CHAPTER 1 — Faint
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Sherlock Holmes, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and a gay disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; yet he had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to interest or intrigue him. And then the murders began.
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Sherlock was the youngest of the two sons of a most affectionate, indulgent father. His mother had died too long ago for him to have more than an indistinct remembrance of her caresses; and her place had been supplied by an excellent woman as governess, who had fallen little short of a mother in affection. Sixteen years had Miss Martha Taylor been in the Holmes family, less as a governess than a friend, very fond of both sons, but particularly of Sherlock. Even before Miss Taylor had ceased to hold the nominal office of governess, the mildness of her temper had hardly allowed her to impose any restraint; and the shadow of authority being now long passed away, they had been living together as friend and friend, very mutually attached, and Sherlock doing just what he liked — highly amused by Miss Taylor's judgment, but directed chiefly by his own.
The real evils, indeed, of Sherlock's situation were the power of having rather too much his own way, and a disposition to think a little too well of himself; these were the disadvantages which threatened alloy to his many enjoyments. The danger, however, was at present so unperceived, that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with him.
Sorrow came, a gentle sorrow: Miss Taylor married. It was on the wedding-day of this beloved friend that Sherlock first sat in mournful thought of any continuance. To be sure, the event had every promise of happiness for his friend. Mr. Hudson was a man of unexceptionable character, easy fortune, suitable age, and pleasant manners; and there was some satisfaction in considering with what brilliance Sherlock had early deduced the match; but it was a black morning's work for him.
The want of Miss Taylor would be felt every hour of every day. Sherlock recalled her past kindness — how she had taught and how she had played with him from five years old — how she had devoted all her powers to attach and amuse him in health — and how nursed him through the various illnesses of childhood. She had been a friend and companion such as few possessed: intelligent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the ways of the family, interested in all its concerns, and peculiarly interested in Sherlock himself, in every pleasure, every scheme of his — one to whom he could speak every thought as it arose, and who had such an affection for him as could never find fault. How was he to bear the change?
It was true that his friend was going only half a mile from them; but Sherlock was aware that great must be the difference between a Mrs. Hudson, only half a mile from them, and a Miss Taylor in the house; and with all his advantages, natural and domestic, he was now in great danger of suffering from intellectual solitude. Of course Sherlock loved his father, but he was no proper companion. He could not meet Sherlock in conversation, rational or playful. The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and Mr. Holmes had not married early) was much increased by his constitution and habits; for having been a hypochondriac all his life, without activity of mind or body, he was a much older man in ways than in years; and though everywhere beloved for the friendliness of his heart and his amiable temper, his talents could not have recommended him at any time. Sherlock's brother, though comparatively but little removed by matrimony, being settled in London, only sixteen miles off, was much beyond his daily reach; and in any case, Mycroft's society, though it might be rational, was not altogether pleasant.
Highbury, the large and populous village, almost amounting to a town, to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate lawn, and shrubberies, and name, did really belong, afforded Sherlock no equals. The Holmes family was first in consequence there. All looked up to them. Sherlock had many acquaintance in the place, for his father was universally civil, but not one among them who could be accepted in lieu of Mrs. Hudson for even half a day.
It was a melancholy change; and Sherlock could not but sigh over it, and wish for impossible things, till an event occurred of such a shocking nature as to completely divert his attention. One of the wedding guests — Miss Jennifer Wilson, a cousin of Mr. Hudson, who had travelled all the way from Cornwall to attend his nuptials — collapsed over her cake. At first it was assumed by the assembled company that the lady had merely swooned from an excess of feeling at the joyous occasion. When, however, neither lavender water nor smelling salts proved efficacious in restoring her to consciousness, Miss Sawyer, the apothecary, must be sent for.
While they awaited the arrival of the apothecary, Mr. Holmes gave vent to his fear that the wedding cake had proved too rich for poor Miss Wilson. His own stomach could bear nothing rich, and he could never believe other people to be different from himself. What was unwholesome to him he regarded as unfit for anybody; and he had, therefore, earnestly tried to dissuade Mr. and Mrs. Hudson from having any wedding-cake at all, and when that proved vain, as earnestly tried to prevent anybody's eating it. But still the cake was eaten, and now here were the sad results of his counsel being ignored.
Mr. Holmes was still lamenting the folly of serving cake at a wedding when Miss Sawyer arrived. Upon being applied to, she could not but acknowledge that wedding-cake might certainly disagree with many — perhaps with most people, unless taken moderately. She forbore to answer further questions, however, until she could make a thorough examination of her patient.
Miss Wilson had been lifted onto a sofa, where she lay fearfully still, her pale skin standing out in stark contrast to the cheerful pink of her dress. Miss Sawyer knelt at her side, and upon taking her pulse, pronounced it to be markedly slow and weak. Not wishing to give alarm, however, she bade the wedding guests to continue their revelry, and leave her to the task of reviving Miss Wilson.
This was attempted on both sides with equally little success; Miss Sawyer, with all her skills, was unable to revive the unconscious lady, and no one had much heart for making merry while her fate hung in the balance. The party soon broke up, with many expressions of confidence in Miss Wilson's full recovery, as well as a lifetime of felicity for the newly married Hudsons, but there was no denying the pall that had fallen over the occasion.
Once back at Hartfield, Sherlock smiled and chatted as cheerfully as he could, to keep up his father's spirits; but when tea came, it was impossible for Mr. Holmes not to say exactly as he had said at dinner, "Poor Miss Wilson! I wish she had had better sense than to eat that cake! And poor Mrs. Hudson! I wish she were here again. What a pity it is that Mr. Hudson ever thought of her!"
"But Mr. Hudson is such a good-humoured, pleasant, excellent man, that he thoroughly deserves a good wife; and you would not have had Mrs. Hudson live with us forever, and bear all my odd humours, when she might have a house of her own?"
"A house of her own! But where is the advantage of a house of her own? This is three times as large. And she never minded your odd humours."
Sherlock was spared further discussion of the topic by the arrival of a visitor. Captain John Watson, a sensible man of about seven or eight and twenty, was not only a very old and intimate friend of the family, but particularly connected with it, as the half-brother of Mycroft's husband, Greg Lestrade. He lived about a mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor, and always welcome, and at this time more welcome than usual, as coming directly from their mutual connexions in London.
He had returned to a late dinner, after some days' absence, and now walked up to Hartfield to say that all were well in Brunswick Square. It was a happy circumstance, and animated Mr. Holmes for some time. Captain Watson had a cheerful manner, which always did him good; and his many inquiries after Mycroft and his husband were answered most satisfactorily.
When this was over, Mr. Holmes gratefully observed, "It is very kind of you, Captain Watson, to come out at this late hour to call upon us. I am afraid you must have had a shocking walk."
"Not at all, sir. It is a beautiful moonlight night; and so mild that I must draw back from your great fire."
"But you must have found it very damp and dirty. I wish you may not catch cold."
"Dirty, sir? Look at my shoes. Not a speck on them."
"Well, that is quite surprising, for we have had a vast deal of rain here. It rained dreadfully hard for half an hour while we were at breakfast. I wanted them to put off the wedding."
"By the bye — I have not wished you joy. Being pretty well aware of what sort of joy you must both be feeling, I have been in no hurry with my congratulations; but I hope it all went off tolerably well. How did you all behave? Who cried most?"
"Ah! poor Mrs. Hudson! 'Tis a sad business."
"Poor Mr. Holmes and Sherlock, if you please; but I cannot possibly say 'poor Mrs. Hudson.' I have a great regard for both of you; but when it comes to the question of dependence or independence! — At any rate, it must be better to have only one to please than two."
"Especially when one of those two is such a troublesome creature!" said Sherlock playfully. "That is what you have in your head, I know — and what you would certainly say if my father were not by."
"I believe it is very true, indeed," said Mr. Holmes, with a sigh. "I am afraid I am sometimes very troublesome."
"My dearest papa! You do not think I could mean you, or suppose Captain Watson to mean you. I meant only myself. Captain Watson loves to find fault with me, you know — in a joke — it is all a joke. We always say what we like to one another."
Captain Watson, in fact, was one of many people who could see faults in Sherlock Holmes, but the only one — besides Mycroft — who ever dared tell him of them: and though this was not particularly agreeable to Sherlock himself, he knew it would be so much less so to his father, that he would not have him really suspect such a circumstance as him not being thought perfect by everybody.
"Sherlock knows I never flatter him," said Captain Watson, "but I meant no reflection on anybody. Mrs. Hudson has been used to have two persons to please; she will now have but one. The chances are that she must be a gainer."
"Well," said Sherlock, willing to let it pass — "you want to hear about the wedding; and I shall be happy to tell you, for we all behaved charmingly. Everybody was punctual, everybody in their best looks: not a tear, and hardly a long face to be seen. It was all most boringly perfect until Miss Wilson fainted."
"Such a dreadful business!" said Mr. Holmes. "If only she had shown proper restraint, and confined herself to toast and tea, as I did, myself, I'm sure she would have borne up under the strain of a social gathering much better. But she would insist on having a slice of the wedding cake, as so many of the guests foolishly did, and I fear it was too rich for her."
"Dreadful, indeed," said Captain Watson. "But I hope she was speedily brought 'round."
"No," said Sherlock. "Miss Sawyer was sent for, and broke up the party."
"I am very sorry for Miss Wilson," said Mr. Holmes, "and I hope we shall soon hear that she has made a full recovery; but the earlier any party does break up, the better. And a wedding party — with it's temptations of cake and chocolate — is quite unnecessary, I have always maintained. We were all present for the reading of the banns, and beyond that, what is there to celebrate? Dear Sherlock bears everything so well; but, Captain Watson, he is really very sorry to lose poor Mrs. Hudson, and I am sure he will miss her more than he thinks."
Sherlock turned away his head, divided between tears and smiles.
"It is impossible that Sherlock should not miss such a companion," said Captain Watson. "We should not like him so well as we do, sir, if we could suppose it; but he knows how much the marriage is to Mrs. Hudson's advantage; he knows how very acceptable it must be, at Mrs. Hudson's time of life, to be settled in a home of her own, and how important to her to be secure of a comfortable provision, and therefore cannot allow himself to feel so much pain as pleasure. Every friend of Mrs. Hudson must be glad to have her so happily married."
"And you have forgotten one matter of joy to me," said Sherlock, "and a very considerable one — that I deduced the match myself. I deduced the match, you know, four years ago; and to have it take place, and be proved in the right, when so many people said Mr. Hudson would never marry again, may comfort me for anything."
Captain Watson shook his head at him. His father fondly replied, "Ah! my dear, I wish you would not deduce matches and foretell things, for whatever you say always comes to pass. Pray do not deduce any more matches."
"I promise you to deduce none for myself, papa; but I must, indeed, for other people. Deductions are the greatest amusement in the world! And after such success, you know! — Every body said that Mr. Hudson would never marry again. Oh dear, no! Mr. Hudson, who had been a widower so long, and who seemed so perfectly comfortable without a wife, so constantly occupied either in his business in town or among his friends here, always acceptable wherever he went, always cheerful — Mr. Hudson need not spend a single evening in the year alone if he did not like it. Oh no! Mr. Hudson certainly would never marry again. Some people even talked of a promise to his wife on her deathbed, and others of the daughter and the uncle not letting him. All manner of solemn nonsense was talked on the subject, but I believed none of it. Ever since the day — about four years ago — that Miss Taylor and I met with him in Broadway Lane, when, because it began to drizzle, he darted away with so much gallantry, and borrowed two umbrellas for us from Farmer Mitchell's, I made up my mind on the subject. I deduced the match from that hour; and when such success has blessed me in this instance, dear papa, you cannot think that I shall leave off match-making."
"I do not understand what you mean by 'deduction,'" said Captain Watson. "Deduction supposes logic. I rather imagine that your 'deducing the match,' as you call it, means only your saying to yourself one idle day, 'I think Mr. Hudson might marry Miss Taylor,' and saying it again to yourself every now and then afterwards. Why do you talk of success? Where is your merit? What are you proud of? You made a lucky guess; and that is all that can be said."
"And have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a deduction? I pity you. I thought you cleverer — for, depend upon it, I never merely make a lucky guess."
"My dear Sherlock," said Mr. Holmes, "pray do not deduce any more matches; they are silly things, and break up one's family circle grievously."
"Only one more, papa; only for Mr. James Moriarty. Poor Mr. James Moriarty! You like Mr. James Moriarty, papa, — I must look about for a wife for him. There is nobody in Highbury who deserves him — and he has been here a whole year, and has fitted up his house so comfortably, that it would be a shame to have him single any longer — and I thought when he was reading the banns, and joining their hands today, he looked so very much as if he would like to have the same kind office done for him! I think very well of Mr. James Moriarty, and this is the only way I have of doing him a service."
"Mr. James Moriarty is a very pretty young man, to be sure, and a very good young man, and I have a great regard for him. But if you want to show him any attention, my dear, ask him to come and dine with us some day. That will be a much better thing. I dare say Captain Watson will be so kind as to meet him."
"With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time," said Captain Watson, laughing, "and I agree with you entirely, that it will be a much better thing. Invite him to dinner, Sherlock, and help him to the best of the fish and the chicken, but leave him to choose his own wife. Depend upon it, a man of six or seven-and-twenty can take care of himself."
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End Note: If you're enjoying this, you might want to check out my other Sherlock/Jane Austen fusion, Southanger Abbey.