*Sorry, guys. Got too fascinated by the game of Real Life. Here's the next chapter, if you're still reading.*
Chapter 3 Trouble
I tended to and dressed their wounds, and Bob and Thomas did not have to beg me much to keep silent on the matter. They were really the most friendly rogues once you got to know them. Doctor Hopkins had ordered some uncooked food placed in the refrigerator for Mary to busy herself with, since work is the best antidote for anything. As I washed my hands, I observed that the leg of lamb that she had decided to roast was doing quite well. Just as I was drying them, an awful ejaculation came from Holmes in the living room accompanied by roars of laughter from Bob and Thomas.
"What is the matter gentlemen?" I asked, turning around to see Holmes stamping as though he might crack the floor of our lodgings, and Bob and Thomas wheezing and holding their sides.
"What do they mean by not allowing me my cocaine? Really, the state that our empire has fallen to is appalling! Have the youth of today no self-restraint?"
"Could you repeat that again?" Thomas wheezed, spittle running down his mouth. "I'd like to record it and play it back for my boy to listen."
"Really, gentlemen!" Holmes protested. "We cannot solve crimes merely by tightening the laws in senseless places! Perhaps Parliament shall pass a law saying that we are to break our eggs open at the small ends, and the small ends only. Bah!" He threw himself down into his couch, and I knew that he was about to go into one of his lethargic states. How long it would last, I did not know, but I was sure that his energy would return with a vengeance.
I did not have to wait long. Mary was serving them evening tea when Holmes stood, an air of decisiveness about him.
"I have so far neglected to learn up on our law, a most grievous foresight. Perhaps I should engage in a study of society and its laws, both written and unwritten, before proceeding to study forensic science. For it is no use learning how to solve a crime when no punishment is due. I shall be busy in the study, and I hope to remain undisturbed unless my stay exceeds the duration of three days."
"Now, just a minute here." Bob cleared his throat. "It's part of our job to make sure that you're all right, and if my three kids heard that I'd let Sherlock Holmes work himself to death, they'd never forgive me. I'll have to check on you once a day."
"Fear not." I cleared my throat. "I have had the dubious privilege of sharing his lodgings, and he has thus far survived my care. I have no doubt that I shall be as able to look after him in the twenty-first century as I was in the nineteenth."
Bob and Thomas squinted for a moment, apparently not comprehending with ease my manner of speech. "All right," Thomas said awkwardly. "Buy you're still going to have to check on him at least once a day while you're still here. The lawyer will be coming to-morrow to sort out your getting a proper home."
Holmes sensed that further argument would be futile, and bowed lightly.
"Then I trust that you shall know how to interrupt me tactfully. Now, Watson, to work!"
I was apparently conscripted to the task as well, and he used his tablet computer to look up the common law of the United Kingdom. Mary dutifully prepared a cup of strong coffee as recommended by Bob for a late night's session of unadulterated work. Her longing glances towards our room door went ignored, however, as I too became as appalled as Holmes at how ridiculous our laws had become.
"What's this? The death penalty revoked? The blackest murderers walking the earth while their victims' bodies rot?" I carved up my portion of meat. Bob and Thomas had left by then, and I was taking a break with Mary from my work. Holmes had instructed us to give him a portion of meat to take into the study, and I hoped that he would not choke and gag on it. "Ridiculous, I say, ridiculous! And Holmes showed me the sort of prisons they have–The murderers live in comfort on the tax levied upon the relatives of their victims! The sheer idiocy of it!"
A sound somewhere between laughter and gagging came from the study. Holmes burst out a moment later, a tear of mirth running from his right eye.
"Holmes!" I cried, fearing that his sanity had at last given way, though even while we were still in the nineteenth century, I had my doubts as to its firmness.
"Watson! Look at this!" His tapped images of what appeared to be a reasonably comfortable hotel. "Halden! Halden Prison!"
"Excuse me?" I could not believe my ears and eyes.
"They have the nerve to build a prison like this in Europe!" He roared. "The next thing you know, they will be trampling on the grounds of Buckingham Palace! At least the Americans have gotten one thing right: The death penalty has remained in force for some of their states."
He flopped down on the living room couch again. "Watson, you must not think me slothful now. This has taken all the fight out of me. What's the use of bringing in a first-degree murderer if he or she will live in comfort for the rest of his or her evil days? And if he or she can put up an act, as every one of those I have brought before the law could do very well–" He raised up his arm and clapped his thigh, and fell into a deep silence.
Mary looked disturbed, but she cleared her throat and cut another slice of her lamb.
"That is food for thought, Holmes, but we must feed our bodies as well as our minds. Won't you join us for dinner?"
"I shall do so without hesitation, madam, but I must say that I feel as though I am sitting down to pretend that all is right and well with civilisation when it is burning and falling apart right before our eyes." He sighed glumly. "Denying cocaine to all upright citizens since the year 1920 was an insult, but letting murderers live was a heinous injury. Just give me and a revolver five minutes with the imbecile members of Parliament who put this law forward!" He shook his head. "God save us all!"
Henceforth, his mood suddenly changed, and we found him a most charming dinner companion. After dinner, he retired to his room, but I barred him from entering.
"Holmes, old chap, would you be so kind as to spare some time for me and listen?"
"I am all ears and much obliged, Watson." My serious manner made him raise his brows.
"Surely you are not planning on doing anything rash or foolish? Promise me."
"I am not." He answered too brightly.
"Out with it." I smiled and leaned against his door, and he knew that the jig was up.
"How could I ever hide anything from you, Watson? Allow me."
I let him into his room, and he brought up some news on the tablet computer. A murder near Stonebridge had just taken place, and it was featured in a tiny column as though to say that it were not worth mentioning, not when they were everyday occurrences.
"I was planning to make this my first case. Consider London reintroduced to its guardian."
"Holmes." I took him by the shoulder. "You are like a brother to me, and I would hate for anything to happen to you. I know that I cannot, save by force, stop you from going ahead and investigating the case anyway. You do not have my blessings, but you certainly have my firm and unwavering commitment to you whatever happens."
"Thank you." His eyes shone, and he dipped his head. "I have no doubt that it shall be heavily called upon more regularly than you would like."
I retired to my own room, where I found Mary waiting for me, already in bed. She was pouting crossly though her eyes were closed, as though she were upset at having to wait so long.
"Mary, Dear, is something the matter?" I bent over her, and she opened her eyes, from which shone forth a wild excitement.
"Yes, Darling. My attire. It restricts me so."
Fearing a fainting spell, I removed her sheets to see that she was clad in a scandalously thin brassiere, and nothing else.
"They are listening with their electronic devices." I hissed, despite another part of me deciding to throw all caution to the winds and swell itself instead of my pride.
"Let them listen." She whispered as she pulled me in. I wondered if the modern world had already began to infuse her with its ideas, or if the book that she read this afternoon had made her that much more daring. Holmes probably wished that his walls were soundproofed, for my wife was unusually noisy that night.
The next day, I woke up bereft of my garments beside my wife. Someone was at the door, and I heard Holmes go out to answer it.
"This apartment is so awfully small." She moaned as she stirred. I hurried to put on my dressing robe and make myself presentable, least some guest fall upon me while I was unprepared to entertain them. Though every person in my time of consequence to me was dead, I could not so easily shake off my manners, however antiquated they might seem to the people of this time.
When I stepped out into the living room, Holmes was sitting there in his dressing robe with a bespectacled Chinaman in a suit, who raised a hand in greeting. I uncertainly raised mine, and he extended his for me to shake.
"Good Morning." I spoke, pronouncing each word clearly and haltingly as though speaking to a child. Was he the lawyer? It couldn't be. He was probably on an errand here, and had somehow lost his way. Thomas and Bob would have to do a better job.
"Good Morning." He replied in flawless Eton English, and I must have stared, for he looked mildly amused when he released my hand. "You must be Doctor Watson. I'm David Lai, your lawyer, pleased to meet you."
My mind reeled, and Holmes provided a timely interruption. "How amazing really, that the Commonwealth of Mankind should have extended to include persons of all Nationalities! You must forgive our bewilderment, for nineteenth-century Englishmen are not accustomed to speaking with peoples from the other side of the world."
"I'm not offended at all." He smiled and dipped his head curtly. His manner suggested brisk industry and ceaseless motion, and his slanted eyes gazed at us calculatingly. "I have been briefed on this. Apparently, I'm to be part of the process of reintroducing you to the modern world."
"Excuse my impertinence," Holmes spoke carefully, "But were you born here?"
"Correct." The Chinaman nodded curtly again, and I somehow found myself not repulsed by him. Though all I perceived were grubby and sad creatures when gazing upon the Chinamen in the opium dens of London, I have not felt an ounce of revulsion towards this exceptional man so far. "You really are a quick thinker, Mister Holmes."
"Pray tell, how equal are all races treated in modern times?" Holmes' eyes glinted.
"With absolute equality in this nation." David smiled. "I was warned that it might come as a shock to you, but since you're from the nineteenth century–" He shrugged.
"Not at all." Holmes smiled. "I knew that mankind would see sense sooner or later. There is no point in quarrelling over mere trifles. And how are they treated in other nations?"
"Not every nation has completely purged racism." He answered carefully, paying me a glance and raising his hand apologetically, "but they say that they're trying to. We'll get there sooner or later." He held up a briefcase. "Shall we get to business?"
Over the course of the next hour, we had two homes in Cheshire transferred to our name, courtesy of the State once again. Holmes learned from David that the contents of the container that we were in had been analysed, and would no doubt prove useful to modern science.
Doctor Hopkins came in to check on us immediately after David left, and though Mary was a little flustered at having guest after guest come in, she persevered and maintained her composure in a truly ladylike manner.
"I'll just need to draw some blood from you." He nodded apologetically as he removed three gleaming vials from his briefcase.
"But of course." Holmes extended his arm to him, and Doctor Hopkins winced when he caught sight of the multitudinous needle marks there.
"Never fails to make me sick." Doctor Hopkins chuckled as he drew some of Holmes' blood. "I keep forgetting that you were a cocaine addict."
"I prefer the term 'user'." Holmes retorted archly.
After he had taken blood from Mary and me, we were given an opportunity to learn more about the modern world with Bob, Thomas and three other police officers assigned to shepherd us through the city. Though Holmes looked as though he would protest, he retained enough presence of mind not to object as they ushered us into a private car.
Our first stop was at what the people of today would call a shopping centre. Though our police escorts were not in uniform, something about their alert gait kept most passers-by well away from us. We inspected the fresh produce sold in neat refrigerated racks that chilled the very air around them and in doing so, preserved the food sold within. The meat was neatly packaged and covered in a transparent film that they called 'Clingfilm', and I was inspecting some beef through a glass window when a shout came from an aisle nearby.
"Drop it, I say, drop it!" Holmes was shouting. A blond lad with a hideously-shaved head let fall a small can of beans, and Holmes kept his grip on the poor boy's arm, which he had bent backwards in a peculiar grip that he had no doubt learnt from abroad.
"We'll take it from here, Mister Holmes." Our police escorts flashed their warrant cards, and they pulled the boy away from Holmes. Men in uniform came running in, and they took the boy into custody while we waited in a corner with our escorts.
"And what the devil were you thinking, going about and getting yourself into trouble like this?" I hissed at my wayward companion.
"I saw the lad sneak something into his jacket. He could have placed it in one of the baskets that everyone else is carrying had he wanted to make a purchase." He glanced around, and one of our escorts chuckled, whether out of derision or affection I could not tell.
I squeezed Mary's arm tightly, and she remained silent, not even deigning to look at Holmes.
Within a quarter of an hour, we were approached by the manager of the mart who handed us three coupons, each worth ten pounds of purchases of goods. The passers-by who had seen Holmes apprehend the delinquent each gave him a nod of affirmation as they left.
"Bloody stupid, stealing when his parents are billionaires. Youngsters nowadays, I swear!" The thickset man snarled. He adjusted his spectacles. "I'm Garret. Garret Swan. Thanks for making a stand and doing the right thing. Respect!"
"I am only too glad–" Holmes cleared his throat halfway through, and began anew. "You're welcome. He'll settle down sooner or later." His manner of speaking now bore no trace whatsoever of old England, and I felt a pang of excitement at watching his powers of disguise at work once more.
"You watch yourself back there." He extended his hand to Holmes, and Holmes clasped it with only one of his, shaking it roughly, already using the gestures and mannerisms of fashionable society. "That boy had a knife on him. Probably wanted to impress his friends on the street. Now they'll all be going after you."
"All at the same time?" Holmes joshed.
"Yes." Garret snorted. "Remember that student who got robbed by eleven other youths with knives during the riots?"
"I must be getting old." Holmes laughed. "I just can't remember hearing that one." If the man only had an idea of just how long we had slept, he would have laughed at Holmes' remark. Instead, he showed us around, hoping that we would not consider this episode of theft commonplace.
"The human race seems to have become portlier as of late." I remarked when we got back home. The three of us had busied ourselves with domestic affairs, and since Doctor Hopkins had told us that men were expected to perform such work in today's society, we decided to pitch in with Mary at the kitchen despite her protests. Holmes seemed unusually silent, and I took it upon myself to cheer our little party up.
"Huh." He mumbled morosely as his knife encountered a little knot of hardness in the cucumber that he was bisecting. Mary glanced at me as she checked on our stew, wishing me to either cheer him up or find a way to confine him to his room.
"Holmes, what is the matter?"
"Nothing." He finally realized that I desired a proper conversation with him and began warming to the task. "Not much. It's just that I'm reduced to catching petty thieves and the rebellious sons of corporate moguls when I could have stopped yet another murder in Hackney!" He got to work on the cabbage, mincing it with unusual vigour as I gave up on trying to perfect the marinade. Such work would be better left to women!
"Another murder in Hackney." I mused. "Since when did the walls have ears? And how did they telegraph what they heard to you?"
"Internet." He muttered, already adopting today's curt style of answering.
"Holmes," I made another effort to divert him. "You have no need to speak like the people of today when you are with us." Even as I spoke, I was struck by the absurdity of my statement. How could I still insist on holding on the my old manner of speaking and dressing when the world had moved on? Holmes recognized that fact and his eyes twinkled as he gave us a tight smile.
"I have to, Watson. Helps me blend in with the–Ugh!" He finished with the last slice of cucumber. "Locals."
"Is the marinade ready yet?" Mary sipped at her soup ladle. She consulted the cook book beside her, eyes furrowed in concentration. Holmes washed his hands, even going so far as to adopt today's standards of cleanliness. He gestured at the faucet and raised his brow.
"Aren't you going to wash your hands?"
"I suppose so." I sighed. "I am a doctor, after all."
"We've got to cure you of that terrible accent." Holmes muttered.
