Work Text
1922
[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]
I paused as I passed the village pub and wondered. It was the day of my seventieth birthday, yet apart from some pretty mind-blowing sex as my morning wake-up call I had had no present as yet. Sherlock had told me that he was having something delivered but it would not be here until later in the day. I silently cursed my increasingly slow limbs and set off up the High Street.England had welcomed the return of peace while mourning the non-return of so many of its young men; our own little war memorial to four young lives that would never be fulfilled was by the pond just over the road. Of course I was glad that there was peace but something about the public's reaction in the years after the war made me uneasy. Imperial Germany had been scotched, not killed, and I feared that the increasing reluctance I felt amongst many of my fellow Englishmen to pay such a heavy price for what was right would encourage our old enemy to try again when it had recovered. At least our own country was moving forward; electoral reform had now extended the franchise to all men and most women over thirty years of age (the latter provision was because of the shortage of men caused by the war and would be dropped by the end of the decade). All those pointless acts of violence by the suffragettes had indeed been for naught; it had been the essential part played by women in the War that had secured them the vote.One way in which my own life had changed in those immediate post-war years was when the garage had set up a second smaller establishment on the main road that passed by the village some way to the north where they installed a petrol-pump to cope with the increase in road traffic. There was a sign directing the highly unreliable early 'auto-mobiles' to the smithy (really a second garage by this time) next to The Majestic Duck where they could be repaired if (when) they broke down, and we sometimes saw the odd car coming through the village en route to the Downs where there were wonderful views across the English Channel.Despite my initial wariness of these metal death-traps I sometimes helped my son – my son! - at the local garage and found myself increasingly drawn to them, rather liking the idea of being able to drive up and down the steep hill on which our cottage lay rather than having to haul my tired muscles along every time. Especially after Sherlock had been more thorough than usual!The villagers knew full well that when I smiled like that, they did not ask!I had promised to buy the light of my life half a pound of barley-sugar at the shops; how he kept his teeth so perfect with the amount of the stuff he got through a week Heaven only knew! As I put my hand on the door to enter the little sweet-shop I heard the sound of a car approaching from the distant main road. Probably another victim of modern technology who had thought he could trust his vehicle, I thought wryly. I shook myself and went inside the shop.I decided to buy a full pound of the stuff knowing how quickly Sherlock got through it, and emerged into the unusually bright winter sunlight somewhat dazzled. It therefore took a couple of seconds to recognize the vehicle that was drawn up outside the shop, and probably rather too long to recognize the driver.
“Sherlock?”
He grinned at me and slid elegantly out of the vehicle before walking round to me. I stared at the sleek blue-black auto-mobile in awe.“It is a Chevrolet 490, their latest model”, he smiled. I stared at him in shock.“American?” I asked.“Of course”, he said as if it were obvious. “The one that you ringed in that catalogue that you keep under the bed.”I was sure that the manufacturers of this vehicle back in the United States could have seen my blush. But the thing was stunning! I had seen the company models from the past two years in a motoring magazine and not been that impressed, but the 490 was in another league and I had been quite tempted by the reduced price despite the shipping costs. And now I had one!Like an idiot I only slowly realized that Sherlock was holding out the keys to me.“Happy birthday, beloved!” he grinned. “I said that your present would be arriving later today and this is the first part of it.”“Only the first part?” I asked, awed. He nodded.“I thought that we could drive to Oakdown Hill, and christen the back seat”, he grinned evilly. “That is the second part. If you are up to it now you are a septuagenarian!”I pou... scowled and snatched the keys off of him, easing myself behind the wheel and breathing in the gorgeous smell of new leather and Sherlock. God I was one lucky man at times!
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The back seats were quite narrow, and it was fortunate that even at sixty-seven Sherlock was as flexible as ever. We christened not only the back seats but the front ones and, in a feat which left me needing a long lie down afterwards, both at the same time!
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1923
[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]
Normally the wedding of a younger son of a reigning monarch would not have drawn attention or merited much in the way of celebration. But what with the recent war to end all wars and the country looking hopefully to the future, the marriage of Albert Duke of York, King George the Fifth's second son, to Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon had led to Casdene again being decorated to mark the occasion. The stuttering young prince had shown considerable tenacity to persuade the lady to sign up to a life of public service and I wished them both well.“he may have signed up to rather more”, Sherlock said when I pointed this out. “The way that his elder brother is carrying on with all the married women of other gentlemen who keep getting told to look the other way, young Albert or his progeny may rule this Nation one day.”“How did I end up with someone who uses the word 'progeny'?” I sighed, ruffling his untidy hair. It was unfair that he was still in his sixties while I was seventy-one, but when I had mentioned that fact last night he had dug out the purple panties and... well, it was going to be another order from the London shop again. And another smirking postman who did not need to chuckle 'wish you luck!' every time he delivered a package. No matter how right he was!“King Albert the First”, I mused. “Queen Victoria would have been delighted.”“Not necessarily”, Sherlock pointed out. “His grandfather was Albert but chose his second name to reign as Edward the Seventh. The Duke of York could be Frederick the First, Arthur the First or even George the Sixth.”“A new King Arthur”, I sighed. “Maybe he might even have his own new Round Table of knights.”“Possibly”, Sherlock smiled. “Now, I think that I have gone for long enough without your delicious body so come over here and try my lance-a-lot!”I rolled my eyes at him.“That was just bad!” I complained.But when he looked at me I hurried over anyway.
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1924
[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]
I stared dubiously at the large box before me.“We can always return it if it does not suit”, Sherlock said, “if you would like something better to mark my seventieth birthday. And I have a back-up present that is rather blue and very frilly!”“Down, boy!” I grumbled. “Honestly you think of nothing but sex.”“Yes. Your point?”I shook my head at him and turned back to this 'wireless radio set'. Radios had been around for years and I knew that they served good purpose on the seas in helping ships communicate with each other, especially since the loss of the 'Titanic' had led to shipping companies being belatedly compelled to keep them turned on at all times. But a radio in the house to receive 'radio programmes'? It seemed a little strange.Sherlock twiddled with some of the dials and a familiar sound came out of the box. My spirits lifted.“That is Dixieland music”, I said. “Technology is so wonderful these days. Next thing they will be making sets to go in auto-mobiles”He pulled me into a slow dance and began to undo my shirt. I grinned.“I do love technology”, Sherlock said, “and now we have the music to go with my seduction.”“So seduce me!” I grinned.He did. And after what he did next I would never again be able to listen to Dixieland music without smiling!
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1924
[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]We had another visitor at the cottage just before Christmas. Mr. Tantalus Holmes looked around the place and smiled.“Still looks like Christmas exploded in here!” he grinned.I did not pout, but Sherlock still gave me a look that said.... no, not with company present. Later, definitely!“How is Trey?” Sherlock asked with a knowing and annoying smile.“Over the moon now that Harry's wife has had twins and secured the dynasty”, our visitor grinned. “He says Toby, the elder, is the image of his father though how he can tell that from a baby..... well. And I received good news about Herry too; he has been appointed chief engineer as expected.”Mr. Hereward Buckingham, whose brother Lion we had saved from himself back in 1903, had married an American lady and gone to live in the United States where he had become an engineer for one of the railroad companies over there. I was not sure about his preference for the new diesel locomotives over reliable steam ones, but his well-designed trains had proven very popular and his promotion was surely deserved.“I do however have a problem of my own that you may be able to help with”, our guest said.“What is it?” I asked. “Not Bill and Ben?”“No, our local eunuchs have become wonderfully popular with everyone in the village and surrounding area”, Tantalus grinned. “Remember that deal I had with Cal?”Ah yes, his 'arrangement' with Sheikh Khalid of Arbir, the popular ruler of a small but strategically situated Middle Eastern state. The sheikh had wished to restrict himself to the woman he loved so Sherlock's nephew had, so to speak, stepped up to the plate. Or rather up into the princely bed.“One of the first ladies that I, uh, attended to had a son that she named Khalid”, our visitor explained. “He was born back in 1902; unfortunately for that part of the world he recently decided to marry a Jewess. They decided to leave Arbir and to come to England; Cal did say he would stand by them but they thought it for the best.”I shook my head at the narrow-mindedness of some people.“They are in trouble?” Sherlock asked.“Like young Harry, Carl as he is now had his first son last year”, our visitor said. “There named him Christian – not a religious choice; it was after his wife's grandfather who was very ill – and there was something wrong with the boy's blood so he had to be tested. Of course Sod's Law; it came out that he and his father were not of the royal line. Carl tracked me down and I... well.”I smiled at the handsome young man's struggling with his emotions.“How can we help?” Sherlock asked, looking at me for some reason.“Carl is not into religion at all, unlike his wife, and they decided that any children would be allowed to choose their own faith”, our visitor said. “Thankfully the boy is well now and they found the perfect place for their family, near a town called Sandy in Bedfordshire. But the current owner is, the estate agent was kind enough to warn them, virulently anti-Semitic so they may well not be able to secure it.”“That is not a problem”, Sherlock reassured him. “I can arrange through Mr. Tudor at Middleton's to have someone presentably Christian to step in and offer the same amount for an instant sale.”Our visitor beamed.“I had better be getting back to London then”, he said. “Trey's place is in Regent's Park just round the corner from your old house in Baker Street – and of course that handy little shop whose catalogue I can see on the side there!”I blushed fiercely.
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