Keisuke Matsuoka - Sherlock Holmes - A Scandal in Japan

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.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said to Ikuko. She returned his gaze with wet eyes, but nodded, smiling.

The steam horn sounded a long note. After it trailed off, silence filled the space, leaving only a loneliness like that of falling leaves.

“The ship is ready to depart. This is farewell,” Ito said to Sherlock. “Though—I almost forgot. You will keep your stay in Japan a secret between us, I assume.”

“I did enter the country on the sly and stay illegally, after all.”

“Please keep it a secret from your friend, Dr. Watson, too. Now then, Mr. Holmes. I shall not forget you. Godspeed.”

A swirl of emotions filled Sherlock’s chest. He extended his hand silently. Ito gripped it in his own. Faint tears welled up in the man’s eyes. Sherlock could not help but notice now how much his friend’s eyes resembled Ikuko’s and Asako’s.

At some point, Umeko, too, had begun to cry. She bowed her head deeply, as if she was embarrassed by her tears. Sherlock wondered if all the bowing perhaps served to hide one’s face and display of emotions.

He climbed the gangway with the other passengers and stood on the deck. The sky, clear and blue as the sea, drifted past his face. He stared down at the pier, which sparkled under the halcyon light. The policemen bowed together. Ikuko waved her handkerchief. Asako waved with even greater force, and raced after the ship as it began to depart.

Ito and Umeko remained rooted, waving their hands. Even after Sherlock was too far away to see their faces, the Ito family continued to wave, with their hands high in the air.

The sunlight broke over the ocean’s surface and reflected back into the air, spreading a soft undulating light over the shore. The clouds above, ephemeral and white, created patches of shadow and light below them as they drifted across the sky.

Sherlock had no doubts that Japan would become a great nation. He was now leaving behind this doughty archipelago in the magnificent Far East. The nation’s people, simple and sublime, grew smaller and smaller as the ship carried him away. The trees along the shore swayed with the wind. Pale autumn leaves fell to the rich brown earth. This peaceful, almost ethereal silence banished the fear and hesitation that had dogged him for so long, and sent them far along their way.

Spring of 1894. Since he had last seen it three years ago, the scenery of London had changed slightly. On several of the streets, the old Aberdeen granite cobblestones had been replaced with a smoother macadam pavement. Although the carriages shook less than before, the wheels shaved the roads as they went, and the buildings alongside were stained white with road dust. One could judge how long a door had not been opened for by the amount of dust accumulated on its handle.