December 27: "Rewrite a moment in one of the stories from the original canon." (from Hades Lord of the Dead)
A/N: Longer today, because much of this is straight from Doyle himself. I'm sure others have done this before, but please enjoy regardless!
I was hard at work at St. Bart's, and had been for some hours. My new theory about a blood test had seemed like lightening in a bottle when I awoke in my dreary flat in Montague Street some twenty-odd hours ago, but for all of my efforts, it was not yet quite right. With a growl (which seemed to frighten the sole other student in the lab), I stretched and began to pace. Perhaps now would be a good time to eat, as I was making no progress here.
I was halfway through a sandwich of rather dubious quality when I realized my mistake, and rushed back to the lab. I grabbed one of the dried blood samples I had taken from myself at the start of my project. It being several hours old now, I could run my test in a similar way blood from a crime scene might be tested. Again elbows deep in retorts, test-tubes, little Bunsen lamps, and all matter of chemicals, I was not at all aware of anything but my work. At last, I dropped the blood-speckled cloth into the liter of water, and carefully measured the proper amounts of the solid and the liquid I would add. Heart pounding, I dropped them in too. With a surge of joy and wonder, I watched as the entire glass jar became a dull mahogany color, with a brownish dust precipitating to the bottom. Wonderful! At last it was working properly!
Just then, I heard footsteps, and saw Stamford entering with a fellow I had never seen, recently discharged military doctor by the look of him. Rather underweight. Quite tan—most likely Afghanistan. But that did not matter at present.
"I've found it! I've found it!" I cried aloud as I leapt up, test tube in hand, and running to Stamford.
"Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," he said, introducing me to his companion.
Ah, of course! I had mentioned needing a fellow-lodger to Stamford. If I had to spend another day near that dreadful landlady in Montague Street, would lose the final remaining shreds of my sanity. It was time to put my best foot forward, and hope this fellow would not mind me and my oddities too much. Well, at least for as long as it took me to begin earning the sort of money I would need to pay for a Baker Street address on my own.
"How are you?" I said, giving his hand a cordial shake. I decided I should see how he would react to a little deduction or two. "You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive."
His eyes widened in the most delightful expression of astonishment. "How on earth did you know that?"
"Never mind," I said, chuckling. Oh, this would be fun. But there were more important matters than impressing this army fellow. "The question now is about hemoglobin. No doubt you see the significance of this discovery of mine?"
Dr. Watson paused for a moment brow furrowed. "It is interesting chemically, no doubt, but practically—"
My impatience got the better of me, I'm afraid, and I interrupted his ramblings. "Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for years. Don't you see that it gives us an infallible test for blood stains? Come over here now!" I grabbed my new acquaintance by the coat-sleeve in my eagerness, and drew him over to my work table. "Let us have some flesh blood." I repeated the test I had just run before these two arrived, and they watched with interest as I performed it again, this time with new blood. And to my continued joy, it worked just the same! "Ha! ha!" I cried, clapping my hands. "What do you think of that?"
"It seems to be a very delicate test," he remarked.
"Beautiful! beautiful! The old Guiacum test was very clumsy and uncertain. So is the microscopic examination for blood corpuscles. The latter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. Now, this appears to work well whether the blood is old or new. Had this test been invented, there are hundreds of men now walking ht earth who would long ago have paid the penalty of their crimes."
"Indeed!" the man murmured, a thoughtful look playing across his open features. Stamford looked on with interest.
"Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point. A man is suspected of a crime months perhaps after it has been committed. His linen or clothes are examined, and brownish stains discovered upon them. Are they blood stains, or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains, or what are they? That is a question which has puzzled many an expert, and why? Because there was no reliable test. Now we have the Sherlock Holmes Test, and there will no longer be any difficulty." As I spoke, I imagined I was delivering this address not just to these two, but an entire lecture hall full of scholars and police officials and medical men, who were all greatly fascinated and impressed, and when I ended my explanation, I gave into my more dramatic side, and took a bow.
"You ought to be congratulated," remarked Dr. Watson, appearing slightly surprised by my enthusiasm. No matter; it would not do for him to perceive me as an ordinary man if I must live with him for any length of time. And he appeared to be genuinely interested, so I went on.
"There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort last year. He certainly would have been hung had this test been in existence. Then there was Mason of Bradford, and the notorious Muller, and Lefevre of Montpelier, and Samson of New Orleans. I could name a score of cases in which it would have been decisive."
"You seem to be a walking calendar of crime," said Stamford with a laugh. "You might start a paper on those lines. Call it the 'Police News of the Past.'"
"Very interesting reading it might be made, too," I replied, remembering at last to put sticking plaster over the prick I had made in my finger. "I have to be careful," I continued, turning to Dr. Watson with a smile, "for I dabble with poisons a good deal." I held out my hand, and he raise his eyebrows when he noted the other plaster-covered pricks, as well as the scarring from acids and such.
"We came here on business," said Stamford, seating himself on a high three-legged stool and pushing another one to his companion with his foot. "My friend here wants to take diggings, and as you were complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought I had better bring you together."
I smiled again (first impressions, and all of that nonsense). "I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street, which would suit us right down to the ground. You don't mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?"
"I always smoke 'ship's' myself," he answered.
"That's good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?"
I watched his expression carefully, but he appeared perfectly honest when he replied, "By no means."
"Let me see—what are my other shortcomings. I get in the dumps at times, and don't open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I'll soon be right." Now, this would be the interesting part. "What have you to confess now? It's just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together."
Dr. Watson laughed. "I keep a bull pup," he said, "and I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices when I am well, but those are the principal ones at present."
That should not be a problem, I thought. Except— "Do you include violin-playing in your category of rows?"
"It depends on the player," he replied. "A well-played violin is a treat for the gods—a badly-played one—"
"Oh, that's all right!" I exclaimed with a laugh. This was going swimmingly! "I think we may consider the thing as settled—that is, if the rooms are agreeable to you."
"When shall we see them?" the Doctor asked.
I thought for a moment. "Call for me here at noon tomorrow, and we'll go together and settle everything."
"All right—noon exactly," he replied, shaking my hand.
With that, the pair departed. Well, I had not expected to find such a mellow fellow-lodger so quickly and so easily! And there was no doubt he would agree to the rooms; they were quite nice, reasonably priced, and the Mrs. Hudson woman I had spoken to seemed to be the best sort. I trusted I could keep my mess and my other less-than-desirable antics to a reasonable level while I had a fellow-lodger. And the way my work was going, I should not need one for too many months. I smiled to myself, and began to clean up the lab. This had been an excellent day!