B. Introductions
Power is the only game worth playing.
People are either players or non-players. Most people are non-players and they don't matter much except in how they can be used to manipulate the players. Case in point, Irene Adler. She was a non-player but she was used by Moriarty to manipulate those in power. A good player knows his weaknesses and learns to watch them. I have my own weaknesses. An appreciation of fine dining being one. My little brother, Sherlock, being another.
When I heard that Sherlock had a new flatmate, it was vital that I assess him. He could be a spy sent to manipulate me through my brother. He could be a tool that I could use. Either way, I would be negligent indeed if I ignored this threat.
That was why on an evening when I should have been relaxing and having a brandy at the Diogenes club, I found myself sitting in my car parked in an abandoned warehouse looking at CCTV camera data of a crime scene in Brixton.
It was the cane that first alerted me that I had spotted Dr. Watson. He was standing beside a police car. A woman was talking to him. Sally Donovan, I think that she was called. She was probably warning John to stay away from Sherlock. Good advice.
So, not just a flatmate. This man was someone whom Sherlock brought along on cases. As a child, Sherlock would never show a puzzle book to anyone until he had solved the whole thing. He had to solve them first himself, and if I gave him the smallest amount of help he would bawl and cry and throw the book across the room, so annoying. That's why I found this so odd.
Dr. Watson started to walk away, possibly looking for a taxi, so I looked up the phone number of the booth next to him and dialed. He walked past without even noticing. I rang one phone and then the other, but he ignored them. Eventually he noticed, entering a red phone booth and picking up the receiver.
"Hello" he said.
"There is a security camera on the building to your left, do you see it?" I said.
"Who's this." Watson replied. "Who's speaking."
"Do you see the camera, Dr. Watson?"
Watson looked up at the camera. "Yeah I see it."
"Watch." I said pushing a control and making it turn away. Even with the poor resolution of the cameras, I could see the furrowing of his brows. The way he looked anxiously from side to side. I continued. "There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?"
Watson looked up.
"And finally at the top of the building on your right."
"How are you doing this?" Watson said nervously.
"Get into the car, Dr Watson." I told him.
I had meant to be reassuring. I wanted him to know that our meeting would be held in the strictest of confidence, but I could see from his expression that this is not the way that he took it. So I changed tack.
"I would make some sort of threat, but I am sure your situation is quite clear to you." I disconnected the line.
I had a chair brought out, and I chose the correct distance to stand from it. Close enough to see his facial expressions clearly, yet far enough so that he could not attack me before I could defend myself using the blade that I have concealed in my umbrella. Cliché, I know, but useful.
I had Agnes in the car with him to scan him for weapons and give me her assessment. I have found that the presence of a beautiful woman relaxes a man, well, a heterosexual man. I texted Agnes.
[What is he doing?]
[He's chatting me up. I told him my name is Anthea.]
[Anthea? epithet of Hera, queen of the Gods.]
[Yes. We're almost there]
I must admit that I was a bit anxious. Sherlock has many … endearing qualities, but patience is not one of them. Stupid people bore him as they do me. The fact that Sherlock valued this man highly enough to offer him half of his new flat, was, frankly, surprising. So I took my most debonair pose and waited.
The car pulled up, and Dr. Watson got out. He limped toward me. His form was hidden at first by the glare of the car's headlights. I greeted him cordially. "Have a seat, John."
"You know, I've got a phone. I mean, very clever and all that but ... you could just phone me, on my phone." Dr. Watson began.
"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place. Your leg must be hurting you, sit down."
"I don't want to sit down." He said angrily.
I knew then that the psychiatrist was right about the anger, the repression, and the psychosomatic limp. He looked as if he wanted to reach out and strangle me. It was exhilarating. "You don't seem very afraid." I said.
"You don't seem very frightening."
He was so reckless, I laughed. This was the type of man John Watson was. The type who ran toward danger. "Yes," I said, "The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity do you think?" Then I got straight to the point. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"
"I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him ...yesterday."
Yesterday? Was this another one of Sherlock's stunts, or was there actually something special about this man? "Mmm, and since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"
John glared at me. The inside brows near his nose furrowed in an expression of controlled annoyance. I once saw a similar expression on the face of a tiger before it brought down an elephant. "Who are you?" he asked.
"An interested party."
"Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends."
There was that word again, friend. "You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has?"
John pursed his lips. Annoyed again.
"I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having." I said honestly.
" And what is that?" He returned quickly, anger on the tip of his tongue though he kept his voice calm and low.
"An enemy," I replied.
"An enemy?" He said.
"In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic."
John turned his face aside and then looked me in the eye saying, "Well thank God you're above all that."
I wanted to laugh, but I could not, so I hid it in a frown. Just then John received a text. Could it be that Sherlock had found us already? No. It was a coincidence. John looked down at his phone.
"I hope I'm not distracting you." I said irritated. I must say that I am unaccustomed to having someone put texting before a conversation with me.
"Not distracting me at all." He said still glancing at his phone.
Now I am not, for the most part, a vain man. Our mother did insist on a certain meticulousness about our dress. But I am not the sort of person who puts himself forward in a social situation. Even so, I do expect that when I am talking to someone, especially when I am threatening someone, that they will give me their full attention. I asked him, "Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"
John Watson glared past me saying, "I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business."
"It could be." I said.
"It really couldn't" He replied insolently.
I must say that it was difficult to keep a smile off of my face. This man, a non-player, in a situation where he had no power. Despite the cameras, despite the cars, he was facing me down! I wanted to applaud him, "Bravo!" but now was time for the bribe.
I reached into my pocket for my notepad. "If you do move into, two hundred and twenty one B Baker street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."
"Why?"
"Because you're not a wealthy man."
"In exchange for what?"
"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel ...uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."
"Why?" John countered.
I decided to tell him the truth, " I worry about him, constantly."
"That's nice of you." John said sarcastically.
"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a...difficult relationship."
Then another text interrupted our discussion. I was beginning to feel that I was losing control. John tightened his lips and spat out the word. "No!"
"But I haven't mentioned a figure?"
"Don't bother." he responded.
"You're very loyal very quickly." I said disbelieving.
"No, I'm not, I'm just not interested." John said holding his anger in check.
It seemed time for another show of power. "Trust issues...it says here."
John swallowed narrowing his eyes. Finally, his cool facade was shattered, "What's that?" he asked.
I pretended to read as I questioned him, "Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"
"Who says I trust him?"
"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily." I read.
The anger rose again, "Are we done?"
Dr. Watson looked even more dangerous than before. "You tell me."
John Watson tilted his head the same way that a cobra does before it strikes, then he turned to walk away.
I felt... something when he was leaving. Panic is the closest word to it. I couldn't let him go like that. I needed more time. I needed ... I could tell that he was the kind of man who couldn't leave an question unanswered.
"I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him." I said to his back. "But I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen."
As I hoped, he slowed his step and turned around. "My what?" he asked.
"Show me."
Resisting all the way, John held up his hand. I walked toward him, slowly.
I suppose that this was the first time that I noticed my attraction to Dr. John Watson. I had already gotten all of the information that I needed from him. I had noticed the steadiness of his hand from across the room. There was no logical reason for me to touch him except that I wanted to.
I reached out. "Don't" John said pulling away. I gave him a knowing stare, and he let me touch him.
I placed John's hand between the two of mine. They were compact hands, rough, manly, yet uncallused, the hands of a learned man, a doctor. There were delicate hairs on the back of his fingers. Little dimples formed on his skin as he stretched them trying, ever so subtly to avoid contact. I pushed his fingers against my palm. Not because it proved anything, but because I wanted to touch him, to feel him, to verify to myself that men such as John Watson existed.
"Remarkable." I said.
John pulled his hand away. "What is?"
I turned to hide my disappointment. I said, "Most people blunder 'round this city and all they see are streets or shops or cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield. You've seen it already. Haven't you?"
"What's wrong with my hand?" John said. For a moment he seemed almost open.
I said. "You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand." John nodded, "Your therapist thinks that it's post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service."
"Who the hell are you?" He yelled before clamping down on his anger again. "How do you know that?"
"Fire her." I said, "She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now, and your hand is perfectly steady. You're not haunted by the war, Dr. Watson...you miss it."
"Welcome back." I whispered before turning and walking away. John stood at attention waiting for me to leave. The trigger finger of his left hand extended as if he wished he held a gun.
"Time to choose a side, Dr. Watson." I said, and I heard another of those annoying text beeps. I knew then that it was definitely Sherlock texting him. Sherlock was incredibly impatient.
As I climbed into my car, I tried to get a handle on the interview but I could not. My own feelings were getting in the way. I was happy, unusually so. I may even have spun my umbrella. I had just met a man that could not be bought?
I was astonished. I felt like Diogenes of Sinope having just met an honest man. I am a founding member of the Diogenes club after all. We are, for the most part, a cynical bunch and yet...
I understood, finally, why Sherlock would accept this man as a flatmate. He was loyal, dangerous to attack, and now he was Sherlock's man through and through. But I knew that I would not rest until he became MY man. They always did in the end.