Prompt from Michael JG Meathook: Sherlock meets his hero

Never Meet Your Heroes

"Holmes, what is the matter?" John Watson asked, his features the epitome of concern. His friend made no response in either word or expression. "I know that look. You are brooding."

Holmes turned his face away to look out of the four-wheeler's window, drawing his old briar pipe from his pocket and ramming tobacco into its bowl savagely. The stem clicked on his teeth as he jammed it into his mouth. When he tried to strike a light, the Lucifer snapped and he cast it and the small box on the floor, snatching his pipe from his mouth and stuffing it back into his pocket.

"Steady on, Holmes!" Watson cried. "Something is the matter. What has you so vexed, man?"

Visibly getting a grip on his emotions, Holmes swallowed hard and drew in a deep, steadying breath.

"That man is a mountebank, Watson. A pompous ass of the first order."

"Robinson?" Watson's jaw dropped. "Here now, Holmes. You insisted for a week that I accompany you to that lecture because Robinson is the greatest bee culturist in the Empire. Now you say he is a mountebank? I do not understand."

"To hear him speak, you would think it was he who invented the Langstroth hive!" snarled Holmes, extracting his pipe and clamping it between his teeth once more. He began probing his pockets for his matches, forgetting that he had just cast them on the floor. Finally, Watson handed him his own box and the pipe was soon lit. "Thank you. And I apologize for dragging you to that travesty of a lecture, Watson. Two hours of our lives we shall never get back. Bah!"

"But you were so eager to meet the man," Watson said, more confused than ever.

"I was," agreed Holmes. "I should never have bothered. His ideas of cross breeding European honeybees with the African strains are madness."

"I thought it rather intelligent," Watson said. "If I understood correctly, such cross breeding would result in larger harvests of honey and heartier bees. Would that not be a good thing?"

"Larger harvests at what expense?" Holmes puffed out a great cloud of blue-grey smoke and scowled. "African bees are notoriously aggressive, Watson. Swarming bees, even our genial European stocks, can be a danger. Enough stings can send a man to hospital. There have even been deaths recorded. And, that man wants to risk making bees more aggressive? Idiocy! Folly of the first order. No, Watson. I say leave our bees as they are."

Watson observed his friend in silence for several minutes as their cab carried them closer to their lodgings. Such an outburst by Holmes usual vented his spleen thoroughly, yet Holmes remained incensed.

"What else?" Watson asked and waited patiently.

"You heard his reply to my suggestion," Holmes said.

"About wrapping mats of straw around the hives over winter?"

"Unnecessary, he said," growled Holmes. "I never suggested it was necessary. I only suggested it would be a worthy experiment to see if a hive so wrapped would sustain its population better over winter and thereby produce more honey in the long term. And he scoffed! It would be no use! No use? Potentially a larger harvest of honey and he says 'No use.', Watson!"

The cab drew to a stop in front of Mrs. Hudson's house and Holmes threw open the door, leaping out.

"I thought the man was an innovator, Watson," snarled Holmes, standing stock still on the sidewalk, back rigid and feet apart as if readying for a fight. "He traveled the globe collecting data from myriad sources to glean the most useful and productive methods of nurturing hives. I thought him brilliant, Watson. Now I see him for what he really is."

"And what is that, Holmes?" Watson asked, one foot on the pavement and one still in the cab.

"The man is a leach, Watson." Holmes turned to face his friend. "A leach. He has done nothing with the knowledge he gained save to wave it in front of enthusiasts and convince them he is wise. Oh, I have no doubt Robinson will go down in the annals as a great man, but I shall write a monograph to put his to shame. I shall do so, Watson, and I shall begin this very night!"

Dr. Watson considered his friend seriously for a long moment before turning to the cabman and giving him the address for his club.

"Not coming up?" Holmes asked.

"No," said Watson, climbing back into the four-wheeler. "I would not wish to be any sort of distraction for you. Tell Mrs. Hudson I shall dine out tonight."

Holmes gave a curt nod and marched up the steps to the front door of 221 Baker Street.

"You should never meet your heroes, Holmes," Watson sighed and settled on the seat, shutting the door as the cabman stirred his mare into motion.