A/N Set around 1884 or so. I wrote this as more of an exercise to get the style right than anything else, but I don't want anyone to think I've been ignoring this one-shot collection, so here it is.
I read the story with some amusement; a report on the Australian gold fields written by someone who had clearly never been to Australia. "Ha!" I exclaimed as I laid the paper aside, "Preposterous."
"My dear Watson, perhaps you should write the newspaper's descriptions of Australia yourself if you do not agree with their depiction of it," Sherlock Holmes said matter-of-factly from the chemical table across the room.
As usual, I was taken aback by his ability to deduce my thoughts without my articulating them. "It is a matter of little importance, but demonstrates an annoying lack of facts nonetheless," I said, "How the deuce did you know I was reading about Australia anyway?"
Holmes turned around, a light dancing in his eyes. "You are most expressive in your reading, my dear fellow. Particularly when you do not agree with the author's opinions. In the last fifteen minutes, I have heard you mutter under your breath no fewer than five times opinions on the author's ignorance in varying states of amusement and aggravation. You do not follow sporting news. You certainly would not have paid that much attention to social columns. Had you been reading war news, you undoubtedly would have been more somber; a professional treatise, quieter and more studious, and criminal news, you would certainly have called my attention to the story in question. Only Australia could produce that exact reaction in you."
I flushed, for I must have been engrossed indeed not to notice that I was disturbing him. "I apologize, my dear fellow, if I disturbed your experiments."
"Nonsense!" Holmes cried, "It was most informative and entertaining. You are a fascinating study, Watson."
"Yes, well, I do not like to see a young nation that has every chance of achieving greatness so disparaged for its youth and somewhat wild origins," I answered.
"I do not know much of Australia," Holmes said, "Aside from the many very interesting criminal records which come out of that country."
"It is a wild place," I admitted, for there was no other way to describe the gold fields, where lawmen were few and far between, and the law more a matter of choice than of necessity. "My uncle was a prospector there, and I spent a year there as a boy."
"Was it truly as wild as the criminal records state?" Holmes asked, "Having never been there myself, your first-hand experience might be of great use to me."
Gratified to be in the unusual position of being more knowledgeable than Holmes, I thought deeply about my response. "It was over twenty years ago that I lived there, but it is a land of contrasts. The cities of Sydney and Melbourne were growing at a rapid rate when I passed through, with a great jumble of people, but the government was attempting to bring some culture to its people. In the twenty years since, I have no doubt that the cities have become more respectable. Even then, there was an elite that was as conscious of its status as any of our English aristocrats."
"And the gold fields?" Holmes asked, fixing me with his formidable stare.
"They operated on their own form of law. The gold fields attracted many types of people, from hard working emigrants trying to start a new life, to criminals trying to hide from the law. The mix of people could be…explosive, and fights or theft were not uncommon. In fact, I believe you would find much to occupy yourself with in an Australian gold field," I added, causing Holmes to burst into a rare fit of laughter.
"It is the sort of place where one must carry a pistol at all times simply for safety," I continued. "In fact, it was my uncle who taught me to shoot during my time there. But it is also a place of incredible hope and freedom. The thought that at any time one might strike it rich is a powerful feeling and the atmosphere is charged with it. And the landscape is starkly beautiful. It is a place for fresh starts, away from old rules and beliefs, if that is what one needs."
I finished, thinking over my time there, wondering if I would ever have chance to return and how changed I would find the country that had given me my first taste of adventure. It was always something of a shock to me that I had more life experience than Holmes, whose great intellect belied the fact that he had never yet left Europe. It was gratifying that there was something to balance the scales in our relationship, and I mused that the mix of his genius and my practical experience in other matters was probably why we worked so well together..
Although the odor now emanating from the chemical apparatus told me that perhaps we did not need to work together right at this moment, as I exited to continue my reading in my blissfully odor-free bedroom.