John H Watson MD blogs:

Hi there everyone, sorry it`s been so long since my last post. Many of Sherlock`s recent cases have been a bit hush hush (keep calm and carry on, Mycroft) so I haven't always been able to share. You may be glad to hear that The Case of the Speckled Sweater has been well and truly sewn up (sorry, everyone) and Miss Stoner is once again free to clothe royal princes and princesses alike in her adorable knitwear. Both Sherlock and myself have become proud owners of a very generous hamper of designer woollens, and I hope to post a few pictures whenever I catch him with his guard down.

I actually do have a very special request to make of everyone today… a chance for readers who may know Sherlock (and myself) to become part of the blog and afford us all a little amusement along the way… I am calling it (at the risk of offending no-one but myself) `The Late Sherlock Holmes`. Sherlock has recently (and rather recklessly, I feel) announced that he has, in all his adult life, never been late for anything. Punctuality, apparently, is the politeness of more than just Kings. Sherlock cannot tolerate lateness and swears he is a paragon of virtue in this area. So, I am reaching out, across Blogsville to ask the question:

`The Late Sherlock Holmes – Fact or Fiction?` Examples and anecdotes will be greatly appreciated and private messaging can also be arranged.

Over to you.

JHW

Comments: (10)

Greg L: Ha ha ha ha! Bloody serves him right! I`ll put the word out at the Yard.

JHW: Cheers Greg – Sally might be a good bet.

Sherlock Holmes: John, this is intolerable – Desist at once!

JHW: Er – no. If what you said was true, Sherlock, you should have nothing to worry about. Just collecting data to corroborate your statement. Facts are our friends, Sherlock.

Sherlock Holmes: You KNOW this blog is for the recording of cases, John, not idle tittle tattle regarding my habits and character traits.

JHW: That is exactly what it has always been for (alongside the crime solving, natch) – sorry Sherlock – my blog, my rules.

Mary Watson: John, you are being just a little bit naughty – and sexy. See you at home.

JHW: Count on it.

Sherlock Holmes: Appalled.

Greg L: Check your inbox John – Sally came up with the goods. Lol.

X

The Case of the Closing Dry-Cleaners

(with assistance from Sally Donovan and M Hudson)

Sherlock Holmes is noticed in his Belstaff coat. Some might say it is iconic. The way he swoops into a case, solves it, flips up his collar, then a turn on his heel, and leaving everyone wondering how the hell that happened – all down to the coat. And a little bit of deduction too, I suppose.

But mostly the coat.

Sherlock has more than one coat; in fact he has several. Some have become casualties of the violent and corpse-strewn situations we often find ourselves involved in. Blood spatter; dangerous chemicals; estuary filth, rabid dogs – all have all affected some degree of wear and tear upon the armour that surrounds the world`s only Consulting Detective. They are subject to damage, and therefore subject to a damned good clean as the need arises. Apparently, it isn't that easy to get cerebral fluid out of wool – who knew?

One cold, February morning in 2010, a week or two before Sherlock and I first met, he had cause to attend an important interview with a triple poisoner at New Scotland Yard. DI Lestrade and Sgt Donovan were relying on Sherlock`s key questions to elicit a full and incriminating confession from Giles Gilchrist, an ex-chemistry professor from St. Andrews University, who had chosen to diversify his CV somewhat in order to procure several trust funds. Gilchrist was a snake-like, slippery creature, who`s intellect had afforded him, despite his guilt, the potential to escape on a technicality. Only the intellect of Sherlock Holmes was likely to trip him and lure him to confess. A lot, friends, was resting on the shoulders of my friend.

Sherlock had risen early, dressed quickly, eaten nothing (as was his wont on a case) and alighted the chilly Baker Street staircase to wrap his talisman coat around his body on the way out. Frost was on the pavements and a light drizzle was threatening snow before the grey, street lit morning was much older.

But the peg was empty.

"Mrs HUDSON!" His yell resonated through the building, covering all bases, just in case she was cleaning out the attic.

"Mrs Hudson, have you seen my COAT? I need to be at Scotland Yard within the hour!"

A creaking of door hinges, and she appeared, all rubber gloved and cloth in hand, and all Sherlock sees (besides the lack of coat) is a new-looking necklace, titian tinted highlights and a certain tiredness around the eyes.

"Hmmm – visiting your sister and her new grandchildren tomorrow? She actually knows you hate that necklace she bought you…"

Martha Hudson shakes her head, knowing his little ways – if only he had other people to deduce at home, maybe she wouldn't have her life continuously scrutinised in this way. Still, she did have a soft spot –

"A little focus, Mrs Hudson." His voice is quieter, but his teeth are gritted. "Time is ticking…"

Martha puts down the cloth and folds her arms.

"Sherlock, you know it`s at the dry-cleaners – all that mucus! It wasn't very nice, dear. You asked me to take it in yesterday."

Sherlock ran through his Mind Palace with a slightly uncomfortable thought nudging in through its back door… he knew that coat number one had been sent to the tailor for repairs after an unfortunate altercation with an angry florist and some garden shears (seemingly, some people didn't enjoy a direct accusation at their place of work) and coat number two had been given to a member of the Homeless Network in exchange for some rather illuminating information about a less than scrupulous M.P.

Unfortunate.

Coat number three was in Mycroft`s possession, since he had requested it several weeks ago. Sherlock had been so cocksure of his coat collection that he hadn't even bothered to argue with his brother`s strange (and hitherto unexplained) request.

A glaring error was now flashing red in the hard drive of his Palace, as a rather unfortunate realisation was dawning…

Coat number four (his only remaining option) was currently residing at the Dry Cleaners on Old Grafton Street, a short taxi ride or twenty minute jog away from where he now stood.

Regrettable.

Sherlock glanced at his watch. He needed that coat. That coat added the gravitas necessary to inveigle a confession from Gilchrist. Poisoners were always so damn sure of themselves. That coat would have given Sherlock the confidence to impress his superiority upon this murderer; to bring him to his knees. Sherlock was sufficiently self-aware to realise that, no matter how sharp and erudite your deductions were, an imposing physical presence was something to be found quite useful.

That coat was his disguise.

All this passed through the mind of Sherlock Holmes in under three seconds, and his only remaining option in the second after that.

After the door slammed, rattling in its frame, he still could hear the words of Mrs Hudson resonating:

"Mind the paintwork, dear – and you`d better RUN!"

If only he had stayed long enough to hear her advise him that it was half day closing at the Grafton Street Dry-Cleaners.

Wretched.

Thus, friends, it came to pass that on that Thursday morning, Lestrade and Donovan were sweating over the coffee machine as they checked the clock for about the fiftieth time. One o`clock would see the end of the time they had before Gilchrist`s lawyer had him out of their custody. If Sherlock didn't arrive within the next – nine minutes! – all would be lost. Six months work, down the drain.

"Freak`s messing with us, Boss… he`s never late."

"He wouldn't do it, Sally – he knows what it means if Gilchrist gets out today… he`s worked hard on this case too."

"You mean he`s rubbed everyone up the wrong way, used our resources and refused to share ideas until he fancied it."

Greg stirs the muddy water passing for coffee at the Yard.

" – er, well, yes, but – "

Seven minutes.

Greg checked his phone. The last text he`d had from the multifarious texter who was Sherlock Holmes had been forty minutes ago –

`Small problem. Minor. Will be there. SH`

This oddly helpful and conciliatory tone had already put him on edge. Sherlock didn't usually go in for `helpful`. And what he considered `small` was maybe a little `larger` to others. What had happened? Was he hurt? Imprisoned? Bored?

Four minutes.

"Boss, we are going to have to go down now – it`s nearly time."

"But he`s not bloody HERE..!"

"Yes he is."

A tsunami of relief then engulfed Greg Lestrade as the unmistakeable voice of Sherlock Holmes cut through the crowded office, and he looked up.

Everyone looked up.

Sherlock stood in the door, dusted with a layer of freshly fallen snow. His hair was – well, tousled was an understatement, his cheeks a hectic shade of pink, and sweat was very discernable on his upper lip. Good grief – Sherlock Holmes was dishevelled!

Sally snorted, Sherlock scowled and Greg decided that explanations could wait.

"Get down to that interview room, now!"

And his hand steered the back of his consulting detective around towards the stairs, crinkling on the wet, bright blue nylon and brushing against a rather sweet little hood which had almost filled with snow.

"No taxi," growled Sherlock, getting his breath back slowly.

"So I see," smirked Greg Lestrade.

"Nice cagoule," added Sally Donovan, making a mental picture to store forever in her own Mind Palace.

X

The Case of the Closing Dry-Cleaners

Comments: (17)

Sally Donovan: Ha ha ha! Brilliantly told John Watson! Almost like you were there!

JHW: I feel I was there, Sally – thanks for the notes, from the bottom of my heart.

Sherlock Holmes: Inaccuracies everywhere and overly romanticised for your ever present touch of the ridiculous.

Mary Watson: Loved it! Are there pictures?

Sally Donovan: On my other SIM card – I will find them!

Sherlock Holmes: No.

Sally Donovan: You can`t stop me, Sherlock.

Sherlock Holmes: I can. I have your SIM.

Sally Donovan: What?!

G Lestrade: Children … play nice. It`s just a little joke, Sherlock. See, everyone can be late.

Sherlock Holmes: Maybe everyone else, but since I arrived in time, elicited a full confession and convicted a murderer, I am not everyone.

Mary Watson: Sherlock, sweetie, you were a tad late for the dry cleaners.

Sherlock Holmes: Open to argument. They closed earlier than advertised.

M Hudson: Hello John, Hello Sherlock (and everyone else), Mrs Hudson here … oh, I remember that day! What fun. Sherlock had to borrow my ex-husband`s anorak in the end.

JHW: I need to hear more, Mrs H.

Mary Watson: Me too!

Sherlock Holmes: I am disabling the comments. All please leave.

A/N:

Hi Espee - good to see you again!

PreetiSahai - thank you so much for your kind words - so glad you like this universe! Also, much gratitude for the heads up with the tagging - I thought I`d save them, but something obviously went wrong - have amended! You are so right about Sanderson!

I realise the slight timing issue - I know Sherlock moving in at 221B just before John did, but I have `adjusted` it to about a month before - cheeky of me, I know.

Thank you for reviews - they rock my world :)