December 6: "Beekeeping" (from Michael JG Meathook)

I realized today that I did the math wrong. This is in fact my 11th year in the challenge, not my 10th, lol.

"Thank goodness you're here, Doctor!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed when she greeted me at the door. It had only been a week or so since I'd last called upon Holmes, and things at Baker Street had been quite all right then, so I asked with some concern what had changed.

"Mr. Holmes has hardly left the sitting room in a week, except to retrieve more books. Whether from a bookshop or a library, I did not know, but every surface in the sitting room seems to be filling steadily with them! He is hardly eating or sleeping. I'm nearing my wits end!"

"Is he on a case?" I asked, following her up the stairs toward the sitting room.

"He wouldn't say," she replied, reaching the top of the stairs and turning to face me. "Please see that he takes some lunch today, at least. Do what you can for him."

"I shall do my best," I replied, and braced myself for what I might encounter behind the sitting room door.

Sure enough, Sherlock Holmes was surrounded by books and papers, and the air reeked of tobacco. Holmes was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to his chair, a book on each knee and several others on the floor around him. He gripped an unlit pipe with his teeth.

"Well, hello, Holmes," I greeted, throwing open a window.

He removed the pipe from his mouth but did not look up from his books. "Watson."

"Tell me," I said, removing three books from my habitual armchair and seating myself, "What is it that has you so engaged?"

"Apiculture." Holmes turned a page in the book on his right knee.

"Apiculture?" I replied. "What is that, bees?"

"Yes, I'm thinking of retiring to the countryside and taking up beekeeping." He continued to examine the books in his lap.

I could not believe my ears. My friend had often described himself as married to his work. "Retirement? And beekeeping, of all things? You cannot be serious."

At length, Holmes met my gaze. "I am perfectly serious."

I sighed. "I suppose retiring isn't so strange a thing for a man of our age to want, but beekeeping? Is that what all of these books are about?"

"Some of them," he replied, closing his books, standing, and stretching. He began to pace. "If I am to retire, I must find some way to occupy my mind. If I do not retire, inevitably my body or mind will fail while on a case, and depending on the circumstances, such a thing could prove to be unforgivable. Besides, Scotland Yard is full of bright young men with much better training than their predecessors. I am far from obsolete, but London would survive without me."

"It would indeed," I replied. My friend was not yet sixty, but I knew we were not as young as we once were, and I would be glad to have him out of danger. "But why bees?"

Holmes shrugged. "They are fascinating little creatures, Watson. Have you ever wondered about the manner in which the queen bee is separated from the other bees?

I frowned. "I can't say that I have before, but now I suppose I do."

Holmes laughed. "Stick with me, old friend, and you can learn this and much more. I've begun to make the arrangements for purchasing an observation hive. I should like to become more familiar with their habits and patterns before I move to the countryside."