Prompt from TemporarilyAbaft - An unexpected visitor drops by 221B one morning…
Visitors of the Unexpected Kind
John Watson rose somewhat later than his usual wont that particular seventeenth of December. He washed and shaved and put on fresh clothes as he did every morning. It was nearing eight o'clock and he was feeling peckish. Coffee with breakfast certainly sounded a good idea. He went down the short flight of stairs from his bedroom to the sitting room, smelling the pungent scent of Holmes' special blend of shag tobacco. Even for Holmes it was a bit early for a pipe. Something was up.
"Good morning, Holmes," Watson said, crossing the room to the small dining table.
Holmes was sitting in his usual place, but unlike most mornings he did not have his nose buried in the latest edition of the Times or London Gazette. He was staring fixedly in the direction of the fireplace and puffing away at his pipe. Watson frowned and turned. He blinked. He blinked again. The reality or surreality of the situation crashed in on him and he jumped for the large desk, scrabbling at the drawer containing his revolver.
"Watson!" Holmes cried springing to his feet. "No!"
"But, Holmes!" Watson cried, finally getting the drawer to open. His hand lunged in and wrapped around the grip of his weapon.
"Do not, Watson!" Holmes cried, crossing to place himself between his friend and the creature lounging in front of the fire. "I've just fed him and he is quite docile."
"Get out of the way, Holmes!" warned the doctor.
"It would take more than one bullet to kill him, Watson," Holmes said. "Before you could fire twice he would be upon you and I doubt much that I would be able to save you or myself at that point."
Watson panted in deep breaths and looked around his friend and longtime flat mate. The creature, whatever it was, had raised its massive, froglike head and was looking at the pair of them sleepily.
"What is it?" Watson asked in a calmer tone.
"I cannot be certain, but I believe it may be a Barsoomian calot," said Holmes, turning to look over his shoulder at the pony-sized beast.
"A… A what?" Watson demanded incredulously.
"A Martian war dog, Watson," Holmes replied. "Now put away that revolver of yours while I try to understand this situation."
"A Martian war dog?" Watson demanded more stridently. He looked past Holmes again and examined the beast. Roughly the size of a Shetland pony with a distinctly froglike head, red eyes, a bristling black mane of quill-like hair, ten short legs and hairless skin the color of over ripe olives. "Just what in the name Zeus' elbow is a Martian war dog doing in our sitting room, Holmes? Did you let it in here?"
"I couldn't very well leave it on the landing for Mrs. Hudson to find, could I, Watson?"
"And you fed it?" Watson demanded, though he was a little more calm.
"He seemed restive and over curious about… well, about most everything," replied Holmes. "When he began to sample the bearskin rug I understood he had not eaten in some time."
"What did you feed him?" Watson asked, slipping his revolver back into the drawer.
"I'm afraid we will have to purchase two new hams and a new goose to replenish Mrs. Hudson's larder. He swallowed them down without chewing. Bones and all, right down the hatch, as the saying goes." Holmes glanced over his shoulder again and chuckled. "Come on, Watson. Settle yourself at the table and have some coffee. You'll be able to think more clearly once you've had breakfast."
Reluctantly, Watson did as his friend suggested, though, he moved his chair around so that he could keep the large animal in sight while he ate.
"What do you make of this, Watson?" Holmes asked once the doctor had finished his eggs and sliced ham. "I found it around his neck."
Holmes laid a long belt of strange leather in front of Watson. Upon the belt was a buckle wrought of bronze and a circular disk of the same material. Hieroglyphs of some kind were stamped into the disk, but Watson could not make heads or tails of them.
"It looks remarkably like a very large dog's collar, Holmes," said Watson. "It was on the creature?"
"The calot. Yes," said Holmes. "About his neck. I've been studying it for the past twenty minutes."
"And your conclusion?" Watson asked.
"The same as yours," replied Holmes. "I can make nothing of the markings, of course. Nothing to compare them to for translation. Turn the disc over, Watson."
The doctor did and squinted at the markings revealed.
"Woola, J. C., Helium," Watson read aloud.
The creature rose and ambled smoothly over to him, sinking onto its haunches an arm's length away.
"I believe that is his name," observed Holmes.
"Yes…" agreed Watson nervously. "Nice dog. Stay."
Woola cocked his massive head to one side as if trying to understand the human.
"Here, Watson," said Holmes pushing a covered tureen across the table. "Try giving him one of those sausages. See what he does."
"Are you quite mad, Holmes?" Watson asked, glaring at his friend. "The beast might take my arm off."
"Nothing of the kind, old fellow," Holmes snorted. "He accepted two hams and a large goose from me and he was a perfect gentleman about it."
Watson continued to glare at his friend, but saw the amusement in Holmes' eyes. The doctor raised his chin and stiffened his upper lip before removing the lid from the tureen. Woola watched carefully, his mouth opening slightly as Watson selected one of the thick sausages. The calot shifted eagerly, but did not rise.
"Want this?" Watson asked in the tone he usually reserved for very young children.
Woola bounced on his front feet and threw his head up. Clearly he did want the sausage. Hesitantly Watson offered it to him and was startled when the animal's jaws split open nearly three quarters the length of its head. Watson laid the sausage inside the rows and rows and rows of tusks, snatching his fingers back before the jaws close with a snap like an oversized and meaty mouse trap. Woola swallowed and opened his mouth again, virtually squirming with delight. Watson smiled in spite of himself and placed another sausage in the creature's mouth. Three more sausages followed and then Watson was forced to present the empty dish to the calot to prove there were no more to be had. Woola licked the tureen and then pushed his head into Watson's chest as if saying thank you.
"See?" Holmes asked smugly. "A perfect gentleman."
"He does seem rather friendly," Watson agreed with a laugh, attempting to fend off the beast's affection. "Where did he come from, Holmes?"
"Mars, Watson," Holmes replied easily. "There are three questions that I think are far more important."
"And what are those?" Watson asked, finally pushing Woola back and getting him to sit down again.
"The first is: How did our friend get here?" said Holmes relighting his pipe. "Second: How do we get him back?"
"And the third?" Watson asked.
"What the devil do we do with him if we can't?" Holmes settled back in his chair and watched the calot as it sat patiently.
"I have a question you haven't answered yet, Holmes," said Watson.
"And that is?"
"How do you know it is a Martian war dog?" Watson waved his hand at the creature. "What about it tells you it is from Mars? I can see many scars from old battles so the supposition that it is some kind of war dog does not surprise me, but from Mars? From a world we have only glimpsed through the most powerful of astronomical equipment?"
"Have you not read the letters and tales in that American magazine of yours?" Holmes asked a little surprised.
"No," said Watson, glancing over at his chair where the magazine in question lay tucked under several professional journals. "My brother sent that to me. He thought the Yankee adventurism of the stories would appeal to my literary leanings. I much prefer Verne and Wells."
"I confess, Doctor, I felt much the same," Holmes said. "However, lacking other occupation while you were out on your rounds one day, I did page through it. Its contents were of very little interest to me. One story stood out, however. It's the tale of Captain John Carter. It was transcribed by his nephew and reminded me slightly of your style. Only in the broadest strokes, mind you. But in that tale such a creature as the one we have here is described in great detail. What's more, I am nearly certain it is the very creature sitting in front of you now."
"Alright, Holmes," Watson sighed. "Then let's get to your first question."
"There is mention in the tale of an event by which Captain Carter was mysteriously transported to Mars," said Holmes, clinching his pipe between his teeth. "Unfortunately, there are almost no clues as to the nature of the event. It is so vague as to be impossible to recreate. However, it is the only way I can think of that Woola came to be here."
"And that leaves us with no answer to your second question," Watson sighed. He poured himself another cup of coffee and leaned back in his chair to regard the massive, imposing and fearsome Woola.
"Indeed," Holmes agreed with a nod. "Which brings us to my third question."
"What to do with the brute," Watson said. "I suppose we could rent him out as a sort of disposal for unwanted livestock."
"Potentially profitable, but I believe the knackers would soon protest," said Holmes. "We might be forced to purchase some sort of license for him, as well."
Sitting and contemplating the calot, the pair could come up with no solution to any of the questions. Their musings were interrupted by a knock at their door. Watson rose to answer it, expecting Mrs. Hudson to have come to retrieve the breakfast dishes. Instead, he found a tall, well-muscled, sun-darkened man standing on the landing, wearing the most bizarre, indecent and warlike garb the good doctor had ever seen. The man was practically naked save for some leather straps and a large plate of metal that covered his chest. A pair of swords were hung on his left hip and a long dagger on his right. A strange pistol rested in a holster next to the dagger. The man smiled in a friendly fashion and was about to speak when Watson was bowled from his feet and trampled.
Woola danced and rolled in front of the strange man as Watson extricated himself from the friendly melee. Holmes came quickly to Watson's aid and soon the doctor was upon his feet and staring at the very strange pair. Finally the man admonished the calot in an unfamiliar language and rose to his full height.
"I apologize, gentlemen," the stranger said in a rich Virginian accent. "I hope my boy here hasn't been too much of a bother."
"Not a bother, sir," said Holmes. "Only a charming puzzle."
"That is a relief, sir," said the Virginian. "My name is Captain John Carter, formerly of the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia."
"Now residing in the city of Helium upon Barsoom," Holmes said.
"Yes," said Captain Carter, slightly puzzled. "How did you know that?"
"I am Sherlock Holmes," said the detective. "It is my business to know what others do not. May I present my particular friend, Doctor John Watson."
"A pleasure to meet you both," Captain Carter said with a bow. "I hope Woola didn't hurt you, Doctor. He can get out of hand sometimes."
"Not at all," said Watson graciously. "Won't you come in, Captain?"
"Thank you, no," Captain Carter declined. "I'm afraid I must return to Barsoom as soon as may be. I only came looking for my calot. May I wish you a good day and compliments of the season, gentlemen?"
"Thank you, Captain," said Holmes, extending his hand. "And may we wish you the same?"
"Thank you," said the captain and shook Holmes' hand in friendly fashion.
"A safe journey to you, sir," said Watson, also extending his hand.
"Thank you, Doctor," replied Carter.
He bowed again before turning to go. Watson and Holmes stood in their open doorway watching until the man and his calot had left 221B and then they closed their door and returned to their chairs at the table.
"That was the most unexpected visit I think we shall ever have, Holmes," said Watson, reaching for the stack of newspapers on the table.
"Let us hope it is, old fellow," said Holmes in a musing voice. "We forgot to give him Woola's collar, though. Silly of us."
There came a knock at the door and both men stood and faced it as Holmes bid the caller to enter. Mrs. Hudson opened the door and looked to them both.
"A gentleman come to call on you, Mr. Holmes," she said. "He doesn't have a card, but said his name was Mr. John Clayton, Viscount Greystoke."
Holmes and Watson exchanged a look and then Holmes said, "Show him up, Mrs. Hudson."
The End
AN: Woola, Captain John Carter and Mr. John Clayton, Viscount Greystoke (AKA Tarzan) are all creations of Edgar Rice Burroughs.