KILLER EVAN'S AFTERMATH
In a case involving the Three Garridebs, Watson is wounded as they corner the murderer.
27 JUN 1902
Just arrived home from hospital. What a beastly experience for a physician! To be imprisoned in such an institution was intolerable. I have instructed Holmes never to allow me to be subjected to such tortures again, even under the direst circumstances! Fortunately, I was there only overnight. Holmes arrived promptly to the rescue this morning - not a moment too soon. Baker Street has never been so welcoming.
The bullet wound, sustained yesterday in the confrontation with Killer Evans, was not serious. At first I had assured my friend the injury was merely a scratch. A quick field-wrap of my leg enabled us to conclude the messy case of the dratted Garridebs and the villain.
Only then did I confess the bleeding had increased along with pain. I was hardly able to reach a hansom with Holmes' assistance. Painful for me and extremely worrisome to my companion. Minor surgery required (my bad luck it is very near the thigh wound I received in '88) because of a nicked muscle.
Holmes insisted I be taken to hospital (was this his form of panic? Why else send me to hospital instead 221B? Proximity. Hospital was much closer and poor Holmes . . .)
I accepted only minimum laudanum for the injury. I still retain distasteful memories of the aftereffects of drugs from my experiences in the war. As well as my first leg injury. The latter received not in the service of the Queen, but in my duties with my friend in Whitechapel.
Not to mention drugs now behind my friend but ever in my memory.
Today was spent in an attempt to write up the account of the Garrideb mystery. It proved impossible for several reasons. One, I could not write well from my position on the sofa. Two, it was difficult to keep to the task because my friend continually interrupted. Three, as much as I tried to ignore it, the pain was quite distracting.
I will have to finish the notes at some later time. Holmes is in an odd mood and requires my attention in conversation (on several and varied subjects). Then he requested I listen to and critique several Mozart pieces he had been practicing.Evening found me no longer able to hide the throbbing ache of my wound.
"Watson, you must take something for your leg," he chastised with some impatience. He placed the violin on the desk with a resolute thud.
"Very well," I agreed with reluctance. I allowed him to administer a small dose of morphine and grudgingly admitted he handled a syringe quite professionally.
He laughed at my wry comment. "I have had an amateur standing for some time," he replied good- naturedly.
Not that many years have passed since he put away his cocaine. It was, however, good to know we can now make light of those dark times.
30 JUN 02
I am disgustingly complacent these past days. Holmes' attentive solicitude is spoiling me, I fear. The sofa has become an almost permanent residence. My companion takes great pains to see I amcomfortable and in need of nothing. This is, in part, because he harbors some sense of guilt over the attack by Evans. Several times I have tried to discuss this with him, but he refuses, save to admit it was my own slowness which enabled Evans to fire first. My clever friend is as stubborn as he is intelligent and I have yet to sway him of this - of ANY argument if he does not wish to be convinced.
01 JULY 02
Despite my handicap we are enjoying an unusually blissful respite in Baker Street. The weather is temperate and pleasant for summer. I spend the days reading or catching up on my notes, then napping in the afternoons.Holmes has plunged into a new monograph on the detection of disguises. Much of his time is spent in practical application. He solicits my advice for false faces and absurd persona. Certainly life in Baker Street is never dull, and the hours pass quickly with my amusing friend. Iam ever thankful he has not slipped into boredom. I do not much fear ennui since the cocaine is behind us. For my friend is resolute in his personality and I do not think he would tumble back into addiction - not since we discovered the root of his problems. Still, I worry for his emotional well-being.In the last few years I have noted the edge of his moodiness has dulled. He is much more moderate and calm than I have ever known him. A shade of that after his return from his Hiatus. Could maturity be mellowing my erratic friend? Fortunately, he will never soften too much. Proof of that was tonight's escapade when he returned home in the filthy disguise of a beggar. We were highly entertained when Mrs. Hudson threatened him with the broom. She was not so amused when he revealed his true identity.03 JULY 02
I suspect Holmes has refused some cases of late. No one has come to the door since my invalid status, yet I have heard the bell ring numerous times and have heard whispered conferences upon the stairs. No visitors, however, advance up the seventeen steps to our sitting room.When I inquired of the mysterious callers Holmes laconically refused to discuss them and denied any new clients. Mrs. Hudson is just as reticent and I suspect a conspiracy of silence. Finally I bluntly asked Holmes if he was refusing clients because of my injury. He ambiguously (uneasily, I thought) stated that we were both in need of a rest.
I have the unpleasant feeling more than my leg was damaged in our confrontation with Evans. I hope I am not the cause of some permanent guilt on Holmes' part. He has joked of retirement to the country. I scoffed, saying in less than a fortnight out of London he would be bored to death and back in the city.Finally, I somberly broached the subject. Flatly, I sternly told him, "I want you to accept the next client who comes to you, Holmes. I am positively guilty about you refusing to aid others on my account!"
His eyes were soft and there was no angry recrimination. Just a sad smile. "I, too, have been contemplating my future, friend Watson. And it is not what you think. I have decided to close up shop here in Baker Street." Before I could do more than gasp, he firmly ordered, pointing his fingers at me, "And you will take another wife. And you shall publish the news in some ghastly romantic tales that I am retired in the country and am leaving the criminals to the police."
Shaking my head, I finally breathed out a sigh. "Absurd mood," I muttered. Studying him, I realized, "You are plotting," I deduced.
His answering smile was fond. "I am plotting our future, Watson. Where killers, or reporters or government minions will not bother us. Where we will weave a false trail and be at peace to pursue cases in a quiet and selective manner."
Skeptical, knowing his nature, I wondered, "Could you accept that, Holmes?" His quixotic nature rebelled at the mundane, the boring. Although my heart soared at the thought of him removing from danger, I was the last to advocate veering onto the nervous track of no work. "How would you cope?"
He reached over and squeezed my shoulder. "Because, as always, dear Watson, you will be there at my side."
I am sure I looked a fool with the silly grin splitting my face. His confusing scenario was pure fantasy, of course, but I was heartened at his course. It was more than I could have asked for.
06 JUL 02At last I was able to finish my notes on the Evan's case. Holmes has taken an inordinate interest in my work. At first the attention made me nervously wary. Now I am curious as to his motives. Perhaps my long association with the foremost criminal investigator of our time has contaminated my own nature with unfounded suspicion.
He has given me leave to offer up more chronicles to my literary agent. Holmes is interested in the selection of the cases. We have spent some fascinating hours going over my extensive notes for the last twenty-one years. So far he has restrained from too much criticizing the chronicles. A certain sign he has mellowed indeed!
10 JUL 02
The entire morning Holmes paced, rattled test tubes and beakers, scraped at the violin - none of which held his interest or skill. At one point he removed the landscape on the far wall, contemplating target practice to add to the'VR'. I reminded of Mrs. Hudson's' displeasure – not to mention the tattling gossip of the neighbors – if he started shooting again!
Aware what these warning signs meant I urged him to remove himself from the confinement of our rooms. He claimed no interest in a walk without me."You need a case," I bluntly declared. "You must not refuse any more on my account."
For the first time he did not deny he had turned away clients. Encouraged by his lack of resistance, I pressed on and asked if he still felt guilty about Evans.
"I miscalculated," he admitted somberly after some moments. "And you were the one to pay the price. I am leery of further misadventures to my partner, Watson. I really am too used to having you about."
Deeply moved though I was by his feelings, I was also disturbed that I caused him this anxiety.
"You gave me fair warning of danger. And I enter these investigations with open eyes," I returned firmly. "You cannot blame yourself for my blunders!"
I wondered if he thought of our brush with death several years ago on the Cornwall coast. The experiment with the Devil's Foot had been HIS idea, yet I had entered into it with full knowledge of the danger. Without mentioning the specific incident I reminded him that he insisted this was a partnership. I should shoulder half the risk if I were to get half the credit.
He dropped the subject with the vague comment he would accept any future cases which seemed worthy of his time. Then he replaced the picture of the landscape to cover the bullet holes. I ignored the loophole he left for himself. Instead I was stunned over the incredible fact that I had actually won a debate with my friend!
11 JUL 02
Holmes has mellowed indeed! I talked him into a short excursion down Baker Street. We strolled in the pleasant evening twilight (at a slow pace due to my stiff limb). I found inexplicable delight at this simple perambulation. Truly adversity gives us appreciation of the little things in life we take for granted.
When we returned home a message awaited Holmes. The official envelope looked like a summons from Mycroft. I did not ask and Holmes did not offer information.
The clatter of breakfast dishes was the next thing I remembered. I had gone to sleep on the sofa before Holmes had returned from his meeting with Mycroft.
18 JUL 02
We were at the door following our daily stroll when Holmes realized he had forgotten to pick up his order of shag at the tobacconists. He would go round the corner and urged me to rerun home so as not to overtire myself. I slowly mounted the stairs to the sitting room, then gratefully reclined on the sofa.
With tea Mrs. Hudson brought up a visitor (rather nice timing, I thought). Wonders will never cease - the visitor was Mycroft!
With the help of Mrs. Hudson's excellent tea, fresh scones and marmalade, I entertained the elder Holmes. Relations between us had mellowed considerably since our conflicts in '91. Still, at best, I could only consider our acquaintance as formal and reserved. We both keenly felt the responsibility of being caretakers of Sherlock Holmes. Our methods and goals, however, were fundamentally different. And in all honesty, I could not say I had forgotten Mycroft's silence during Holmes' three-year hiatus.
On his part, I sensed that he never quite forgave me for - I was guessing - my status in his brother's life. On the other hand, Mycroft, not-quite-accurately attributed to me curing Holmes of the cocaine addiction. This misconception had smoothed our relationship considerably and so I let the finer details rest uncorrected.
He plied me with questions concerning his brother's decision. I reluctantly admitted no knowledge of said decision since Holmes had not confided in me.
"I thought he would inform you," he sniffed; mildly surprised he had miscalculated in some way, as he took snuff. "Sherlock seems to keep little from you."
The effectively sharp barb probably referred to Holmes revealing to me the truth of events after Reichenbach.
"Since it does not concern you he may not have discussed it."
Mycroft looked upon almost everyone, myself included, as near non-entities, since we did not fit into his scheme of existence. I had gotten used to his attitude over the years. One required a thick skin sometimes when dealing with the Holmes brothers. I had to view the outlook as an extreme example of Holmes' occasional anti-social attitude.
"Your participation in this project," he ordered, arrogantly assuming I would obey his wishes, "will be to remain in Baker Street to give the impression that Sherlock is also here."
I was disturbed that Mycroft had offered Holmes employment in an area where I would be useless, a case that would not include me. Not only excluded because of my recent wound, but because I had absolutely no skill at the trades required of a covert agent. Conversely, Holmes possessed all skills using cunning, disguises, and deceit.
Mycroft's intelligence and intensity had ever intimidated me. His imperious assumption, however, goaded me to resistance.
"I think that will be for Holmes and me to decide."
The comment was half-hearted. I was much too depressed at this sudden turn. As much as Holmes professed faith in our partnership I knew he could not refuse the lure of adventure and excitement, which Mycroft's offer certainly held. The appeal of this new kind of chase would win compared to the boredom of the past weeks. Partially for my love of adventure, I felt left out at the exclusion. More from my protective concerns for Holmes' safety. As long as I was with him, I could do my best to keep him alive and well.
Irritatingly, Mycroft perfectly read my thoughts. "Come, Doctor, do not take this personally. I submit you are simply not qualified for this - work. It is a question of loyalties."
"Which of my loyalties do you question?"
"Think of me as a chess master," he languidly explained round a bite of scone, ignoring my acid demand. "Every player I invite into my army is connected to the whole. The winning of the game is the goal, not the fate of the individual players. Each piece must be focused on their moves, focused on their duty."
I was stung. Before I could defend my honor, he elucidated.
"My brother works efficiently alone. I am careful not to give him perilous assignments, since I know too well his lack of care for his own safety. A protective duty which has sometimes fallen upon your shoulders, Doctor. But one which I have harbored for him since his birth!"
He had not been so complimentary after Reichenbach. That I had pulled Holmes out of a few tight spots since then must have weighed in my favor now.
"If the two of you were assigned some – task - then my focus would be on the mission so long as there was no danger to either of you. As for you, Watson, I submit your allegiances are predetermined and thus disqualify you for my - department. You are completely committed to my brother. A laudable trait, do not get me wrong. If forced to make a choice, however, between obeying blind duty and inventing your own rules – disobeying a mission - because of my brother, which would you choose, Doctor?"
I looked into the intent grey eyes which were so similar to Holmes' grey-green eyes, but uniquely, sternly, Mycroft's. So clear and resolute was his gaze, it belayed his appearance and usually flippant manner. He read in my own expression the answer to his rhetorical question.
We both knew I would never hesitate to do anything within my power to protect his brother. Unexpectedly, his responding expression was one of approval, even respect. For a rare time in our association, we stood on common ground.
"You see, Watson, what I mean by preconceived loyalties."
I gave a neutral, silent, nod of assent.
"Mycroft!"
The younger Holmes startled us from the tableau. It was with surprise and irritation he glared at his sibling. There had been chilled relations between them since Holmes had refused a Knighthood from King Edward in June. Holmes had never forgiven the King for the Royal involvement in the cover-up of '88. Refusal of the Knighthood was Holmes' form of an official protest, while still keeping his silence in the matter.
"Eavesdroppers collect only partial information," Mycroft replied dryly. He came to his feet and faced his brother. "I was simply commenting that Watson has adopted a fealty beyond mere God and country, dear Sherlock."
Holmes glanced from one to the other of us, narrowing his look to me at the enigmatic comment.
Mycroft, figuratively, moved quickly to secure his advantage and bluntly asked for Holmes' decision. Not to be outmaneuvered, Holmes ushered him out of the room with curt command.
I spent the next hours in miserable speculation. I was sure our lives were about to change for the worst. It was dinnertime before an impatient and irritated Holmes returned. I was heartened by his attitude and refused to be put off by his obfuscation. I voiced my delighted deductions of events.
"Your brother has offered you employment with his organization."
"Your perspicacity is scintillating," Holmes sardonically replied.
He rummaged into his new tobacco packet. He carelessly stuffed a considerable amount of shag into his slipper, then into the bowl of his pipe. Shards of tobacco dusted the carpet round his feet.
"You've decided not to accept the offer." Unmistakably there was happiness in my tone.
Holmes paused in the act of lighting his pipe. His surprise was so complete, the match burned his fingers and irritated, he threw it into the grate. He couldn't keep the amusement from his tone. "And how did you deduce that?"
"You had not mentioned the offer to me. Therefore, it is something secret from your brother in an official capacity at the Home Office. Certainly if you had intended to accept, or had accepted today, you would have said so and prepared for such business. When you returned you were irritated. You were upset with your brother for coming here and revealing his offer to me. That you wanted to keep it a secret, and that his arrival irritated you, tells me you refused his offer. If you would have accepted, you would have returned in a distracted manner, preparing for your misison."
I did not add that he would have had an air of contriteness, which he invariably has when he feels he has in some way slighted me. I DO know my Holmes rather well.
He rewarded me with a smile.
I felt a wonderful glow of triumph.
"You are correct on all counts," he admitted, then heartily laughed. "You are much too astute at times, my friend," he offered enigmatically.
He did not elaborate and refused to discuss it further. After that we did not refer to the matter again. His silent manner indicated the subject to be closed.
27 JUL 02
I noted another message from the government offices today. Holmes left for the afternoon and returned without comment. I guessed he had refused yet another case from his brother. It was strange that Mycroft continued to pursue the matter, unless Holmes had not given a definite 'no' to the question.
I can only speculate - hope - that one of his reasons for refusal was because Mycroft's offer was pointedly directed at Holmes alone. I do not flatter myself that it was because of sentiment that Holmes refused, rather, I knew there was a reluctance to end a partnership which had become second nature to us both.
29 JUL 02
Descending for breakfast a bit late, I stopped near the door to take in the scene. Holmes stood by the window, still in his dressing gown. A cigarette in his hand, his back to the breakfast table which displayed a partially eaten meal. On the floor was an open note.
Tension from my friend, in the air of the room, in the setting, told me of some crisis. My mind immediately jolted to the Holmes' brother's debate on Home Office matters.
Anxious, I came up behind my friend. While I could deduce much from the evidence, I simply asked.
"What is it?"
Turning to watch as I joined him observing – yet not seeing – the street below, he scoffed. "Mycroft is an irritant." He flashed a smile that did not reach his shaded eyes.
"This you already know. He is also persistent. Dogged."
"A family trait."
"Ha!" he laughed. "My pawky Watson." He shook his head then turned to face me. "I have come to a decision. If you are in agreement. During your recuperation we have perused past case notes. Some I have granted permission for you to send to your literary agent." His gaze and tone became gravely serious. "Would you be an accomplice with me once more, my dear friend in putting forth some obfuscation?"
As if I would deny him anything after all we had been through!
"Of course!"
Chuckling, he patted my shoulder. "Ever the adventurer! Very well. We will manipulate your narrative. Different than before. For purposes of coded messages for Mycroft's spies you have changed names and dates to mean something for those in the know. Now, we stage-manage your stories for our own ends."
After breakfast had been cleared we sat at the table in a council of war. As much as I disliked subterfuge in my accounts of his cases, as he said, it had been going on for years. In the early days Mycroft had arranged for the adventures to be published with the idea of sending secret messages in plain sight to agents round the globe.
As Holmes joked earlier in the month, he would now have published for the world to see a very different life in Baker Street. Disliking the deception, I knew it was for our ultimate good.
So, to the international readership, Sherlock Holmes retired to keep bees! Fiction was not my friend's forte but I did not argue at his plot. Yes, Holmes would retire to the coast. I would gain a wife! This was too much, but again, there was no dissuading him.
Now all would know Holmes was not actively a criminal catcher, an investigator, or working for the British government. He would be useless if he went abroad as an agent for Mycroft.
We, of course, did not radically change our address nor status. People in the know would seek out Holmes' skills. This literary subterfuge actually gave my friend's agile mind new puzzles to create! Boredom would not be an issue. And if Mycroft presented a new problem to solve, Sherlock was happy to work out a solution.
From the comforts of 221B Baker Street.
THE END