Prompt: A party takes place at 221b, from mrspencil
A/N: I had originally written a whole different answer to this prompt when this idea hit me and I couldn't get it out of my head. What follows is pure, unadulterated crack.
My friend Sherlock Holmes and I had settled ourselves by the fireside, one day in 1899 when the fog was so thick we could barely see one inch out of our door. We were prepared to while away the evening, he with reorganizing his criminal records, I with a letter to an old Army friend, when suddenly Mrs. Hudson called up the steps. "Gentlemen to see you, Mr. Holmes!"
Holmes and I looked up, startled. "They must be desperate indeed to seek you in such weather," I remarked.
"In that case, it should prove to be an interesting case," Holmes answered. "Let them in, Watson." I opened the door to see two gentlemen standing there, and I motioned them inside. Their clothes were rather odd, coats slightly longer and with more buttons than what a gentleman would wear, and their hats were not tall, with a strange brim that appeared pointed toward the front.
"Thank you," the taller of the two said, "You see, Watson, this is what Baker Street looked like about fifty or so years ago."
"Hmph, is it really?" the shorter of the two answered. "It isn't very large, is it?"
His companion laughed, "Quarters were smaller in those days, old chap. Is there any brandy around, gentlemen?" I stared at them in shock.
"Did you call him…Watson?" I asked, looking at this other Watson. He was at least twenty years older than I.
"Certainly, and don't you know who this is? Sherlock Holmes, the great detective?" the other Watson asked.
"That is not possible, since I am Sherlock Holmes, the detective," my friend said, rising from his seat.
"Nevertheless, it is true," said the other Holmes. "You see the resemblance, don't you, Watson?"
"Yes," both of us said at once. It was true, this other man did look uncannily like Holmes.
Holmes appeared speechless for what was undoubtedly the first time in his life when Mrs. Hudson shouted up the stairs that there were two more gentlemen to see us. "Who can it possibly be now?" I asked, throwing the door open.
I saw two more gentlemen standing there, one of whom again looked like Holmes. He opened his mouth and began speaking in a stream of a language I did not recognize.
"Er, excuse me?" I said weakly, when he had finished.
The fellow sighed, pointing to himself, "Sher-lock Holmes." Then, gesturing toward his silent friend, a tall fellow with blond hair and mustache, "Doc-tor Watson."
"Well, that's preposterous, I'm not blond!" I said, highly affronted just as Holmes asked, "Why are they speaking Russian?"
Catching sight of the previous Holmes and Watsons, the Russian pair waved in greeting and the older Watson began pouring them drinks.
Just then, there was a third knock at the door, and I opened it, giving Holmes a weary look. Standing there was yet again, a pair of gentlemen who bore a remarkable resemblance to Holmes and myself.
"I am Sherlock Holmes," said the taller of the two, sweeping into a theatrical bow. "And this is my trusted friend and companion, Doctor Watson." He had a distinctly musical cadence to his voice that the others lacked.
"Good evening," said this version of me. I looked him over, pleased that he at least looked something like me.
"I see the others have already arrived," this Holmes said, looking sad for a reason I could not discern. My Holmes and I stood together by the door, watching them. They were all making a dreadful mess. The Russian Watson and the first, older Watson had chosen the middle of the floor as the best place to have a boxing contest (the Russian fellow was winning), and their two Holmes's were watching eagerly. The most newly arrived Holmes and Watson poured themselves drinks and made free with our armchairs, watching the chaos looking almost bored.
There was a knock at the door, and I was greeted this time by someone who looked very like me and someone who did not look at all like Holmes. "Where are your poisons?" he said.
His companion sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling, "That's Sherlock Holmes, I'm Doctor Watson. I told you, there would be no poisons after the last time you nearly killed my dog."
Holmes himself stepped back in shock at this newest version of him. "That is not anything like me, is it, Watson?" he asked.
"Not at all," I said firmly, watching the new arrival jump in front of the Holmes in our armchair and challenge him to a fencing match by poking him with the fireplace poker. He sighed lazily but rose admirably to the challenge while both their Watsons watched. "I must say, that one has very good form though," I added, watching the third of the other Holmes's. I had already decided that he and his Watson were the most like us.
"Don't tell me you are taking sides, Watson!" Holmes cried.
I chuckled, "Relax, dear fellow. I have no doubt you could beat them all at being Sherlock Holmes."
A derisive laugh met my ears from the door, which I had left open. "I highly doubt that." This new figure, dressed even more unusually in a long black coat and a shockingly bare head that was positively covered in glossy black curls strode in, tossing his coat on an unused chair. His companion, a blond fellow who was the only one among my impersonators not to sport a mustache, hurried in after him, tossing me an apologetic look.
"Let me guess, Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson?" I asked.
This Doctor Watson nodded, and his friend sighed, "Obviously, we are, as we are the last to arrive."
"Sherlock, be nice. You should be right at home here; the entire place is full of you." This Doctor Watson seemed to be permanently exasperated. I was stuck on something entirely different, as was everyone else in the room, which had suddenly gone silent.
"What did I say?" the newest Watson asked, looking around confusedly.
"You call him Sherlock?" I still do not know which of us asked that.
"What else is he going to call me? It is my name," the newest Hol – er, Sherlock answered. Holmes and I shot each other a look. I do not think he and I ever used one another's given names. Hearing it was entirely strange.
"That is entirely improper!" the first, older Watson huffed, looking highly insulted.
"Wait, are you saying you all go around calling each other Holmes and Watson?" the newest Watson asked, beginning to giggle, of all things. "That's ridiculous."
"Victorian era, John. Everything was very formal. You're probably shocking them all just by wearing a jumper instead of a dinner jacket," Sherlock said in a low voice before sweeping his way across the room.
"They're turning us into children now, aren't they Holmes?" said the oldest Watson. I saw the third Holmes roll his eyes at that, and had to smile, as the gesture was so much like something the real Holmes would do. It was true, this last pair seemed much younger than the rest. Almost as young as Holmes and I had been upon our first meeting.
"Not only that," said the first Holmes, who was watching the fencing match, amused "This one is even shorter than you are." The shorter Holmes then began chasing the other one around the room, and the newest one – Sherlock, I must remember that - rolled his eyes.
"And they called us children."
"You act like a child so there's really not much of a difference," John answered. I shook my head. Of all of them, these two had the most unusual way with each other.
"Would either of you care for a drink?" the first Holmes asked our newest arrivals. I noticed the Russian pair eying the newest pair strangely, and I saw that Holmes point out Sherlock's curls and then they both collapsed in giggles.
"Stop!" Holmes – my Holmes – called out. "What the deuce are you all doing here? You can't all be Holmes and Watson!"
"We certainly can!" said the shortest, fourth Holmes. "And we are, isn't that right, Watson?" He slid – slid – across the floor before bounding up to accept a drink. His friend simply rolled his eyes, turning back to his conversation with the newest Watson
"-he really keeps body parts in the living room?"
"Well, according to you, yours keeps poisoning your dog."
I decided after that I did not want to know any more.
Holmes appeared to have given up as the room devolved into chaos once again, the Russian and fourth Watson challenging each other to a drinking game, and the Russian Holmes talking with Sherlock, who apparently knew Russian. Not for long, though; I saw Sherlock smirk oddly as his Russian counterpart stalked away, looking angry. The first Holmes was watching with a tolerant grin, pointing out things of interest to his version of Watson. The third pair was still in our armchairs, which Holmes himself appeared to be trying to get them to vacate with little success. I went over to help him when the chemistry set on the table suddenly gave off a loud boom, and both Sherlock and his shorter predecessor looked shocked and guilty. Neither of them looked apologetic for the cloud of fumes now making its way across the room, and both their Watsons sighed.
Holmes and I looked at each other in despair, and one after another, quietly left and sat on the top step until these…imposters had the courtesy to leave.
"Hello, Mr. Holmes, Doctor!" said a high-pitched voice cheerfully. "It sounds like quite a party up there, may we join in?" I looked down to see the same two mice from last Christmas, and Holmes jumped up, finally angry.
"You can have them all if you like! I am quite finished with every other Holmes and Watson on this Earth. Are you coming, Watson? I am going to spend the evening at my brother's club." He fairly stomped down the steps, and I followed, unable to stop myself from laughing.
"I say, Basil, what an extraordinary reaction," Dawson said to his friend.
Basil sniffed, "You would think they thought they were the only Holmes and Watson in the business."
A/N I started, of course, with ACD Canon!Holmes and Watson but after that the Holmes's and Watsons in order of appearance:
First: Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce.
Second: Vasily Livanov and Vitaly Solomin, from the wonderful 1970s Russian TV series. My absolute favorite Canonical adaptation.
Third: Jeremy Brett and whichever of his Watsons you choose. I prefer Hardwicke so that's what I pictured. Also, they were the most difficult to write of all of them.
Fourth: RDJ and Jude Law. I think I made him more of a caricature, but then those movies are pretty much a caricature of Holmes anyway.
Fifth: Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman.
Sixth: Basil and Dawson again.
If I left out your favorite Holmes and Watson, I apologize!