Title: Then and Now (5/6)
Author: Emma

Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, others

Rating: Starts PG, but hey, it’s got Jack and Ianto in it!

Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?

Summary: Jack meets the greatest detective of all time – twice.

Author’s Note: After reading Invincible Summer, someone sent me an anonymous email asking me how Jack and Ianto ended up with Sherlock Holmes’s house in Sussex. Here’s the story.

Author’s Note: God knows how this is going to turn out. Dear God, Arthur Conan Doyle is spinning in his grave hard enough to be able to sell electricity back to the grid.
Author’s Note: This takes place between The Siege of Annwfn and The Hour of the Wolf.

Part One is here ; Part Two is here; Part Three is here; Part four is here 

 

           Holmes came out of the guest room wearing my pyjamas and dressing gown and looking much the better for a steaming hot shower and some paracetamol. Looking at him I felt a pull I had never felt for any man except Jack. Not a casual attraction, but a visceral heat that under other circumstances I would have done my damndest to satisfy.

            *And what’s stopping you?*

            *Besides a committed relationship with you? Everything we know about him says he’s asexual*

            *Bollocks. Trust the expert. There’s a fusion bomb waiting to go off under all that ice. And our relationship? I am your One for as long as we both live. You are my partner, my center, and I know I am yours. Did you think that would change because you chose to take someone to bed?*

            I disengaged, sending Jack a kiss and getting a very vivid visual in return. The bloody man has a magnificent imagination. Taking a deep breath, I schooled my face into its best butler expression and turned to Holmes. “I’m sorry. I was distracted. I’ve made us something to eat. I know it’s late, but I’m sure you must be hungry.”

            “A little, yes. I missed lunch. And dinner, I suppose.” He hesitated. “I know what I’m going to ask is a great impertinence on such short acquaintance, but… when Captain Harkness said you were partners, he meant it on a personal sense, did he not?”

            “Yes.” I gestured towards the teapot. “Would you like me to pour you a cup?”

            “If you would, please. It must be difficult keeping your colleagues in the dark.”

            It took me a few seconds to understand what he was really asking. “That isn’t a problem, Mr. Holmes. In this time same sex relationships are quite legal. Jack and I could even marry if we wanted to.”

            He had even better control over his face than I had, but he couldn’t quite control the slight tremor that shook his hands. Jack had been right. There was a great deal of emotion buried inside the ice. Maybe I wanted to be the one who blasted it out.

            Just then Jack bounced in, wearing the same thing I was; sweatpants and t-shirt. On purpose, of course, and not only because he wanted to test his hypothesis about Holmes’s libido. Jack wanted answers and he would use every tool at hand to get them.

            “Sorry I took so long, Ianto. I’ll set the table, shall I?”

            I nodded and went back to the kitchen, bringing out the chicken stew Mrs. Bolton had left for us to heat up and a plain green salad. Jack was selecting a bottle of wine from the fridge.  Holmes was watching us carefully, as if trying to work out some particularly thorny problem. As I set down the food, Jack patted my waist and I tangled my hand in his hair, stroking gently. His soft laugh and mental *tease* told me he understood exactly what I was doing, and approved.

            “Sit down, Mr. Holmes.” Jack poured three glasses of wine. “We can talk while we eat.”

            “Thank you. I am interested in finding about those records you have been keeping.”

            I laughed as I walked to the bookcase and pulled out a book – while carefully pushing the other two behind the encyclopedia. I brought it to Holmes, who stared down at the cover with a look of mixed resignation and outrage.

            “This is our record, Mr. Holmes. Doctor Watson’s stories are still very popular.” I sat down and served myself some chicken and salad. “If you turn to the end, you will see that this volume ends with your going over Reichenbach Falls in eighteen ninety one.”

            Holmes saluted me with his wine glass then drained it. “And so your question. Foolish of me to even return to Britain at this time, but the problem was intriguing.”

            “Care to share?” Jack asked.

            “After I managed to climb out of the falls, I made my way to Italy. As you probably know,” he thumped the book with some distaste, “I am an amateur violinist. To many of us who also have a scientific bent, the matter of Stradivarius’s varnish formula has always been a matter for curiosity. I decided to visit a friend of mine, Pietro Gravina, Marchese di Palmieri… You look startled, Mr. Jones.”

            “We are acquainted with several descendants of the Marchese, Mr. Holmes, on the Branciforte side of the family.”

            “It is a rather bountiful family tree, is it not? The Marchese owned one of the only three Stradivarius guitars in existence, the Aragonesa, and years before, when we met at University, he had offered to let me study it. Imagine my dismay when I arrived in Rome to find that the Aragonesa had been stolen.”

            “And you set out to find the thief?”

            “No, Captain Harkness. The thief was well known. Richard Bassingstoke, a transplanted Londoner with a penchant for high stakes whist and very bad luck.”

            “So you set out to retrieve the guitar?” I asked, pouring out the last of the wine into our glasses. As I handed Holmes his, I let my fingers touch his wrist briefly.

            “Indeed. It turns out Bassingstoke was something of a Stradivarius expert. He also seemed to be a gullible man. There is an old legend about Stradivarius getting his varnish formula from a strange old man who asked for nothing in exchange except to hide a small gold tablet inside one of the instruments. The legend says that the tablet is a map leading to a fabulous Roman treasure.”

            “Don’t tell me,” Jack grinned. “In Wales?”

            “Bassingstoke certainly thought so. He hared back to Britain without even attempting to cover his tracks. I found him at the home he had rented here in Cardiff.” Holmes rubbed his eyes. “It was the oddest sight I had ever beheld to that moment, gentlemen. The door was open. When I walked in I could hear a high-pitched noise coming from the upstairs, as if someone were scrapping metal on metal. As the noise reached its highest pitch a bright light illuminated the whole room… Ah. I see this is familiar to you.”

            “Yes, Mr. Holmes.” Jack hesitated, then plunged on. “There is a Rift in time and space that runs through Cardiff. It is our job to police it. It’s how you got here, although we are not yet clear about the exact mechanism. What you heard and saw is the Rift opening and closing.”

            Holmes examined us in silence for a while. “If I were not here, and that…” he waved towards the French windows, “were not there, I would call you mad. To continue. I went up the stairs. As I reached what I knew to be the study I could hear two men arguing. From the corridor I could see part of the interior of the study. Bassingstoke was sitting behind the desk, holding the tablet. He seemed furious. There was another man, whom I could not see. I heard him say I gave you no more and no less than what you wanted. Bassingstoke screamed in rage and threw the tablet at the other man. The sound started building up again. It became so high-pitched that I feared for my hearing, so I ran. I was near the bottom of the stairs when I saw the light forming in the entrance hall, and I felt someone rush past me. A few seconds later someone else, I assume Bassingstoke, coshed me on the back of the head and pushed me into the light. And here I am.”

            “Can you remember any details about the tablet?”

            “Gold, about the size of a cigarette case, but slimmer. It fitted in Bassingstoke’s palm. It was very elaborately engraved. There were four green stones I would take to be emeralds at all four corners, and something in the center resembling the Austrian eagle.”

            Jack brought up his wrist and pushed a few buttons on the strap. “Like this?”

            As the image formed above the table, Holmes leaned forward and passed his hand through it several times. Then he sat back with a sigh. “I seem to have fallen into one of Mr. Verne’s scientific romances. Yes, very like that.”

            “It’s the Rindi.” Jack sounded awed. “The genealogical record of the Rindai royal families. It sets the correct lines of succession for all the four Monarchies, and the rules for the Exchange of Thrones. It was stolen centuries ago. The Rindai would pay a man’s weight in anything you named to get it back.”

            He stood up. “I have to talk to John about this. If someone is holding the Rindi for ransom we could find ourselves in the middle of a dynastic war. He knows them better than I do.” He dropped a kiss on my head as he passed me. “Don’t wait up.”

            Holmes stared at Jack’s back until he disappeared into the office, then turned to me. “If I am wrong, my earlier impertinence will seem nothing more improper than tea time conversation in a duchess’s salon, but I cannot help but wonder. Have you both been flirting with me?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why? Is it common among couples in this time to… venture outside?”

            I considered all my options and discarded most of them at once. As Jack had said,  this man could think rings around both of us. Only the truth would do.

            “Not for us. Tonight was the first time I have ever felt anything for a man other than Jack. I talked it over with him and he encouraged me. He is a bit infatuated with you.”

            He tapped the book. “Based on this?”

            More honesty. I would have to be careful. “No. He’s met you before.”

            “Impossible. I would remember him.”

            “Time travel can play disturbing tricks. You will meet Jack in your future. He has met you in his past. You do not know him now. He will not know you then.” I grinned at him. “Would you like some more paracetamol?”

            He snorted. “It might help. However, that does explain his instructions about finding a way to send me back.” I nodded. “And you?”

            “I think that doctor Watson was naïve about some facets of your character.”

            He roared with laughter. “Poor John. Irene Adler indeed.” Just as suddenly, he grew somber. “I knew early my desires were… different. I also knew I could not play the game so many men I knew played, one life in public, another in private, and everyone suffering. At least by staying alone I was making only myself unhappy.”

            “And now?”

            “When I go back, I will live as I have lived. You are offering me a chance to live as I would like to, without guilt or fear, if only for a little while.”

            I stood up and held out my hand. “Come to bed, Sherlock.”

 “If we… Jack?”

            “He will do as you wish. But I will say the experience would be worth it.”

            He looked at me steadily, then reached for my hand. “Yes."