25. From Domina Temporis: Holmes gets recognized by fans.
All of London had mourned the death of Sherlock Holmes. I had seen it firsthand, and felt a peculiar mix of gratefulness and bitterness from it. On one front, it heartened me to see that my friend was missed by those beyond his small circle of friends and colleagues, and to know that was in some small way due to my writings which had boosted his fame. On the other, I resented that others could profess to miss and grieve my friend who had not known him nearly so well or as long as I, and who could lift themselves much more easily from the haze of loss that I waded through at all times.
In fact, it became a fashion to wear black armbands of mourning for my friend among the younger population of London. I myself never wore one, because I felt I did not require a piece of clothing to indicate the great loss I had suffered. But I saw them on many passerby, and some days, it made me smile, while on others, where I felt less charitable, I had a less pleasant response to them.
It was some years after Holmes' return from the grave, and he and I were engaged in a conversation about disguises he had used successfully over his career.
"I think, Watson," he said, smoking, "That I have only been recognized in disguise a handful of times, mostly in my earlier days, due to inexperience. Not so much recently." At this, his eyes softened, as if he were in memory.
"Holmes?" I inquired.
"Watson, I have often been critical of your accounts of our cases, but it is true that they have brought me great admiration," he said. "One of the very few times I have been recognized in disguise was by one of your readers."
"Really!" I exclaimed. "Please tell me more, Holmes."
"I returned to London under a shroud of fog in the early morning," Holmes said. "I undocked in the guise of a sailor and went in search of breakfast. I left the docks and took a somewhat circuitous route to Baker Street in case a clever tail was following me. I ducked into a professional building and assumed a new disguise as a financial man, knowing a sailor would stand out at this distance from the docks. As I approached Baker Street, I noticed two young women in black armbands watching me curiously. I nodded to them politely. As I crossed towards Baker Street, one of them caught my elbow and said quietly, 'It is good to see you back in London, sir.' Her companion smiled at me, and they carried on their way. Undoubtedly, they knew who I was."
I was somewhat dumbfounded. "How do you think they knew?"
He shrugged. "Perhaps they applied my own methods. I will say, it was pleasant to hear a kind welcome before I even reached 221B."