Thanks to all my followers and favouriters and reviewers so far! I hope you'll continue to enjoy this story. I'm afraid it can only get darker, and in this chapter I have borrowed parts of a certain speech by PM Neville Chamberlain, quotes from which are in bold.
The 3rd of September 1939 would be a date that nobody would ever forget. This was not immediately obvious on a day that dawned bright and clear, and began lazily; breakfast was served at nine, and just under an hour later the Holmes parents took the two pairs of siblings to church.
The Holmes brothers were stuffed unceremoniously into their Sunday best, and John and Harry into borrowed Sunday second-bests. The service was fairly dull, and uncomfortable for John and Harry, who, like all of the evacuees in the town, were a constant centre of attention. The Londoners were for the most part thinner and less healthy than their rural counterparts, for one thing; and they were all of them a bit shy still, feeling terribly out of place, and rather homesick.
After the service, which had been for the most part normal, there was a bit of an unusual rush to get home. Sherlock glanced around, and then at the church clock, and said that there must be something on the wireless. He asked his mother, who walked with similarly quick steps; she replied that there was to be an important announcement by the Prime Minister at eleven-fifteen, and that all of Britain was to tune in to find out what it was.
A shudder ran through all of the children, though they didn't know straight away quite why.
'Obviously it's going to be something to do with Chamberlain's meeting with Hitler,' Sherlock said then. 'I expect we're going to war. Hitler isn't going to back down.'
'To war!' cried John, stopping in the middle of the street.
Sherlock looked exasperated. 'Why do you think you were evacuated?'
'Sherlock,' his mother scolded him. 'John, come along. The evacuation was a precaution, not because we're definitely going to war. Hopefully Chamberlain will have resolved the matter with Hitler, and you'll be able to go home.'
'I hope so,' said Harry with a shudder.
'I hope so too,' murmured Sherlock out of earshot of the Watsons, throwing a very knowing glance in Mycroft's direction. He hadn't enjoyed having these two extra people in the house. These two extra normal people, these people who had tried to befriend, or at the least be-acquaintance the Holmes brothers; their friendly nature had won over their parents; and they knew that if they stayed they would be forced to interact with them often, and to take them places, maybe even go to school with them.
'Sherlock!' hissed Mrs Holmes, who had heard this comment. 'I wish you wouldn't be so rude.'
'I'm not rude, just honest,' shrugged Sherlock, in a short phrase summing up his very self, and said nothing more until they got home.
There were two wirelesses in the Holmes's house, but they all gathered around one of them, the big one in the living-room that was surrounded by armchairs. John and Harry were given first pick of these armchairs, and Sherlock and Mycroft left to sit on the floor.
Mrs Holmes tuned the wireless, and there was a short amount of crackling before a sound came through. The previous programme was just ending, and dissolved into silence, a silence that seemed to last a long while.
They all recognised the voice of the Prime Minister when at last he spoke. Neville Chamberlain was not a particularly remarkable man, and his voice was not particularly remarkable either, but the seriousness and authority with which he spoke immediately gave away his high position.
And he said this:
"This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final Note stating that, unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us.
I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany."
All six of them gathered around the wireless gasped in shock at this, as, most likely, did everyone in Britain at that moment, all of them struck by the same heavy blow: at war! Sherlock had been right, he had been far too right, and even he had hoped that he wasn't. His eyes met John's very briefly. The other boy looked as if he was about to cry. None of them spoke, however, and listened more intently than ever before. The Prime Minister went on to say that he could have done nothing, that negotiations with Germany had not succeeded, and that consequently Britain, and also France, had had to stand against that country as it invaded Poland without any good reason, threatening the safety of innocent people – in short, provoking a war that he said would be utterly necessary.
The government had, he said, made plans to continue as normally as possible under the circumstances. The Prime Minister implored his people to work hard and to help how they could.
This terrible broadcast was concluded with these words, presumably an attempt at raising spirits, but perhaps utterly futile following the effects of the rest of the speech:
"Now may God bless you all. May He defend the right. It is the evil things that we shall be fighting against - brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution - and against them I am certain that the right will prevail."
It had happened. Britain had gone to war against Germany. Mrs Holmes switched off the wireless, shot a despairing glance towards her children, her evacuees and her husband, and then left the room. Mr Holmes followed her after a moment.
'We can't,' said John at last. 'We can't be at war.'
His face had changed so dramatically in the past few minutes that he was almost a different boy. Now he looked almost as defiant as Harry, even though he felt somewhat terrified.
'The facts would state to the contrary,' murmured Mycroft, and he too got up and went from the room.
John put his arm around his sister's shoulders. Neither they nor Sherlock spoke for a long while. There was nothing much to say. The Watsons were now a rather more permanent addition to the family, their father was in what would be the most-targeted place in the country, and the entire country was almost certainly going to be subjected to unmentionable horrors that would last weeks, months, years even, if they were very unlucky. Not even the most perceptive of people could have determined that just yet.
'Damned governments,' Sherlock muttered, standing. At his voice, Redbeard came running into the room; Sherlock insisted that he sit, and ruffled the dog's fur.
'I suppose you don't understand what's going on, Redbeard,' he told the old dog. 'Lucky you.'
And he too went from the room, leaving John and Harry to remain in their tight embrace that neither wanted to escape. It was all right for the Holmeses. They were safe and all together. Mr Watson was in London. The only hope they had was that he wouldn't be drafted – he worked in the railways, and surely that job would be necessary in the war effort.
'I wish I could help,' said John at great length, letting go of his sister. 'Harry, it's weird, I thought I would panic, I thought I would be sad. But all I want to do is help. How can I help?'
Harry sighed and shook her head. 'Oh, John,' she said, 'only God can help us now.'
They could but hope that she was wrong.
