As they broke, they trickled down her face in streams.
“Mr. Holmes,” she said shakily, “I guess this is goodbye. I wish you could stay longer.”
“Asako,” whispered Umeko, her expression pained. “Don’t be unreasonable.”
She bowed impulsively to Sherlock. She seemed to consider her reproof of her daughter as an indirect rudeness. Her considerate attention was astounding. But beyond that, Sherlock could see how deeply she cared for Asako—even without the bonds of blood.
He withdrew his pipe from his frock coat pocket and placed it in Asako’s hand. “Would you do me the honor of setting this upon the table when you take your meals? I hope you will imagine I am still with you as your guest. You must continue to take your meals together as a family, and you and Umeko and Ikuko must all get along. Just the same as when I was here.”
Akiko looked up at Sherlock, still crying. She cupped the pipe in both hands, holding it as if it were a priceless treasure. Her pure expression convinced Sherlock she’d keep this promise. He nodded silently.
“Shozo Tanaka, an MP from Tochigi, has begun advocating for a written opinion to be presented on the Ashio Copper Mine conflict,” Ito reported quietly. “I suspect Japan will address the issue appropriately and soon change course.”
“And how good that the courts judged the sinking of the Russian ships at Daiba was an accident so quickly. And even more fortunate that there were no casualties, thanks to the speed of the rescue.”
“It is all thanks to you, Mr. Holmes.”
“No, it is thanks to your strength of conviction, Chairman Ito. You know your path. It makes me envious.”
“Envious?”
Sherlock brooded. “Even if I manage to get to British Hong Kong, I will likely be arrested in the harbor and extradited immediately to England. And yet there is no other country at which I can legally disembark.”
“What then do you plan to do?”
“While in prison, I shall reflect on my past cases and write my memoirs. Watson has often urged me to write for myself.”
Ito broke into a smile and drew forth an envelope from his breast pocket. “Mr. Holmes, I hope your memoirs may wait a little while longer.”
Surprised, Sherlock took the envelope. It was thick, fine-grained, high-quality paper, sealed in wax with a distinctive coat of arms. A personal letter from Buckingham Palace!
Inside the envelope were several documents in addition to the letterpress. He unfolded the letter first. He gasped. It had been signed by Her Majesty Queen Victoria. Royal prerogative. The words at the top of the page made him stare.
“The Queen’s authority is immense,” said Ito. “All trials in England are carried out under the monarch’s name. Justice comes from the sovereign, who provides the right of trial to her subjects.”
Sherlock glanced at one of the papers included with the letter. The prerogative of mercy: nolle prosequi. A voluntary suspension of prosecution.
He was speechless. He stared at the sky, willing himself to regain his composure, sighed, and glanced down at the papers once more. “When the royal prerogative of nolle prosequi is invoked, all legal proceedings against an individual are suspended. The prerogative is not subject to judicial review.”
Ito nodded. “Her Majesty did not decide alone. I was told the Minister of the Home Department agreed. The Prime Minister, Third Marquess of Salisbury, had a great hand in it as well. It seems he owes you a favor.”
Yes, he had served the Marquess before—a case in which the presence of a second blood stain had proved integral. Sherlock looked at the chairman. “Did you write to Her Majesty?”
“The letter was not from myself so much as it was from the collective people of Japan. After all, no one in this nation would object were they to know the truth of what occurred. The evidence was only circumstantial, but it was enough to convince us that you had faced off against one of London’s most dangerous villains and were only forced to kill him in self-defense. Hence our very heartfelt request for nolle prosequi by way of royal prerogative. It was a mere request, from a country of laws in the Far East, to the monarch of the British Empire.”
The joy Sherlock felt was so great it was almost like grief. He was beset with waves of emotion. He struggled to maintain his composure. His voice sounded shaky in his own ear. “This means then, that I…”
“You are no longer a dead man. Nor are you a suspect in the Moriarty trial.”
Sherlock let out a long, deep sigh of relief. He had to close his eyes.
The first time they had travelled to Meiji Palace together, Ito had told Sherlock that he did not desire the death penalty for Sanzo Tsuda. Though he’d been unsure at first, he later resolved his doubts. But Sherlock had never heard why. Ito had also resisted stabbing Denikin, out on the water that night in Tokyo Bay.
Ito seemed so determined that Japan should become a nation of laws. Sherlock finally understood why. The chairman had planned all along to petition the British Royal Family on his behalf. It was vital to show that Japan was a nation with a deep understanding of the law if he was to request a special measure that superseded it. Ito’s strength of conviction had been for Sherlock’s sake.
And England already knew of Japan’s success in avoiding war with Russia. Rather than using this episode to leverage renegotiating an unequal treaty, Ito had chosen to come to Sherlock’s aid.
“Mr. Holmes,” Ito said. “Scotland Yard is working in secret to round up Moriarty’s men. They expect to have the whole gang in two years’ time.”
Sherlock smirked. “So until then, I take it the London police consider me a nuisance. If Sherlock Holmes were known to have returned, my enemies would take to hiding once again.”
“Mr. Holmes,” Ito said gently. “Please look at the other documents, as well.”
Each document in the envelope used its own kind of paper. Unfolding a thin page folded into four, Sherlock experienced his second shock of the day: the seal of the Qing Dynasty Foreign Office.
“That is permission to enter Tibet. The personal letter underneath is from myself, not Buckingham Palace, requesting an audience with the Dalai Lama. It also secures your entry into the Ottoman Empire, and your personal safety. The Ottoman Empire and Japan are on friendly terms, and our discretion carries weight there. The Caliph, it seems, would like to meet the Englishman responsible for averting war between Japan and Russia.”
Sherlock was nearly speechless. “Ito, how…”
“I knew what you wanted to do. It was written in your brother’s letter.”
Sherlock had no words to describe what he was feeling. But he couldn’t help but have some doubts. “I am sure your letter will be taken as authentic, but proving that I am the friend you describe within may prove more difficult.”
Ikuko stepped forward. “Perhaps this will be of use.”
She held a photograph in her hands.
It showed the Ito family in their garden. Umeko, Ikuko, and Asako, dressed as they were today. With them was Hirobumi Ito, surrounded by his family, a smile on his face. And of course Sherlock, dressed in his usual somewhat genteel fashion.
It felt as though they’d taken that photo eons ago. The memory already felt nostalgic—a sensation of comfort, like the one he had felt on that faraway day, mixed with a longing that tugged tightly at his chest.