Sherlock refuses to explain to me why he's suddenly decided to go back to his hometown, or to whom he was talking on the phone.
I cross my arms. "I'll book you that ticket if you tell me why."
He doesn't look up from the records of the late Ms. Renner, which are scattered on the floor.
"Us, Watson, we're both going." I sigh. I don't want to waste my time and money on an intervention to England, and get jet-lagged for no reason.
"Why do I have to come with you?" He stares at me and stands back up.
"Oh, I thought you were my partner, and it was your job to accompany me with my work?"
"I accompany you on cases. Not when you're having a little meet-up with some random guy you just shared a phone call with." I point at the phone, still lying on the table.
"See it as a business trip. I'll take care of all costs. I want to finally uncover my past now."
I sigh. "What are you talking about?"
"The secrets we are about to unravel are something that -together with my drug abuse- I left in Britain. Swore to never look back. But, as over the course of my last phone call, something completely unforeseen occurred, I have changed my plan. However, I would like to keep those secrets in Britain and not drag them onto this continent. So, if you book us those tickets, I would be delighted to explain the situation to you, once we're there."
I understand about half of what he's saying, but I know in there was a promise to explain once we arrive in London, so I give in.
"Fine!" I lift my arms up in exasperation. "You know whatever, I'll book the tickets but you better hold your part of the deal," I warn him while leaving the living room.
"I know I can count on you, Watson," he yells at me.
"I wish I could say the same," I mumble sarcastically as I walk off.
We retrieve our baggage at London Heathrow Airport the next day. I only managed to book a flight from JFK that would land in London the next day because Sherlock somehow managed to convince his father to help him out. I am exhausted from six hours of sleepless flying but I haven't forgotten what he promised:
"So why are we here, Sherlock?" I ask as we leave the baggage band and head down a long hall.
"Patience, Watson. We're not in England yet."
"What do you mean? How aren't we in England?" He points at the queue of people in front of us.
"Still have to pass customs until we officially enter the country." I roll my eyes as we stand in line and wait to show our passports. Sluggishly we get closer and closer to finally exiting the airport and I have to rub my eyes and wonder how I dealt with working hours like these when I was at the clinic.
I shudder. I always do when I remember what I was before this consulting detective thing. There's no point in even wondering if he's noticed (how could he not have?) and it kills me that he isn't commenting on it. I try to think about other things, so I wonder how the capitol of my home country has changed in the past three years. I look over to Sherlock again, then away because he's still carefully watching me, trying to read me. He's probably suspicious about what other secrets I may hold, now that he's found out about my stupid brother. I softly pinch my arm for thinking something like that. Old habits.
"Minor self-punishment isn't helpful, Watson." He points it out without even looking at me.
"Who told you that?" I ask, clearly get fed up with him? Sherlock turn back around.
"You did." Of course I did.
We pass customs and he finally begins to explain:
"I wasn't a consultant with Scotland Yard by choice."
"But you weren't even paid!"
"No, I wasn't." He turns around so he is walking backwards to face me. I find this very unwise but I don't comment.
"I'll have you know, Watson, you are probably the only ever consulting detective to be paid." I close my eyes for a second.
"There is only you and me, Sherlock."
"Wrong." And he turns back so that we are side by side once again as we travel to the train station of Europe's largest airport. I am confused about what he means. He said he invented the job.
"There are twenty-four others," he explains. Unsurprisingly, his explanation doesn't help me understand what the heck he's talking about.
"Twenty-four other consulting detectives?"
"Correct." We are now waiting on the platform for the Heathrow Express to come. I try to keep track of everything he's telling me.
"So... what does that have to do with you not doing it by choice?" He looks around and makes sure no one can hear him.
"I was born with the duty to be a consulting detective." He looks so sincere I almost fall for it.
"Oh, ha ha. You're just coming up with excuses, because you don't want to tell me why we're really here."
He leans back a tiny bit from me.
"I figured it would be hard to convince you." I decide to play along with his game.
"Okay, fine. You were born with the duty to be a consulting detective. How do the phone call and your spontaneous trip back to England connect with it all?"
"It isn't just twenty-five consulting detectives. It's twenty-five men, all with the same name and basically the same lonely life of solving crime after crime, living with the sociopathy and intelligence forced into them upon childhood." He looks melancholic while he explains this ridiculous tale, and it makes me feel uncomfortable. I continue to hear him out though none of this can possibly be the truth. Maybe he'll give me some kind of hint and this is all part of my "training".
"Yesterday, I shared that phone call with number twenty-four, the only other that is still alive. I am number twenty-five, the last. But that phone call was never meant to happen, and we are in big trouble, well at least he is."
"Why would you and your second Sherlock Holmes or something be in trouble?"
"Well, because we aren't allowed to contact each other."
"Why not?" I ask, and I hate to admit I am very curious about this.
"Well, that's what we're going to find out, aren't we?" Our train arrives and we get on, dragging our suitcases behind us.
"By doing what?" I ask as he pushes past several people on the train. He grins at me.
"Well by breaking all the rules of course."