A/N: Greetings, holiday readers. Welcome to Hades Lord of the Dead "December Calendar Challenge of Awesomeness 2014". If you want to join anytime during this month, feel free to send her a message through Fan Fiction. Join the creative writing fun! All are welcome.
Date: Dec 01
Prompt: Holmes deduces Watson's favourite colour
From: SheWhoScrawls
Warnings: None
Ch 1: Watson's Favourite Colour
Prying Dr John Watson's favourite colour out of his cranium was harder than stealing the crown jewels out from under the Queen's nose – which, on second analysis, might not be so difficult after all – Sherlock Holmes had figured out seven theoretical ways to nick the gems with a very high probability of success. Unfortunately, his older brother's position in the British government put a damper on the actual testing of his theories…
Anyway, even Holmes' older brother, Mycroft, with his vast pigeon-holed database of a brain that held high-level security secrets and had proven useful on more than one occasion in helping the younger Holmes prove a case, could not answer this particular question. The great detective of the Victorian age who made it his life's purpose to know what other people do not know (1) could not deduce his flat mate's colour of choice. The man remained maddening elusive whenever it concerned the topic.
Early in his career, before Holmes had begun to learn that not everyone had to be on the same brilliant brain wavelength as himself, he'd assumed his friend's favourite colour must be like his own – red. In one of their first cases together, he'd waxed poetic on the colour even. "There's the scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life…" he'd alluded to almost reverently (2). Red symbolised action, life and death, fire, blood, crime, and drama – everything that Sherlock Holmes, as a new consulting detective thrived upon, thirsted and hungered after. But, red was not Watson's favourite colour.
Later, as Holmes sat in a rare contemplative mood by the hearth, he considered his friend's profession. Watson was a doctor before he ever became his sidekick in criminal detection. He was first, and always would be, a physician. Therefore, white must be his optimal colour. White to symbolise sterility, cleanliness, hospitals, and antiseptics that cleansed and led to the healing of bloody, red wounds. Surely, white must be Doctor Watson's colour of choice. But alas! No. White was not Doctor Watson's favourite colour.
Well, perhaps the good doctor, who valued trips to the countryside for healthful rejuvenation preferred the calming tones of blue or green? Initially Holmes abhorred nature and all that it represented to his clinical detective eye.
"It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside… (3)".
Later on Holmes did begin to have dreams of bee keeping, apiaries, and the green rolling hills of a Sussex cottage. Such dreams were much later in his career, nearing his retirement though. However, perhaps for Watson, blue and green were not so bad. In the end though, neither Holmes nor Watson chose blue or green as a favourite colour.
"Why won't you tell me? How can revealing such a benign detail like the preference of your colour palate make you clam up like an oyster offered stones for breakfast?" Sherlock Holmes complained. "Is it purple, or fuchsia, or orange, or yellow? Tell me," he almost begged. The mystery was a thorny spicule that festered in his brain. "Watson, even if your preferred colour is pink, it's ok with me. I promise not to hold it against your masculinity."
Watson remained silent and turned the page on the paper he was reading.
Holmes suddenly perked up. "I know, Watson. Gold. Gold must be your favourite colour – shiny, sparkling, with loads of potential for good."
Watson only shook his head to the negative and mumbled, "If gold were my favourite colour, dear friend, I surely would not be living here following you on your detective adventures while neglecting my medical business. No, I'm definitely not drawn to gold."
Holmes let the question drop for the time. His friend was obviously not ready to reveal such an intimate detail.
One night, many years later, after their friendship had solidified into something much deeper than that initial working collaboration, Holmes and Watson stood gazing out into the night, letting the crisp coolness of autumn swirl around and carry their thoughts to nether regions rarely browsed. It was one of those evenings where magic seemed almost to be grasped. The moon had not yet risen and only a few stars twinkled in the vast black blanket of night sky.
"Holmes?" Watson began.
"Yes," Sherlock Holmes verbalised his presence.
"You remember that once, long ago, you asked me what my favourite colour was?"
"I do," the tall, greying detective nodded slightly. "And you never told me either."
"Well, Holmes, black is my favourite colour. Does that seem odd to you?"
Holmes was silent for a few moments. "No," he answered hesitantly. "But, if I may be so bold now as to ask, why do you choose black? The colour is so often associated with death, destruction, filth, and evil."
"The way I see it," Watson finally answered after another long pause. "In this life there will always be pain and suffering. Life's not fair. Both of us see it in medicine and also in the horrible crimes humanity commits against its brother. Bitter burdens are laid upon innocent people. Darkness wraps itself around every aspect of the human condition. We cannot escape it."
Holmes remained silent and contemplative. Savouring this rare moment of heart reflection from his trusted friend and partner.
Watson continued. "And yet, it is from the depths of the nights of suffering and pain that the greatest triumphs of beauty and goodness are revealed. Without the blackness of the velvet surrounding the crystal diamonds, they would never glitter so brightly. Without the blackness in our lives, the brilliant golden hues of compassion, love, and joy would never shimmer so exuberantly. Pain and beauty are inexplicably linked. Without the one; there is no more the other."
He nodded as shadows of death and despair wisped their feathery tassels through his memories and highlighted the shimmering silver hues of life and courage and hope. "Yes, black is my favourite colour. Without the darkness, all other colours would be meaningless."
The two men, friends for many years, shared the silence reverently. There was no need for words. Time hung still. The stars shone luminously against the blackness of the night sky.
"No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be." -Bram Stoker
1. ACD, The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle
2. ACD, A Study in Scarlet
3. ACD, The Adventure of the Copper Beeches