Modern AU 'Verse: We'll Always Have Paris
In which the Eiffel Tower is hijacked for unmentionable purposes, and Ellery becomes an expert in Sherlock-Fu.
Title: We'll Always Have Paris
Fandoms: Arsène Lupin, Ellery Queen, BBC Sherlock
Rating: T
Genre: Romance/Humor
Characters: Arsène Lupin, Ellery Queen, Inspector Ganimard, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Pairings: Arsène Lupin/Ellery Queen, past Arsène Lupin/Sherlock Holmes
Summary: When Ellery went to France, he discovered just how differently the French do things, how insane Arsène is, how determined Ganimard is at his job, and met Sherlock the dog. Then he went to London and things got really weird, definitely helped by Sherlock the person.
~~~~~~~~~~
As it so happened, recently Ellery Queen had been involved in a traffic collision. Inspector Richard Queen of Homicide referred to it as that because training stated that he did. Phrases like 'traffic accident' or 'car crash' tended to imply that someone was or wasn't at fault.
Richard Queen knew exactly who was at fault. That didn't mean he referred to it as a car crash though. Said collision had inevitably involved shop time for the car via smashed driver's side door, and hospital time for Ellery via smashed driver's side door. And Richard could guess well enough how that had happened.
The truth of the matter was that Ellery's driving, poor enough already, had over the past several weeks degenerated horribly. And this being New York City, the Inspector had known that it was only a matter of time. Fortunately Ellery had only suffered some assorted cuts and scrapes, but Richard would rather he hadn't suffered anything at all. And then of course there was what the car had suffered, and the checkbook. Traffic collisions were all around undesirable.
And then there was the fact that Richard knew exactly what was bothering his wayward son. Just who it was that he was pining for. And he really couldn't in his right mind condone the relationship, but something needed to change before Ellery's newfound scatterbrained self got him into some serious trouble.
So Richard bought his son a plane ticket to Paris. And the police inspector in him told him that he was going to burn in a special level of Hell.
Ellery was, quite expectedly, shocked. Once Richard explained, mostly by telepathy, that he was not at all at ease with sending Ellery off to Paris to do unmentionable things, but he was worried and he wanted Ellery to be happy and get his head on straight, and that Ellery was singlehandedly responsible for every grey hair on his head, Ellery understood a little better, or at least Richard hoped.
Which was how Richard came to be seeing Ellery off at the airport on a brisk autumn morning. Richard promised to not tell Ellery's publishers how to contact him, Ellery promised (telepathically) not to break too many laws, and both were as okay with the bizarre situation as they could be. And both decided that for safety's sake Ellery would be said to be taking a general Europe tour.
When Ellery touched down in Paris, he was slightly disappointed that he wasn't met at the airport even though he knew that Arsène couldn't possibly be that all-seeing, all knowing. So he caught a taxi and checked in at his hotel, then collapsed on the bed to deal with the jet lag in the manner of travelers the world over. When he woke up again his stomach was growling, so he left the hotel room in search of food. He asked about nearby cafés at the front desk, and went in search of one that came recommended.
His search of food however was hindered by a large crowd gathered outside an apartment building. Ellery spotted a few police cars, and his curiosity was piqued. He mingled with the crowd and asked a young woman what was going on.
“He's struck again!” she exclaimed.
“He?” Ellery asked for confirmation, though he had a sneaking suspicion.
“Arsène Lupin! He looted Madam Girard's apartment!”
Naturally. “Would Madam Girard be...?”
“Monique Girard, the actress! Inspector Ganimard's on his way now!”
Right. Ellery didn't know how much Inspector Ganimard knew, but it would probably be wise to vacate the area before he was recognized. He started to extricate himself from the crowd, but it was harder than it looked. He found himself backing up a few short steps, then bumped into someone. He turned around to see that it was a small man in a long greet coat. Ellery smiled at him. “Sorry Monsieur. Excuse me.”
A large man in a brown coat stopped behind the small man. The small man looked up at Ellery. “What's your name?”
“Ellery Queen,” Ellery responded, slightly confused by the curious little man.
The man's face became more welcoming. “Oh, Ellery Queen! The novelist and detective!” The man stuck out his hand for Ellery to shake. “Inspecteur Justin Ganimard. It's a pleasure to meet you. Have you been in Paris long?”
Oh crap. Well shit. When in Rome (Paris), merde. Ellery winced internally, but didn't let it show. “Just got in earlier actually. Had a chance to recoup the jet lag and was just out looking for lunch.”
Ganimard gestured with his hand at the building in front of them. “Would you care to sample some fine French crime? Arsène Lupin delivers only the finest, I assure you. He's practically a tourist attraction. A detective hasn't visited France properly until he's done battle with our gentleman burglar.”
Ellery looked back at the building, then back to Ganimard. If he had to hazard a guess, the little Frenchman looked almost a little hopeful. “Sure,” Ellery finally agreed. “Why not?”
“Then I warn you,” Ganimard said, pushing on through the crowd. “Prepare to have your wits baffled. The only person who's ever stood a chance with Arsène Lupin is Sherlock Holmes. You've heard of him, yes? The Englishman?”
Ellery and Ganimard continued to make small talk about Arsène Lupin and related crime topics during the trip to the very top of the apartment building, followed the whole way by whom Ellery learned was Sergeant Fouchier. And the scene at the top Ellery found to be a breath of fresh air when compared to his usual murder scene.
Madame Monique Girard was a buxom, overbearing woman of 58 years old, throwing the weight of her acting career around in a drama queen fashion crying for her lost jewels. She was joined by Princesse, the long-haired chihuahua who constantly wriggled out of her grip and got underfoot biting ankles. The walls were lined with pictures of her with her various costars, all signed, and a large binder on a bookshelf was labeled 'playbills'.
About the point where Madame Girard started expunging at length on the history of every single stolen object, Ellery came to the conclusion that she heartily deserved it, and he didn't blame Arsène in the slightest. There was something slightly pathetic about Madame Girard, in an aging diva kind of way, but quite frankly she was milking it for far too much to get any pity from him.
Ellery was milling about, looking for clues, not finding any, and wondering what he would do if he did, when a man in a long tan coat and stylish sunglasses strode in. Just enough blond fuzz to just be called a beard circled his mouth. He smiled at Ganimard in a winning way. “Inspecteur Ganimard, yes? My name's Saul Pennier. I offer you my services in order to catch the dastardly Lupin.”
Ellery could kill him right now. As it was, he was having considerable trouble not giving the game away with his facial expression.
Ellery continued to stare in rapt horror at the idiocy inherent in all there but him it seemed as Saul/Arsène took off the sunglasses to reveal startling green eyes - Ellery would bet fifty dollars they were colored contacts - and continued to blind Ganimard to his true identity with his teeth. “Am I correct in deducing that you currently haven't a clue what has conspired here?”
Ellery, and Arsène himself of course, seemed to be the only people in the know. Ganimard merely stared long and hard at Saul, as if trying to determine whether he actually had a brain to back up his claim. “We do know that Arsène Lupin did it, as you so pointed out.”
“And how do you know that?”
“No one can ever point at a man and say for sure, 'That is Arsène Lupin,'” Ganimard started, “But I often find myself pointing at a crime scene and saying, because I simply know, 'Arsène Lupin has done that.'”
That did it. Arsène Lupin was soon to be the victim of a very messy murder, if Ellery didn't self-destruct before he got the chance.
Saul Pennier, pocketing his sunglasses in his breast pocket, strode into the middle of Madame Girard's front room. He winked at Ellery while no one was looking and spun slowly, taking in the entire room. Bookshelves, photos, open empty wall safe, framed landscape painting on the floor (the only wall decoration not involving the Madame), television hutch, flowery draperies over the windows, the type of handles and locks on the doors and windows, and the rest of life that the room contained. Princesse had fun chasing his trouser cuffs. He then turned to the large form of Madame Girard collapsed in an armchair. “Madame, did you have your window open last night?”
Ellery refrained from making snarky comments on how Arsène knew just whether or not the window was open last night.
Madame Girard, looking scandalized, shook her head. “Of course not! It was a little chilly last night, getting to be that time of year you know. It would be selfish and silly of me to leave the window open and keep the heat going. The whales, you know,” she drifted off.
Ellery then came to the conclusion that Madame Girard had very little between her ears. “So he didn't come in through the window. That progresses us how much, Monsieur Pennier?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm coloring his voice. Arsène knew just how he had gotten in and out.
“But the footprint,” Ganimard protested. Which was true, as there was indeed a few traces of dirt in the rough shape of a foot on the inside windowsill. “How does that explain the footprint? And if not the window, then how did he get in?”
“My dear Inspecteur,” Arsène stated, throwing an arm over Ganimard's shoulders and gesturing dramatically with the other, “If Arsène Lupin did indeed enter through the window, the question is how. The walls of this building are completely sheer, nothing to cling to, not even a jutting windowsill. The roof likewise is rather steep and also with nothing to cling to, not to mention hard to get to. If Lupin entered through the window, how did he get to the window in order to enter it in the first place? The footprint therefore must be a diversion.
“This was a very quick job for Lupin. Get in, grab the jewels, get out. Quite possibly the only part that gave him trouble was opening the safe itself. After all, it was easy to find. The walls are covered in pictures of Madame Girard, but the safe was behind the one actual painting in the room, a simple landscape that, while pretty, is the dime-a-dozen kind of landscape. Madame, was the safe open when you woke up this morning?”
Madame Girard shook her head. “No. It was closed and the painting was over it again. I didn't notice that anything was wrong until I tried to get my earrings. Handmade in India, you know,” she babbled, then started sobbing overdramatically again.
Saul Pennier gestured to the safe. “May I, Inspecteur?” Ganimard told him to go ahead, and Arsène did. He closed the safe, then tried to open it to make sure it was locked. “Now I say that opening the safe was probably the hardest part of the job, but the combination isn't all that hard to figure out. It says right here under the number pad after all that the number combination is nine numbers long.”
Arsène quickly typed in nine numbers, and the safe came wide open. Ganimard stared. “How did you do that?”
Arsène knelt and picked up Princesse and stroked her ears. “Didn't you know Inspecteur? Princesse is nine letters long. I merely typed in the numbers that correspond to the letters in Princesse on a telephone, 7-7-4-6-2-3-7-7-3. All the repetition makes it even easier to remember.”
Ganimard folded his arms. “Okay, so we know how Lupin found the safe and opened it. He also didn't come in through the window. Then how did he get in?”
Ellery, glaring at Arsène, decided it was his turn. “What's left? The door.”
“The door? But it doesn't show any signs of being forced.”
Ellery refrained from rolling his eyes. “That's because it wasn't. Arsène Lupin got in through the door when Madame Girard forgot to lock it last night. You are a very forgetful person, are you not Madame Girard?”
Madame Girard nodded. “Oh dear. I'll have to get something that locks automatically.”
Saul/Arsène sidled over to Ellery and whispered in his ear, “And then she'll forget her key and lock herself out. Trust me, she was decent in her heyday but the senility's definitely kicking in.”
Ellery, making sure that no one was watching first, made 'watching you' motions with his hand, then mimed slitting his throat with his finger.
“You love me too much for that. Besides, your dad would be very disappointed.”
“As long as I'm not caught, I think he'd jump for joy.”
Arsène was spared answering by Inspector Ganimard walking up to them. “One thing you didn't explain was that if the footprint is a false trail, why does it exist?”
Ellery glanced significantly at Arsène. “I was under the impression that Lupin wanted to give the impression of an impossible crime in order to bolster his already egregiously huge ego.”
Arsène glanced significantly back. “Yes, something like that.”
Ganimard sighed. “Arsène Lupin strikes again. I'll take my leave of you two then, Monsieur Pennier, Monsieur Queen. Have a good lunch Monsieur Queen.”
Arsène grabbed Ellery's arm and started steering him towards the exit. “Lunch?”
“I was on my way to a café when I was sidetracked.”
“Naturally.”
“Actually, Inspecteur Ganimard practically kidnapped me from the crowd.”
“Tut tut, what is the world coming to? Come have lunch with me, we can discuss things.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Why can't it be both?”
~~~~~~~~~~
As soon as the waiter had gone from delivering their food, Ellery resumed glaring. “You are an idiot.”
Arsène sipped at his soup. “I am Arsène Lupin.”
“You have the brain, intellect, and common sense of a wood louse.”
Arsène smirked. “Welcome to France my dear. That's just the way we roll here.”
“Does Ganimard know you do such reckless, stupid things?”
“He might have his suspicions. But if he does he's never acted on them, so I feel safe enough. But that's not the point. The point is, what are you doing in Paris?”
Ellery sighed. “Dad came to the conclusion that my head being constantly in the clouds was hindering my ability to function in society after I was involved in a small fender-bender. He decided that you were at fault, and put me on a plane.”
“Must have killed him,” Arsène replied with false sympathy. “So what's the plan for the rest of the day? Sightseeing? Outside, or... inside.”
Ellery already knew that Arsène could make almost anything sound lewd, so he didn't bat an eyelash at the insinuation. “Do you have nothing that you need to do?”
Arsène made a sad face. “I do have some business I need to attend to involving Madame Girard. Will you be okay on your own for one day?”
Ellery nodded. “I think I'll be able to restrain myself for a while,” he responded dryly.
“What hotel are you in?”
They continued to chat throughout lunch, and when they were done Arsène insisted on paying and they parted ways. Ellery visited a few second-hand bookstores that he remembered from his last trip to Paris, and generally wandered. It was about four in the afternoon when he headed back to his hotel to drop off his purchases before finding dinner.
He was both shocked and completely unsurprised when he found a naked blond lounging on his bed. The small beard was gone and the eyes had reverted back to their normal dark, dark, nearly purple blue color. Ellery shut the door quietly. “I take it your business is finished?”
“Yeah. I got it done extra-quick.”
“And that dinner will have to wait?”
“No, we're just having dessert first.”
Ellery put down the bag of books and started undoing the buttons on his shirt. Arsène slunk cat-like from the bed and distracted Ellery with a long, slow kiss. “Oh I've missed you,” Ellery responded huskily when Arsène pulled back.
“And I you,” Arsène's voice breathed silkily as his fingers undid the buttons Ellery hadn't gotten a chance to get to. “Remind me again why we are supposed to be enemies?”
“We were enemies long before we knew each other,” Ellery hugged Arsène's lithe body to his bared chest.
Arsène's tongue flicked out and licked at Ellery's clavicle. “I would happily, happily,” he moaned, “Give up this life of crime and retire to the French countryside for you. It's not my fault it's all I know.”
“You do realize that you are being completely unfair by starting out undressed, right?”
“Come, let us fix this inequality.”
~~~~~~~~~~
They only met in Ellery's hotel room the once. After that Arsène routinely gave Ellery the address of a new safe house to meet at. When they were not otherwise occupied they wandered around Paris, sightseeing at all the expected places and a few unexpected treasures that Arsène knew of, or just walked Arsène's French spaniel Sherlock. Reading the newspaper every morning, Ellery did not see a single mention of the thief other than the Monique Girard robbery and he had to wonder what those who knew Arsène thought was going on. He did have limited contact with his henchmen in the form of the occasional delivered note, but they were always sealed and the henchmen did not hang around long enough for Ellery to get a fix.
One night as Ellery was lying in Arsène's arms in the large four-poster bed, he commented on the lack of news. “I do not mean to be putting you out of work on purpose you know.”
Arsène nuzzled the back of Ellery's neck. “Crime takes time, planning, my young detective. Time away from you. My funds will not suffer too terribly, do not worry. My men can handle themselves for the duration that you are here.”
“And what do your men think?”
“My men understand that my private life is none of their beeswax. As it is they worry for my devotion to this life of crime, but they otherwise approve.”
“What understanding minions.”
Arsène shifted so that he was pinning Ellery underneath him. “As of yet, they've found no big reason to complain.” And then he bent down and involved Ellery in a long, luxurious kiss. The kiss, at Ellery's physical insistence, turned into kisses, and the ministrations increased.
A few hours later, Ellery was pulling on his pants to Arsène's disappointment. “Must you go?”
Ellery raised an eyebrow. “I have to show my face at the hotel every once and a while, otherwise they'll get suspicious. Besides, this isn't just a vacation. I've got books to write too you know.”
“Ah, work. Always gets in the way. My own work can be an absolute burden at times,” Arsène smiled at his own joke. “How long are you staying in Paris anyway? You never said.”
Ellery sat down on the edge of the bed. “Some time under ninety days, considering my lack of visa.” He stroked Arsène's cheek and kissed him gently on the forehead. “You know where to find me if you get terribly lonely.”
Arsène pulled Ellery close before he could leave and lathered him with kisses. “Don't go.”
Ellery somehow managed to extricate himself free. “Come to the hotel in a few hours, okay?”
“Are you going to get back at me for lying naked on your bed?”
“We'll see.” And Ellery grabbed his coat and left Arsène lying on the bed. There was a plot niggling at the back of his mind that he wanted to get written down.
~~~~~~~~~~
A few more weeks passed, and fall turned into winter. According to the latest email from his father, Ellery's publishers were doing everything but knock down the front door of the apartment trying to figure out where he was. Which was completely unfair of them since his deadline wasn't until next month, and despite Arsène's attempts to the contrary Ellery felt rather hopeful about meeting it. The introduction of a thief character had done wonders to his ability to keep the plot going when it lagged.
Then everything came crashing down in the form of an incredibly rude interruption. As far as interruptions went, it was one of the more undesirable and degrading.
Somehow, Arsène could only wonder how, Ganimard had sniffed out the location of one of his safe houses. Namely, the one that was currently in use for his meetings with Ellery. Arsène could also only wonder how Ganimard and his five goons made it through the front door, up the stairs, and down the hall without him becoming aware of it in some way. But however they had done it, the fact remained that Ganimard and five officers of the law had just (needlessly) bashed in the bedroom door and probably unwittingly interrupted him and Ellery.
Ellery suffered from a brief moment of panic before Arsène forcibly locked eyes with him and silently reassured him that everything would be all right. Ellery stopped struggling and turned his face away from the door, but the tense stillness that followed was a more cold kind of fear.
Inspecteur Ganimard meanwhile looked as if he could not decide if Christmas had come early or if he wanted to take the last five minutes all back. The tip had been that a man had entered this apartment around ten o'clock, and that the man who answered the door looked suspiciously like Arsène Lupin. Wild horses couldn't hold him down. He'd gathered his men, rushed to the building, gotten a key from the landlord, and proceeded on the raid. He'd thought that the man in the room and Lupin were working together on something big, because the idea that Lupin was working on something big was the only possible explanation for his recent lack of activity.
Or so Ganimard had thought. It had never once crossed his mind that Lupin's recent lack of activity might be because he'd found someone.
Arsène didn't look away from Ellery, his eyes staying as a reassurance. “Inspecteur Ganimard. I must say, I wasn't exactly expecting you to join us.”
“Arsène Lupin, you're under arrest for breaking and entering, robbery, and a number of other violations. Your... friend here is under arrest for aiding and abetting a known criminal at the very least.”
Arsène, while Ganimard was talking, whispered words into Ellery's ear. Then, louder, “May my friend and I at least get dressed before you take us in, or do you plan on parading us naked?”
Ganimard, who up until then had maintained his stoic face quite admirably, turned a tad red. He cleared his throat. “Erm, yes, you two go ahead and do that.”
At the go-ahead Arsène slunk from the bed and boldly started gathering up clothes. He tossed Ellery's onto the floor on the opposite side of the bed as the policemen. Arsène started getting dressed right in front of the policemen, not hiding anything, and distracting them while Ellery slipped to the floor next to his clothes and put them on as quickly as possibly. He also found among the clothes a ball cap, and shoved it on to hide his features before he buttoned his shirt.
“Ready my dear?” Arsène called. Ellery quickly grabbed the shoes and shoved them on. He didn't know what Arsène's plan was, but he knew that it was going to go into effect at any moment.
“Now!” Arsène's voice rang out, complemented by the hissing noise and the sound of coughs. Smoke filled the air and Ellery felt a hand on his arm. “Come on!” Arsène hissed, and Ellery obeyed. Arsène dragged Ellery to the wall and pressed hard on a particular spot. The wall gave way to reveal a secret passage. Arsène shoved Ellery through before entering himself and shutting the secret door behind him.
Ellery was barely functioning for the next several minutes. He followed orders dumbly as Arsène led him down a flight of stairs that came out through a secret door in the apartment below the one they had been in. Arsène dragged him over to the nearest window, opened it, and jumped through.
Ellery followed, and landed coldly in a drift of snow. Arsène pulled him out and together they ran down the street, trying to put as much space between themselves and the police as they could before the police managed to get out into the street. Arsène led Ellery through many twists and turns, until he finally stopped. He then turned to Ellery. “Did you leave anything important there?'
Ellery shook his head. “No. Just my coat, and the pockets were empty.”
Arsène nodded. “Good.” He then bit his lip at Ellery's still-open shirt. “You may want to do something about that,” he indicated.
Ellery winced, hoping that no one had gotten too good a look at the two visible, identifying scars on his stomach, and started buttoning his shirt. “Now what do we do?”
“You're going to go to your hotel, change your clothes, pack your things, and check out. I'll meet you halfway between the hotel and the café we first met at, in that alley with the Beatles graffiti. All right?”
Ellery agreed. “All right.”
~~~~~~~~~~
When Ellery got to the alley with the graffiti, Arsène was waiting for him. Arsène nodded in approval when he saw him. “Right then. It's really too bad your visit had to end so suddenly.”
Ellery shrugged. “I was running out of time anyway. But isn't it a bit suspicious to suddenly jump on a plane right after?”
“Who said anything about a plane? I'm going to take you up to the coast where a friend of mine will be waiting with a boat to take you across the Channel. You'll lay low in London until I give you a heads up, at which point either you'll go home or everything's gone to pot.”
“I thought I should never ever go to London.”
Arsène thought for a moment. Then, “It'll be fine,” he quickly assured.
Ellery pinched the bridge of his nose. 'It'll be fine,' right. “This had better not blow up, otherwise my dad is going to kill me. He might kill me anyway. And it's not going to be pretty.”
~~~~~~~~~~
And so, Ellery Queen found himself knocking on the front door of Sherlock Holmes, and wondering if he should really be doing this. Arsène has assured him that he had mended whatever bad blood was between him and Sherlock Holmes (a statement that Ellery found dubious), and that Sherlock Holmes bore no ill will towards Ellery (a statement that he found even more dubious). But still, Ellery had no better idea, so here he was knocking on a door in Baker Street.
The door was opened by a motherly-looking older woman. “May I help you?” she asked, looking curiously at his suitcase.
“Yes, is this where Sherlock Holmes lives?” Ellery asked.
The woman vacated the door. “Yes, it is. Come in, come in. He's in right now.” Once Ellery had entered, she shut the door. “Why don't you leave your suitcase here in the entrance, so you don't have to lug it up the stairs? Come on, I'll lead you up. I'm Mrs. Hudson by the way.”
“Ellery Queen.” Mrs. Hudson led Ellery up a set of stairs towards a door on the landing.
“The author? Oh how nice, you probably want to talk with Sherlock about business, hmm?”
“Something of the sort.”
Mrs. Hudson entered the apartment without knocking. Two men were present and looked at the two of them when they entered. One, a tall, pale man in pajamas and a bathrobe, was curled up on his back on the couch with his knees tucked against his chest. The other was standing right where front room became kitchen, holding a jar with eyeballs in it and looking irate.
“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson began at the man on the couch. “Ellery Queen's here to see you.”
Sherlock Holmes looked mildly surprised. “Ellery Queen?” The last time Ellery had heard that level of derision in a man's voice, it had been in a movie and the speaker had been one Professor Severus Snape. Sherlock Holmes bounced up, long and lanky. “Ellery Queen?” He walked over and, invading Ellery's personal space, stared at him in a most unfriendly manner. “You may go now Mrs. Hudson.”
Mrs. Hudson, to Ellery's dismay as he honestly felt that Sherlock Holmes was about to murder him in a most gruesome manner, took her leave of them and shut the door behind her. Sherlock Holmes and Ellery continued their staring match, and all of Ellery's dubious feelings came to the forefront.
Then their third companion interrupted them. “Eyeballs, Sherlock?”
Sherlock finally looked away from Ellery, albeit in a distracted manner. “What, John?”
The one called John rolled his eyes and stomped back into the kitchen from whence he had obviously come from. Ellery took advantage of this distraction to pull an envelope out of his pocket. “I have this for you, from Arsène Lupin.”
Sherlock snatched the envelope from Ellery hand and ripped it open. His eyes darted back and forth as he quickly read the letter. “I could have guessed as much,” he mumbled to himself. “Idiot!... Ganimard's no slouch... and he expects me to clean this up?”
Ellery started to hope that the contents of the letter weren't too inflammatory. John came back from the kitchen, having deposited the jar of eyeballs somewhere. He walked over and held out his hand, much friendlier than Sherlock. “John Watson.”
“Ellery Queen,” Ellery introduced himself.
John nodded in an understanding way. “It probably wasn't the best of ideas to come here.”
“I thought much the same. But a mutual friend insisted.”
“I've met Arsène Lupin. He seemed a bit nuts.”
Ellery grimaced. “Yeah, just a bit.”
Sherlock flung the letter suddenly at a desk covered in papers. “Well, that settles it.”
“Settles what?” John asked.
“You,” Sherlock pointed at Ellery, again speaking with extreme derision and disgust, “Are staying here.”
“I am?”
“Only for a week or two. Should only be that long before either Ganimard shows that he has no idea what he's doing, as usual, or that he starts crying for your head, which I will supply, have no doubt. But until he shows some initiative, you're safe here provided you don't do anything unerringly stupid.”
“Great, that makes me feel wonderful,” Ellery replied snidely.
“I hope you like couches.”
John folded his arms. “Get along girls.”
Sherlock continued to glare at Ellery, and Ellery continued to wonder just what was in that letter that could make someone who clearly hated him like Sherlock did let him sleep on his couch.
~~~~~~~~~~
When Ellery checked his email the next morning, there was a message from Richard waiting for him that simply said Call me. Ellery sighed, knowing that there would be storms to come, and checked the latest news on Arsène's 'mysterious lover' before he did so, wanting to be as in the know as his father.
“Hello, Richard Queen speaking.”
“Hey Dad, it's Ellery. You wanted me to call you?”
There was a brief silence, during which Ellery was sure his father was counting to ten. He wisely pulled the phone away from his ear. “YOU ARE AN OUTRAGE AND I OUGHT TO DISINHERIT YOU! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA THE KIND OF HEART ATTACK YOU GAVE ME? WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?!”
“I'm fine Dad, thanks for asking.”
Incoherent sounds of rage came over the line.
“I'm not even in France anymore, I'm in London. I'll be home in a week or two.”
“You are digging your own early grave!”
“Dad, chill before you break something,” Ellery responded, deadpan.
“You are breaking my soul! And don't you tell me to chill young man! I'm regretting the moment I bought you that ticket! Someone's going to put everything together, you can stake your freedom on it! Oh, wait, you ARE staking your freedom on it!”
“Dad, just calm down so we can talk civil.” The Inspector completely ignored him, in favor of describing rather vividly just what Ellery and Arsène could do. Ellery winced, he and Arsène having actually done a few of the things he was mentioning. He then glared at Sherlock, who was smirking triumphantly. Then he hung up.
He called back fifteen minutes later. “Ready to talk now?”
“No.”
“Good. I'll be home in a week or two, everything's going to be fine, love you, don't do anything rash.”
“You're telling ME not to do anything rash?”
“Bye Dad.”
“Do NOT expect a warm welcome from ME.”
And so Ellery went back to his book.
As John, who seemed to have a calming effect on the perfect storm that was Sherlock Holmes, was at the clinic he worked at all day, Ellery had a chance to discover just how hellish Sherlock could make his life. For starters, Sherlock was very good at Staring, the variety where one mustered all the hatred and disdain they could possibly fit on their face, went over you like a piece of meat, saw every single thing you had ever done, and generally made you feel very uncomfortable.
When this failed to completely unnerve him (Ellery had a very strong constitution for such things), Sherlock switched tactics. He started hovering, leaning over Ellery as he typed and giving his own snide suggestions. He also started moving things around nonsensically, like the plate Ellery was using for his sandwich, or the table he was using for his computer. Ellery could ignore the hovering (before he'd made a big name for himself, his dad had done much the same), but he could not ignore his laptop moving away from him.
So, being a polite guest, instead of snapping at Sherlock, Ellery merely retrieved his handcuffs from his bag and handcuffed his chair to the table. Sherlock was not amused.
Evidently Sherlock had decided that it was time to bring out the big guns, as he then started telling dirty stories about some of the things he and Arsène had gotten up to (definitely his ex, despite protests to the contrary). Ellery found some of them distinctly familiar, and had to admit that Sherlock was finally getting to him.
So he turned the tables. When Sherlock finished his latest story, he started one of his own, the dirtiest he could think of. He started weaving elaborately with the tool of his trade, words, and felt satisfaction when Sherlock's jaw started to slowly drop.
By the time he had finished, Sherlock's look was one of shock and awe. Ellery was about to smirk, when he heard someone behind him.
“... So I see you two are getting along then. I was half expecting the flat to not be here when I got back.”
Ellery shifted his chair around with a little difficulty, as it was still attached to the table. “Oh. Hello John.”
John, to his credit, looked rather unconfused. “How was your day then?”
Sherlock jumped up, grabbed his coat, and stormed out.
Ellery nodded. “Good, all things considered. You?”
“Oh, so so. So I missed the first part, how exactly was the Eiffel Tower involved?”
Ellery grinned a fanged grin. “Ask Sherlock.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Ellery spent the next few days wondering if Sherlock's need to watch Ganimard flounder would outweigh his need to see Ellery punished severely. In the meantime, he learned Sherlock-Fu with the speed of a prize-winning racehorse. He learned exactly which buttons to press, when to press them, and most importantly how to press them in order to remain undisturbed. John looked rather as if he wanted to ask for lessons.
Of course, Ellery realized how his actions could possibly be unwise when he was alone in the flat with a man he'd never met before who'd just waltzed in. “Sherlock Holmes and John Watson aren't here at the moment,” he said quickly to the intruder.
“Oh, and you are...?”
“Ellery Queen,” Ellery introduced, hoping the man would go away quickly.
The man made a show of acknowledgement. “Ah, yes. The one that man Ganimard is looking for.”
Ellery blinked several times, trying not to give anything away but wondering if he'd missed something. “Excuse me?”
“Male, brown hair, lean build, two scars on stomach. Rather matches you, don't you think?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Ellery denied.
“Yes you do, don't lie to me. The British Government knows everything. When Sherlock comes back, please tell him that I would like to speak to him.” The man turned to go.
“Wait, aren't you going to leave a name?”
“He'll know it was me.” Then the man left.
Needless to say, it was a very freaked Ellery that awaited Sherlock when he returned from Lestrade's summons. “What's got you in a twist?” Sherlock asked, clearly enjoying it.
“Well, a man came here, said he knew that I was who Ganimard's looking for, mentioned the British government, and said he was looking for you. And no, he didn't leave a name.”
“Ah,” Sherlock nodded. “You've met my brother.”
Ellery paused and thought. “Oh,” he finally said. “My condolences.”
“Indeed.”
Their relationship was slightly warmer after that.
It was not to last. A few days after that, Lestrade came in person to summon Sherlock, and so Inspector Lestrade met Ellery Queen, and somehow Ellery Queen ended up going along for the ride. Sherlock didn't mind as long as Ellery didn't steal too much of his thunder, up until the point that Lestrade said Ellery was like Sherlock, except friendly.
Sherlock Holmes' hatred for Ellery Queen was back tenfold.
~~~~~~~~~~
When Ellery's plane finally touched down in the homeland, it was to no fanfare and no waiting arms. This he expected. He hailed a taxi and made a beeline for West 87th St. hoping that his father would be working overtime today.
This was not to be. When Ellery opened the door to the apartment, the Inspector was on the couch watching a baseball game on TV. When Richard saw him, he made a noise. “Hmpf. Guess who returns.”
“Nice to see you too Dad.”
Richard gestured with his beer. “Don't you ever do that again, you hear me?”
“Not planning on it Dad.”
“From now on if the two of you want to get together, he comes over here.”
At that Ellery set his bag down and raised an eyebrow.
“Meet up in Canada or something,” the Inspector elaborated, “Away from all us cops who would really rather not be involved in your shenanigans.”
“Canada it is. Would you like me to send you a baby polar bear as a present?”
Richard chucked a pillow at his laughing son, who ducked away to unpack his suitcase.
~~~~~~~~~~
A Note on the Dog: The reason Sherlock the Dog is a French Spaniel is because I thought it would be fitting for Arsène to have a cadaver dog (a dog that sniffs out dead bodies), and after some research on what types make good cadaver dogs I decided I didn't want to stick him with a boring old Lab. Also, Arsène is very patriotic ;)
Title: We'll Always Have Paris
Fandoms: Arsène Lupin, Ellery Queen, BBC Sherlock
Rating: T
Genre: Romance/Humor
Characters: Arsène Lupin, Ellery Queen, Inspector Ganimard, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Pairings: Arsène Lupin/Ellery Queen, past Arsène Lupin/Sherlock Holmes
Summary: When Ellery went to France, he discovered just how differently the French do things, how insane Arsène is, how determined Ganimard is at his job, and met Sherlock the dog. Then he went to London and things got really weird, definitely helped by Sherlock the person.
~~~~~~~~~~
As it so happened, recently Ellery Queen had been involved in a traffic collision. Inspector Richard Queen of Homicide referred to it as that because training stated that he did. Phrases like 'traffic accident' or 'car crash' tended to imply that someone was or wasn't at fault.
Richard Queen knew exactly who was at fault. That didn't mean he referred to it as a car crash though. Said collision had inevitably involved shop time for the car via smashed driver's side door, and hospital time for Ellery via smashed driver's side door. And Richard could guess well enough how that had happened.
The truth of the matter was that Ellery's driving, poor enough already, had over the past several weeks degenerated horribly. And this being New York City, the Inspector had known that it was only a matter of time. Fortunately Ellery had only suffered some assorted cuts and scrapes, but Richard would rather he hadn't suffered anything at all. And then of course there was what the car had suffered, and the checkbook. Traffic collisions were all around undesirable.
And then there was the fact that Richard knew exactly what was bothering his wayward son. Just who it was that he was pining for. And he really couldn't in his right mind condone the relationship, but something needed to change before Ellery's newfound scatterbrained self got him into some serious trouble.
So Richard bought his son a plane ticket to Paris. And the police inspector in him told him that he was going to burn in a special level of Hell.
Ellery was, quite expectedly, shocked. Once Richard explained, mostly by telepathy, that he was not at all at ease with sending Ellery off to Paris to do unmentionable things, but he was worried and he wanted Ellery to be happy and get his head on straight, and that Ellery was singlehandedly responsible for every grey hair on his head, Ellery understood a little better, or at least Richard hoped.
Which was how Richard came to be seeing Ellery off at the airport on a brisk autumn morning. Richard promised to not tell Ellery's publishers how to contact him, Ellery promised (telepathically) not to break too many laws, and both were as okay with the bizarre situation as they could be. And both decided that for safety's sake Ellery would be said to be taking a general Europe tour.
When Ellery touched down in Paris, he was slightly disappointed that he wasn't met at the airport even though he knew that Arsène couldn't possibly be that all-seeing, all knowing. So he caught a taxi and checked in at his hotel, then collapsed on the bed to deal with the jet lag in the manner of travelers the world over. When he woke up again his stomach was growling, so he left the hotel room in search of food. He asked about nearby cafés at the front desk, and went in search of one that came recommended.
His search of food however was hindered by a large crowd gathered outside an apartment building. Ellery spotted a few police cars, and his curiosity was piqued. He mingled with the crowd and asked a young woman what was going on.
“He's struck again!” she exclaimed.
“He?” Ellery asked for confirmation, though he had a sneaking suspicion.
“Arsène Lupin! He looted Madam Girard's apartment!”
Naturally. “Would Madam Girard be...?”
“Monique Girard, the actress! Inspector Ganimard's on his way now!”
Right. Ellery didn't know how much Inspector Ganimard knew, but it would probably be wise to vacate the area before he was recognized. He started to extricate himself from the crowd, but it was harder than it looked. He found himself backing up a few short steps, then bumped into someone. He turned around to see that it was a small man in a long greet coat. Ellery smiled at him. “Sorry Monsieur. Excuse me.”
A large man in a brown coat stopped behind the small man. The small man looked up at Ellery. “What's your name?”
“Ellery Queen,” Ellery responded, slightly confused by the curious little man.
The man's face became more welcoming. “Oh, Ellery Queen! The novelist and detective!” The man stuck out his hand for Ellery to shake. “Inspecteur Justin Ganimard. It's a pleasure to meet you. Have you been in Paris long?”
Oh crap. Well shit. When in Rome (Paris), merde. Ellery winced internally, but didn't let it show. “Just got in earlier actually. Had a chance to recoup the jet lag and was just out looking for lunch.”
Ganimard gestured with his hand at the building in front of them. “Would you care to sample some fine French crime? Arsène Lupin delivers only the finest, I assure you. He's practically a tourist attraction. A detective hasn't visited France properly until he's done battle with our gentleman burglar.”
Ellery looked back at the building, then back to Ganimard. If he had to hazard a guess, the little Frenchman looked almost a little hopeful. “Sure,” Ellery finally agreed. “Why not?”
“Then I warn you,” Ganimard said, pushing on through the crowd. “Prepare to have your wits baffled. The only person who's ever stood a chance with Arsène Lupin is Sherlock Holmes. You've heard of him, yes? The Englishman?”
Ellery and Ganimard continued to make small talk about Arsène Lupin and related crime topics during the trip to the very top of the apartment building, followed the whole way by whom Ellery learned was Sergeant Fouchier. And the scene at the top Ellery found to be a breath of fresh air when compared to his usual murder scene.
Madame Monique Girard was a buxom, overbearing woman of 58 years old, throwing the weight of her acting career around in a drama queen fashion crying for her lost jewels. She was joined by Princesse, the long-haired chihuahua who constantly wriggled out of her grip and got underfoot biting ankles. The walls were lined with pictures of her with her various costars, all signed, and a large binder on a bookshelf was labeled 'playbills'.
About the point where Madame Girard started expunging at length on the history of every single stolen object, Ellery came to the conclusion that she heartily deserved it, and he didn't blame Arsène in the slightest. There was something slightly pathetic about Madame Girard, in an aging diva kind of way, but quite frankly she was milking it for far too much to get any pity from him.
Ellery was milling about, looking for clues, not finding any, and wondering what he would do if he did, when a man in a long tan coat and stylish sunglasses strode in. Just enough blond fuzz to just be called a beard circled his mouth. He smiled at Ganimard in a winning way. “Inspecteur Ganimard, yes? My name's Saul Pennier. I offer you my services in order to catch the dastardly Lupin.”
Ellery could kill him right now. As it was, he was having considerable trouble not giving the game away with his facial expression.
Ellery continued to stare in rapt horror at the idiocy inherent in all there but him it seemed as Saul/Arsène took off the sunglasses to reveal startling green eyes - Ellery would bet fifty dollars they were colored contacts - and continued to blind Ganimard to his true identity with his teeth. “Am I correct in deducing that you currently haven't a clue what has conspired here?”
Ellery, and Arsène himself of course, seemed to be the only people in the know. Ganimard merely stared long and hard at Saul, as if trying to determine whether he actually had a brain to back up his claim. “We do know that Arsène Lupin did it, as you so pointed out.”
“And how do you know that?”
“No one can ever point at a man and say for sure, 'That is Arsène Lupin,'” Ganimard started, “But I often find myself pointing at a crime scene and saying, because I simply know, 'Arsène Lupin has done that.'”
That did it. Arsène Lupin was soon to be the victim of a very messy murder, if Ellery didn't self-destruct before he got the chance.
Saul Pennier, pocketing his sunglasses in his breast pocket, strode into the middle of Madame Girard's front room. He winked at Ellery while no one was looking and spun slowly, taking in the entire room. Bookshelves, photos, open empty wall safe, framed landscape painting on the floor (the only wall decoration not involving the Madame), television hutch, flowery draperies over the windows, the type of handles and locks on the doors and windows, and the rest of life that the room contained. Princesse had fun chasing his trouser cuffs. He then turned to the large form of Madame Girard collapsed in an armchair. “Madame, did you have your window open last night?”
Ellery refrained from making snarky comments on how Arsène knew just whether or not the window was open last night.
Madame Girard, looking scandalized, shook her head. “Of course not! It was a little chilly last night, getting to be that time of year you know. It would be selfish and silly of me to leave the window open and keep the heat going. The whales, you know,” she drifted off.
Ellery then came to the conclusion that Madame Girard had very little between her ears. “So he didn't come in through the window. That progresses us how much, Monsieur Pennier?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm coloring his voice. Arsène knew just how he had gotten in and out.
“But the footprint,” Ganimard protested. Which was true, as there was indeed a few traces of dirt in the rough shape of a foot on the inside windowsill. “How does that explain the footprint? And if not the window, then how did he get in?”
“My dear Inspecteur,” Arsène stated, throwing an arm over Ganimard's shoulders and gesturing dramatically with the other, “If Arsène Lupin did indeed enter through the window, the question is how. The walls of this building are completely sheer, nothing to cling to, not even a jutting windowsill. The roof likewise is rather steep and also with nothing to cling to, not to mention hard to get to. If Lupin entered through the window, how did he get to the window in order to enter it in the first place? The footprint therefore must be a diversion.
“This was a very quick job for Lupin. Get in, grab the jewels, get out. Quite possibly the only part that gave him trouble was opening the safe itself. After all, it was easy to find. The walls are covered in pictures of Madame Girard, but the safe was behind the one actual painting in the room, a simple landscape that, while pretty, is the dime-a-dozen kind of landscape. Madame, was the safe open when you woke up this morning?”
Madame Girard shook her head. “No. It was closed and the painting was over it again. I didn't notice that anything was wrong until I tried to get my earrings. Handmade in India, you know,” she babbled, then started sobbing overdramatically again.
Saul Pennier gestured to the safe. “May I, Inspecteur?” Ganimard told him to go ahead, and Arsène did. He closed the safe, then tried to open it to make sure it was locked. “Now I say that opening the safe was probably the hardest part of the job, but the combination isn't all that hard to figure out. It says right here under the number pad after all that the number combination is nine numbers long.”
Arsène quickly typed in nine numbers, and the safe came wide open. Ganimard stared. “How did you do that?”
Arsène knelt and picked up Princesse and stroked her ears. “Didn't you know Inspecteur? Princesse is nine letters long. I merely typed in the numbers that correspond to the letters in Princesse on a telephone, 7-7-4-6-2-3-7-7-3. All the repetition makes it even easier to remember.”
Ganimard folded his arms. “Okay, so we know how Lupin found the safe and opened it. He also didn't come in through the window. Then how did he get in?”
Ellery, glaring at Arsène, decided it was his turn. “What's left? The door.”
“The door? But it doesn't show any signs of being forced.”
Ellery refrained from rolling his eyes. “That's because it wasn't. Arsène Lupin got in through the door when Madame Girard forgot to lock it last night. You are a very forgetful person, are you not Madame Girard?”
Madame Girard nodded. “Oh dear. I'll have to get something that locks automatically.”
Saul/Arsène sidled over to Ellery and whispered in his ear, “And then she'll forget her key and lock herself out. Trust me, she was decent in her heyday but the senility's definitely kicking in.”
Ellery, making sure that no one was watching first, made 'watching you' motions with his hand, then mimed slitting his throat with his finger.
“You love me too much for that. Besides, your dad would be very disappointed.”
“As long as I'm not caught, I think he'd jump for joy.”
Arsène was spared answering by Inspector Ganimard walking up to them. “One thing you didn't explain was that if the footprint is a false trail, why does it exist?”
Ellery glanced significantly at Arsène. “I was under the impression that Lupin wanted to give the impression of an impossible crime in order to bolster his already egregiously huge ego.”
Arsène glanced significantly back. “Yes, something like that.”
Ganimard sighed. “Arsène Lupin strikes again. I'll take my leave of you two then, Monsieur Pennier, Monsieur Queen. Have a good lunch Monsieur Queen.”
Arsène grabbed Ellery's arm and started steering him towards the exit. “Lunch?”
“I was on my way to a café when I was sidetracked.”
“Naturally.”
“Actually, Inspecteur Ganimard practically kidnapped me from the crowd.”
“Tut tut, what is the world coming to? Come have lunch with me, we can discuss things.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Why can't it be both?”
~~~~~~~~~~
As soon as the waiter had gone from delivering their food, Ellery resumed glaring. “You are an idiot.”
Arsène sipped at his soup. “I am Arsène Lupin.”
“You have the brain, intellect, and common sense of a wood louse.”
Arsène smirked. “Welcome to France my dear. That's just the way we roll here.”
“Does Ganimard know you do such reckless, stupid things?”
“He might have his suspicions. But if he does he's never acted on them, so I feel safe enough. But that's not the point. The point is, what are you doing in Paris?”
Ellery sighed. “Dad came to the conclusion that my head being constantly in the clouds was hindering my ability to function in society after I was involved in a small fender-bender. He decided that you were at fault, and put me on a plane.”
“Must have killed him,” Arsène replied with false sympathy. “So what's the plan for the rest of the day? Sightseeing? Outside, or... inside.”
Ellery already knew that Arsène could make almost anything sound lewd, so he didn't bat an eyelash at the insinuation. “Do you have nothing that you need to do?”
Arsène made a sad face. “I do have some business I need to attend to involving Madame Girard. Will you be okay on your own for one day?”
Ellery nodded. “I think I'll be able to restrain myself for a while,” he responded dryly.
“What hotel are you in?”
They continued to chat throughout lunch, and when they were done Arsène insisted on paying and they parted ways. Ellery visited a few second-hand bookstores that he remembered from his last trip to Paris, and generally wandered. It was about four in the afternoon when he headed back to his hotel to drop off his purchases before finding dinner.
He was both shocked and completely unsurprised when he found a naked blond lounging on his bed. The small beard was gone and the eyes had reverted back to their normal dark, dark, nearly purple blue color. Ellery shut the door quietly. “I take it your business is finished?”
“Yeah. I got it done extra-quick.”
“And that dinner will have to wait?”
“No, we're just having dessert first.”
Ellery put down the bag of books and started undoing the buttons on his shirt. Arsène slunk cat-like from the bed and distracted Ellery with a long, slow kiss. “Oh I've missed you,” Ellery responded huskily when Arsène pulled back.
“And I you,” Arsène's voice breathed silkily as his fingers undid the buttons Ellery hadn't gotten a chance to get to. “Remind me again why we are supposed to be enemies?”
“We were enemies long before we knew each other,” Ellery hugged Arsène's lithe body to his bared chest.
Arsène's tongue flicked out and licked at Ellery's clavicle. “I would happily, happily,” he moaned, “Give up this life of crime and retire to the French countryside for you. It's not my fault it's all I know.”
“You do realize that you are being completely unfair by starting out undressed, right?”
“Come, let us fix this inequality.”
~~~~~~~~~~
They only met in Ellery's hotel room the once. After that Arsène routinely gave Ellery the address of a new safe house to meet at. When they were not otherwise occupied they wandered around Paris, sightseeing at all the expected places and a few unexpected treasures that Arsène knew of, or just walked Arsène's French spaniel Sherlock. Reading the newspaper every morning, Ellery did not see a single mention of the thief other than the Monique Girard robbery and he had to wonder what those who knew Arsène thought was going on. He did have limited contact with his henchmen in the form of the occasional delivered note, but they were always sealed and the henchmen did not hang around long enough for Ellery to get a fix.
One night as Ellery was lying in Arsène's arms in the large four-poster bed, he commented on the lack of news. “I do not mean to be putting you out of work on purpose you know.”
Arsène nuzzled the back of Ellery's neck. “Crime takes time, planning, my young detective. Time away from you. My funds will not suffer too terribly, do not worry. My men can handle themselves for the duration that you are here.”
“And what do your men think?”
“My men understand that my private life is none of their beeswax. As it is they worry for my devotion to this life of crime, but they otherwise approve.”
“What understanding minions.”
Arsène shifted so that he was pinning Ellery underneath him. “As of yet, they've found no big reason to complain.” And then he bent down and involved Ellery in a long, luxurious kiss. The kiss, at Ellery's physical insistence, turned into kisses, and the ministrations increased.
A few hours later, Ellery was pulling on his pants to Arsène's disappointment. “Must you go?”
Ellery raised an eyebrow. “I have to show my face at the hotel every once and a while, otherwise they'll get suspicious. Besides, this isn't just a vacation. I've got books to write too you know.”
“Ah, work. Always gets in the way. My own work can be an absolute burden at times,” Arsène smiled at his own joke. “How long are you staying in Paris anyway? You never said.”
Ellery sat down on the edge of the bed. “Some time under ninety days, considering my lack of visa.” He stroked Arsène's cheek and kissed him gently on the forehead. “You know where to find me if you get terribly lonely.”
Arsène pulled Ellery close before he could leave and lathered him with kisses. “Don't go.”
Ellery somehow managed to extricate himself free. “Come to the hotel in a few hours, okay?”
“Are you going to get back at me for lying naked on your bed?”
“We'll see.” And Ellery grabbed his coat and left Arsène lying on the bed. There was a plot niggling at the back of his mind that he wanted to get written down.
~~~~~~~~~~
A few more weeks passed, and fall turned into winter. According to the latest email from his father, Ellery's publishers were doing everything but knock down the front door of the apartment trying to figure out where he was. Which was completely unfair of them since his deadline wasn't until next month, and despite Arsène's attempts to the contrary Ellery felt rather hopeful about meeting it. The introduction of a thief character had done wonders to his ability to keep the plot going when it lagged.
Then everything came crashing down in the form of an incredibly rude interruption. As far as interruptions went, it was one of the more undesirable and degrading.
Somehow, Arsène could only wonder how, Ganimard had sniffed out the location of one of his safe houses. Namely, the one that was currently in use for his meetings with Ellery. Arsène could also only wonder how Ganimard and his five goons made it through the front door, up the stairs, and down the hall without him becoming aware of it in some way. But however they had done it, the fact remained that Ganimard and five officers of the law had just (needlessly) bashed in the bedroom door and probably unwittingly interrupted him and Ellery.
Ellery suffered from a brief moment of panic before Arsène forcibly locked eyes with him and silently reassured him that everything would be all right. Ellery stopped struggling and turned his face away from the door, but the tense stillness that followed was a more cold kind of fear.
Inspecteur Ganimard meanwhile looked as if he could not decide if Christmas had come early or if he wanted to take the last five minutes all back. The tip had been that a man had entered this apartment around ten o'clock, and that the man who answered the door looked suspiciously like Arsène Lupin. Wild horses couldn't hold him down. He'd gathered his men, rushed to the building, gotten a key from the landlord, and proceeded on the raid. He'd thought that the man in the room and Lupin were working together on something big, because the idea that Lupin was working on something big was the only possible explanation for his recent lack of activity.
Or so Ganimard had thought. It had never once crossed his mind that Lupin's recent lack of activity might be because he'd found someone.
Arsène didn't look away from Ellery, his eyes staying as a reassurance. “Inspecteur Ganimard. I must say, I wasn't exactly expecting you to join us.”
“Arsène Lupin, you're under arrest for breaking and entering, robbery, and a number of other violations. Your... friend here is under arrest for aiding and abetting a known criminal at the very least.”
Arsène, while Ganimard was talking, whispered words into Ellery's ear. Then, louder, “May my friend and I at least get dressed before you take us in, or do you plan on parading us naked?”
Ganimard, who up until then had maintained his stoic face quite admirably, turned a tad red. He cleared his throat. “Erm, yes, you two go ahead and do that.”
At the go-ahead Arsène slunk from the bed and boldly started gathering up clothes. He tossed Ellery's onto the floor on the opposite side of the bed as the policemen. Arsène started getting dressed right in front of the policemen, not hiding anything, and distracting them while Ellery slipped to the floor next to his clothes and put them on as quickly as possibly. He also found among the clothes a ball cap, and shoved it on to hide his features before he buttoned his shirt.
“Ready my dear?” Arsène called. Ellery quickly grabbed the shoes and shoved them on. He didn't know what Arsène's plan was, but he knew that it was going to go into effect at any moment.
“Now!” Arsène's voice rang out, complemented by the hissing noise and the sound of coughs. Smoke filled the air and Ellery felt a hand on his arm. “Come on!” Arsène hissed, and Ellery obeyed. Arsène dragged Ellery to the wall and pressed hard on a particular spot. The wall gave way to reveal a secret passage. Arsène shoved Ellery through before entering himself and shutting the secret door behind him.
Ellery was barely functioning for the next several minutes. He followed orders dumbly as Arsène led him down a flight of stairs that came out through a secret door in the apartment below the one they had been in. Arsène dragged him over to the nearest window, opened it, and jumped through.
Ellery followed, and landed coldly in a drift of snow. Arsène pulled him out and together they ran down the street, trying to put as much space between themselves and the police as they could before the police managed to get out into the street. Arsène led Ellery through many twists and turns, until he finally stopped. He then turned to Ellery. “Did you leave anything important there?'
Ellery shook his head. “No. Just my coat, and the pockets were empty.”
Arsène nodded. “Good.” He then bit his lip at Ellery's still-open shirt. “You may want to do something about that,” he indicated.
Ellery winced, hoping that no one had gotten too good a look at the two visible, identifying scars on his stomach, and started buttoning his shirt. “Now what do we do?”
“You're going to go to your hotel, change your clothes, pack your things, and check out. I'll meet you halfway between the hotel and the café we first met at, in that alley with the Beatles graffiti. All right?”
Ellery agreed. “All right.”
~~~~~~~~~~
When Ellery got to the alley with the graffiti, Arsène was waiting for him. Arsène nodded in approval when he saw him. “Right then. It's really too bad your visit had to end so suddenly.”
Ellery shrugged. “I was running out of time anyway. But isn't it a bit suspicious to suddenly jump on a plane right after?”
“Who said anything about a plane? I'm going to take you up to the coast where a friend of mine will be waiting with a boat to take you across the Channel. You'll lay low in London until I give you a heads up, at which point either you'll go home or everything's gone to pot.”
“I thought I should never ever go to London.”
Arsène thought for a moment. Then, “It'll be fine,” he quickly assured.
Ellery pinched the bridge of his nose. 'It'll be fine,' right. “This had better not blow up, otherwise my dad is going to kill me. He might kill me anyway. And it's not going to be pretty.”
~~~~~~~~~~
And so, Ellery Queen found himself knocking on the front door of Sherlock Holmes, and wondering if he should really be doing this. Arsène has assured him that he had mended whatever bad blood was between him and Sherlock Holmes (a statement that Ellery found dubious), and that Sherlock Holmes bore no ill will towards Ellery (a statement that he found even more dubious). But still, Ellery had no better idea, so here he was knocking on a door in Baker Street.
The door was opened by a motherly-looking older woman. “May I help you?” she asked, looking curiously at his suitcase.
“Yes, is this where Sherlock Holmes lives?” Ellery asked.
The woman vacated the door. “Yes, it is. Come in, come in. He's in right now.” Once Ellery had entered, she shut the door. “Why don't you leave your suitcase here in the entrance, so you don't have to lug it up the stairs? Come on, I'll lead you up. I'm Mrs. Hudson by the way.”
“Ellery Queen.” Mrs. Hudson led Ellery up a set of stairs towards a door on the landing.
“The author? Oh how nice, you probably want to talk with Sherlock about business, hmm?”
“Something of the sort.”
Mrs. Hudson entered the apartment without knocking. Two men were present and looked at the two of them when they entered. One, a tall, pale man in pajamas and a bathrobe, was curled up on his back on the couch with his knees tucked against his chest. The other was standing right where front room became kitchen, holding a jar with eyeballs in it and looking irate.
“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson began at the man on the couch. “Ellery Queen's here to see you.”
Sherlock Holmes looked mildly surprised. “Ellery Queen?” The last time Ellery had heard that level of derision in a man's voice, it had been in a movie and the speaker had been one Professor Severus Snape. Sherlock Holmes bounced up, long and lanky. “Ellery Queen?” He walked over and, invading Ellery's personal space, stared at him in a most unfriendly manner. “You may go now Mrs. Hudson.”
Mrs. Hudson, to Ellery's dismay as he honestly felt that Sherlock Holmes was about to murder him in a most gruesome manner, took her leave of them and shut the door behind her. Sherlock Holmes and Ellery continued their staring match, and all of Ellery's dubious feelings came to the forefront.
Then their third companion interrupted them. “Eyeballs, Sherlock?”
Sherlock finally looked away from Ellery, albeit in a distracted manner. “What, John?”
The one called John rolled his eyes and stomped back into the kitchen from whence he had obviously come from. Ellery took advantage of this distraction to pull an envelope out of his pocket. “I have this for you, from Arsène Lupin.”
Sherlock snatched the envelope from Ellery hand and ripped it open. His eyes darted back and forth as he quickly read the letter. “I could have guessed as much,” he mumbled to himself. “Idiot!... Ganimard's no slouch... and he expects me to clean this up?”
Ellery started to hope that the contents of the letter weren't too inflammatory. John came back from the kitchen, having deposited the jar of eyeballs somewhere. He walked over and held out his hand, much friendlier than Sherlock. “John Watson.”
“Ellery Queen,” Ellery introduced himself.
John nodded in an understanding way. “It probably wasn't the best of ideas to come here.”
“I thought much the same. But a mutual friend insisted.”
“I've met Arsène Lupin. He seemed a bit nuts.”
Ellery grimaced. “Yeah, just a bit.”
Sherlock flung the letter suddenly at a desk covered in papers. “Well, that settles it.”
“Settles what?” John asked.
“You,” Sherlock pointed at Ellery, again speaking with extreme derision and disgust, “Are staying here.”
“I am?”
“Only for a week or two. Should only be that long before either Ganimard shows that he has no idea what he's doing, as usual, or that he starts crying for your head, which I will supply, have no doubt. But until he shows some initiative, you're safe here provided you don't do anything unerringly stupid.”
“Great, that makes me feel wonderful,” Ellery replied snidely.
“I hope you like couches.”
John folded his arms. “Get along girls.”
Sherlock continued to glare at Ellery, and Ellery continued to wonder just what was in that letter that could make someone who clearly hated him like Sherlock did let him sleep on his couch.
~~~~~~~~~~
When Ellery checked his email the next morning, there was a message from Richard waiting for him that simply said Call me. Ellery sighed, knowing that there would be storms to come, and checked the latest news on Arsène's 'mysterious lover' before he did so, wanting to be as in the know as his father.
“Hello, Richard Queen speaking.”
“Hey Dad, it's Ellery. You wanted me to call you?”
There was a brief silence, during which Ellery was sure his father was counting to ten. He wisely pulled the phone away from his ear. “YOU ARE AN OUTRAGE AND I OUGHT TO DISINHERIT YOU! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA THE KIND OF HEART ATTACK YOU GAVE ME? WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?!”
“I'm fine Dad, thanks for asking.”
Incoherent sounds of rage came over the line.
“I'm not even in France anymore, I'm in London. I'll be home in a week or two.”
“You are digging your own early grave!”
“Dad, chill before you break something,” Ellery responded, deadpan.
“You are breaking my soul! And don't you tell me to chill young man! I'm regretting the moment I bought you that ticket! Someone's going to put everything together, you can stake your freedom on it! Oh, wait, you ARE staking your freedom on it!”
“Dad, just calm down so we can talk civil.” The Inspector completely ignored him, in favor of describing rather vividly just what Ellery and Arsène could do. Ellery winced, he and Arsène having actually done a few of the things he was mentioning. He then glared at Sherlock, who was smirking triumphantly. Then he hung up.
He called back fifteen minutes later. “Ready to talk now?”
“No.”
“Good. I'll be home in a week or two, everything's going to be fine, love you, don't do anything rash.”
“You're telling ME not to do anything rash?”
“Bye Dad.”
“Do NOT expect a warm welcome from ME.”
And so Ellery went back to his book.
As John, who seemed to have a calming effect on the perfect storm that was Sherlock Holmes, was at the clinic he worked at all day, Ellery had a chance to discover just how hellish Sherlock could make his life. For starters, Sherlock was very good at Staring, the variety where one mustered all the hatred and disdain they could possibly fit on their face, went over you like a piece of meat, saw every single thing you had ever done, and generally made you feel very uncomfortable.
When this failed to completely unnerve him (Ellery had a very strong constitution for such things), Sherlock switched tactics. He started hovering, leaning over Ellery as he typed and giving his own snide suggestions. He also started moving things around nonsensically, like the plate Ellery was using for his sandwich, or the table he was using for his computer. Ellery could ignore the hovering (before he'd made a big name for himself, his dad had done much the same), but he could not ignore his laptop moving away from him.
So, being a polite guest, instead of snapping at Sherlock, Ellery merely retrieved his handcuffs from his bag and handcuffed his chair to the table. Sherlock was not amused.
Evidently Sherlock had decided that it was time to bring out the big guns, as he then started telling dirty stories about some of the things he and Arsène had gotten up to (definitely his ex, despite protests to the contrary). Ellery found some of them distinctly familiar, and had to admit that Sherlock was finally getting to him.
So he turned the tables. When Sherlock finished his latest story, he started one of his own, the dirtiest he could think of. He started weaving elaborately with the tool of his trade, words, and felt satisfaction when Sherlock's jaw started to slowly drop.
By the time he had finished, Sherlock's look was one of shock and awe. Ellery was about to smirk, when he heard someone behind him.
“... So I see you two are getting along then. I was half expecting the flat to not be here when I got back.”
Ellery shifted his chair around with a little difficulty, as it was still attached to the table. “Oh. Hello John.”
John, to his credit, looked rather unconfused. “How was your day then?”
Sherlock jumped up, grabbed his coat, and stormed out.
Ellery nodded. “Good, all things considered. You?”
“Oh, so so. So I missed the first part, how exactly was the Eiffel Tower involved?”
Ellery grinned a fanged grin. “Ask Sherlock.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Ellery spent the next few days wondering if Sherlock's need to watch Ganimard flounder would outweigh his need to see Ellery punished severely. In the meantime, he learned Sherlock-Fu with the speed of a prize-winning racehorse. He learned exactly which buttons to press, when to press them, and most importantly how to press them in order to remain undisturbed. John looked rather as if he wanted to ask for lessons.
Of course, Ellery realized how his actions could possibly be unwise when he was alone in the flat with a man he'd never met before who'd just waltzed in. “Sherlock Holmes and John Watson aren't here at the moment,” he said quickly to the intruder.
“Oh, and you are...?”
“Ellery Queen,” Ellery introduced, hoping the man would go away quickly.
The man made a show of acknowledgement. “Ah, yes. The one that man Ganimard is looking for.”
Ellery blinked several times, trying not to give anything away but wondering if he'd missed something. “Excuse me?”
“Male, brown hair, lean build, two scars on stomach. Rather matches you, don't you think?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Ellery denied.
“Yes you do, don't lie to me. The British Government knows everything. When Sherlock comes back, please tell him that I would like to speak to him.” The man turned to go.
“Wait, aren't you going to leave a name?”
“He'll know it was me.” Then the man left.
Needless to say, it was a very freaked Ellery that awaited Sherlock when he returned from Lestrade's summons. “What's got you in a twist?” Sherlock asked, clearly enjoying it.
“Well, a man came here, said he knew that I was who Ganimard's looking for, mentioned the British government, and said he was looking for you. And no, he didn't leave a name.”
“Ah,” Sherlock nodded. “You've met my brother.”
Ellery paused and thought. “Oh,” he finally said. “My condolences.”
“Indeed.”
Their relationship was slightly warmer after that.
It was not to last. A few days after that, Lestrade came in person to summon Sherlock, and so Inspector Lestrade met Ellery Queen, and somehow Ellery Queen ended up going along for the ride. Sherlock didn't mind as long as Ellery didn't steal too much of his thunder, up until the point that Lestrade said Ellery was like Sherlock, except friendly.
Sherlock Holmes' hatred for Ellery Queen was back tenfold.
~~~~~~~~~~
When Ellery's plane finally touched down in the homeland, it was to no fanfare and no waiting arms. This he expected. He hailed a taxi and made a beeline for West 87th St. hoping that his father would be working overtime today.
This was not to be. When Ellery opened the door to the apartment, the Inspector was on the couch watching a baseball game on TV. When Richard saw him, he made a noise. “Hmpf. Guess who returns.”
“Nice to see you too Dad.”
Richard gestured with his beer. “Don't you ever do that again, you hear me?”
“Not planning on it Dad.”
“From now on if the two of you want to get together, he comes over here.”
At that Ellery set his bag down and raised an eyebrow.
“Meet up in Canada or something,” the Inspector elaborated, “Away from all us cops who would really rather not be involved in your shenanigans.”
“Canada it is. Would you like me to send you a baby polar bear as a present?”
Richard chucked a pillow at his laughing son, who ducked away to unpack his suitcase.
~~~~~~~~~~
A Note on the Dog: The reason Sherlock the Dog is a French Spaniel is because I thought it would be fitting for Arsène to have a cadaver dog (a dog that sniffs out dead bodies), and after some research on what types make good cadaver dogs I decided I didn't want to stick him with a boring old Lab. Also, Arsène is very patriotic ;)