Gambling Man; The Overtones
Dr. John H. Watson
I threw the hand down on the table and looked up triumphantly into the baffled faces of my opponents. "Full house!" I grinned, and I could see the same look mirrored in all of their be-whiskered faces: Cheat. Not that any of the gentlemen there would have dreamed of saying it aloud; that highest of insults.
Strangely, I found my thoughts turned to Holmes. He always did say that I was a poor gambler: if he could only see me now! I chuckled to myself, and blamed it on the copious amounts of rum I had consumed over the course of the evening. "Come on then," I heard myself saying, "One more round?" My companions, all strangers, looked knowingly at one another, which did not confuse me in the slightest. They expected me to lose it all on a big gamble- and likely I would. "Afraid?" I called tauntingly, and my voice sounded wrong. It obviously stood out to one of my fellow players, too, for his bushy eyebrows raised above wire rimmed spectacles, and I saw an amused sparkle in his eyes. "A little too much to drink, my friend?" the look seemed to say, and for a moment I could have sworn it was Holmes, sitting across from me in a large woollen coat and false moustache. But, no. I was positive he hadn't followed me this time.
It isn't a problem, I told myself with wan confidence. But when I awoke the next morning I had no recollection of later events than those already recounted. Somehow, however, I was home. Not only home, but in possession of a number of curiosities I had intended to gamble. Holmes walked in, brandishing the china tea pot like a weapon, and just looked at me in that slightly despairing, whatever-shall-I-do-about-you? way of his. "Tea?" he asked innocently. "I hear it's a real tonic for rum hangovers."