The Written Front Chapter 14, a sherlock holmes fanfic

Fragments from the desk of Mr. Mycroft Holmes:

Memorandum
August 15, 1914

Wilkins –

See that Sir John French updates us as soon as he is finished meeting with the French leaders. Keep me posted on the Belgium situation.

-MH

Re: Memorandum

Sir –

I shall. The remainder of the forts surrounding Liege appears to be falling fast, unfortunately.

Also, Sir Alfred Ewing was phoning for an hour before your arrival this morning, to request a special appointment with you regarding the classified project. If I might be so bold, sir, you may want to make that a priority as he was rather displeased you were a bit late this morning.

-W

Re: Re: Memorandum

Wilkins –

Sir Alfred can go hang if he does not care for my schedule; I am indispensable and well aware of my subsequent job security. And if he had seen my brother's condition last night and all through the night, he would not dare to question my remaining at the apartment for an hour to make certain he was not going to do anything stupid.

Just the same, do call the old boy and tell him I shall see him after I finish my tea and that file from the Department of Commerce.

-MH

Mycroft Holmes
Whitehall, London
August 14, 1914

Mr. Holmes,

I am just sending a short reminder to you; please do find your brother something with which to occupy his mind in the next few years – for we both know it will indeed be years – so that he does not run himself to pieces from boredom and worry.

And I thank you for the kindness you have shown to me in the last two years, keeping me within the loop, as much as security permitted, as to Holmes's whereabouts. I would request you bestow the same reversed favour upon him during my time away.

Thank you again, and take care of yourself as well. If you will pardon the familiarity, I would gently remind you that you could quite easily over-stress yourself into a heart attack in the coming months. Neither your brother nor the world is prepared for that, so do take care.

I remain your and His Majesty's servant,

John Watson
RAMC

Note discovered stuck inside the cigarette-case of Mr. Sherlock Holmes:

You know this isn't good for your health, old man. Do try to limit yourself to a few a day? I want you to still be hale and hearty when I return home triumphant, you know.

Telephone message taken by Mr. Mycroft Holmes's housekeeper (Mr. Sherlock Holmes having finally fallen asleep, at four that afternoon):

Meet me at the Diogenes Club for dinner at seven-thirty, Sherlock. The powers that be demand an answer from you regarding the special project, and I promised the Doctor I would see you eat if I had to stuff it down your throat myself. As that is highly disruptive to a club such as the Diogenes, I would suggest you come quietly.

Fragment from the desk of Mr. Mycroft Holmes:

Memorandum
URGENT

Mr. Mycroft Holmes
August 15, 1914
6:35 p.m.

Holmes:

General Leman has been captured in the ruins of Fort Loncin. (1) That makes three forts that have fallen today alone. Meet at 8:05 sharp tomorrow morning to discuss stratagems. Come prepared to discuss all fronts and measures necessary to keep our Expeditionary Forces where they shall be the most effective.

Kitchener
Secretary of War

Letter discovered stuffed into the medical kit of Dr. John H. Watson, Royal Army Medical Corps (now folded carefully into the waterproof pouch containing said doctor's identification papers):

My Dear Watson,

I wish you had some conception of how long it has taken me to get this down in any sort of organised fashion; and if it yet lacks that particular quality it is because I have run out of time for structure and poetic format and am merely scribbling as fast as ever my pen will allow, to write this as quickly as I can so that the pain will stop gnawing at me like a wild animal. I apologise in advance for this epistle's haphazardness, though I have no doubt you are more than used to my ways by now.

Where to begin? While I would love nothing more than to be able to call you a complete idiot for what you are about to do, I most certainly cannot; who am I to so rail against such a patriotic and selfless man as yourself? Certainly I have no right to be so selfish as to wish you had the sense to leave this sort of thing to younger men, when I know the main reason for your very enlistment is so that perhaps even just one such young man might be spared the horrors you already expect to face.

You always have been far too unselfish for your own safety, and I should expect no less after all this time.

And yet somehow I did expect less; the news that you were re-enlisting was an entirely unexpected, and entirely crushing, blow. I had thought that upon my return things would return to whatever was considered normality in this troubled world, despite the horrors of hell that were about to break loose.

How wrong can a man be?

And now, in six hours, you will be leaving to fight that hellish war in your own way, leaving the rest of us behind who have no skills to offer to His Majesty's military. You insisted I had already done my part, and perhaps I have; but still I will find a way to contribute something more, my dear fellow – that I promise you. For your sake if no one else's, I will do anything in my power, lend any aid I possibly can, make any sacrifice I must, to end this war at the earliest possible time.

But that will be years from now, I am so afraid. Not months, years. And in those years countless hundreds and thousands of men will expend their lives – and be expended by an omniscient government – and those who are fortunate enough to survive may yet be broken men, never to recover from the world's foolish striving for supremacy.

Promise me you will not be one of the latter, Watson. I cannot ask you to promise me you will return, for to do so would be requesting you to violate your oath to country and profession – but promise me you will stay strong, Doctor. I should never be able to stand it if I were forced to wonder if you were keeping sane in the horror about to unfold around you.

You are well aware, of course, of my utter inability to express my deepest thoughts – for some of them are so inscrutable even I cannot possibly hope to understand them, and especially those that are not in the realm of cold and clear logic. I do hope, however, that in some way you will understand what…what I am trying to say, and failing to quite miserably.

You are (and I would swear this upon my ancestors' gravestones) the only person in the world I can ever say I have respected and do respect – highly so – for a reason other than intellectual prowess…and I have respected you, dear Watson, from the moment we met over thirty years ago. I have never met a man so entirely selfless, who so believed the good about his fellow man that he was willing to overlook the most egregious wrongdoings in favour of showing compassion, who was so absolutely firm and steadfast that any number of drifting souls could use him for an anchor in the storms that attack our troubled lives, who was more than willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for a friend, or for a country.

Perhaps I sound like a silly, immature schoolboy, but…my dear friend, you are indeed the only man that I have ever, and will ever, venerate as a true hero to me.

I have said more than I intended, but perhaps it is for the best. I suppose I can close in no better way than to quote a certain brilliant author of my acquaintance, and to say that you, my dear Watson, are truly the best and the wisest man that I have ever known.

Good luck, and Godspeed, and know that I shall always be,

Yours most affectionately,

Sherlock Holmes

(1) http: // cnparm . home . texas . net / Wars / Marne / Marne02 . htm