A/N: Sherlock opens a school for burgeoning genius girl and boy detectives, from Michael JG Meathook

Since his retirement, my friend Sherlock Holmes professed to be finished with all things related to crime and detective work, instead devoting himself to tending his beehives. Even his long-planned textbook of deductive reasoning never appeared, as he now considered his Practical Handbook of Bee-keeping to be his magnum opus.

However, even with the best intentions, the world of criminal investigation was far from finished with Sherlock Holmes. Several times he was forced out of retirement to assist with an investigation, first in the case he entitled "The Adventure of the Lion's Mane," one of the only times he set his own pen to paper regarding one of his cases, and most notably during his time undercover in the United States. Upon finishing his patriotic duty, Holmes declared that he was altogether finished with the matter and thereafter refused any requests for assistance, of which there were many. He also refused any attempt by the government to honor him for his services over the previous forty years, including on one memorable occasion, the offer of an OBE upon the finish of the war. He and I instead spent our days in a lazy retirement with no demands on our time other than those of his bees.

It was on a bright spring morning when I happened to be fortunate enough to reach our post first, still an unusual occurrence even though neither of us received anything more important than a Christmas card anymore. Among our usual post I discovered a handsome parchment envelope addressed to Holmes, and was immediately overcome with curiosity as to what it could be. I, however, am not one to open other's correspondence, unlike my companion, and so I merely attempted to use his own methods to deduce the contents. The hand was a fine one, and the return address was from the University of London. Aside from that, I could deduce no further. "Holmes?" I called. "You have received a letter, old fellow."

He appeared at my shoulder and took the letter, reading it quickly before discarding it on the floor. "It is of no use to me, Watson," he said. I picked it up and read it myself.

"Holmes, this is from the university. They wish you to be present at the opening of their new school of criminology as guest of honor," I said. Reading the letter aloud, I continued, "'As our most famous alumnus, we can think of none better to open our new school of criminology than yourself. Our students would surely benefit from such an auspicious event as your return to London for such an occasion.' Are you really their most famous alumnus?"

"Hardly," Holmes said. "I went in for a chemistry degree, though I left after two years with my studies unfinished. Criminology was not yet a discipline of study in those days, Watson."

"I cannot imagine that there is anything any professor of criminology would have had to teach you, even then," I said. "Still, this is an honor, Holmes."

"I should have to give a speech, Watson," Holmes said. "Besides, such ribbon-cutting ceremonies are hardly any use to anybody. The students who come to this school will either become criminologists or they will not. My presence can hardly make any difference."

I could not deny that ceremonies of this sort were usually held to inflate the reputations of those already exalted, but I thought it well that the university should seek to honor my friend. "I daresay they might find it inspiring to see you inaugurate their studies," I said. "Perhaps you might use your speech to pass on some of your own experience."

Holmes stared at me in amazement. "You think I should accept, Watson, do you not?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I have missed London lately," I said. "Besides, Holmes, these young crime fighters are inheriting a different world than the one we lived in. You yourself have said that crime is not what it used to be."

"Indeed it is not, Watson," Holmes agreed. "It is much more organized, what with the gangs of organized criminals and the increase in illicit substances being sold here and there. I have long said that the more that is made illegal, the more criminals it will create. This nonsense in America about Prohibition has merely proved the point, on both sides of the Atlantic"

I cannot recall Holmes ever having said such a thing until now, but I recognized the gleam in his eye that I had always associated with a case. "So you will agree to be the guest of honor at this ceremony?" I asked.

"I suppose," Holmes answered carelessly. "I have been wanting some of those cigarettes only found at that little shop on the Strand as well."

When the day arrived, Holmes and I were met at the train station by the assistant to the University president. "Mr. Holmes, it is an honor! Oh, and Dr. Watson as well!" the young man cried, nearly falling over in his enthusiasm. "I cannot believe you have agreed to come. I grew up on the stories of your adventures, Mr. Holmes!"

I hid a laugh at the way my friend endeavoured to hide his displeasure at this, but fortunately the cab ride to the university was relatively painless, as I took the opportunity to reminisce, pointing out shops I remembered and alleyways in which Holmes and I had been caught by criminals. When we arrived at the school, it was to find a large group of students already assembled, waiting for the ceremony to begin. As soon as we passed on our way to the stage, whispers began following us.

"That's him, isn't it?"

"Who?"

"Sherlock Holmes!"

"Is it really him?"

"'Course it is. And that's Watson, behind him."

"Do you think he'd sign an autograph for me?"

I doubted that, highly. My friend was now well known as a recluse, and his appearance here was his first in public in decades. It was no wonder the students were in awe of him. The university president was no less in awe, for he handed over the large golden scissors with hardly a word, only a fawning welcome. I hid another smile, for I knew well how Holmes hated such fawning. I studied the brand new building, a large, modern looking stone structure that seemed not to fit the university at all. I did so prefer the design of what was already being called the Victorian Age, but then, every man so prefers the world of his youth.

Holmes kept his speech short, merely welcoming the students to their new school and wishing them luck with their studies. I suspect some of them might have been disappointed, yet only I knew how Holmes disliked such pointless public speaker. When tasked with revealing the close of a case, he was in his element, but the grandiosity and emotion called for by such an occasion were not among his strengths. Yet everyone applauded, more because of his presence than anything else.

"Well, I am quite glad to be finished with that," Holmes declared as we left in search of his cigarettes, which I knew to be the real reason he had decided to come back to London after so many years.

"Well, Holmes, with such an opening, I hope that school will become a proving ground for the next generation of genius detectives," I said.

Holmes sniffed derisively. "I doubt it, Watson. Did you see them? Mere children, boys and girls barely out of grammar school. The Yard even at its worst inspired more confidence."

"They are young, yet," I said. "I have every confidence that they shall grow to be worthy of the mantle you left them."

Holmes, to my surprise, smiled. "Always so optimistic, Watson, despite it all."

"Well, I find I can be nothing else," I replied, thinking of all I had lived through in my long, adventurous life. Yet somehow, Holmes and I were still here in these new 1920s, watching the next generation of detectives rise to prominence. "I, for one, am looking forward to seeing this new world," I said.

"Then I shall simply look forward to returning to Sussex Downs," Holmes said. "I am sure my bees need looking after, we have been gone so long."