Disclaimer: all fictional characters belong to ACD. Where reference is made to places (apart from 221B of course) and events in this chapter, the geographical and historical information is factual.

Chapter 1

"Well, Holmes?" I asked of my friend.

"Hmm?"

"Holmes! I was talking to you! What are you doing?"

Holmes looked up at me, and took the pipe from his mouth. "My apologies, Watson, my mind was otherwise engaged. I was considering how to reply to this correspondent who has graced me with their considered criticism of my work of last year – 'Book of Life'. You remember it, I am sure. I recall you commented that it was 'twaddle'. You could not see how the existence of Niagara or the Ocean could be deduced from a drop of water. Well, this ignoramus thinks similarly."

"You know full well I was unaware of who was behind it, Holmes!" I laughed in reply. "I would never have commented thus should I have been aware of its illustrious author."

Holmes, in his turn, laughed. "Ha! Did I really fill you with such trepidation, Watson? In any event, no harm was done. As I said, my apologies. I think, with your help, I have decided the proper response."

He screwed up the letter and threw it with perfect aim into the fire, stoked high to ward off the approaching autumn chills. He puffed on his pipe again, and then continued, "So, you are wondering whether to renew your acquaintance with Doctor Conan Doyle, who requires your aid urgently."

I was a little upset at this. "You have read the telegram, then."

"No, but after one year you should be able to propose my line of reasoning."

Holmes had explained his methods – or, more accurately, tried to – on a number of occasions, but I still considered them a black art, and with a laugh told him so.

Holmes sighed. "If our relationship is to remain cordial you might at least attempt to follow my reasoning. It is quite straight-forward." He put on his 'very patient' expression, sitting with his eyes meeting mine steadily. "I can see from your expression you are deep in some inner discussion over the matter. The telegram bore a Portsmouth mark, and was delivered by special courier. Only the most urgent messages are delivered thus. You yourself have mentioned on more than one occasion your passing acquaintance with the good Doctor. A case of 'physician, heal thyself', was it not – a second opinion regarding your rehabilitation last year? You made a few journeys to see him over the first few months of our lodging – although I admit to wondering how you afforded it, Plymouth being a tidy distance. I have always assumed he paid for the trips, though I have been mindful of causing embarrassment to you to make such an assertion to your face. You told me earlier this year he had moved from Plymouth to Portsmouth – following an altercation with his employer if I recall. And, of course, you rarely receive communications – regretfully, the truth is that the vast majority are addressed to me, and seek my assistance. It really is quite simple. The look of sadness which passed over your face said it all - your circle of friends, I am afraid, is not large. A product of service to Queen and Country I fear."

"Yes, you are correct," I smiled. "He asks for help, Holmes. It isn't clear what has befallen him, but the tone of the message implies desperation." I read the telegram aloud. "He arrives on the eleven o'clock train at Waterloo Bridge Station, Holmes. And he asks for my help."

Holmes hid his interest at the words 'kidnap and murder' well, and instead managed a show of being affronted by my friend's request, as if it were some calculated insult not to mention him. Quickly, I added, "He only asks the favour of me, because of you."

Holmes gave up the pretence of disinterest and sat up in his chair. "Me? And to what do I owe this?"

"Come, Holmes. Don't think that I keep news of your exploits to myself. I have no doubt that he enlists my help only to obtain the benefit of yours. He is quite unnerved by an episode, and requests – needs - illumination." I paused for a moment – for dramatic effect. "And who better than you to provide it?"

My last remark obviously found favour with Holmes, as was its intention of course. "It's still early days, Watson, in my chosen calling," he mused. "It is amusing to see Lestrade and Gregson fighting over my talents like children with a new toy. I feel great things lie ahead, but … yes, this could be most interesting. Kidnap and murder indeed! You may advise Mrs Hudson that we will in all probability be away from Baker Street for a few days, Watson, and whilst you do so, please order us a cab for ten-thirty; and once you have done that, I would be grateful if you would take a brief stroll to the Gardens and back. An hour will suffice."

"Away, Holmes? But he is coming to London."

"But to understand the events fully, I have no doubt that we will have need to travel to Portsmouth."

"Very well," I replied, and then added in query, "An hour, Holmes ….?"

"Yes. I have a two-pipe problem to resolve in the meantime. I need to think."

When I returned from my enforced exercise I found Holmes lying on the floor, poring over newspapers from the past couple of days. The air was thick with acrid smoke – that particular variety which usually accompanied his most detailed concentration.

"All is well, Watson," he said as I settled myself down. "The matter of the stolen emerald has been resolved. In that it was never stolen in the first place. The culprit was, you see, the father."

"Ah…" I said, trying to piece together the information I was receiving. It made no sense. Holmes saw the look on my face, and stopped.

"If you open your mouth any wider, Watson, I will expect your jaw to dislocate."

"I'm sorry, it's just that … should I know about this emerald, then?"

He stopped. A quizzical look crossed his face, and then he burst into laughter. "A thousand apologies, my good fellow!" he shouted, and clapped his hands. "Please … ha! The penalty for not keeping track of one's mental perambulations! You have not been aware of the case on which I have been working. It is solved. I have these last few minutes sent word to our constabulary friends by telegram of where and why the culprit may be apprehended."

I was relieved that I had not been missing something so obvious. I forced myself to straighten up and, importantly, close my mouth which had obviously been such a source of amusement to Holmes as I had pondered what he had been saying.

"I am glad to hear it. But – Holmes – it is ten o'clock, we will be needing to meet Arthur at the station! And if you think that a visit to Portsmouth is definitely required, then we need to pack!"

"I am already done, Watson," he replied with a smile, pointing to a small valise on the table.

It had been a little while since I had seen Arthur. "I feel quite ready for a seaside visit, Holmes – even in dubious circumstances. The London air can be noisome sometimes."

"Hmm. Not as noisome as our likely company on the journey. You had better organise First Class tickets, my friend. Whilst I am grateful for their role in defending the Empire, I do not relish the prospect of two hours in the company of matelots."

I started to pack a small bag with my immediate requirements. Service life had taught me to be ready for anything, at a moment's notice, and not to be caught by surprise – yet it sometimes amazed me that accounts which on the surface seemed similar could result in completely different reactions from my friend.

"Tell me, Holmes, why this case?" I called from my room. "Is it because of Doctor Conan Doyle's standing as my friend? You have received similar messages before and have taken no interest in them."

"Nothing so complicated as that!" exclaimed Holmes, standing in the doorway watching me pack. He did not offer to assist. "No, as I said, it is the lack of demeanour in the man's writing that fascinates me. Let me put it this way. You and he are both medical men. From what I have seen, your type – if I may refer to you as such – do not scare easily. You have been through much, and seen much. For him to write so stridently and with such urgency must mean he is in some terror of the thing that has befallen him."

"I would support any testimony he gives. He is completely trustworthy."

"Indeed," mused Holmes, "He uses a most welcome minimum of verbiage to convey his message." He held the telegram in his hand, re-reading the contents. "I would imagine that, for a doctor, he writes quite clearly. Unlike someone I could mention." He smiled at me.

"I am often in a hurry as I prescribe, you know that," I laughed, pausing in my packing.

"That's not what I am referring to."

"Oh..?"

"I have seen them – the journal entries you are keeping."

I admit I was taken aback at the revelation that Holmes was aware of my activity. "I'm sorry; it's a habit I got into during my military posting. It is useful to record one's thoughts and sensations, so that recollecting them later, for an inquiry perhaps, can be made easier."

"To what end are you making these journals now, then?"

I thought for a moment, and decided honesty was the best policy. "I thought perhaps, that I could record some of your methods."

Holmes was clearly surprised. "Why on earth would you want to do that?"

"Holmes, even if you do not see it yourself – and I find that hard to believe, you seem well aware of the esteem you are held in by those whom you graciously assist with their trifles – others could learn much from a study of your techniques. And you yourself said but a few minutes ago that you had forgotten that you had not told me about the case you have just solved."

Holmes thought about this for a moment. "We will discuss this later," he said finally, and returned to his chair by the window.

I finished packing in silence, and then took my accustomed place in the chair opposite Holmes. We lit our pipes and settled back in comfort, waiting for the cab to arrive.

"Do you know what sort of a place Portsmouth is?" Holmes asked.

"A great naval city," I replied. "Home to some two hundred thousand souls. Busy, but in a different way to London. The sea air, you see – right on the coast. The town is built on an island, facing the open waters of the English Channel to the south, and on the east and west sides by shallow harbours. The island is separated from the mainland along its northern side by a narrow creek, heavily fortified."

"And the naval base is where?"

It amused me slightly that Sherlock Holmes' knowledge of geography was so limited. Here was a man who could tell the route of a traveller by the mud on his shoes, and yet was unaware of the history of our greatest port. Although, of course, ever since I had first met him he had repeatedly amazed me with his lack of knowledge – or care – in the most practical matters; that the earth moved around the Sun, rather than vice versa, for example.

"In the south-west corner of the island, Holmes. The oldest part of the town faces its neighbour, Gosport, across a narrow channel forming the mouth of the harbour, the deep channel being not more than a hundred yards wide. Just to the north of the town itself, and protected by this narrow harbour entrance, lies the vastness of the dockyard – hundreds of acres of busy industry. Every day dozens of ships of the line pass through that narrow entrance, leaving for destinations as required to protect the Empire. It is said that the whole town works in that place – a little fanciful, perhaps, but certainly the vast majority. It's very much the home of Her Majesty's Royal Navy, Holmes."

"It sounds a grim place."

"It's true the dockyard and the areas around about it are somewhat cramped. There are many public drinking houses – and worse - to cater for the workers and the crews of visiting ships. Those areas have a reputation for the darker excesses of human nature. But get away from the immediate environs and it's as pleasant a place as you could hope for. The southern side of the island is becoming quite popular with those who wish to spend their time by the seaside. Hotels, boarding houses and shops are springing up on what used to be the farmland adjoining the beach. Arthur has rooms in a very serviceable apartment facing the old fortifications on Hampshire Terrace. Oh, I think that after a few days you will find it pleasant enough."

This was clearly the wrong thing to say to my friend. "I cannot be away from the metropolis too long, Watson!" he exclaimed. "Lestrade and Gregson will come to blows without me! But also I cannot ignore the obvious distress of your friend. It is a matter of honour. Ah! The cab arrives. Come, Watson, to Waterloo Bridge Station, and your anxious friend."