Written for the watsons_woes JWP day 11 prompt: Save the Bees! We all know that bees are in trouble - and how important they are to everyone, Sherlock Holmes included. Whether it's participating in (or starting!) an Indigogo campaign like this one, a stint in a laboratory, or some other strategem, how would you have Holmes act to save bees?
The prompter evidently did not think about the Victorian 'verses when coming up with this; Colony Collapse Disorder (which is, I'm presuming, what the prompt is getting at) did not exist back then, at least as we know it now. And the parasite that I ended up using for this fic did not end up in the UK until the 1990s. But I had to do something, so... *gulp* this is terribly anachronistic.
"Watson!" Holmes bellowed from the back door. "I require your finest scalpels and your steady hands in the workshop, if you please."
I sighed and, shaking my head ruefully, I pushed myself up out of my comfortable armchair with a groan and went in search of my scalpels. We had both been retired for some years now, but still I did Holmes' bidding as I had when we were both young men; so far doing so had not let me far wrong, and life was certainly more interesting that way.
It wasn't yet spring but the weather was deceptively mild as I crossed the small bit of yard between the cottage and the small shed Holmes had dubbed the 'workshop'. When I opened the door I was confronted with a most unexpected sight: one of Holmes' hives stood in the middle of the cramped space. It was not just some of the frames, which was a common enough occurrence; no, Holmes evidently had picked up the entire hive from its perch and brought it indoors.
"You needn't worry, there are no live bees in it." Holmes anticipated my next thought and answered it, in that way of his.
"No bees? I thought all of your hives were in use."
"They were. Something happened over the winter to cause the demise of this entire colony, and that is what I need your assistance to determine. Are you up to the task of dissecting several of the dead bees?"
"Dissecting? You mean you want me to do a necropsy on a dead bee?"
"I will examine the internals under the microscope, so you would merely need to cut them open following my directions, but yes, that is essentially the task."
What Holmes wasn't saying was that he would do it himself, but his hands had been giving him quite a bit of trouble of late, trembling and causing him pain when trying to grasp things. We both hoped it was temporary, a reflection of the changing seasons perhaps, but so long as it persisted I was quite ready to be at his service. I just hadn't expected to be handling deceased bees on his behalf.
It was painstaking work, and it took me three bee carcasses before I was able to open the abdomen and thorax in the way Holmes demanded. He had me perform the surgeries upon plates of glass, which I would have to slip beneath the microscope periodically for Holmes to check my work. We also carefully perched two intact bees on glass for external inspection, along with three larvae and two pupae.
Holmes studied each specimen for some time, occasionally dictating notes for me to write down. I also served to change the glass beneath the microscope whenever Holmes requested it.
After Holmes had peered at the last poor, dead larva, he sat back and crossed his arms across this thin chest. "My apologies, Watson. It would appear the dissection was unnecessary."
"An external problem, then?"
"Yes, a parasite of some kind. I have not seen it before." He frowned. "I will need to determine the best means to check the other hives for the pest."
He lapsed into silence, his thinking expression firmly settled on his face. When it became apparent that he'd forgotten my presence, I gently laid my hand on his shoulder. "Do you still need me?"
He glanced at me, a brief smile flitting across his features before his face returned to its former expression. "No, old chap, not for now. Unless you've a mind to bring my pipe. This is quite a three-pipe problem."
"I rather think you should take yourself to your pipe. It's warmer in the house," I pointed out.
Holmes chuckled and stiffly stood from the stool he'd perched upon. "Yes, I suppose you're right about that. Good old Watson."
It took him a bit longer than three pipes-more like three days-to figure out a convoluted solution involving placing a board covered in a sticky substance at the bottom of each hive to trap any of the parasites that might fall from the bees.
Even after that he kept at the problem, reasoning that there must be something that would deter or kill the parasites if present. I wasn't certain an answer to that would be so easily found, but having a concrete question at which to throw his considerable intellect was marvelous for his spirits and I knew he would eventually come up with a solution, as he always did.