Norfolk does look different to me. I am sure that many of the windmills are gone from the landscape, just as I feared. There are new roads (well, roads that did not exist in my day, anyway) and houses have sprung up where once was field and grass. However, for all the changes that I can see, the broad waterways are still surrounded by tall reeds, wildflowers and grassland. It is mostly unspoilt, for 22nd Century England.
As we approach Trevor's summertime home and prepare to park, a hawk passes our car on broad wings, calling to mind warm, lazy afternoons spent watching them in bygone days. What were they? Trevor knew. I wonder whether his descendent also knows.
"Are you glad to be back in Norfolk?" Watson enquires.
"Yes. Somewhat apprehensive, all the same - supposing this new friend and I have nothing in common?"
He shrugs. "Then we need not stay. You and I shall return to Baker Street and forget all about it."
I frown at my companion. This is the very first time that I have suspected him of envy. "Watson, need I remind you that you had many friends?"
"No. You need not remind me."
"Well, why do you feel that I should not have any friends, aside from yourself?" I persist.
He turns his brown-eyed gaze upon me. "You have human friends - Lestrade, the Irregulars..."
"The Irregulars are not in either of my age groups and Lestrade is a woman - as is Deirdre. I need some human male companionship that is closer to my age."
"And I am not good enough."
I groan at his retort. "This is not about you! Of course I value your friendship - you should not have reason to question that. I simply... I feel that it is wrong to depend upon you as much as I do. Good God, Watson! Must I explain this to you? You would socialise with other men - I never once implied that I felt hurt or left out. Did I?" I hope that I did not! Did I?
"No. You simply told me that nobody could possibly care about me as you do. Which proved to be quite correct, when Mary died, if what I wrote in my journals was accurate."
"That few people understand grief, or know how best to... to comfort a chap, when he is suffering, does not mean that they care not a jot."
The robot meets my gaze. "You never said that they cared not a jot," he reminds me. "Now, shall we go and meet this friend's descendent of yours?"
"I am not setting foot inside the house with an unhappy friend. We have to sort this out first."
Again he shrugs. "If you want."
"Watson, I shall confess - just this once - that I was never above jealousy. I could count on one hand the friendships - the true, wholesome friendships - that I experienced in my past life. I am not as eloquent as you, but I want you to know that your support was always the most valuable. You are the friend that I cannot lose."
My Watson - my flesh and blood Boswell - is already lost to me until I rejoin him, but I still have a part of him beside me. To lose this compudroid would be to lose him completely and I could not face that - however painful it might be to live with the reminder of my dearest friend every day.
"I shall try to remember that. Thank you, Holmes."
That is at least a start. "I am sure that you were never so insecure before, so as to experience jealousy; what has brought this on?"
He looks away for a moment. "I am a robot; few people see me as anything more than a lump of metal."
How stupid of me! I touch his arm. "Watson. I shall never see you as a lump of metal - never! Have you not already proved, time and again, that you are more than that?"
"That is very easy to say now, when you still have very few friends. Supposing you befriend other colleagues from the Yard, aside from Lestrade?"
"Why do you doubt me?" I ask of him. "Must I remind you that the world has always been filled with short-sighted imbeciles, that are unable to see past the ends of their noses? Do you recall the foolish King of Bohemia? You were most certainly human, when you met him, yet his treatment of you was worse than some of the attitudes of men of this era."
He smiles at the memory. "You were rather short with him."
"I do not suffer fools, Watson. Besides, you still put many human beings to shame, you know. I shall always be proud to call you my friend."
The expression with which he now gazes at me tells me that he might cry, had he tear-ducts. "Thank you."
Indeed, his voice is full of emotion, as well.
"Are you all right?"
My friend sniffs and rubs a hand across his eyes. "Yes, Holmes."
Robots are not meant to experience emotion and I rarely - if ever - saw my staunch Boswell like this. I know not quite what I should say or do.
"I am glad that I am not driving," says he with a self-depricating grimace. "It is a good job that you waited until we had parked."
We share a moment of laughter, which expels some of the tension surrounding us. Thank goodness for that!
"Shall we meet our new friend?" I ask of him, permitting a lopsided smile to tug at my lips.
He nods with a deep breath. "I am ready, if you are."
Together, we leave the car on the muddy track leading to a large house.
"Rather grand," I remark. "Are you sure that this is right, Watson?"
"Really, Holmes! I have inbuilt GPS - as does the car. Do you really suppose that we could both have made a mistake?"
I shrug and attempt to kick the mud from my boots. "Perhaps. If the satellites that you both rely upon were incorrect."
He laughs. "I do not recall such a thing ever occurring. Satellites have been in use for centuries - they are perfectly reliable. Really, Holmes! You can be perfectly absurd, you know."
"Thank you, Watson. Well, the house is still nothing that I was expecting - and it is not just the grandeur. It looks like a modern take on an older property."
"Perhaps the original building had to come down," my companion reasons.
"Perhaps," I respond. "But even then, surely some of the original house would be in evidence."
He huffs quietly. "Are you going to ring the bell, or would you rather stay out here all day? We both know that you are only putting the meeting off - courage, old boy."
I never should have confessed my vulnerability to him - I never would have done so before, so why the deuce should I decide to do so now? With a shake of my head, a calming breath and a squaring of my shoulders, I ring the bell.
The sound of the doorbell does not carry as far as the front door. I stand somewhat uncomfortably on the doorstep, Watson just behind me with our luggage. Was this a good idea? I am not like Watson - I do not make friends easily.
Just as I am beginning to think that it might not be too late to return to the car and make a hasty retreat, the door opens.
"Mr. Holmes! It's great to see you. Come on in. You too, Doctor Watson - Holmes did say that you'd be coming too. My father's away on business, but he should be back before tomorrow evening. Can I take one of those bags, Doctor? No? Well, let me show you to the guest room, then."
Despite my having told Trevor that Watson is a robot, he has had a twin room prepared for us, as if he expects my friend to require a place to sleep.
The compudroid thanks him warmly for the kindness but explains that he usually charges in the kitchen, as he suspects that the light thrown out by charging process (not to mention the humming) would disturb my slumbering.
Trevor looks rather embarrassed. "Oh! Of course. Well, the house robots do have a room that they use for recharging, if you're happy to join them, or else I could have another guest room set aside for you."
"I shall be happy to join your robots, if there is room," he replies. "I would not want to put you to any trouble on my account."
"It's no trouble at all, Doctor. I'd like to think that we'll all be friends, by the time you go home." Trevor then turns to me. "And is this room suitable for you, Mr. Holmes?"
"Perfectly, thank you," I respond, as Watson sets the bags down between the two beds, ready to begin unpacking.
Our new friend beams at me. "Can I get you anything?"
A cup of tea would be just the ticket and I say as much.
"He seems very pleasant," the compudroid notes, once we are alone. "Is he very much like your old friend, Holmes?"
"It is difficult to say," I confess. "It has been such a long time, you understand. But he does have a very honest face - he is likeable."
He snorts and then "coughs" into his fist.
"Have you caught a computer virus?" I inquire ironically, with a raised eyebrow. I have known my robotic companion to cough while in a room full of smoke and surrounded by coughing humans, but I would put that down to mass hysteria, or something of that sort. This is different. Besides, I suspect this to be an act.
"A tickle in my throat, Holmes. It is nothing."
I frown at him. "You are a robot, Watson - you do not have a throat. Would you care to try again?"
He grumbles quietly. "You should go and get to know your new friend, while I unpack."
"Come and join me," I request. "Trevor's robots can do the unpacking. Come, Watson."
He looks less than enthusiastic but follows all the same. Is it possible that he is even more nervous than I have been? I offer him a reassuring smile and touch his arm. Trevor would appear to be making quite an effort, which most likely means that he is also somewhat nervous and anxious that all goes well. He seems pleasant enough and I am quite sure that all will be well.