Day 1 - Pumpkin from Winter Winks 221
Written for the December Challenge by Hades Lord of the Dead
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It all started at the edge of a field. Pumpkins grew there with dark green vines snaking their tendrils up stalks of corn. A field where only several weeks ago, the body of a young field hand had been buried. Naturally, the old couple who owned the farm had been accused of murder first. But Herbert was an old acquaintance of Dr. Watson's, and Sherlock had found the real killer within a week.
There were a dozen Langstroth type bee hives lined up on the far corner of the field, and the bees hummed happily, rolling into yellow pumpkin flowers to emerge covered with powdery pollen. Sherlock watched them intently. It was strange how vigorously life always continued on in the wake of grotesque death.
"You fancy bees, Mr. Holmes?" It was half question, half statement, paired with an edge of hopefulness as Mathilde raised her chin to look up at him. Gratitude edged with an unexpected kindred interest.
"I do," Sherlock replied.
"Take some with you then."
Sherlock coughed and grimaced, almost a laugh at the thought of hauling an entire hive up the steps of 221 B. "I daresay my landlady wouldn't approve."
"We'll make you one of those small hives with the windows in it then, won't you Herbert?" Mathilde said while elbowing Herbert in the side. "An observation hive. You can keep them in the city even. There's only a handful of bees in those little hives."
Sherlock opened his mouth to decline. There numerous reasons this wouldn't work. Reduced forage for one. The bees were clearly meant to live out here.
But…
But maybe he could allow it, for a short period of time, just for observation and studies, to fill those long expanses of time between cases. And maybe Recency Park would prove to be suitable foraging grounds.
He smiled down at Mathilde. "An observation hive sounds lovely."
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Several months later there was a delivery from the farm. Plump round pumpkins from the farm, all orange with prickly stems, that he intended to gift to Mrs. Hudson, and a tall heavy packed wrapped in brown paper that hummed steadily of the end of summer.