Prompt: A surprising talent is revealed, from mrspencil
A/N: Short response today, as I will be out for most of the day
Mrs. Hudson was the most exemplary of landladies, as one would have to be to accept such eccentricities as my fellow-lodger considered commonplace. She said nothing about the constant stream of odd characters that trooped through her house, the smell of chemicals and the odd hours kept by both Holmes and myself. The most that ever passed her lips was the occasional remonstrance about Holmes's indoor firearm practice. All in all, she was a patient and devoted lady.
The one thing our estimable landlady did insist on, however, was to leave for two weeks during the summer to visit her sister in Cornwall. The first of these visits was during the second summer I lived at Baker Street, and I am afraid that our rooms saw a considerable decline in cleanliness and comfort while she was gone. Without her firm hand to see to it, Holmes and I simply left all our possessions wherever they happened to be and I was soon unable to see either our desk or our dining table underneath the pile of papers that accumulated there. We also spent much time eating out, as Mrs. Hudson was cook as well as landlady, and for the first week we greatly enjoyed trying the many restaurants I could not go to last year due to my recovery.
However, by the second week of this, neither our finances nor my still-fragile health could take much more of eating heavy, restaurant food, and I resolved that we should do better until Mrs. Hudson returned. One afternoon, some time before dinner, I made my way down into her kitchen. I was no great cook, but I prided myself on my ability to make simple dishes - a potato soup, a roast chicken, things of that nature. In the army, I had been well thought of for my sausages. I had not cooked since then, but I reasoned that a well-set-up kitchen could only make things easier. After all, in the army, when I had cooked it had been over an open flame!
I soon had a pot of potatoes boiling over the fire and was preparing some onions and parsley to go into the soup when Sherlock Holmes burst into the kitchen. "Watson? Whatever is that smell?"
"Our dinner, I should hope," I answered. "We have been far too free with restaurants this week, Holmes."
Holmes stared at the pot on the fire and then turned his gaze on me at the counter, cutting vegetables. "I did not know you knew how to cook," he said.
I shrugged. "I am no great chef. I learned in the army. It behooves any man in such a situation to be able to provide for himself."
"Yes, yes, that is all very well," Holmes said dismissively. "But you misunderstand me. I did not know you could cook!"
"Well, I hardly cook at all," I said. "You have never seen me do it before."
"But, Watson," Holmes said. "I could tell you were a writer and a doctor and a soldier with merely a glance. I did not say it at the time but I also observed signs that you had once played rugby proficiently. However did I miss that you could also cook?"
"Oh," I said, nearly laughing and stopping myself only just in time. Holmes was as vain about his powers as any famed beauty would be about her looks, and it appeared his failure to notice this one thing about me had thrown him completely. "It is hardly important, Holmes," I said.
"Watson, the signs of cooking are quite apparent. Anyone who cooks bears at least one burn scar, usually on the wrist or the palm of the hand. If what you say is true, you would have cooked over an open flame. To miss such a sign is an utter failure on my part! Especially as I see you every day. You do realize that means I have missed these very signs for over a year!"
"Holmes, when I say I knew how to cook, I mean that I have done it only enough to become proficient. I did not do so nearly often enough to bear enough burn scars that they would be noticeable."
"I notice everything, Watson. It is my livelihood. What else have I missed, that might have led to a conviction or an innocent man going free?"
"Holmes!" I cried. "You really must not beat yourself up about this. Why, did you not tell me yourself that trivia and useless knowledge is not worthy of remembering?"
"Yes," Holmes muttered. "It takes up space in my brain-attic."
"Well, it can hardly be relevant at all that I have some small cooking ability," I said. "Perhaps you had noticed it and deleted it." I had my own opinions about his brain-attic theory, namely that it was quite a bit of hogwash. One never knew when certain facts would come in useful, and it seemed to be that a detective in his unusual position would want to store away as many facts as possible in case they were needed. Further, I had a medical degree and he did not, and I knew very well that was not how memory functioned. But Holmes was most stubborn on this account, and I had quickly learned that arguing with him was a pointless exercise.
"Watson, I should think I would remember such a fact about my own fellow-lodger," Holmes said.
I confess I did wonder what that might mean. Did he consider me enough of a friend that knowing my skills and likes and dislikes were important regardless of their relevance to a criminal case? Or simply that it was useful to him to know as much about the man he lived with as possible, to make cohabitation easier? I suspected I would never know. "Perhaps, Holmes, if you wish to observe me cooking, you might help me? I need someone to cut this parsley."
"Oh. Yes, of course," Holmes said. "It smells quite delicious, Watson. Perhaps it is a useful thing, to have a fellow-lodger who can cook."
"That was the army's idea," I said. "Though I suspect Mrs. Hudson will not be pleased I used her kitchen while she was gone."
"We shall clean it so perfectly she will never know," Holmes said.
I was utterly surprised by this. I had yet to see him clean anything in our shared rooms. "You, Holmes, will help me clean?"
"Of course," he said. "I have no wish to be on the receiving end of Mrs. Hudson's wrath." He gave me a sly look. "You are not the only one with hidden talents. Did it not occur to you that knowing how to properly clean a crime scene is a useful skill for a consulting detective."
"Now that you say so, I can see your point," I said.
"There are other uses," Holmes said. "Being able to cover one's tracks so no one can follow is a most useful skill, one I have used on many an occasion."
The only possible use I could see for such a skill was to conduct break-ins, and I wisely decided not to ask. Instead, I simply instructed Holmes on the proper way to cut parsley so that we might eat in peace.
I confess I quite enjoyed being in the position of the master for once!