One Month Later. 221B Baker Street
Molly and John rushed over to 221B Baker Street after receiving Mrs. Hudson's frantic calls saying that Sherlock had gone completely mad. The two arrived together in a panic to find Mrs. Hudson beside herself with concern.
"What's wrong?" Molly asked her.
"It's Sherlock. He's gone crazy. He went out early this morning and came back with bags and bags of clothing from the thrift store. Said he got them all in a bin marked for sale by the pound. I thought it was quite irregular, but, you know, with Sherlock . . . "
"You called us over here because Sherlock bought cheap used clothes?" John asked, annoyed.
"No, no, that's not it. I went up then to make some tea and he was ripping up all the clothes like a madman. I think he's finally lost it, poor man. I thought having Molly back would buy us some time before a final meltdown, but alas . . . "
John and Molly looked at each other in confusion and then headed up the stairs to see just what Sherlock was doing that had his landlady so upset. It was just as Mrs. Hudson had said. He was cutting apart dozens of items of clothing and discarding them haphazardly on the floor of the kitchen.
"Um . . . Sherlock, what are you doing?" Molly asked.
Sherlock looked up to see them for the first time. "Oh good, you two are here. You can help."
"Help with what?" John asked, nervously.
"Cutting all the tags out of all of the these items of clothing."
John questioned him further, "And why would we do that?"
"I need lots of individual letters from the labels."
"For what, exactly?" John asked.
"For a thank you note," Sherlock said in a tone of voice that suggested that what he said should be obvious to anyone with half a brain.
"For a thank you note? Ok, Molly you check the bedroom for dismembered cadavers and I'll check the freezer for body parts."
"Ha ha. Very funny. Now sit down and help me, I will explain as we work." They looked at each other dubiously, but Molly and John sat down at the table nonetheless. "Oh and since you two can stitch up bodies and such, you can probably sew, right?" The two of them looked at each other even more confused than ever.
The Doyles' housekeeper/home health worker Anna answered the door and found Sherlock Holmes carrying a shoe box, flanked by a woman and a man.
"Hello, may I speak to Dr. Emily Doyle. Tell her Sherlock Holmes is here, if you would," Sherlock said to the woman. In a minute, Emily Doyle came around the corner in her wheelchair to greet them at the doorway.
"Mr. Holmes?" Emily asked.
"Yes, we met a number of months ago, if you recall."
"Of course, come in, how could I forget you? It was so exciting to meet the real Sherlock Holmes."
"May my friends come in as well?"
"Yes, of course. But I should tell you that Arthur won't be home for several more hours."
"Excellent."
"How so?" Emily asked.
"Dr. Doyle, may I first present to you my friends? This is someone you know of: Dr. John Watson."
"Oh, Dr. Watson. I've heard many wonderful things about you from my husband."
John went up to her and shook her outstretched hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet Arthur's wife after so many years of him going on and on about you."
"I'm a huge fan of your blog, Dr. Watson. I make Arthur read it to me all the time."
"Ah, at least you know it's my blog and not Sherlock's. Most people don't seem to realize that." He looked cuttingly at Sherlock.
"That reminds me, John," Sherlock interjected, "we have to have a chat about how you present me in the blog." Sherlock then turned to his other side. "And this, Dr. Doyle, is my wife Molly Hooper."
Molly too went up to shake Dr. Doyle's hand. "I'm not his wife, yet," she said to the woman. And then she turned to Sherlock, annoyed. "We're not married yet, Sherlock!"
"Well, whose fault is that?" Sherlock said, accusingly.
"Yours! I don't need a formal wedding, I told you that a million times."
"Oh sure, why don't you just put a dagger through my mother's heart while you're at it," Sherlock said. Molly just shook her head in annoyance.
Now Dr. Doyle seemed really confused. "Umm, what is it that I can do for you all?"
"We require access to your husband's clothing."
"Excuse me?" Now Emily was really confused.
When her husband finally did come home later that evening, Emily Doyle couldn't hide her feelings of amusement and joy and Arthur knew she had some kind of news to tell him.
"Sherlock Holmes came by this afternoon with two friends of his, one of which was John Watson," she explained.
"Oh dear. I'm sorry I missed them. What did they want?"
"To give you this." She handed him an envelope with a letter inside that he read immediately.
Dear Dr. Doyle,
As you know, I am not very good at expressing my feelings directly. I tend to express myself through actions and hope that those actions are interpreted correctly. That hasn't always worked out for the best. I'm trying to be better at that, but there is one action that John, Molly, and I will be undertaking this afternoon that I hope will express, in some small way, my gratitude for the help you have given me over the last six months.
Sewn into all the labels on your clothing and onto the bottom of your socks are now letters from "A" to "M." When you are choosing which clothing to wear in the morning, you can now consult these letters to determine whether or not they match. Clothing with the letter A sewn into them match with other As, and Bs match with Bs, and so forth. Many items of clothing have multiple letters on them, so that ABH will match with an HKL because they have the letter H in common. Perhaps when your daughter is once again on leave from university, she can help you do the same with new clothing you purchase.
Thank you for making see that my life had many more possibilities than I thought. When I think now of my theory of entropy as it pertains to relationships, I'm ashamed to admit how faulty my analogy was. I perceived romantic love as this endless attempt to regain the feeling of warmth and comfort one has upon first entering a fresh bath. What I didn't understand was how easy it would be to keep it warm and lovely indefinitely if the right person is with you in the bath.
My sincerest thanks,
Sherlock Holmes
PS. I've never said "It's elementary, my dear Watson" in my life. John is just a drama queen.
FINIS