This chapter is dedicated to KCS, for doing a favour or two. Hope you all like it!
Theft: Watson's POV
Holmes and I had decided to go out that weekend, to go and celebrate what I called jokingly "The Resurrection" and my return to Baker Street
Holmes and I had decided to go out that weekend, to go and celebrate what I called jokingly "The Resurrection" and my return to Baker Street. We found a quiet Italian restaurant across Regent's Park, who were more than happy to accept us with our news and treated us very well.
Holmes sat (instinctively with his back to the wall so he could see out to all the people) and his eyes glittered at me mischievously. "It is indeed like the old days."
"Very much so."
"London is still changing as it always did. It was a predictable thing for it to do, really, to change like that." He looked at the people on the table next to us as if they should have been recognisable.
"You still look the same, old chap. Though do I spot a grey hair or two?"
"Alas, I'm too proud to dye those flecks around my temples. Your observational skills are coming on a little, though Watson. That seems about all that has changed about you. I can still surprise you."
"You demonstrated that fairly well."
"That I did."
"Once would have been enough."
"I can still cajole you into coming out on dangerous errands."
"You can cajole me into doing a lot of things, I assure you. I take it I'm going to be the one paying?"
"If you would be so kind, Watson, I have been out of work for a long while, and that last case had no financial benefit."
"Very well."
A waiter came and took our order, interrupting us. Holmes looked up at him and smiled in a very odd way.
When he had gone, Holmes asked, "Can I really cajole you so well?"
"Why?" I asked suspiciously.
"Oh, no reason. Just wondering."
Our food came quickly, Holmes picking some skimpy pasta dish (it didn't even have any meat) and I had risotto. There were only brief pauses to eat, however, Holmes hardly allowed me to eat for all his talk. At one point, the outer edge of my plate had gone stone cold in between mouthfuls. Holmes himself seemed to be wasting my money, and I had to nag him to even eat half of the bowl in front of him.
When our neighbours' puddings came on a trolley, Holmes looked at me daringly.
"Watson?"
"Yes?"
"Will you chat to that good waiter for a while?"
"Why?"
"Does it matter? I just need to do something." He got up. "Oh, and get the bill." He picked up his long coat and he left me there, heading towards the edge of the room, where the doors to the toilets and kitchens were. I hardly had any time; however, the waiter was beginning to leave.
"Excuse me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Um, this was the best pasta my friend has ever tried."
"Thank you, sir. I'll be sure to tell the chef." He started to leave again. Desperate, I grabbed the poor man's sleeve.
"Can you tell me what it is that is so, um, tomatoey, in the sauce?"
"The tomatoes, sir."
"Can you tell me the other ingredients?"
"Not really, sir, it's not good for business-"
"But my friend, it's his birthday soon, and I want our housemaid to be able to cook it…" I saw the expression of my captive, and knew I would have very little luck. But out of the corner of my eye I saw Holmes crossing the restaurant.
"No, sir, I'm afraid not. Could you not bring him here for the celebrations?"
"…What celebrations?"
"The birthday, sir."
"Ssh, you don't want to ruin the surprise, here he comes!"
"Sorry sir."
Holmes was now just within earshot. He was trying very hard not to laugh at me, I could see. "Have you not asked for the bill, yet, Watson?" He was wearing his coat, and was clearly anticipating my having been ready to go when he came back. What the deuce he had wanted me to talk to the waiter for, I didn't know.
"No, Holmes. Sorry."
The waiter straightened up, and I relinquished my grip from his sleeve. "I'll go and get it, sir."
He came back very quickly, and in a minute we were outside, the poor man probably glad to be rid of us.
"Care to explain, Holmes?"
"Explain what?"
I frowned at him.
"I honestly don't know what you are talking about, Watson."
We carried on walking and I left the topic alone, clearly one of Holmes' eccentricities.
When we got into our rooms, I sat in my armchair while Holmes put away his coat and hat.
"Watson, Watson, what shall we do now?" he said, sitting in his own armchair, reaching with his long arms to the Persian slipper to get tobacco (he had had to refill it- the three year old tobacco had tasted awful). He lit his pipe, and by the light of the match, I saw him properly.
He was wearing a waiter's outfit.
"Holmes?"
"Well, I didn't need to persuade you much to be my accomplice in petty theft."
"Theft?"
"Well, you were distracting the only waiter on duty- it was very quiet, no?- while I went to the kitchens and stole a waiter's outfit. I needed a new disguise. Do you remember when I told you I had a number of guises throughout London, like the old sea captain? Well, now they are quite out of date. So I needed a new one, and not in the same place. Hence the suit. It fits quite well."
"But Holmes, how did you get it out?"
"I was wearing it."
"No you- oh, under the coat."
"Precisely."