After two chapters of bickering, we're finally doing something different. Unfortunately, it's a really short chapter. My apologies.
For a few moments, silence reigned in that little room. The sun was just peeking above the houses across the street, casting the parlor in a dusty orange light. I began to wonder whether I should have left Baker Street at all. I might have been at home with a nice bit of beef that Mrs. Hudson had made up and Holmes could have gone on this fruitless excursion by himself. I wasn't really welcome, after all. The only function I was serving was as a tool for Holmes to promote his self-worth, which was naturally high to begin with. As I sat there, wondering when the next train to London would be, Holmes rose to his feet.
"Well, I suppose I had better visit mother before the evening is out," he said as he put on his hat. These words surprised me as I had assumed that Holmes' mother would have been living in the same house with his father. Indeed, his father had been referencing her from the beginning as if she were in the next room. "Mycroft?" said Holmes, turning to his brother, who was now busying himself with refilling his glass of port. "Do you intend to come with me?"
"I have already visited her today," Mycroft replied without looking up from his work. He took a sip of his drink before adding, "Did a bit of cleaning up while I was there."
"Then I suppose I shall go alone," Holmes said with a resigned air. Suddenly, his gaze hit upon me. "That is, unless, Dr. Watson wishes to join me."
"If it is not too much of an intrusion," said I, eager to meet this mysterious woman.
"Not in the least, I shall be glad for the company," replied Holmes, taking me warmly by the shoulder. He turned to Mycroft and asked, "Do we still have that trap we used as boys?"
"Yes, but you'll have to borrow Mr. Barker's pony," Mycroft replied.
Holmes dismissed this concern with a smile and a wave of his hand. "I can handle Mr. Barker. Where is the trap?"
"It ought to be just behind the garden wall. You can get it out through the side gate, I believe, though I don't see why you can't walk."
"You are growing slow, Mycroft," said Holmes. "I do not want the trap merely to go visit mother. That distance is easily walkable, as you so suggest. I wish to show Watson the town while we're here and, as you are no doubt aware, his leg proves troublesome at times due to the Afghan War."
Mycroft merely shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, once again sitting down with a glass of port. "I know nothing I say can persuade you when you're like this."
And thus it happened that I was loaded into a small open air trap by Holmes, who took careful pains to make sure my left leg was properly supported. He then led a small, but hearty looking brown pony between the shafts, attached the breast collar and neck strap, then leapt into the carriage with the bridle in his hands. I could see now how Holmes could so easily disguise himself as a horseman. The thing had all been completed within the space of five minutes and the animal moved under his guidance as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He gave a little slap with the reins and the pony began to move forward.
"Holmes," said I as his house disappeared behind us. "You know that it's my shoulder that was wounded in the Afghan War, don't you?"
"Yes, Watson."
"Then why did you tell Mycroft that it's my leg that gives me trouble?"
"Because," said Holmes. "A wounded shoulder does not require a trap."
Where is Holmes taking Watson? He really ought to be a little more candid with him after putting him through his family disputes-but then is Sherlock Holmes ever explicitly candid when there's a mystery around?
Reviews appreciated as always.