Mycroft Holmes had invited me to join him in the Diogenes Club, an exclusive venue in the heart of London Town. Exiting from Whitehall, we travelled parallel to the Thames, taking a circumspect route to the Diogenes Club of which Mycroft had earlier spoken. Mycroft said not a word as we walked, but carried his coat across his arm and a stick in his hand, which he swung gently as we walked.

I contented myself, meanwhile, to contemplate what matters of state this organ of the British Government (for that was what Sherlock Holmes had once confided in me, during one of our adventures concerning the theft of documents vital to the preservation of national security, was his brother's function) could wish to keep concealed from even those within his own circles.

We turned into the Strand and began to double back on ourselves, heading into the Mall.

Suddenly Mycroft said, 'My lodgings are just along here, Doctor — a convenient distance from our destination.'

'Indeed so,' I replied, 'your rooms and your club are directly opposite one and other and neither more than a few short moments' walk from your place of employ.'

'Precisely. I believe in a healthy work-life balance. I must caution you, Doctor — the rules in the club, some of my own devising, are intentionally strict. You must not utter a sound once inside until we enter the Strangers' Room. Once there, we may converse at leisure. To do otherwise would bring censure from the club secretary.'

'Why so strict?' I asked as we neared the door.

'Some people prefer to remove all possible distraction from their midst, so that they may focus entirely on what confronts them.' He took a slender key from around his neck and placed it into the lock. 'Sherlock came here frequently,' he said, a touch glum around the mouth.

The inside of the club was furnished in much the same style as gentlemen's clubs all over the City catering to the type of gentlemen who had acquired a taste for the finer things. I recalled my days in Afghanistan, sleeping under canvas and the roar of cannon-fire; to be quite honest, I feel a part of my soul could never be peaceful in a place like this. I enjoyed travelling with Sherlock on our many adventures together, though I lacked his incredible insight, because an old soldier never tires of action, though death and blood rob it of some of its glory. I, like nature, abhor a vacuum — but the intense silence in the Diogenes Club gave it both a serious scholarly air and the haunting feel of a mausoleum. During my training, I've spent many a night in the British Library long past the witching hour, reading about cadavers, and have felt more vitalism from the dead than was imparted by this cool place.

Mycroft placed a finger to his lips and bade me follow him. We rounded a corner and Mycroft removed his top hat and handed it to an orderly, who took his coat as well and silently departed towards the cloakroom. Mycroft indicated the sign on the door — 'The Strangers' Room' — and opened the door, which we then entered.

The door clicked shut and there was a sense of pressure equalising that sucked the door closer into its frame with a tug.

'There. The room is hermetically sealed,' Mycroft announced. 'We shall not be disturbed.'

'Shall we not suffocate?' I asked, alarmed.

'Fear not, my good Doctor. Sherlock and I collaborated once on a thought experiment on how one could survive in a hermetically sealed bunker. Sherlock thought Moriarty might have an underground lair — a preposterous notion, of course — but I indulged him and together we conceived on an intricate network of pipes which by means of an organ secured in a basement, is capable of conditioning air so that a constant flow issues from a series of vents and valves, ensuring that our environment supports our existence exactly.' I was impressed. Mycroft continued. 'I'm thinking of calling it "Air Conditioning". But please, for now, sit.'

Where Mycroft indicated, there were two leather seats positioned in the centre of the room, facing each other. 'Please sit.' Mycroft repeated his instruction to me.

'I wish of you to tell me of that which I came to see you about. Enough of this prevarication,' I said irritably.

'I am not prevaricating, Doctor. I am ensuring that you and I were not followed and that no one will be capable of being within earshot of what I have to say to you — for what we have to discuss is of such importance as I can risk none overhearing.'

I slid into the surprisingly soft leather of the seat to my right and said, 'Pray, continue then.'

'I started to say, before my sense overcame my incaution, that I am in the process of creating a new department, one whose task it will be to confront Moriarty's brand of criminal evil. Even if, as you say, Moriarty has perished along with my brother, his brand of evil will no doubt endure... and...'

'And what?' I asked.

'... and I would like for you to be the head of this new department.'

'What?' I was aghast.

'You will have the full authority as an agent of the Government to confront criminal activity at home or abroad.'

'But the police...' I began to protest.

'This is not a task I want to entrust to the bobbies. Your remit is not to be cowed by region or national borders.'

'Are you serious?' I asked of him as plainly as I might muster.

'Perfectly,' he replied. 'Do you accept?'

'I-I-I don't know. I'm just a doctor,' I protested.

'Not just a doctor, doctor — faithful companion to my brother, the greatest detective who ever lived.

'I've not his skill.'

'Surely you've some insight. You have been in his confidence for many years. He trusted your judgement and so do I. This is a fight we cannot afford to lose.'

'I've no appetite for fighting. What use my service revolver has been at your brother's side has cost me too many sleepless nights.'

'Of course, you fought at the Battle of Maiwand, did you not?'

'A deep scar. I've hardly the taste for battle anymore.'

'You grow weary. I will not labour you longer than I deem to be necessary, but hear me out on this one point.'

'Very well,' I agreed.

'As director of my new agency' — he continued as if none of my protests had mattered one iota; clearly he shared his brother's incorruptible stubbornness — 'you first mission, should you choose to accept it, is to secure the Turquoise Moon from beyond the grasp of all those who might want to steal it.'

And with that, he pressed some concealed item in a cavity in the wall and one of the wooden panels raised up revealing, suspended inside of a holding ring, the many-faceted face of The Turquoise Moon diamond. It was iridescent, but the light at its edge bent into a rich purple and violet.

'It is an incredible sight to behold,' I managed at last.

'Indeed,' he said, his voice dropping to naught but a whisper, 'its value is beyond calculation or estimate. It is worth more than a single life, and many dozens have already died in its pursuit. Some would kill to take it for themselves. The government and the nation require men of unswerving character to protect such rare and valuable treasures. I can think of no-one more suitably qualified than you, my good sir, to take charge of this operation and keep this and other such treasures, such as we may deem them from time to time, safe from harm.'

I thought of Holmes writing the letter above the Falls, the one that had brought me to this meeting with Mycroft today — how his design had kept the Turquoise Moon hidden from danger, but that now it was without such a guardian.

'In Sherlock's memory, then, I take this challenge to found an agency to keep this world safe and protect it from harm.'

'I am relieved!' Mycroft exclaimed. 'You should know we have an agent already deeply undercover in Moriarty's organisation. He goes by the name of "Ozymandias".'

'I'd heard Sherlock speak of this person in the past.'

'He is our only other active agent. From here on out, the rest is up to you.'

'I should like to send a wire to my orderly, Murray. He saved my life in Afghanistan and I should dearly like to have him at my side once more.'

'All the powers of Her Majesty's government and the regions are at your disposal.'

I couldn't help but smile. If only Sherlock could see me now.

'What plans have you for the Turquoise Moon?" Mycroft asked.

'Well,' I said, my mood brightening, 'I've had an idea about that...'

—

It was already late in the evening when I left Mycroft and the Diogenes Club. The air was unseasonably crisp and a thin mist was girded around the lanterns, making them to appear as will 'o the wisps in the London fog, beckoning travellers on to their doom.

A horse and carriage clattered past me noisily as I made my way back to my lodgings in Baker Street. I had much to consider. I had a choice to make. My surgery was full most days with an array of ailments, from the commonplace to the more exotic, and kept my wife in fine upkeep. However, I have never felt more alive than when stood alongside Sherlock Holmes on one of our adventures together. Life is something altogether precious to me now. So fragile a thing, too easily lost, and for those still possessed of it, a chance not to be squandered. How could I not take the job?

A sudden clattering, as of bins overturned, brought me to my senses and alerted my fear of danger — I was being observed. Out of the shadows, from a nearby alley to my left, emerged several figures clutching items of malicious intent. One of them, a well-spoken but dirty man of around 30 years, doffed his cap to me and addressed me.

'Doctor Watson, I presume.'

'Who wants to know?' I asked of him.

'Our names need not concern you — I think you know why we have come.'

The group, clad in dark capes and shawls, were expanding, trying to encircle me. Some bore coshes, which they tapped into their open palms. I edged backwards into the road and nearly caused an accident, as a horse and carriage noisily had to swerve to avoid me. I took advantage of this fortunate distraction, ran around the back of the stalled vehicle and climbed on board.

'Driver, make your quickest exit — and hurry!'

There was a snap of the whip, a protesting whinny, and we were away down the street. I realised that I had survived my first encounter with the Cult more by luck than by judgement. I saw them disappear once more into the fog as we advanced down the Mall. Mycroft's caution had been timely — the Cult was in London. The diamond had to be moved from the Diogenes Club tonight!

'Driver!' I called, 'take me around the block back to number 15. There is something I need to collect.'

I was banking on the Cult dispersing, having failed to accost me on the street, and fortune was in my favour when I returned to the front of the Diogenes Club a few minutes later, for indeed the street was once again deserted.

I thanked the driver for his generosity and approached the door of the building I had only moments ago departed. There was a bell-rope to the side, so I swung that several times eliciting a clanging on the far side. I saw a figure approaching through the glass and when the door was opened, I stepped inside in a hurry.

'Quickly, man, I need to see Mycroft Holmes!'

The man had a ghoulish appearance, placed a finger to his thin lips and whispered reedily, 'Shhhhhhhhh...'

'Oh, for Heaven's sake! I need to see Mycroft Holmes — it is, I assure you most urgent!'

I tried to proceed further inside the building, but there was a scraping of a chair on a hardwood floor and a small man with a mass of receding white hair curled around his crown appeared from around an alcove. 'Another word from you and you will be ejected onto the street!'

Frustrated and annoyed, I tried to convey my desire to reply with furious furrowing of my brow. Realising this, the secretary granted me dispensation to reply with a wave of his hand and a roll of his eyes.

'How the deuces am I suppose to seek assistance if I am not allowed to ask for it?'

'That is not of my concern,' said the Secretary.

'I have come —'

'I didn't say you could speak again!'

I bit my tongue partly to halt a reply, but mostly out of frustration.

'... but you may continue.'

'I hafv comd to thee Mycrffd Holmeds,' I said, aggrieved.

'Follow me.'

He set off at a scurry. I followed, pressed a hand to my mouth, and checked for blood.

'Wait in here,' he said, indicating the Strangers' Room.

I pressed the door open and went to say, 'thank —'

'AHEM!' The secretary cleared his throat audibly and said, 'That's a quarter of one chance remaining to you.'

Sighing, I went inside. The room was deserted. A gas lamp outside cast a yellowish flickering light into the room through a window; there were many shadows amongst the two armchairs and the bookcase was half-cast in darkness. I settled myself into one of the armchairs to wait. I reached over and turned the dial on a small table lamp, bringing up the flame. I realised there was a note on the table. It was written in Mycroft's distinctive copperplate script. It read: 'Mirror, mirror on the wall'.

I stood up and crossed over to the wall where the full-size mirror hung, suitably placed to allow the gentleman to adjust his apparel before embarking onto London's streets. I adjusted my hat and checked my moustache, when the most incredible thing happened. The mirror opened like a door and Mycroft Holmes leaned out through it.

'Ah, Watson! There you are — come on in,'

Without another word he dove back through the looking glass. Not sure if I was awake or dreaming, I gingerly stepped through. I felt very much like Carroll's Alice passing into a realm quite unlike anything I had previously known. I took a candle from a rack and lit it, using a taper from a lantern that hung from the ceiling in the tiny alcove behind the mirror. I held my candle aloft and perceived some steep steps leading deep into the earth. Advancing down them was Mycroft.

'Come on!' he said, his cry echoing up the long, descending staircase.

I followed him down at a pace, keen not to slip and fall the rest of the way down. I joined him at the bottom and he was staring at a metal rectangle the size of a man, with a grille in it beyond flickering lights.

'Holmes! Where are we?'

'Wait just one moment.'

'I —'

'Okay. Now!' he said and flung open the metal door and pushed me through.

I arrived in a white void. It took my eyes a moment to adjust. 'We're in the Underground! The Tube, I mean!' I exclaimed.

'Quite so. Walk with me.'

We approached a break in the wall. Mycroft was counting slowly under his breath.

'What are you doing?' I asked him as we rounded a corner.

'Four... three... two... one,' he said as we stepped out and joined in perfect synchronicity flanks of people walking en masse through the tunnel.

'W-w-what's this?' I babbled, struggling to keep pace with the crowd at my back.

The six-seventeen from Paddington, I believe,' Mycroft said, replacing a pocket watch in his waistcoat.

'On your left'" he called to me, 'three... two... one.' Then, grabbing my coat sleeve, he pulled me across the way and into a corridor, leading us away from the throng. This station was dark, quiet and deserted. Behind us, a steady stream of Londoners began to ascend a series of stairs that led to ground level. I went to blow out my candle, which I belatedly realised I'd carried down from the club into the Underground.

'Don't,' Mycroft warned. 'You'll need that. Come along.' He set off down the platform.

'Where are we going?'

'Not far now,' he called back as I again struggled to keep pace.

As Mycroft headed down the sloping edge of the platform and into the tunnel, I cradled my flame to give us some light.

'Is it safe?' I asked nervously.

'That would all depend,' Mycroft said.

'Depend on what?' I asked.

'On whether there's a train in this tunnel when we enter it.'

'Trains come through here?!' I gasped in alarm.

'No. Not anymore. But if they did, it would be a problem. Here we are!' he announced and wrenched open another door half-concealed in the brickwork. We went inside. 'We're directly underneath the east wing of the Diogenes club. I here tell from our continental friends that they've invented an electric elevator which I intend to install in due course, which will make this journey considerably easier in future; however, this is the only space I can allocate to you to conduct your investigations at present.'

There was a large clock hanging in the centre, with a cream face and roman numerals around the outside. The same off-white tiles used to coat the inside of the underground stations were used here also, but the majority was made out of red brick foundations from the street above and there were decorative buttresses in the corners. The room was lit with a chandelier.

'Here, in this room, we found our new agency,' Mycroft proclaimed, beaming.

I was reminded suddenly why I came here. 'The Cult!' I cried. 'They accosted me as I left the club — that was why I returned. They've come for the Moon!'

'So soon?' Mycroft replied, aghast.

'The Moon cannot stay here, Mycroft.'

After a moment's thought, he nodded solemnly, 'you'll find a camp bed in the corner. I suggest you get some rest. I'll make the necessary preparations and you can depart in the morning, before dawn. I'll have a carriage waiting.'

'What about my wife?' I asked.

'I will see to it personally that she is informed,' he said, nodding. 'Rest,' he urged. 'You'll need it.'

He left through the door out into the tunnel as swiftly as we had entered, leaving me to my thoughts on the day's startling turn of events.

—

The last page of my journal. A further written record would endanger me. My old life is cast away. Will I ever return?

The last page. So little space to recall the events of the last few days. With what little preparation available to us, Mycroft had arranged for a carriage to collect me from the Diogenes club in London.

I'd barely slept that night in the abandoned tunnel. A fitful waking torpor pondering the maniacal intent of the cultists and their unceasing desire for this precious jewel, seized me and kept me from my rest.

As I left London that same morning, dawn hard barely began to creep above the city.

The Cult has harried my steps at every turn. The network of Moriarty's gang is still strong, even if that malign influence has long since perished. We rode the horse fast and through open country. Nowhere have we been safe and I fear that here, too, I am surveilled.

I have come south to the ports; from there I intend to make passage on board ship.

There is still so little I understand of this most amazing tale, save my own part in its telling: however, we have an advantage that the Cult do not. Firstly, we have the diamond. It will be my duty to keep this diamond from the cult. A secure location that no man could ever transgress. Safe for all eternity.

Perhaps, most importantly, the Cult itself is betrayed. The unknown force that goes by the name of Ozymandias is amongst them. He passes as one of their own. Thus, the cult unknowingly nourishes the seeds of its own destruction. In this generation or another, I will see it defeated.

Deus exsisto nobis.

Dr John Watson. 1891.

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