Prompt: A windup fireman, from Stutley Constable
A/N: I know I basically deconstructed this prompt, but there is at least a fireman winding up something
"There is no city, Watson, like London in all the world," my friend Sherlock Holmes declared as we strolled aimlessly through the streets. When in such a good mood, he often joined me for ambles through the streets and parks of London, though when in a poor one, he refused to leave our rooms or even get up from the settee. He had been in good humor for days now, and I was pleased that the black moods which so plagued him were far from his mind. So pleased that I dared not complain about his desire to walk in the rain which had been falling steadily all day. Rain is commonplace in London, after all, and one must get used to it or not go anywhere at all.
When in such a fine mood, there was no better or more entertaining conversationalist than Sherlock Holmes, and I had often found myself helpless with laughter as he deduced the passersby for my benefit. "I believe you will not find a more eccentric collection of individuals anywhere else in the world than in London," he continued. "Do you not agree, Watson? Between us we have seen enough of the world to make such a judgment, and I daresay one London street is made up of more unique figures than any entire city in the world. Even this very street we are on!"
"Holmes, you cannot make such a pronouncement!" I said. "Surely any city in the world contains its share of unusual individuals, though London has more, perhaps, because of its size. Still, this street seems perfectly ordinary to me."
"Ah, Watson, that is because you see but do not observe," Holmes said. As this was a common complaint he had about me, I bristled somewhat.
"I see nothing out of the ordinary," I said. "A barber shop, a London fireman, ordinary businessmen."
"Look closer. The barbershop you have pointed out so well, do you not notice anything unusual?" Holmes directed my attention to the shop in question, which seemed perfectly ordinary, with men sitting inside waiting for their shave or haircut. "The walls, Watson, look at the walls." I did so, finding many framed photographs of men in the very same chairs we were viewing.
"Well, that is different!" I said.
"The barber evidently has a photographer on retainer, perhaps an apprentice barber with a hobby, who takes photographs of the clients to advertise," Holmes said. "Certainly eccentric, if industrious, for how else is one to have evidence of the quality of service when searching for a barber?
It certainly seemed odd to me; photography took so very long and was so expensive that it seemed impractical at the very least to take photographs of what must have been nearly every client, judging by the lack of empty space on the walls. "He must be doing well for himself, to spend such an amount," I said. "I would not like to have my picture hanging up in my barbershop, however."
"No, Watson, nor would I," Holmes said, laughing. "Now, turn your attention to the fireman."
The man in question was occupied in winding up the hose on his fire truck, though there was no evidence of a fire. A rag in his pocket indicated that he had been cleaning it, and I said as much to Holmes.
"Yes," Holmes said. "I would notice, rather, the hourglass on the front seat of his engine. Surely it is not necessary to carry around such a device in these modern times?"
It was very unusual and I observed in earnest, my interest piqued. When the sand had finished falling, the fireman reached into his pocket and took out a small portrait, which he saluted before putting it back and turning the hourglass back over. I turned to Holmes, puzzled at the meaning of this strange ritual.
"It is 2 o'clock," Holmes said, looking at his own watch. "The meaning is clear with some simple deduction. Obviously the hourglass is counting a ritual, to take place on the hour, involving that portrait. I shall make an inference that the only person whose portrait a public servant would carry and salute in such a way would be one of Her Majesty."
"Logical, if a little overly patriotic," I said, though the V.R. which decorated our sitting room wall in bullet holes was hardly less patriotic. I was thoroughly entertained now by the inferences Holmes was drawing about our fellow Londoners, which I knew I would not have noticed, despite my years as Holmes's assistant and biographer.
"You mentioned businessmen, and I am forced to agree that, as a class, they are the most dull and predictable of all. Yet this fellow might be of interest," Holmes said, pointing out a man some five years our junior. "A banker, I should guess."
"How on earth can you know that?" I asked in some astonishment.
"Simplicity itself. He wears a tie clip which has the seal of the Bank of England on it, and carries the Financial Times under his arm. Though I would say he is also rather forgetful, and so not in favor with his managers."
"How the devil do you come up with that?" I asked.
"Watson, do you forget to wear a raincoat when London is damp and overcast?" Holmes asked. I shook my head, and he said, "This fellow did. He is soaked to the skin, and evidently he is well-known for it on this street, for you see the children are taunting him for it."
"Hey, Mr. Martin, forget your mac again?" One of the ubiquitous London street boys called out, leading several of his friends behind him as they followed our charge.
"That, and from the direction he is walking, he is leaving the financial district and returning home at 2 in the afternoon. Undoubtedly, his superiors are unhappy with his performance," Holmes said.
"Poor fellow,"I remarked as we passed a young woman selling flowers; a common sight in London. Yet her tray was full of poppies, which had been Mary's favorite flower. "Wait a moment, Holmes." I still visited Mary's grave weekly, and the bright flowers would cheer the place up greatly.
"Only a shilling, sir. We are raising money for a new ward at Charing Cross," the pretty young woman told me. Evidently chatty, she added, "I'm a nurse normally, but this is great fun. I feel rather as if I'm in a play, all dressed up with everyone looking at me!"
"Well, if it is for a hospital, I will give you two shillings," I said. "Good luck, my dear."
"Ha! Watson, see where it is the banker was going," Holmes said. "Evidently he had an appointment for a trim!" He motioned toward the window of the barbershop, where the still-soaked banker was sitting waiting.
"I wonder if he shall find himself immortalized on the wall," I mused, then cried, "Holmes! The fireman!"
For the fireman we had observed before had suddenly come rushing in from the rain.
"As I said, Watson, London is full of the most eccentric individuals all coming together," Holmes said imperiously.
"Indeed," I said as we continued on our way. "Very strange."
A/N: Inspiration, in case none of you picked up on it:
Penny Lane, there is a barber showing photographs
Of every head he's had the pleasure to know
And all the people that come and go
Stop and say, "Hello"
On the corner is a banker with a motorcar
And little children laugh at him behind his back
And the banker never wears a Mac in the pouring rain
Very strange
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
Wet beneath the blue suburban skies
I sit and meanwhile back in
Penny Lane, there is a fireman with an hourglass
And in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen
He likes to keep his fire engine clean
It's a clean machine
Penny Lane, is in my ears and in my eyes
A four of fish and finger pies
In summer, meanwhile back
Behind the shelter in the middle of a roundabout
A pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray
And though she feels as if she's in a play
She is anyway
Penny Lane, the barber shaves another customer
We see the banker sitting waiting for a trim
And then, the fireman rushes in from the pouring rain
Very strange
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
There beneath the blue suburban skies
I sit and meanwhile back
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
There beneath the blue suburban skies
Penny Lane