Ye Yan wasn't the least bit surprised that the other man knew about the new identity he had just submitted.
Mycroft Holmes.
Sherlock Holmes's older brother, a positive character who made only a handful of appearances in the original stories.
The book had hinted that Mycroft Holmes was a high-ranking official in the British government. Just how high was left to the readers' imaginations; Conan Doyle never spelled it out.
But in this world, the man likely had another title to add: the newly appointed director of the Supernatural Administration Bureau.
At that moment, Mycroft sat inside the carriage, waiting for Ye Yan's answer with a smile in his eyes.
A good man in a position of power had invited him to talk.
By any measure, he shouldn't refuse the invitation.
If Mycroft hadn't brought Smith along, Ye Yan would have climbed aboard without a second thought. But with Smith there, he thought it best to be cautious.
If this was personal, he could get in.
If it was official business, he would politely decline.
A new official always made a show of authority. Who knew whether Ye Yan himself would be the fuel for the first fire Mycroft meant to light?
He quietly took half a step back, positioning his heel against the gutter at the edge of the sidewalk. From there, he could make a quick escape without seeming overly rude.
"Forgive me for asking, but have you come to speak with me about Mr. Holmes?"
Ye Yan asked tentatively, trying to determine whether the man's business with him was personal or official.
Mycroft raised his brows at that, smoothing the creases at the corners of his eyes. "You're right. Has Sherlock mentioned me to you?"
"No, I was only guessing."
Satisfied with the answer, Ye Yan climbed into the carriage.
The carriage's warm air carried the fresh scents of cedar and mint. Ye Yan noticed a copy of The Times resting on Mycroft's crossed legs. Its front page bore the bold headline: "Serial Horse-Belly Corpse Case Solved."
He found an empty seat and sat down, deliberately keeping his right hand near his waist.
Smith sat quietly in a corner.
When their eyes met, Smith's lips curved into a perfect smile.
Ye Yan looked away, puzzled.
Why had Mycroft brought Smith along if he wanted to talk to Ye Yan?
Were the two of them close?
This character hadn't appeared in the original stories, had he?
The carriage set off, its wheels rolling through puddles with a sound like a steady, hypnotic melody.
"I'm Sherlock's older brother."
Mycroft took off his silk top hat and rested it on his knees. He carried himself with the distinct air of an official, neither overly friendly nor distant.
"I thought you and Sherlock were friends, but now it seems you may simply have wanted to save him."
Ye Yan stayed silent rather than argue.
Sometimes, a well-timed silence spoke more convincingly than a thousand words.
He couldn't explain the real reason he had paid such a price, just as London's Victorian fog never seemed to disappear.
Since that was the case, he might as well let them speculate.
People were always more willing to believe the stories they made up themselves than the truth someone else struggled to explain.
That was the power of filling in the blanks.
"But you don't seem like a reckless young man."
Mycroft paused, then continued, "You were very wary before getting into the carriage, even after I told you who I was. Yet during your previous operation, you did something that took everyone by surprise."
Well.
As expected of Mycroft. He'd gone straight to the heart of the matter and pointed out the irrational part of Ye Yan's actions.
But Ye Yan wasn't the least bit flustered.
After Sherlock had tested him the last time, he seemed able to think calmly under any disadvantageous circumstances.
He adjusted his posture, letting the shadows conceal the flicker of emotion in his eyes.
"People sometimes do things that aren't logical. For instance, if you asked me right now whether I'd risk my life to save someone..."
At this point, Ye Yan's voice took on a hint of deliberate self-mockery. "I'd tell you, with a perfectly clear head, that I wouldn't. But the fact is, I chose to save someone."
A barely perceptible smile appeared on Mycroft's lips. He had, of course, understood the implication.
So that was it.
The guarded posture, the careful wording, and the hand that never strayed far from his weapon.
This young man feared that I, the newly appointed director of the Supernatural Administration Bureau, might treat him like a pawn and ask him to sacrifice himself for some "more valuable target."
But why would I do that?
This country needed young people like him, not certain rotten things that needed to be cut away.
"Actually, I often worry about my younger brother."
Mycroft abruptly changed the subject. "He's the dullest child in our family."
Ye Yan's lips twitched.
Only Mycroft could say something like that with a straight face.
If even Sherlock was dull, then what did that make me? A goldfish?
"No, no, don't misunderstand."
Mycroft waved a hand. "I'm not saying Sherlock isn't clever. I mean he doesn't know how to adapt. Sometimes he's too stubborn and can be rather unlikeable."
"For instance, after you saved him, he didn't thank you to your face. Instead, he wrote to me specifically to remind me not to forget what you did."
He took a letter sealed with red wax from his inner pocket.
"As director of the Administration, it's my duty to uphold the law impartially. This time, however, I'm here as a brother, to thank you for saving my younger brother."
Mycroft smiled at Ye Yan.
"So I'd like to ask: is there anything you need?"
Ye Yan wasn't some saint who expected nothing in return. He hadn't dared accept the "pie" offered by the three major organizations, which was wrapped in honey but might have hidden who knew what inside.
But he had no intention of turning down the "meat bun" Mycroft was offering him personally.
How could he refuse a benefit delivered right to his doorstep?
"Does being short on money count?"
Ye Yan stated his need frankly.
Mycroft burst out laughing. His slap against his knee made the carriage rock slightly.
"Hahaha, of course it does. How much do you need?"
"How much would I be short of, after converting all my parents' inheritance to cash, to buy the apartment at 222 Baker Street?"
Ye Yan asked.
"The answer is zero." Mycroft glanced at Smith, who immediately handed over a contract. "You don't need to pay a penny. That apartment is yours."
"Thank you."
"Anything else?"
Ye Yan shook his head.
"All right, I understand."
Mycroft tapped the carriage wall lightly, and the carriage began to slow. "You can go see your new home tomorrow. Don't worry about the cultists; the entire area has already been cleared."
When the carriage came to a stop, he added meaningfully, "Could you pass along a message to Sherlock for me? Tell him I found him a good neighbor."
Ye Yan couldn't help marveling to himself again.
No wonder he was a high-ranking government official.
He had a way with words, always finding a comfortable opening to praise someone without making it obvious.
After Ye Yan's footsteps faded away along the damp cobbled street, the carriage fell abruptly silent.
Mycroft Holmes's smile slowly faded. When his stern gray eyes turned to Smith, they were as cold as the River Thames in winter.
"That young man is cleverer than you expected, isn't he?"
"You're right."
Smith dipped his head slightly, his voice lower than usual. "He knew that I'd tried to leave him to die last time. He acted very convincingly when dealing with me earlier; he almost fooled even me. There's just one thing I can't figure out..."
He looked up, confusion glimmering behind his lenses. "How did he spot the flaw?"
Mycroft took a cigarette case from his pocket. Its snap sounded especially crisp in the quiet carriage.
He slowly took out a cigar but didn't light it, only holding it beneath his nose to breathe in the scent of tobacco.
"Everything you do leaves traces. The cost of the apartment at 222 Baker Street will be deducted from your salary."
Smith lowered his eyes, accepting the punishment without protest.
"Think carefully about how you can improve your relationship with him and settle your past differences."
Mycroft's gaze swept over Smith's slightly trembling fingers. His words carried a warning. "The Queen is paying attention to him as well. If you want to climb higher, don't make too many enemies for yourself. Understood?"
Smith's lips moved a few times, but in the end, he only managed a stiff, formal nod.
"Yes, Director."
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