AN: I own nothing Sherlock Holmes related, obviously. Enjoy! Reviews would be much appreciated
It is always difficult for me to decide which adventure to publish next, however this one was not so taxing a decision. In all the adventures I have regaled, I have neglected perhaps the most important. Following Holmes' return, and all the drama surrounding it, there was a period of time where my pen was stayed. Moran's tale took quite some time for me to put together to a level where Holmes wasn't offended by the amount of emotion, so once it was complete I suggested that we retire to the country for a week or two as a holiday of sorts. I felt this would allow the public time to get used to the idea of Sherlock's revelations, and give him some time to recuperate, as it was clear that he had not looked after himself properly whilst trekking across the globe.
Holmes only agreed to the retreat on the condition that I leave off publishing my narratives while we were there, I still wonder today if he was trying to force me into having some respite, instead of the terse excuse of he didn't want the press, or Lestrade for that matter, bothering him from an experiment he was hoping to conduct while we were hiding from the real world, as he so succinctly put it. He knew I was still feeling overwrought from the last time I had ever seen my poor wife, but that is a tale already told, and I am now certain that the experiment he planned was designed to distract me as much as possible – a plan which succeeded most successfully.
The morning of the 18th of April was drab and cold. A chill wind had started up in the early hours of the morning and cooled our apartment at 221B Baker Street considerably, causing my leg to seize up somewhat. Thankfully, the ever faithful Mrs Hudson had laid a cheering fire in the living room grate, and it was there that I took my breakfast. I waited for Holmes to appear at the top of the stairs in some ridiculous guise, for it was seldom the case that I should rise before him. Yet it seemed that his exploits with Moran had tired him, and it was some twenty minutes before he emerged from his room, a yawn stretching his newly shaved face.
'Holmes, sit and take some tea and perhaps a slice of toast. You look positively dreadful!' I hollered in his direction.
He didn't make any reply, other than to groan and throw his thin form onto the easy chair. Of course I hadn't expected him to eat anything, but it felt odd to say nothing, the shock of his return still fresh in my mind.
It was a quarter to nine before the hansom arrived to take us to the station, and it was half past before we set out. Holmes developed an adversity to leaving the apartment, which may or may not have had something to do with the empty vial of cocaine lying on the mantelpiece. His antics made us miss the nine thirty train, and so when we arrived at a quarter to ten we found ourselves facing an unwelcome forty-five minute wait. It wasn't too bad to begin with; Holmes made some quiet deductions regarding the passers-by to amuse us both; but it was when boredom fell over his brilliant mind that he began to get restless. Having known him as long as I have I recognised the signs immediately.
He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin upon them, a deep frown furrowing his brow. He took his pipe from the inner pocket of his travelling coat and chewed thoughtfully on the end of it. A few minutes later it appeared that a retreat to the great palace that was his mind wasn't going to help either; Holmes huffed and leapt off the bench, pacing in front me.
'You know Watson; I can't afford to be waiting around like this. It is imperative that I find something with which to occupy myself. Unlike you, I cannot be content with a mediocre novel. It was the gentleman who owns the corner shop, if you're interested. And while we're away I fully intend to- ah. I suspected Donovan may make an appearance before too long. How may I further your career this time Donovan? I see. You haven't come for yourself, but for Lestrade. I see he is still considering leaving his wife. You needn't look so surprised; the scent of his favourite cigarettes is clinging to the lapels of your overcoat, he only smokes that particular tobacco after a particularly trying argument with the dreadful woman. Well? Is there a case or are you going to continue to stand there looking gormless? Really Donovan you do have the most dreadful manners at times.'
Donovan, with noticeable effort pulled himself together and spoke slowly:
'Well Mister Holmes sir, the detective inspector bade me to tell you that while he is aware that you do not want disturbing while you are away, he would be most grateful sir if you could take a look at this set of letters while you are away – we cannot make head nor tail of them and thought you might appreciate a puzzle sir.'
He drew a thick bundle of papers tied together with coarse string and held them out towards Holmes, but during the course of Donovan's explanation my good friend had lost interest and was instead turning to leave, heading towards the train that was slowly entering the station. With a knowing smile Donovan instead held them out to me, and with them tucked firmly in the folds of my novel – the thrill of it somewhat lost thanks to Holmes – I took my seat on the train bound for what I thought would be the peace and quiet of the countryside
