Disclaimer: This is fan fiction based on the works of Arthur Conan Doyle.
This story is for my friend MeGoobie. She does not like slash. Plus, every once in a while, I like to prove to myself that I can write something other than slash. I have edited all spelling to standard British English. I hope that you enjoy this tiny case that could fit into a snuffbox. There is a short prologue, two chapters, and a short epilogue. All of it is written. I'll be posting about one per week.
A Diogenes Club Affair
Prologue
It was on a mild sunny day in early April, the kind of day that fooled the birds and flowers and even the wisest of men into believing that winter had finally stepped aside that I, quite foolishly perhaps, decided to celebrate spring. Since my wife was away visiting a distant cousin, I could scarcely think of returning home to an empty house to curl up fireside with nothing more engaging than the evening paper.
Instead I closed my practise early, as soon as I had seen to the last of my appointments. I took to walking through the bustling streets, past houses open for airing, and many businesses closed whose proprietors no doubt had similar plans for enjoying the remains of first fine day in recent memory. Fortunately I found that the sweet shop I frequent was not only open but also doing a brisk business. I came away with enough violet pastels and English toffees to fill my coat pocket. So it was that I was in high spirits on that golden afternoon when I found myself at the doorstep of my old lodgings at Baker Street and decided to chance an unexpected call on my dear old friend who never seemed to mind surprises of any sort.
"Doctor Watson!" Mrs. Hudson greeted me fussing with a few strands of hair fallen loose from her usually tidy bun. Clearly she was harried yet most overjoyed to see me. Her eyes glistened and cheeks flushed. Her smile reflected genuine pleasure to be once again in my company. "How good you are to come home for a visit. We've had a day," she confided, dropping her voice to a whisper as she held the door open for me. I offered her my last violet pastel which I remembered that she favoured. I thought for a moment that she would fling her arms around me. Instead she took the sweet.
"Watson!" Holmes shouted from over her shoulder, "As usual, your timing is impeccable. We are on our way out, dear fellow. You remember young Tom of the Irregulars?"
"Growing like a weed, I see." Since I knew Holmes cared no more for English toffees than violet pastels, I held out my three remaining toffees for Tom. The sweets were fair trade for his wondrous grin of boyish happiness.
"Tom intercepted an intriguing summons from Mycroft. Are you up to accompanying me on a visit to the Club?"
"Of course, Holmes! I am as ever at your service." I still had my hat in hand and had just noticed a rather alarming amount of black smoke pouring into the room from under the door of Holmes' bedroom, when Holmes thrust his arm through mine and pulled me toward the threshold again. "Holmes!" I stopped him from hurrying us out and pointed toward the smoke.
"Most satisfactory. Nothing to worry about, my dear fellow, I assure you." Tom took the opportunity to run out ahead of us and soon disappeared into the crowd of taller pedestrians milling along the busy sidewalk.
"Come back for dinner, Doctor! After he has finished with you! Or another day soon!" cried dear, long-suffering Mrs. Hudson. Before I could answer, Holmes was pulling me into a hansom. Then we were off to that cold and intriguing bastion of silence the Diogenes Club.
