Disclaimer: I don't own any of the League, Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, or the villain; they all belong to their respective creators, and I'm just borrowing the characters for a bit
Feedback: The more the merrier
AN: This is a Sherlock Holmes/ LXG crossover (A crossover with my LXG series, that is; see my writer's profile for more detail), but it is written in the same manner as the Holmes stories; in other words, narrated by Watson.
AN2: Reference shall also be made in the stories to meetings Holmes and Watson have had with Mina and Jekyll; these meetings occurred in the Sherlock Holmes novels 'Sherlock Holmes Vs. Dracula' and 'Dr Jekyll and Mr Holmes', both by Loren D. Estleman (I can highly recommend both; they're highly enjoyable reads)
The Adventure of the Seven Legends
Over my many years in which I served as chronicler and assistant to Sherlock Holmes, I was privy to some of the most remarkable cases of murder, theft, and intrigue that have befuddled this world of ours.
While certain cases always stand out more in my mind than others, such as the remarkable affair of the Hound of the Baskervilles, or Holmes' seemingly fatal struggle with Professor Moriarty above the Reichenbach Falls, both Holmes and I, in one of our rare moments of agreement in looking back at past cases, are firmly convinced that our most remarkable case is this one that I now write. This is not only because of the bond that we formed with the most remarkable friendships we made whilst solving the case- the seven legends who I have chosen to name this remarkable affair after- but also because, for the first time in our long career, matters that we believed had been laid to rest in past cases returned to plague us, with nearly fatal consequences.
This particular case started one dark night in Baker Street. Holmes and I had just finished the excellent dinner prepared for us by Mrs Hudson, our long-suffering landlady, and Holmes was currently perusing the papers while I worked on the record of our most recent case. The case in question having been nearly a week ago, Holmes and I were currently trying to find various means to occupy our time, but with limited success.
Just as Holmes had turned over the last page of the paper, evidently with little success at finding something potentially interesting, Mrs Hudson appeared at the door of our room, with a piece of paper in her hand.
"A telegram for you, Mr Holmes," she said, looking at my friend.
"Thank you, Mrs Hudson," Holmes said, standing up and walking over to take the piece of paper from her. As our landlady left the room, Holmes glanced at the telegram, and raised his eyebrows in surprise at the information on it.
"What is it, Holmes?" I asked, looking at my friend in confusion. "Bad news?"
"Hardly that, Watson," Holmes replied, as he handed the telegram to me. "'Unexpected' is more the term I would use."
Taking the telegram, I read it for myself. It was short, but the contents were indeed surprising to say the least.
'Recent burglaries necessitate your involvement. Coming at once.
I looked up at Holmes in confusion.
"Mycroft, coming to you over burglaries?" I said, confused; the only three occasions where Mycroft had visited us of his own accord in the past, he had not left his circle of the Diogenes Club for anything less than a murder. True, no-one had died when he came to see us regarding the affair of the Greek Interpreter, but since that had originally come to our attention when Holmes and I had visited him, I did not count that affair as being quite under the same circumstances. "And what are these burglaries that require your attention."
"That is as much a mystery to you as it is to me, Watson," Holmes replied, as he indicated the newspaper he had been reading before the telegram came. "There has been nothing about thefts in the newspapers; indeed, as we both know, London has apparently suffered from a distinct lack of criminals of any kind, elaborate or simplistic in their plans and desires. However, there is the telegram to show that there is something taking place in this city, and, evidently, it is something that has even Parliament concerned, if Mycroft feels it necessary to become involved."
"Do you have any ideas?" I asked.
Holmes shook his head. "There is no data, unfortunately," he said, as he sat back in his chair and looked out the window at the London streets. "But I am puzzled at recent events in London, I must admit; those brutal murders over a month ago, for example. Do you realise that no explanation of them was ever published, and yet they ended as mysteriously as they began a few weeks ago?"
He sighed as he stared out at the city. "And I am constantly bothered by the feeling that Mycroft is aware of what is taking place, but is neglecting to tell me what it is for reasons that even I, who know him best, cannot deduce."
"Well," I put in, looking out the window to the street, "it would appear your question is about to be answered; here he comes now."
And indeed, a moment or two later, Mycroft had entered the room and was shaking hands with his brother, before he took up a seat and sat down before the fire, looking over at the two of us with a small smile that was the greatest sign of affection either of us ever got from him.
"Well then, Sherlock," he said, looking at his brother after a moment or two at rest, "I presume you wish to know more about the robberies I mentioned in my telegram?"
"Exactly," Holmes said, looking back at Mycroft with an enquiring expression. "I have been consulting the newspapers regularly for the last few days, but I have seen nothing relating to robberies in any shape or form. Would you care to explain this?"
"The reason is simple; the details were suppressed," Mycroft explained, his expression grim as he looked back at Holmes. "The thefts in question were the thefts of, shall we say, politically delicate material."
"Indeed?" Holmes asked, raising an eyebrow. "What was stolen? Treaties?"
"Worse than that, Sherlock," Mycroft said, as he looked back at his brother. "Do you recall the attacks on Britain and Germany last year, that nearly resulted in the world being plunged into a world war?"
Holmes and I merely nodded; we both remembered those times all too well. The danger from those mysterious weapons and soldiers, who seemed to owe allegiance to no side and merely sought chaos for the sake of it, had been nothing short of catastrophic; even now, not even Holmes could deduce how war had been averted.
"Then you will understand the possible ramifications that may have occurred if what I am about to tell you became public knowledge," Mycroft said, his face assuming an expression that was as close to fear as I ever saw on his face. "The burglars stole the plans for those very machines."
"What?" I said, looking at Mycroft in confusion. "But how did Britain come into possession of such things? Surely we were not responsible for their construction!"
"No, we were not, Doctor, I assure you," Mycroft said, looking reassuringly at me before looking back at Holmes. "However, the person responsible for their development was discovered and defeated by a group of remarkable individuals, with whom the government has worked on some occasions. Following his defeat, our agents were able to secure the plans for his machines from his fortress, and we have kept them in a secure location since then."
Noting the disapproving expressions that Holmes and I had assumed, Mycroft hastened to respond to our angry glares. "Do not misunderstand me; we were not intending to develop them for our own purposes. Our main objective was to keep them out of the hands of others; we had no desire to start a conflict with anyone desiring knowledge of how to develop the weapons for themselves."
"I see," Holmes said, in a tone that could have meant anything from acceptance to disapproval. "If these plans have been stolen, I assume there must be obvious suspects? After all, who would be aware of their existence?"
"A scant few, Sherlock," Mycroft replied. "Only myself and a few other government members even know we have come into possession of the plans in question, and none of them can be accused of treachery."
"What about the group that discovered the existence of the designer?" I asked, looking at Mycroft. "Could they be responsible?"
Mycroft shook his head. "That is impossible, Dr Watson," he said to me. "Not only can all seven of them be trusted implicitly, but they do not even know that we possessed the plans in question until I told them earlier today."
"You told them?" Holmes asked, looking over sharply at Mycroft. "And what was their response?"
"What I have come to expect from them; anger," Mycroft replied, sighing as he sat back in his chair. "They were originally recruited by a man who wanted to use their talents for his own purposes, and ever since they have had a distinct distrust of authority unless they need our assistance for some reason or another."
Holmes and I declined to comment on our opinions of that statement. We trusted Mycroft, of course, but, him aside, even since that affair with Jack the Ripper and the Freemasons in 1888, neither of us had felt comfortable with the government ourselves.
AN 3: To those who wish to know what the 'affair with Jack the Ripper and the Freemasons in 1888' was, it occurred in the 1979 movie 'Murder by Decree' starring Christopher Plummer and James Mason
"So, shall I assume that, since you felt it necessary to tell this 'group' that the plans have been stolen, they shall be conducting investigations into these thefts as well?" Holmes asked his brother.
"Correct," Mycroft said, nodding at his brother. "I have arranged a meeting tomorrow where you two shall be introduced to the group's two leaders; the rest of the group will meet you once you have decided on your investigation strategy."
Holmes did not make any comments on his feelings about working with others; evidently, he had decided that this was too important a matter to allow trivial details such as pride to get in the way of gaining help that may prove vital in solving this mystery.
"Very well," he said, looking back at his brother. "I shall take this case. However, before I agree to any meeting, I would like to at least know the name of the group that Watson and I shall be working with on this endeavour.
Mycroft nodded in consent.
"They call themselves the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Sherlock," he said, as he stood up and began to walk towards the door that led back to the corridor. Then he stopped and turned back to look at the two of us, a small smile on his face.
"You should get along with them well; like you, they are, each in their own ways, above the human norm."