Chapter Sixteen
John and William sat in a back room of the meeting hall, each of them tense and nervous. It had been a week since Molly had been in her car accident, and during that time, the three of them—along with Greg—had worked ceaselessly to give life to Sherlock Holmes. Greg had forged case reports, John had made room at Baker Street, and Molly…well, Molly mainly put in ideas; William had insisted she rest her leg. There were several times that John wished William did have a brother in the government; it would make this process a whole lot easier.
Thankfully, William's centuries of knowledge made up for it. He was an expert at disguises, false identities and forged documents. In fact, their first day of work, William had come back with a personal identity card for William Sherlock Scott Holmes.
"Where did you get that so quickly?" asked John in surprise from his seat at the living room table of 221B. He yanked the card from William's hand to examine it.
"A magician never reveals his secrets, John," said William smugly.
John rolled his eyes. "Well, hopefully, you can use some of that magic over here. I'm having trouble arranging fake evidence of a trip to Norfolk for the case in The Adventure of the Dancing Men. Help a fellow out?"
By the end of the week, they had collectively worked out every bit of evidence they would need to corroborate their story and give William an identity. They had also worked on his name.
"Will—I mean, Sherlock!" said Molly as he walked into her hospital room to help her check out.
"Molly, I told you, you can still call me William," he told her, placing the bag with her change of clothes on the end of the bed.
"I know, but if it's going to be believable that you go by your middle name instead of your first, then your friends should be calling you by that name," Molly explained. "We did set up the full name so it could be explain if we slip, but—"
William silenced her with a kiss. "Has anyone ever told you that you worry too much?"
Molly smiled at him as she relaxed.
"That's actually very smart, Molly," William told her. "I will tell John and Greg. Now, let's get you out of that gown."
Molly gave him a look.
"I did not mean it like that, although I would not be adverse to the idea," said William. "You'll need help changing with that leg."
So, they had strived to only call him "Sherlock" in order to get used to it. And it went very well. There were hardly ever any slip-ups anymore.
The third thing they worked on was William's possessions. Due to John's accumulated book sales income, they were able to purchase belongings for William at Baker Street: a bed, a dresser, clothes, toiletries, a mobile phone, a laptop, a violin, and other such items. John had even presented a gift to William the morning of the press release: a complete set of laboratory equipment.
William stared in shock at the microscope, Petri dishes, test tubes, slides, Bunsen burner— "John…this is…"
John smiled. "I thought it the best way to keep away the boredom, for the most part."
William had no words, this not really being his area of expertise. Instead, he had simply stepped up to him and given him a brief hug.
"You're welcome," said John as William let him go. "Well…shall we?"
An hour later, and they had found themselves here, waiting for the press release to start. William looked every inch the part of Sherlock Holmes, complete with his coat and scarf from his angelic existence. Molly sat in the chair next to him, holding his hand.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Greg asked John as he paced the room. "You're about to become the most famous man in Britain."
"Well, second famous," said John from his seat, glancing at William.
William's mouth twitched into a smile at the corner.
John glanced up at Greg before looking at William. "As long as you're sure."
William looked over at him. "I'm sure." He glanced at Molly. "As long as—"
"I told you before, Sherlock," said Molly warmly. "I don't care about the tabloids. Let them print whatever they want."
"Then we're all in agreement," said Greg with a smile. "In that case…" he stepped forward, proffering a moderate-sized, gift-wrapped lump, "here."
William frowned as he accepted it. "What's this for?"
"Let's just say, the Yard appreciates all of your work over the years," said Greg with a smirk.
William smiled a little as he ripped open the paper, pulling out the gift. He laughed a little as he stared at the object that had begun to grow synonymous with the name Sherlock Holmes, despite John never having written it into the stores: a deerstalker.
William glanced up at Greg. "I hope you don't expect me to wear this out there."
"I don't," said Greg.
William glanced down at it, smiling fondly before pocketing it in his coat. "Thank you."
"Inspector Lestrade."
They looked up to see the woman from John's publishing office in the doorway.
"We're ready to begin," she told them.
John glanced over at William. "Ready?"
William nodded. "Time to go and be Sherlock Holmes."
John smiled as he stood and headed for the door. William helped Molly to stand as Greg handed her the crutches. Molly made her way out the door, and the four of them followed the publisher representative down the hall. They rounded the corner to the door that would take them into the conference room and waited while the representative led Molly down the hall to seat her in the audience.
"Thank you for doing this," William spoke up.
John and Greg looked over at him.
William looked over at John. "I know you value your privacy."
"Hey, I was thinking of doing it anyway, remember?" John assured him. "Besides, I was starting to get bored."
William smiled as he looked over at Greg. "And your job—"
"—will be fine," Greg interrupted. "I worked hard to make my way up from nothing. They respect me too much to fire me."
William nodded gratefully, preparing himself for what was to come. This was it; no turning back. Once that door was open, their fate was set. And William couldn't be more excited.
The rep came back to the hall, approaching the door and looking back at them.
William gestured towards the door. "After you, my dear Watson."
John smiled and chuckled a little. "Thank you, Holmes." He nodded at the woman, who opened the door and walked through it.
A cacophony of voices and camera flashes burst into life as the representative walked into the room, followed by John and then William and then Greg. She approached the small podium as the three men took the seats behind her. William glanced all around the room, which was teeming with mostly reporters but also many eager civilians. Apparently, Sherlock Holmes was as popular as John and Molly claimed him to be. William sought out Molly's reassuring presence in the first row, smiling at her as she smiled back.
The representative let the hundreds of questions continue while she arranged her paperwork before she raised her hand for silence. It took a moment, but everyone eventually calmed down.
"As you're aware, we have called this conference to deliver news about the Sherlock Holmes franchise," the rep began. "We were contacted two days ago by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, requesting a press conference in order to reveal his true identity."
A hurricane of noise burst through the room at that, which she let carry on until it died down again. Many of the reporters were now focusing on William, John and Greg, trying to figure out which one he might be.
The rep held up a sealed document envelope. "I carry Sir Doyle's contract, and I can assure you that this man is indeed the author of the Sherlock Holmes stories." She lowered the envelope. "I will now turn the floor over to him." She took the envelope in her hands and took her seat next to John.
John took a moment to ready himself as the crowd held their breath in anticipation. He glanced at William, who gave him an encouraging smile, and then got to his feet.
Cameras went mad and reporters fired question after question as John approached the podium, placing his hands on it. He raised a hand, and the crowd grew silent.
John lowered his hand. "You all know me as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It was a pseudonym I chose to maintain my anonymity. My real name is Dr. John Watson." He raised a hand before the noise could start again. "And, yes, I based the character of Dr. Watson on myself, and for a very good reason."
John paused a moment before plowing on. "I did not just call this press conference to reveal my identity to the public. I called it on request by a very good friend." He turned and gestured towards William.
William got to his feet and joined John at the podium.
John looked back at the audience. "He has told me of his desire to announce his identity as well. He was a very integral part of my writing, and I couldn't have done it without him."
Everyone was practically leaning forward in their seats.
John let the hammer fall. "This is Sherlock Holmes."
The explosion of noise dwarfed everything that came before it. There was hardly a break in the camera flashes.
"Yes…" said John in a loud voice to calm them down, "yes, the stories are all true. Sherlock and I have known each other for years, and we've been solving cases just as long. The only thing I changed for the stories was the time period and the details of the cases to protect our clients."
One reporter stood from his seat, eager to be heard. "If you've been solving all these cases, where's the proof?"
John turned to face the seats behind him. "Greg…"
Greg stood and took John's place at the podium. "As the public knows, I am Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard, and, yes, I am the Lestrade from the stories. Mr. Holmes has worked with us for a number of years and has been extremely helpful on the more difficult cases." He stepped back from the podium and sat back down.
Another reporter stood. "How do we know you're really the Sherlock Holmes?"
William stepped forward towards the microphone on the podium. "Because I am. Surely if the author is telling you I'm real, that should be enough."
"But how do we know?" he asked.
William gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "A demonstration, yes?"
The crowd became more eager as William's eyes roamed over them. Picking out a few in particular, he pointed at them as he announced his deductions.
William pointed at a female reporter in the center of the crowd. "Divorced—" his finger moved to a man at the end of a row as he spoke quickly, "recently quit smoking—" his finger moved to a young woman in the first row, "Titanic enthusiast—" he moved on to a male reporter in the middle of the crowd, "just bankrupted himself on a new car—" and he pointed at a woman close to the front before lowering his hand, "serial adulterer."
The crowd glanced at each person that had been pointed out before looking back at William.
John leaned towards him a little. "You might want to tell them how you got each of those."
William huffed out a sigh before gesturing to the divorced reporter and speaking very quickly. "The lighter skin at the base of her left ring finger suggests that she wore a wedding ring there for many years. If she was a widow, she'd be wearing it on a chain around her neck—people do; sentiment—but she's not. Therefore, divorced."
He gestured to the ex-smoker. "Nicotine stains on the fingertips, very anxious and jittery—aching for a smoke—and he keeps scratching at his left inner arm, where he's put a nicotine patch."
He pointed to the Titanic enthusiast. "Two pins on her shirt, one with the numbers, four dash fifteen dash twelve, and the phrase 'We will never forget.' Obviously, a tragedy happened on this date. Coupled with the second pin, which contains the emblem for the White Star Line, this is obviously referring to a disaster at sea. So, which ship came to ruin on April 15 in a year ending in twelve? The Titanic."
He gestured to bankrupt car owner. "The keychain sticking out of his pocket is printed with the logo for the new Mazda3. That model only came out last month, and an expensive one at that. But based on the wardrobe he's wearing, it isn't a usual habit of his to spend this much money. Most likely, he just spent his entire life savings on that car."
He then moved on to the adulterous woman in the front. "Her wedding ring is filthy. However, the rest of her jewelry is regularly cleaned. State of her marriage right there. She's been absently moving it up and down her finger this whole time. If it stayed on all the time, she wouldn't give it a second thought. Her unconscious fiddling with it suggests that it's regularly removed. Serial adulterer."
William then pointed towards one side of the audience. "And—" He stopped himself, lowering his hand. "Oh…" He smirked to himself and then looked at the rest of the audience. "One more, yes?" He hopped down from the stage.
The reporters all fidgeted in their seats, some moving cameras his way, as he nonchalantly made his way along the first row.
"You've been having some trouble with one of your cases recently, haven't you, Inspector?" said William.
"A bit, yeah," said Greg with a frown as he stood.
John stepped forward a bit, recognizing something in William's eyes.
William had reached the end of the row and began moving back along the seats. "How fortunate that he should be stupid enough to actually come here, not that anyone knew I would be here, but still…" He slowed as he reached the middle of the audience. "If I were wanted for murder, I wouldn't be caught at a public venue surrounded by so many reporters."
Greg stepped up next to John, his hand slowly moving to his holster.
William suddenly spun back towards the stage. "It's your lucky day, Lestrade. I just found you the Cornwall Strangler." He clapped his hand on the shoulder of the man sitting on the end of the row next to him.
The crowd gasped as the man jumped from his chair, knocking William's hand from his shoulder and using the element of surprise to wrestle William off balance and grab his scarf. As the man tightened the scarf, William clutched at it, trying to gasp in air.
"Sherlock!" John yelled, jumping down from the stage with Greg right behind him.
William pulled at the scarf as it crushed his windpipe, trying to knock the man off, but the strangler had the upper hand. John charged forward, hurtling himself into the man. John and the strangler hit the ground as William collapsed onto all fours, yanking his scarf away from his neck and coughing as he sucked in oxygen.
Greg aimed his gun at the man as John held him down. "You got him?"
"Yeah," said John, holding the man's arms down.
Greg holstered his gun and pulled his handcuffs out, cuffing the man.
John immediately ran over to William. "Sherlock, you okay?"
William coughed as he nodded. "I'm fine."
John leaned in close as he helped him up, whispering. "You're not invincible anymore, remember?"
William coughed. "I remember." He looked up to see Molly hobbling towards him on her crutches, a frantic look on her face. He stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms.
Molly let the crutches fall as she hugged him tight. "I thought—"
"I'm fine," William reassured her. "I promise." He ran a hand through her hair, trying to get her to calm down.
"Mr. Holmes, who's the girl?"
"Are you two dating?"
William pulled back from Molly, registering that the camera flashes were going wild. He smiled down at Molly before looking over at the crowd of reporters. "No comment."
"Why the secrecy?"
"Why hide the truth all these years?"
"Because John deserved some downtime after his years in the war," William answered curtly. "He expressed that desire, and I honored it because I knew it wouldn't be long before he craved the thrill of the chases once again."
Questions began being fired off again, but William raised his voice.
"And if you don't mind, I have experiments that need tending to," said William, fetching the crutches and handing them to Molly.
John watched as William escorted Molly towards the door.
"Mr. Holmes!" many reporters called out to his back.
John glanced at them and back to William. No, not William, not anymore.
From this moment on, he was now Sherlock Holmes.
John stepped in front of the reporters as Molly and Sherlock headed out of the room. "I think that's enough for today. If you have any further questions, talk to my agent." He gestured to the publisher representative. "Otherwise, you can reach us at 221B Baker Street." He turned and made his way out after his two friends.
Winding his way back through the hall, John entered the back room to find Molly taking a look at Sherlock's throat, which had begun to turn pink.
"See?" said Sherlock, placing his hand over hers. "I'm fine."
"You weren't…" Molly's voice trailed off as her eyes teared up. "The sound of it…"
Sherlock wrapped her in his arms. "I'm sorry."
"Is this what it's going to be like?" asked Molly. "Watching you being almost killed every other case?"
Sherlock hesitated. "I won't lie to you; it will be dangerous."
Molly stifled a sob.
"But I think we can both agree that John will always be there to save my life," Sherlock told her, glancing up at the doctor.
John smiled at him. "Well, I owe you that much."
Molly pulled away and looked at him. "Thank you, John."
The door opened behind him, and John turned to see Mary closing it behind her.
Mary stalked over and gave his arm a whack. "You never told me you were behind the phenomenon that is Sherlock Holmes!"
"Technically, I am," said Sherlock.
Mary put her hands on her hips. "I can tell when you're fibbing, William."
"Well, that is his name," John told her. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes."
"I'm not stupid, you know," said Mary. "Something's going on."
John fumbled for his words for a moment before Sherlock came to his rescue.
"I asked John to go along with it," said Sherlock.
John and Molly looked at him in surprise.
"The whole 'starting over with a new identity' thing," said Sherlock nonchalantly, giving Mary a significant look.
Mary's glare dropped as she stared at him.
"I hope you can understand that, Mary," muttered Sherlock slowly.
Mary stared at him another moment before narrowing her eyes as she turned slowly towards John.
John waved his hands defensively in front of him. "I didn't. I swear."
"Not to worry, Mary," Sherlock assured her. "John is very tight-lipped. Except around me."
Mary crossed her arms and cocked her head at John.
"No, no, I—" began John before pointing at Sherlock. "He turned me onto it in the first place."
"Onto what?" asked Molly.
All three of them turned their heads towards her. "Nothing."
Molly crossed her own arms and raised her brows pointedly at Sherlock.
Sherlock began to fidget under her gaze, his eyes darting away from hers. After a moment, he glanced up at her and then over at Mary in anguish, the question in his eyes.
Mary sighed as she rolled her eyes. "Oh, go ahead."
Only one chapter to go! Now, this one may take a couple weeks. It's finals time. But it's on its way!