Joanne Hartwell is sent to London via the elder Holmes cousin Julian to hand off a top secret letter to Mycroft Holmes. Someone has infiltrated the ranks of the British Intelligence Services, and as a result are always one step ahead of them.
All kn...
The warmth of Mycroft's hand and subtle scents threatened to go to Joanne's head. She could feel his body heat radiating through the suit. Trying to clear her head, she offered, "Please. Oh, and what is the name of the cologne and aftershave? I like it."
Mycroft blinked as he slowly relinquished her hand. He hadn't been expecting that question. "If you must know, it is Clive Christian's Imperial Majesty Perfume for Men. The aftershave is Spice and Wood by Creed. Why?"
She gave him a cheeky grin as sat down to peruse the information. "I don't know. Christmas presents?"
"You wouldn't be able to afford an ounce of either," Sherlock murmured.
Joanne threw him a sarcastic look. "Thank you, O wise one!" She turned to Mycroft. "Did you find the Ship's Register, yet?"
"Almost there, yes." He looked at the stack of papers she was currently sorting through. "What do you hope to find in those?"
"I'm looking at what buildings are listed as being at Lockroy during that time, and what became of everything they contained when the scientists didn't come back. I don't even know what all buildings are still there except for the museum and post office."
A grunt arose from behind the map in Sherlock's hands. "The living quarters of the staff there, obviously."
"Yeah, but nothing else? Old outlaying buildings? Run down huts?"
"No idea," came the reply.
She shook her head and returned to her stack of old maps, photos and lists. Anthea and Julian's PA had had them flown over directly from the archives, as well as other remote places that they had acquired them from. It had taken a personal call from both Julian and Mycroft to the Australian and British Antarctic stations at Mawson and Rothera to release current information available only through government and military channels.
Joanne focused solely on the Lockroy files, with a cursory look at those of the now non existent Wilke's station. Nothing was left except discarded hydrogen gas cylinders that had been used for meteorological analysis which now lay scattered about the beaches. Explosives could also be found there from ice acoustic studies. Another photo showed piles of rusting diesel oil drums.
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The place looked as bleak as the moonscape. Nothing whatsoever was left of the buildings; Mycroft unanimously decided it would be a waste of their time to go to the old site. Winter would be setting in soon at those latitudes, and he wanted to check out whatever remained from the old Base A, now known as Port Lockroy, before the snow set in. She turned her attention back to the photos taken right before its closure in 1962.
There had indeed been multiple outbuildings there. The huts were clustered around the main building, Bransfield House and were assigned numbers. Joanne read the brief descriptions of each. In 1956, crews added a boathouse, then a generator building in 1958. Post-WWII, the base was transferred to the Falkland Island Dependencies Survey, who carried out research activities including surveying, geology, meteorology, botany and ionospherics. Joanne guessed that the latter applied to the scientists, though it had involved much more than that.
