Work Text
1918
[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]
Just days after Ben's return my emotions were still frazzled by the whole affair, so I was in little state to receive the news that arrived that New Year’s Day. On the little regarded southern front, the Central Powers had recently won a great victory at Caporetto†, pushing back the Italians some distance. Of course any information from so far away, let alone it being a war zone, was bound to take time to reach us but then bad news always travels fast.“Henry – Heinrich - is dead”, Sherlock said quietly as we sat on the bench outside the cottage. I looked down into the little dean and the village below us and sighed. Anne had called earlier that day; Ben was having nightmares most nights but otherwise was doing better than I had expected given some of the horror stories I read about returning soldiers elsewhere. I did not feel it but I knew that we had been fortunate.“What about his son?” I asked. My 'lost' nephew's wife had given him one son, called Wilhelm after the German emperor and born last year. I did not know if she was pregnant with a second; her husband had cut off all communication with his English relatives after he had gone abroad.“Your niece’s brother Arnulf has taken him in”, Sherlock said. “She had no other family.”I was sorry for the poor baby whose father had made such poor decisions in his life, but in a sense I felt something akin to relief. The thought of a blood relative of mine killing my fellow countrymen – it was horrible!“John?”“Uh huh?”“I love you.”I looked at him in surprise. Sixty-three now, Sherlock had grown into what one newspaper had rather daringly called recently ‘a silver fox’, the grey and the dark in perfect balance in his always untidy hair making him look positively gorgeous. Whatever the Fates threw at the Watson and Holmes clans, at least I still had him.“Take me inside”, I muttered shivering slightly.“What, in this weather?” he teased. I swatted at him.“Inside the cottage, you sex maniac!” I groused. And he did.
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1918
[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]
It was the end of August, and we had the first of two policeman visitors to our little haven in what would turn out to be a momentous year for many reasons year. Commander Baldur had been set to retire from the Metropolitan Police Service but the recent police strike and the resignation of the Chief Commissioner Sir Edward Henry in protest at the lack of government support had left the force in a mess. Well, a bigger mess than usual.“A mess of the government's own making”, Sherlock said unsympathetically as he poured our visitor a beer. “At least they finally seem to be getting the war right; I would not give the Germans more than a few months after they threw everything at us in the spring and failed to break us.”The rise of the ghastly communists in Russia had enabled the Kaiser's Germany to transfer many more units to the already stretched Western Front at the start of the year, and the wretch who was the cause of all this suffering had clearly recognized that the longer he waited, the more American troops would come against him. He had struck in early spring and come dangerously close to breaching the Allied lines, only to be pushed back. Now after a pause for breath the reports were that the Allied offensive was succeeding, if slowly. It was surely only a matter of time, if far too much time costing far too many lives.“What can we do for you?” I asked.“The government has appointed General Nevill Macready as the new Commissioner”, our visitor said. “It is a good choice; he is popular with the men. He has asked me to defer my retirement for a couple of years and act as his deputy; he has another man that he wanted to appoint but it will be two years before the fellow has sufficient rank. And at times like these such things cannot be overlooked.”“You do not want to do it?” Sherlock asked.“Not really”, the Commander admitted, “although for the service I would. However my boy Odin – I should not call him that now he is well into his twenties – will be going up for promotion to sergeant when a vacancy arises at that level in a few months' time. If he succeeds you know full well what everyone will say.”“Large organizations are much the same everywhere”, Sherlock sighed. “I will contact Mr. Thomas for you and ask as to which of the miscreants he dislikes the most and could benefit from some gaol time courtesy of being captured by a highly-able constable who 'just happened' to be passing.”The Commander smiled his thanks.
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1918
[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]
The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. The 'Great War' was finally over. I sighed as I half-dozed with an angel in my arms and thought of all those young lives wasted just because the vile Kaiser Bill, fled into exile in the Netherlands the previous day like the coward he was, had wanted even more land for Germany. Never again.At least Ben was getting better; he had not had a nightmare for nearly a whole month now. When I thought how many young men had returned in such terrible condition – and how so many had not returned at all – I shuddered.It was odd that I was thinking about Ben because at that moment I heard his voice from outside. Leaving my resident blue-eyed genius in bed I pulled on a dressing-gown and went to the window. Sure enough it was my son. He looked strangely uncertain and I was immediately worried.“Can you let me in?” he called up.I nodded and went so to do, knowing from the unhappy growl that someone else was up too. I had the good sense to take him his dressing-gown; Ben did not need any extra trauma just now!Going downstairs I let my son in and could see at once that something was indeed wrong. He sat down on the settee and fidgeted while Sherlock slouched into the kitchen and headed for the new coffee-machine that he had brought recently. I did not like the thick brew that it produced but he adored it.Ben coughed and somehow contrived to look even more nervous.“What is wrong?” I asked. He looked me fully in the face and I just knew what he was about to say.“Why did you not tell me?” he asked.“Tell you what?” I deflected.“That you were my real father.”Oh.Fortunately as so often Sherlock came to my rescue (he must have already downed three cups by the look of him).“I had to unexpectedly quit England between 'Eighty-Three and 'Eighty-Six, before our relationship had progressed”, he said sitting down. “You father, as he was within his rights to do, naturally saw other people during that time. One was your mother; she was in a relationship with one Mr. Matthew Warburton but she somehow 'forgot' to mention that minor detail. As one does.”“And she did not tell you about me?” Ben said a little too loudly. I winced.“We did not know about you until she asked for our help on a case at the start of 'Eighty-Nine”, Sherlock said. “She married the man you knew as your father very soon after the relationship, and when John saw the four-year-old you he knew immediately. The anonymous relative who put money into that lump sum you received on your twenty-first birthday was of course him.”“And you never said?” Ben asked incredulously.“I had an arrangement with your mother that she had promised to tell you on your twenty-first birthday”, I said. “But her father-in-law the colonel was entering his final illness then and she asked to delay until he was gone. She did not mention that she too was unwell; the first I knew of it was reading about her passing just days after the colonel's.”“I still do not see why you could not have told me”, Ben said, pouting in a way that was vaguely familiar. “What about Wellingborough?”“You had to live your life by then”, I said. “I felt that by intruding I would only have upset matters. How did you find out may I ask?”“Beatrice, one of the servants who used to wait on my mother”, Ben said. “She knew. When she retired from service she felt that I had the right to be told.”I winced as I saw something register in my son's face. It darkened like a sudden summer storm.“My..... Matthew knew, did he not?” he said heavily. “That was why he did nothing to save me from the firing-squad.”“We cannot know that”, Sherlock said fairly, “but it is quite likely.”“Then I wish to have nothing more to do with the Warburtons”, Ben said firmly. “As far as I am concerned I am a Watson, through and through.”I sniffed. But it was a manly sniff. And someone could stop looking at me like that.“Get some clothes on, Father”, Ben sighed, “and we can go for a walk. Before you both start.... oh my Lord why are there torn panties on display over there?”Sherlock sniggered. I just wanted to die!
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1918
[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]
The year ended on a happy note as we had a second police visitor to the cottage, this time the recently retired Superintendent Chatton Smith, still living with his lover Mr. Fraser Macdonald on the Cumberland Coast. It was a sobering reminder that we had first met the fellow before us when Sherlock had still been a teenager and now he was nearly fifty. So many things seemed to be changing so fast these days.The policeman eased himself carefully into a chair. Apparently some things did not change.“Poor Fray is having mixed emotions”, he said. “On one hand it is the christening of his first great-grandson so he is over the moon especially as it will be another Fraser. But unfortunately Fray the Second's in-laws are exceptionally narrow-minded and I was very firmly not invited. He did offer to insist – he is so much his grandfather at times, the dear boy – but I said best not to.”“Some people can be very bigoted”, Sherlock agreed. “But I am going on to Brighton after seeing you”, our visitor smiled, “and Fray is joining me there. You would think being nearly seventy he might be slowing down, but since Chummy took his boys to a new life in America in January he has somehow gotten even worse!”“Some people are quite insatiable”, I agreed. Sherlock looked pointedly at me. I may or may not have gulped.“It was very good of you to sort out that ghastly woman who tried to blackmail our grandson”, Superintendent Smith smiled.“Miss Bradbury's organization is as efficient as ever under the prodigious Mr. Tudor”, Sherlock smiled. “Although I understand that she still maintains a strong interest in things. Retirement does not seem to have slowed her down at all. Like quite a few people.”It was bitterly cold in the room from the way that I was suddenly trembling. The superintendent chuckled.“I think that I might take a look around your village before moving on” he said. “Doctor.... good luck!”“He will need it!” Sherlock growled.
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I did! Thankfully!
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