The case of the mortal fairy queen

I own neither "Sherlock Holmes" nor "A midsummer night's dream", dear me. Quotes from the latter are typed in italics.

Wha-hey, back again! Didn't I make half a promise? *grin* This new case from the annals of Dr. Watson takes place in the year 1888, shortly after the doctor's marriage as well as the cases "The sign of four" and "A scandal in Bohemia". Erroneously, I set "The case of the vanished landlady" in the year 1891, way too late, since it is supposed to be before the marriage. Sorry, my timeline is a mess, but I was never good at figures. Gaaah, Wayne cares! On with the first act!

Chapter one: Dramatis Personae

"On most occasions", my friend Sherlock Holmes remarked one day as we lounged in our club seats after breakfast, "your recent marriage would be apt to inspire annoyance in a man of my disposition, whom I depend on your company as the only acceptable and within my reach. Yet, I feel that today your proclivity towards togetherness takes quite a burden from my conscience."

"How so?" I enquired smilingly, at one time pleased and uneasy about his confession that he regretted my now frequent absence from Baker Street.

"It is wrong, perhaps", he mused, "to throw away the prizes fate drops into one's lap, even if one has absolutely no use for them. You remember, of course, the affair concerning the American ambassador's son?"

"Certainly. Only yesterday I finished my report of the case. My wife was thrilled to read it."

"Quite so. In his gratitude, his Excellency made to me the gift of two tickets for a gala representation. How it came to his mind to do so I cannot fathom." The corners of his mouth tugged upwards. "I take it he considers me a married man."

"Indeed!" My interest was piqued. "Which representation?"

"A premier at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. It is some Shakespeare, I believe, that piece featuring goblins and fairies and similar nonsense."

"So you won't attend the performance?"

"Not I."

My jaw dropped. "But Holmes, of course you must go! Firstly, it would aggrieve his Excellency if you didn't. Secondly, as you pointed out yourself, it would be an irresponsible waste to let those expensive seats remain vacant. And thirdly, you would miss, of that I am sure, a first-rate rendition, with some of the greatest actors of our time."

"And fourthly, I am determined not to go. His Excellency will not notice my absence as he himself is likely to refrain from attending this insufferable humbug, being a man of remarkably good sense. The same applies to me, naturally, so there is no need for your concern that I might miss something of any consequence to me. And last but not least, you and Mrs. Watson would render me a tremendous service if you filled in the seats in question tonight."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, pleased and disappointed at the same time. "It is wonderfully handsome of you to suggest it – but it won't do, I'm afraid. Mary is on a short visit to her mother, and I don't expect her back before the end of the week."

"Of course." My companion slapped his forehead with the palm. "I did deduce it."

"How?"

"Why, your visits nowadays necessitate the unavailability of your wife", Sherlock Holmes elaborated accurately, but without pity. "When you called on me last week, she was embroiled in a project to relieve the London Poor. And when we solved the ambassador's case a fortnight ago, she stayed with a friend who expected confinement."

"But…her mother?" I muttered weakly.

"A rather hot weather, don't you think? Your wife, being the good Christian to the core, never leaves you except when somebody is in need of help. It is, for the most, elderly people who suffer from the heat waves at this time of the year. Since I know her father, Captain Morstan, to be dead, I presumed that her mother was the sufferer she hurried to assist."

"Very well", I sighed. It made me sad to think that Mary should be deprived of such a treat by circumstance, when I could offer her something comparable only very rarely. The same instant, I became aware of how sorry I myself was to be deprived of it, being a great admirer of the bard and of drama in general. I was about to sigh again, when a sudden idea flashed my mind. "Holmes!" I cried, "what if I accompanied you? Would you be inclined to go, then?"

"Inclined? I shall be bored to death! I hate the theatre, Watson!"

This I knew not to be true. Holmes, being a capable and versatile actor himself, admired able performers, even if few ever found his approval.

"Only imagine", I coaxed, "such a spectacle! You know, of course, that Sir Phillip Evans, manager and leading actor of the Theatre Royal, has lately gathered the entire elite of young actors around himself, composing an ensemble of immeasurable talents for his productions."

Holmes snarled. "Young and inexperienced, so I hear! I can see it all before me now: A bunch of stuttering and staggering adolescents, giving themselves grand airs, the sugar sweet flowery décor, and it's all about LOVE, Watson! Good gracious, does this prospect not send a distinctly sickening shudder down your spine?"

"Great feelings!" I endeavoured to persuade him. "Great passions from the quill of a literary genius!"

"I can't bear it", he moaned, getting up and roaming the chamber.

"Come for my sake!" I pleaded. "I shall be indebted to you ever after!"

"I shall get bored, doctor", he warned me in a querrulous voice.

While this announcement made me wince internally, I returned fortitiously: "I shall see to it that in future, my leisure will be divided between your cases and my domestic interests to equal amounts."

"Hum!" He wavered.

"Done?" I asked eagerly.

He shot another menacing glance at me. "I shall get bored."

By no means did his prediction come true. Comfortably installed on the plush balcony seat, I was perfectly satisfied to now and then avert my eyes from the stage and hazard a glance at my companion. Presumably an outward observer would hasten to the conclusion that he had fallen asleep, with his eyes drooping and the blissful, far-away expression upon his protruding features.

I, however, knew this bearing to be much to the credit of the performers, had they just been able to see and interpret the signs. At times, he had assumed the same pose when listening to the problems of his clients, and in fact it indicated that his senses opened, widened and became more able to absorb information, while his mental powers of concentration and imagination increased to the highest degree attainable.

I am not a vain man, yet I believe that for once I shared his thoughts and sensations, as his reactions to the show resembled mine: During the scenes of action, we drew breath hastily and in irregular intervals, and when I felt laughter tickling the back of my throat, I could hear his soft chuckle.

Of course the acting was marvelous. My antics to lure Holmes here had not consisted of empty words - onstage, the crème de la crème had assembled. The opening scene already was as sweet as a kiss, without being sentimental in the least.

"Oh! Methinks how slow/this old moon wanes, she lingers my desires…"

I consulted my program to identify the actors incorporating Theseus, Duke of Athens, and his betrothed Hippolyta. Lifting the lorgnette to my eyes, I was able to observe them closer. The Duke was Sir Phillip Evans himself, a man well beyond the fifties, but still attractive in a dark, handsome way. Despite the romantic part, a certain sense of tragedy wafted from his every movement, he acted calmly, but when I caught a glimpse of his deep blue eyes, they seemed to be filled with profound sadness.

The woman by his side was a newcomer, Lavinia Wilmot by name, and of a subtle, yet breathtaking beauty. She was white, as white as white can be, and so gloriously fair – small, frail, but endowed with a captivating character, or I was very much mistaken. The wonderful cherry blossom tone of her skin was even more emphasized by the bright muslin frock she wore…still she managed not to resemble a piece of wedding cake.

It seemed to me that she and Evans embodied a perfect match: His brunette virility, imposing and powerful, and her lovely, blonde delicacy. It was as if sun and moon had agreed to rise simultaneously and shine side by side. I communicated my reflections to Holmes, who quirked an eyebrow at me.

"Really, Watson, you can assume the most ridiculous view of things at times. Yet I must confess I imagined it to be more horrid. One has to be glad that we have been spared the fake blossoms and the nude angel tapestries."

I sniffed and returned my attention to the stage, where in the meantime Hermia had made her appearance, played by Elizabeth Bicester.

"And in the wood, where often you and I/ upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie/emptying our bosoms of their council sweet/there my Lysander and myself shall meet", she recited ardently.

Again I grasped my lorgnette in order to reinforce my eyesight. The maid was very young, seventeen or eighteen years I should estimate, and pretty in her own way. She was fierce, wiry, and dark eyes glowed beneath a mob of grizzled chestnut locks. Somehow I was reminded of an agile, untamed little animal, a bit frightened, and always ready to use its claws in self-defence. All the same, her acting was skilled and precise.

"And thence from Athens turn away our eyes/ and seek new friends and stranger companies."

"Mark the lad", Holmes murmured and my eye sought the chap referred to, Lysander, a man in his late twenties, clad in a light summer suit. His arms thrown wide apart, he called: "Helena, adieu! As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!"

I was puzzled as to what my friend was interested in, for despite the lad's brightness of temper and a certain flamboyant demeanour, it could be plainly seen that he was the weakest spot in the whole ensemble.

When I threw him a quizzical glance, my boswell laughed in his typical, noiseless fashion. "The young gentleman appears to be a trifle careless. He forgot to take off his wedding ring."

I narrowed my eyes and peered down on the man. Holmes was right, of course. The slim, gold band around the actor's finger certainly did not go well with his part.

"Kindly look up the name of the performer", my friend said listlessly.

I picked up the program. "It is a certain Jeremy Miller."

"Miller…" Holmes pondered. "Is not that the name of the theatre star having great success lately?"

"You mean Catherine Miller?" I asked eagerly, for I must concede having a bit of a soft spot for the diva of modern theatre.

"I think so. A tall brunette. She played in Emilia Galotti, Le malade imaginaire and Lady Windermere's fan this year, not to mention minor parts in important productions.

I was a little surprised at Holmes' exact knowledge on a matter that clearly was of no interest to him, but then I remembered that he used to keep ahead with the events of high society, even submitting himself to the task of reading gossip rags.

"Indeed! She is in the cast!" I pointed excitedly at the leaflet in my hand. "This other fellow would be her husband, then."

"Bravo, Watson. A shrewd observation", Mr. Holmes teased. "But let us be silent! Here comes said actress."

And come she did. Oh my soul! It was just as well that tight shackles bonded me with another woman, else I might have lost my head in mindless adoration. She was delicious! Boyish, yet graceful, her head a swirling glory of soft chestnut waves. By no means a classical beauty, she enthralled both ladies and gentlemen with an indescribable, irresistible something, which it was hard to elude. And her play! It was blithe, fluent, seemingly effortless, and I could but marvel at the way she portrayed the stern, but still lovely character of Titania.

"What! Jealous Oberon. Fairies, skip hence: I have forsworn his bed and company."

I sat entranced until she left the scene, inhaling deeply when I realized I had been left breathless.

When the curtain had fallen for the last time and applause surged, I turned to Holmes, clapping my raised hands. "That was not too bad, was it, old man?" I shouted over the general exclamations of enthusiasm.

He shook his head gravely. "Indeed not. However, it will moderate your nearly indecent hilarity, my good doctor, to call to your mind what you have brought into the bargain. I shall expect you at Baker Street tomorrow, at eight a.m. exactly."

My face fell and I began to brood over a forceful retort, when, by means of a sudden jerk, the thick velveteen curtains of our box where ripped apart with the gesture of unwavering determination.

Here we go again! I wish you a pleasant time with this, and under no circumstances disappoint my greed for reviews! They are the very soil I plant my chapters on.