Once again, this story was written for a writing prompt from Watson's Woes -- the prompt this time being "Watson's Birthday." This is also in response to a challenge given to me by medcat, which was to write the story behind the reference in marycrawford's story Honeyfall to a certain unusual birthday present. The story is in the format of journal entries written by Holmes. I have no warnings to give whatsoever.


July 31, 1894

I find myself to be considerably vexed.

I have been studying Watson in depth for the past two weeks (not that I don't ordinarily, but in this case I have devoted special attention to the subject), scrutinizing every aspect of his habits, his moods, the things that provoke him to irritation – and I still can't figure out what the deuce to get him for his birthday.

Considering my abilities for solving intricate problems, I don't think I should be having this much trouble.

Aside from the period when I was thought dead, I have lived with the man for ten years. A conventional gift will most certainly not do, seeing as how I have already given them all to him before. But then, what can I get him? I have only a week left to solve this conundrum.

You know, I believe being dead has undone many of the habits I worked so hard to acquire in the ten years before my untimely death. I don't remember finding birthday presents to be nearly this hard.

But then again, perhaps the difficulty lies in the expectations I have set for this birthday. It is the first birthday to occur after my return, and the dramatic side of my nature wishes it to have an element of the spectacular. For goodness' sake, I have traveled the world – I should be able to come up with something better than a new walking stick.

This may turn out to be a three-pipe problem after all.

Later....

My reflections were broken by this singular message I just received from my Egyptian contact. I have taken the liberty of pasting it in here, since I cannot hope to summarize what the man has stated so eloquently in his own manner:

MR. HOLMES – SICK OF KEEPING STUFFED CROCODILE FOR YOU. IF YOU DO NOT CLAIM, I THROW IN NILE. ALI

Taking into account that the date at the top is three weeks ago, I think I can be safe in assuming that said stuffed crocodile is already floating somewhere in the Mediterranean. A pity, because I did pay a lot for the beast too. That Egyptian rat failed to reimburse me for all the expenses I paid out of pocket to solve that little mystery of his, even after I explained to him how utterly necessary the crocodile was in bringing the problem to a satisfactory conclusion.

Yes, a pity indeed. If the distance were not so great (and my flat not so small), I might have considered fetching the monster. Ah, well.

August 1, 1894

I may be forced to eat my words from yesterday's entry, for I have just received this note from Ali:

IN ENGLAND NOW. HAVE CHANGED MIND. WILL DELIVER CROCODILE TO BAKER STREET TOMORROW. ALI

Knowing Ali, he most likely intends to follow through on this threat whether I am ready for him or not. I just hope Watson isn't around when he decides to drop it off, or I'll never hear the end of it. Confound it, and I still haven't figured out what to give the man for a birthday present....

Oh my.

What incredible luck. I've just had the most extraordinary idea.

It might seem a little odd, of course...

But who cares? This is just the sort of idea I've been waiting for. Unique, stunning – absolutely out of the ordinary. Perfect.

All that remains is the planning.

August 2, 1894

My luck has held! Watson was still at his practice when that irate little Egyptian came around with his delivery. Getting it out to the back yard under Mrs. Hudson's nose was a little difficult, especially with Ali cursing in Arabic over the size of the thing, but we managed to stow it in the wood shed without too much difficulty. I can probably bribe Wiggins and his gang to help me when it is time to get the beast back into the house.

Thank goodness that Watson's powers of observation and deduction are rather weak. He doesn't suspect a thing.

August 7, 1894

It's nearly 1:30 a.m, and I'm reclining in my armchair, toasting myself after an hour of very hard work. I'm glad I thought to slip a little sleeping powder into Watson's drink during dinner, because otherwise I know I would never have been able to carry out the feat without waking him. As it is, he slept soundly, and had no idea that I and my filthy and undersize helpers were about in his room. I've just finished positioning the crocodile perfectly so that it's the first thing he'll see when he awakes. I can't wait to see the look on his face.

Later.....

I fully intended to be awake and up in his room when he woke up. I did not at all expect to be awakened early this morning by an unearthly shriek coming from upstairs. I was halfway up the stairs before I remembered the probable cause of the sound. Confound it, I should have given him more sleeping powder.

I burst into his room to find him sitting bolt upright in his bed, his hair tussled and practically standing on end, a terrified look in his all-too-round eyes. He looked up at me, and then back at the stuffed crocodile looming over his bed. The terror faded, replaced first by confusing, and then with consternation.

"Holmes.... what on earth???"

A verbal lashing loomed on the horizon, so I cut in as quickly as I could. "Happy Birthday, dear fellow."

He leaned his head back against the bed panel heavily, his eyes rolling towards the ceiling with a groan. "Oh no."

Admittedly, it was a bit of an awkward situation, but I couldn't help myself and started to chuckle.

It took him a minute, but he did eventually start chuckling with me. And then the laughter escalated, until we were both nearly shouting with mirth. Our poor landlady didn't quite know what to make of us when she opened the door a few minutes later, and even less of what to make of the birthday present I had chosen. After a flurry of scoldings from her adept motherly tongue, we both found ourselves downstairs in the sitting room. Watson looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

"I think an explanation is in order," he said.

"Later," I corrected. "I have something else I want to give you."

I am quite glad that I thought to get him that leather copy of Dickens as well as the crocodile, because it had the pleasant effect of making my explanation of my first gift much more palatable. He actually managed to smile at the end of my story.

"Well, that's.... that's very thoughtful of you, Holmes."

"So you like it?" I asked, referring to the crocodile.

"Yes," he said, his answer coming slowly, along with a half-reluctant grin. "And I'm sure I'll like it even better when I figure out a decent place to put it."