Fleeing London to get out of a sweltering heat wave, John finds himself in Surry where he gets a deeper look into Sherlock's past and maybe the reason why the Consulting Detective considers himself "married" to his work.
In the original pilot for "The Study in Pink" in the restaurant, John asks Sherlock if he has a girlfriend or a boyfriend. Sherlock replies that he is married to his work and that he isn't looking for any kind of relationship at all.
This will be a one shot.
This little plot bunny comes from the Annotated Sherlock Holmes ll volumes of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's complete works by William S. Baring-Gould.
As always I do not own anything pertaining to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes, BBC's Sherlock, or The "Young Sherlock Holmes" movie by Berry Levinson, Chris Columbus and Steven Spielberg.
"I hate London in a heat wave. How is it possible for a person to work up a bloody sweat while setting perfectly still...nono, no. It's a rhetorical question. No answer required because I'm a doctor and I should know the reason why one can sweat...and I'll shut up now."
A grey-green eye lazily opened and slide to where John was slumped in his favorite chair.
"Then you would be willing to get out for a few days?"
"Where to?"
"Surry comes to mind. I often go down this time of year anyway. Can you get away from the hospital or are you still on vacation?"
"How long is a few days?"
"Four any way. Longer if this humidity holds."
"When could we leave?"
"When ever you could get ready."
"Tomorrow?"
"It can be arranged."
"I'm still on vacation so yes. Definitely, by all means. Anywhere is better then here. You don't expect Lestrade to call with a case?"
"Most will be domestics caused by the heat and humidity. Predictable and boring."
A long arm flopped heavily towards the coffee table, graceful fingers groping for the mobile phone.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not asking me to get up and passing that to you."
The only answer he received was an audible sniff. The smile on John's face would have been more pronounced if he had the energy to put into it.
"A car is reserved. It will arrive at 8:45 am tomorrow." The phone was carelessly dropped back onto the low table.
"Why do you go to Surry?"
"It is where I was born. Rather dull, but it's a satisfactory escape from London."
0000
John leaned back in the cloth covered seat (not leather, thank heaven and Sherlock) to enjoy the brush of cool air-conditioned breeze over his face, his head rolled to his left so that he could watch the passing scenery. It was amazing how green and rolling the countryside could get once leaving the boundaries of London. The sprawling edges of the great city was beginning to swallow up the northern reaches of County Surry but there were still pockets of high hills, forests and grasslands, It truly was a beautiful landscape.
"Where exactly are we going?"
"Reigate. Not far really."
Sherlock didn't lie. Less then an hour of leaving London proper they were entering Reigate. Sherlock navigated through the countryside to a bed and breakfast. They got out and Sherlock led the way up a flower bordered walk to check in and receive their latch keys.
"Our rooms are out back in the renovated barn."
The grounds were laid out as a garden with the inn in the middle. The view was green and hilly with a pub within walking distance. Sherlock unlocked the main door and walked in John with on his heels.
"This is quite nice."
"There is a swimming pool and tennis court as well."
John explored the rooms and chose the upper story when Sherlock indicated it didn't matter to him which he took. Then it was back to the car to get the luggage. John paused then looked at his flatmate.
"You brought your violin?"
"I always do when I come down. Like I said, it can be rather dull. I can compose or just think if I cannot find something else to occupy my mind. When you get hungry there is the pub. A lot of the locals frequent it, always a good sign that the food is decent."
000
Maybe Sherlock found Reigate "a bit dull" but John had never been this far south and while it didn't have the adrenalin rush of London, he found a good deal to like about it. During the day there were historical and archaeological sites to tramp around in, or beating the heat in the pool. The pub was a lively place at night and the "locals" made much of Sherlock's annual return. There were impromptu dances with the local musicians and Sherlock providing the entertainment. The pub fair was first rate as far as John was concerned and the people out going and welcoming.
The third morning he came down to find a note from Sherlock saying that he had gone out and not to expect him back until late afternoon. John shook his head. This was typical Sherlockian behavior in London, so why should he be any different here?
Each guest room had it's own tea and coffee brewers, so John had a leisurely breakfast in front of a large window over looking the hills rolling away to the south and westward. Then he pulled out his laptop to add a bit of travel log to his blog. Between that and pouring over local maps he was quite busy until his stomach reminded that he hadn't eaten for a while so he made his way over to the pub.
A few patrons had already come in and a man and woman team took care of food and drink orders.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Watson. The menu is on the board. Mr. Holmes not with you then?"
"Oh, Billy!" The woman gave him a hard nudge as she looked at John with a twinkle in her eye.
"Why I put up with the likes of him, I tell you. Forgetting anniversaries and such as he does."
She spoke to Billy as she took John's order. "You know very well where he would be, today of all days.
She glanced up at John. "You'll find Mr. Holmes just down the road. You won't be able to miss him. Playing that beautiful violin for herself."
John glanced to the door then back to the proprietress. "I...really? He plays for a woman? Every time he comes down?
She nodded with a smile, but John caught something else as well. There was something wistful about that smile.
She handed him his order and he turned for the door. "If you want to find him, just turn left when you go out the door. You can't get lost."
"Thank you."
The day was warm but at least here in the openness of the countryside there was a breeze. Nor was the air as close and stuffy as on the streets of London right now. He found the whole thing refreshing. He had walked the better part of a mile or more when his ears perked as the strains of music reached him. He recognized a piece of Sherlock's own composing and followed the invisible strand around a church until he stood in a shady cemetery.
A perplexed frown creased John's brow as he walked down the narrow track laid out between grave markers. Sherlock talked so little about his family. Who could he be playing for? Grandmother, aunt? For all John knew it could be for a sister. When John finally spotted the violinist, he wasn't alone. Several villagers were sitting or standing in the shadow of the carefully tended shrubbery taking in the solo concert. Sherlock paid them no heed, if he was even aware of them. He stood facing a simple granite grave marker swaying gently in time with the run of the bow over the strings of his instrument.
Throughout the afternoon people would silently slip away to do what ever it was that needed to be attended to in the normal run of their day, while someone else come in to listen for awhile.
Dappled shadow played over the tableau and John's attention was caught by the wink of something bright and golden sitting on a narrow ledge near the base of the stone. He was a distance away and really couldn't make it out, what ever it was.
It wasn't until the sun had started to settle near the western horizon that Sherlock drew out one last quivering note then snapped the bow smartly against his chest and bowed his head towards the mute stone. Silently, with no applause of any kind, the rest of the listeners ghosted away. John watched as Sherlock put the precious violin in it's case then approached the stone. There he knelt for a few moments before reaching out to lightly touch the face of the stone. Then he picked something up from that narrow ledge and slipped it into a pocket and he too was gone.
John watched him go then, his curiosity piqued, moved to read the inscription. Never in his wildest dreams would he ever have imagined the inscription Sherlock had so gently traced.
In Loving Memory
Wife
Elizabeth Sophia
Holmes
1979-1998
Son
Sherlock Scott
Holmes ll
2 Days Old
John's breath hitched. No, this was the very last thing he could ever have considered.
In the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle story "The "Gloria Scott"", Sherlock mentions that his old college friend had a sister but that she had died of diphtheria. Four Sherlockian historians believe that Sherlock had either had a tragic courtship or that he had married quite young and was left a widower.
In an interview I saw on Youtube someone made the comment that Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock resembles in physical appearance Nicholas Rowe's "Young Sherlock Holmes" so I am borrowing the name "Elizabeth" and the variation of "Sophia".