The Pumamouse Website: Stories And Sagas: My Sherlockian Saga Volume One Chapter Two

The Pumamouse Website Presents...

Thank you for visiting these webpages.
Please return often to view new developments.
I would enjoy receiving your comments.

EMAIL THE PUMAMOUSE

You can email The Pumamouse (MaryAnne)
by clicking on the link below:

You can return to The Pumamouse Website Homepage
by clicking on the link below:

THE PUMAMOUSE
WEBSITE HOMEPAGE

This website is owned, designed, created, maintained,
and financed by The Pumamouse (MaryAnne)
Copyright 2002/2003/2004/2005

The Personal Journal Of John H. Watson, M.D.
Volume One
A Record Of The Events Which Occurred
March-May 1897

Copyright 1998

SOUTH AFRICAN
OLD-TIME RADIO

SOUTH AFRICAN
TELEVISION

CHAPTER TWO

Three days had passed since my call on Holmes' seemingly unconcerned brother.

It is my practice to go to my surgery immediately after breakfast. However, I knew, from consulting my appointment book on the previous night, that no patients were scheduled for the day. Therefore, I took the liberty of sleeping late into the morning.

Thus, when I entered the drawing room, I was surprised to see that Holmes had not yet risen, and I feared the worst. I decided to check on him, but, upon opening his door, I found that he was gone. After further inspection, it became clear that he had slept in the room, but had left in somewhat of a hurry. I moved quickly to the drawing room door and called, "Mrs. Hudson!," to our housekeeper below.

She stood at the foot of the stairs and called back to me, "Just a moment, Dr. Watson!" Apparently, her hands were full, having just come from the market. I could not wait, however, for her to finish her chore, and so, I bounded down the steps to meet her.

"Mrs. Hudson," I asked, "Where in God's name is Mr. Holmes?" My fear must have been visible upon my face and audible in my voice, for she immediately stopped what she was doing to face me.

"Calm yourself, Dr. Watson. Mr. Holmes is all right," she soothed. "He rose early, refused breakfast in his usual short-tempered manner, and said that he was going out for a few hours, to clear his mind. I asked if you would be joining him, and he said you were still sleeping, and that I should not disturb you."

"How did he look?," I inquired anxiously. "Was he in good spirits?"

"He seemed his old self, however..." She paused and turned her eyes to the floor.

"What is it, Mrs. Hudson?," I encouraged.

"Well, Doctor, he did appear to be quite annoyed...angry, in fact...but, at what or whom, I am sure I do not know," she answered. Her obvious inability to look me in the eye told me all. Somehow, I had managed to upset him.

As I pondered my actions of the last few days, a thought occurred to me. "Did he receive any messages, either late last night, or by the morning post, perhaps?," I asked.

"Yes, Doctor, very early this morning," she admitted. "A note from Mr. Mycroft Holmes arrived. At first, I thought not to disturb him, but, it being from his brother, I decided it best to wake him. After reading it, he sat up quickly and told me to get out of his room. He was quite short with me, but I have come to expect that of him."

"Poor Mrs. Hudson," I thought. The woman always did her best, yet Holmes never showed her the respect which her years deserved. Indeed, he was often rude to her. My thoughts then turned back to my own sad state of affairs, and Mycroft Holmes. Surely, he would not have let on to Holmes that I had asked his assistance. If he had, I certainly would be in poor standing with my dear friend, which, from what Mrs. Hudson had said, it appeared I was.

"I really did not mind," Mrs. Hudson continued, "as I was relieved to see him show some sign of life again, after these past few weeks of..." She paused abruptly, fearing she may have said too much. Mrs. Hudson deplored gossip.

"Please, continue, Mrs. Hudson," I urged.

"Well, Doctor, you know as well as I do how dark his moods can get. I worry about him at times, though I would never admit that to him, mind you." I could not help but smile at her candor. "I was quite happy to hear him scurrying about upstairs, and then leaving, as he did," she explained. "I thought to myself, he must be going to call on Mr. Mycroft Holmes, and that, perhaps, a case had developed, and all would be right with him again. But, when he returned... Oh, Dr. Watson, I have never seen him so angry!" The poor woman was obviously shaken.

Seeing her distress and fearing the worst, I gathered my nerve and began, "Did he say anything that would..."

"That's just it, Doctor," she interrupted. "When he returned, he was even more sullen than before the letter arrived. I asked if he would be having breakfast. At first, he did not reply at all. Then he snarled that he would not, as I have told you. Forgive me for making light of it, Doctor, but I am quite aware of the toll his recent mood has taken upon you, as well. I did not want to trouble you, or admit how worried I am."

Noting her demeanor, I began to realize the awkward position in which Mrs. Hudson had found herself. Over the years, I believe she had become quite fond of both Holmes and myself. However, propriety would never allow her to freely admit such an intimate bond with her boarders. It was obvious to me that she was feeling quite uncomfortable about having revealed so much of her true feelings, and so, I thought it best not to question her any further.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. You have been most helpful," I assured.

She turned from me to pick up the bag of food which she had been carrying to the kitchen. Then, to my surprise, she placed it down again and turned to face me once more. "Dr. Watson..." She paused and seemed to brace herself for whatever she was about to say, then continued, "If you do not mind me saying so, whatever it was that got Mr. Holmes to stop his excessive loitering about was certainly worth any grief it might cause to whomever initiated the change in his disposition. Sometimes we must hurt the ones we love, if we wish to help them." Her face softened then, and with a warm smile and utter dignity, she resumed her task and moved to the kitchen.

I returned to the drawing room to wait for Holmes. I tried to rehearse in my mind what I would say to him when he returned from his walk. How could I undo the damage which I had inadvertently caused while trying to help? Before I could conceive of a plan, Holmes entered the drawing room, and threw himself into his chair.

Staring into the unlit fireplace, he finally broke the silence with the announcement, "I do believe, Watson, that there are some fates worse than death in this world, not the least of these evils being born to an older sibling." I did not know what to say to this, then he continued, "No doubt, Mrs. Hudson has informed you that I was summoned, quite early this morning, by my brother, Mycroft?"

"She said you received a note," I offered cautiously, still not quite sure of where I stood in this picture. Holmes reached into his jacket pocket and handed me the paper which he withdrew from it. It simply read, "Sherlock, come down from your tree."

I lowered the note to find that Holmes' gaze had shifted to me. Seeing his angry stare, I began, "I am sorry, Holmes. I..."

"Do not apologize for being a good friend, Watson," he interrupted. "I suppose I left you no other choice but to seek assistance in rousing me from my misery. My present disposition is not directed towards you." He paused, then, turning again to the fireplace, he snarled, "It is Mycroft who has forced me into this corner!"

"Please, Holmes, I do not understand," I offered.

"Very well," he resigned with a heavy sigh. "I will start at the beginning and relay the whole sordid affair to you. I went to see Mycroft upon receipt of his note. I flattered myself into believing that, perhaps, he had some need of my assistance, as you will recall he had in that brief affair with the Greek interpreter, some years ago. I indulged my hopes and mused that, perhaps, the matter would develop into something which I could, once again, sink my teeth into. I arrived at his club to find my assumptions could not be further from the truth!"

Holmes rose from his chair and moved to stand at the window nearest his file cabinet. At the time, I thought he did so to hide his anger at his brother. As I look back on it now, however, I believe he did so to avoid facing me as he explained, such was his shame in the matter. "It was not a case, Watson. It was a challenge," he advised. His voice grew very low as he continued, "Apparently, my brother has accepted a challenge in my name, from a dignitary with whom he has had recent dealings. He would not give me the man's name, but he told me that this...person...had belittled my abilities, saying he had no doubt that, with a little effort, there could be found a case which I could not hope to solve. Unfortunately, my brother disputed the matter with him."

"Surely, Holmes, he was right to do so," I offered. "I can not believe for a moment that you would be put off by such a wild boast!"

"But, by disputing it, Mycroft gives credence to this man's claim, and has sealed my fate!," he growled. "I am now bound by honour to accept his challenge, the form of which I can hardly bring myself to explain!"

I had seldom seen him so upset. I briefly pondered the cause, then, still unable to find an answer, I quietly asked, "What could be so horrible, old man?"

Holmes took a deep breath, then sighed, "A contest, Watson. My brother has agreed to involve me in a contest." The word seemed to drip arsenic on his tongue. "It is to be open to the public, both here in England and abroad," he continued. "Stories are to be written of a murder, and submitted for approval. Of these, one is to be hand-picked by this man to be the one which will break me. In fact, Mycroft has gone so far as to offer his assistance in the choosing, saying that he would disclose which of these stories he, himself, is easily able to solve, thereby acting as a preliminary laboratory rat, weeding out the obvious plots." Holmes paused, and his eyes turned towards the picture over the fireplace mantel of the Reichenbach Falls as he asked, "Has it come to this, then, Watson? To be reduced to a player in some perverted form of parlor game? Surely, death would be less degrading."

Seeing the depth of his distress, and wishing to lessen it, I felt compelled to console, "Holmes, you must not look upon this as a defeat, but as an opportunity. Granted, it is not what you had hoped for, but it is a chance for you to once again set your mind to work. That, in itself, has always been your greatest reward, has it not?" I hoped that my words would help, yet felt they were so inadequate. Thankfully, he sighed and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, indicating that there was some truth in what I had said.

"I suppose," he stated, "given the right set of circumstances, this folly may not be a complete waste of my time. It has, at least, given me something to look forward to, however brief the case may prove to be." I began to see a glimmer of hope in his blue-grey eyes as he turned towards me and asked, "You will assist me in this venture, will you not, Watson?"

"Of course, I would be honoured, Holmes," I returned readily. Then, thinking aloud, I added, "But, will the rules of the contest permit it?"

"Rules? Rules. I do not know," he replied. The idea seemed to somewhat amuse him, for some reason which I could not comprehend. "I will inquire as to what, exactly, the "rules" of this game are. However, if, indeed, there are none prohibiting your involvement, may I rely upon you?," he asked with a faint smile.

"Of course, Holmes, of course," I assured.

"Thank you, Watson. You are truly a loyal friend," he replied. Holmes moved to his bedroom then, and quickly closed the door, apparently a bit uneasy with having shown his feelings of friendship so openly. I was elated that he still held me in such high regard.