Keisuke Matsuoka - Sherlock Holmes - A Scandal in Japan

Sherlock used all the strength in his arms to pull himself up and roll into the lifeboat. Chekhov appeared startled. The boat shook dramatically, and his aim was thrown off. Sherlock chopped him in the arm. The pistol dropped into the sea.

As the boat continued to rock, Sherlock rose to his feet. Chekhov stood as well, drawing a knife from his pocket. The blade moved threateningly in the air. Sherlock recoiled and the boat nearly capsized.

The footing here was much more precarious than it had been upon the rocks of the Reichenbach Falls. Denikin, too, lost his balance. Ito, however, was much more adept at maintaining his. Completely unfazed by the unevenness of the boat, he swung again. The tables had been turned. Denikin dropped to one knee. Ito struck from above, again and again. It took all of Denikin’s strength to defend against the blows.

Chekhov glared. Sweat trickled down his face. “You’d do well not to interfere in Russia’s affairs, Mr. Holmes.”

“It’s over, Chekhov! Anna Luzhkova and Jacob Akhatov are dead. The Okhrana’s duplicitous plans end here.”

Chekhov gasped, his lips trembling slightly. “You think I will let the British have Japan? I won’t allow you to take this foothold in the Far East.”

“Japan has chosen its own independence. Your plot to sabotage and destroy the country is a travesty of international law.”

“Be quiet!” Chekhov charged, knife-first.

Sherlock grabbed Chekhov by his lapels and, maintaining his balance despite the heaving of the boat, took a step backward. He jammed his elbow tight into Chekhov’s side. Remaining close, he twisted his body round quickly and threw Chekhov backward, over his shoulder.

Moriarty’s lanky frame had seemed to almost float in the air when Sherlock had executed this throw on him. The portlier Chekhov traced a parabola instead. He landed against the waves with a smack, creating an enormous splash.

Chekhov’s body sank, leaving only bubbles before it disappeared from view.

Or so Sherlock thought—but the man resurfaced immediately, his face barely thrust above the surface and both arms gesticulating wildly.

“Help!” he sputtered, barely afloat. “I can’t swim, help me!”

Sherlock hesitated. He glanced at the floor of the boat. The sight of Nicholas’ terrified face greeted him.

Ito delivered another downward blow, followed by an upward cut. Denikin’s katana hurtled into the sea, and he landed heavily on the boards, rump-first. Ito thrust the tip of his sword directly before the man’s eyes.

A look of fear crossed Denikin’s face. “Kill me then,” he cried unsteadily. “Do it quickly!”

Ito did not move. He stared down at the Russian.

Denikin shouted defiantly. “Kill me! Kill me you damned foreigner-killing monkey savage!”

“Silence!” he roared. “Japan is a nation of laws. You weren’t defeated in the name of joui today. You have trespassed against men of all races, and you will be judged under the law. We are not savages and we are not monkeys!”

Denikin trembled and went stiff. A moment later he sighed. He slumped his head in resignation.

Sherlock looked at Nicholas. The Tsarevich seemed half-senseless, and rolled over. Perhaps he had heard the word “monkey.”

Chekov continued to sputter in the water. His voice, as he shouted for help, was beginning to grow panicked. “Help! I’ll do anything! Dear God, please!”

The image of Moriarty hurtling down the falls flashed now in Sherlock’s mind. He had watched as Moriarty grew smaller and smaller, bouncing against the rocks before disappearing into the waters below. His conscience had remained untroubled at the time. Was there any difference, now?

Ito had already sheathed his sword. He stared down at Denikin silently. The Russian seemed to have fully surrendered. He showed no signs of further resistance.

A nation of laws. Even under their current circumstances, faced with the very blackguards who had plotted Japan’s downfall, Ito remained dedicated to order.

But it was clear that Ito’s was the ethical choice, and undoubtedly the correct one.

Still Sherlock could not help but hesitate. So long as he continued to possess the capacity for thought, such doubts would likely always persist. At some point one must stop thinking and act.

He bent forward. He removed the small life preserver attached to the side of the boat and tossed it to Chekhov.

Chekhov clutched at it desperately. His head continued to bob vigorously in the water, but it remained now above the surface. He seemed to calm down. His breathing grew less frantic. He stared off into the distance, and then sighed, low and deep.

Sherlock couldn’t help but snort. He turned back toward Ito. The chairman stared back at him, nodding slightly.

Their steamboat drew near, its sirens blaring. The water was illuminated by the white glow of the torch. As he was rocked back and forth by the turbulent ink-black sea, Sherlock felt he was drifting through nowhere.

Nicholas’ cabin aboard the Laskar was elegant. Without the round port window, it would have passed for a mansion’s fine drawing room. But many of the expensive-looking furnishings looked of a different style than the equally expensive upholstery and finishing, and the room felt strangely unbalanced. Nicholas had probably brought in items originally on his flagship—like a child who brings all his precious toys with him when he runs away from home, Sherlock observed.

The detective stood in the middle of the sumptuous room, with a blanket draped over his sodden self. But he did not feel particularly cold. Nicholas sat on the sofa, his face buried in his hands.

No one else was present. Ito and Kanevsky waited above deck. Nicholas wished to hear what had occurred from Sherlock alone.

Sherlock had already finished his debriefing. Nicholas had been lost in silence for some time.

“Your Highness,” Sherlock said quietly. “As I explained, Soslan Chekhov and Anna Luzhkova were members of the Okhrana before they ever joined the Ministry of State Property. Although His Majesty the Emperor ordered them to spy on you, they were also conspiring to circumvent his plans.”

Nicholas gave a listless groan. “I can’t believe it. Father was right all along about the Japanese. But the behavior of those two was outrageous. They tried to kill me!”

Sherlock paused in fury. “I see you still do not understand. It is absurd to say that your father’s actions were correct.”

“George was a victim of rioting savages, of the Japanese and their beloved joui .”

“Akhatov and Denikin were the ones who manipulated Sanzo Tsuda into attacking.”

“But it was Tsuda who actually attacked,” Nicholas snapped pettishly. “He had cruel and barbaric impulses. He was motivated by his naked hatred of the Russian Empire.”

“He was mentally ill.”

“As are all Japanese, then. On the surface they smile and act politely, but deep down they are violent savages, no different from monkeys.”

“Your Highness,” Sherlock said cuttingly, “look out that window. A great number of Japanese have congregated on the waters, officials and commoners alike, to rescue your Russian sailors.”

“They are only feigning submission to us, as we are a greater power, until they become advanced enough to strike. Once their military and economy might grows stronger, their true natures will be revealed.”

“You are next in line to become emperor. Such prejudices will serve you ill.”

“Hardly prejudices. When I become emperor I will be hard on the Japanese. It was Father’s true intention all along.”

“You plan to go to war with Japan?”

“I doubt it shall ever come to that. China will crush a small country like Japan.”