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Chapter Text

1925

[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]

I felt for neither the first nor the last time that technology was progressing far too fast.

“Television?” I said querulously. “Pictures on a screen? Whatever next?”

We were staying down in Eastbourne for a time as the cottage needed some major repairs undertaken. That summer had been very dry and a crack had appeared in one of the side-walls, necessitating the sort of work that would have made living there damnably uncomfortable (I was for some reason not allowed to suggest 'Let's Traumatize The Construction Workers' as a game, according to some mean blue-eyed genius). And the recent passing of both Bobby and Ellen Singer had meant that instead of heading to Brighton as we had originally planned we had come here to help sort out their estate on behalf of Ash and Jo. Incredibly the voters of the St. Marylebone constituency which lay close to Baker Street had, for reasons that only they would ever know, elected Mrs. Lindberg to parliament which she was duly terrori.... setting to rights.

“Remember our case in 'Marseilles'?” Sherlock teased as we walked back to 'The Roadhouse' Mrs. Lindberg had wanted it sold on as a business and Sherlock had used his connections to find someone who would do just that. I pou... scowled.

“You were mean to me back then”, I said. “I fully expected to be heading off to the French Riviera, and instead I got this!”

“I do not remember you complaining when we had sex inside the beach-house with the green door”, he smiled.

I frowned at the memory.

“The beach-house had a red door”, I said. “Did it not?”

“Oh yes”, he said, taking out a key. “Silly me. The green door beach-house is for today!”

As I have so often said, he really was trying to kill me through sex. Oh well. Let him just try!

Please, let him just try!

Chapter Text

1926

[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]

That winter was particularly bad and I remember that large parts of London were flooded. Among the many affected was Mrs. Muriel Smith, the widow of the late and utterly un-lamented Mr. Bacchus Holmes, who had re-married a London dock worker called William Smith. Sherlock, watchful as ever, had been keeping an eye on things and had made sure that the insurance company paid out to her widower rather more quickly than it might have done.

In early spring the Duchess of York gave birth to her and her husband's first child, a daughter whom they named Elizabeth after her mother. The country's reaction seemed a little over the top, I felt, especially as there would likely be sons later on even if the increasingly wayward Prince of Wales failed to marry. I could not know then that events barely a decade later would make that little girl suddenly rather more important.

Not long after this it was my son Ben who alerted us to a further problem in the capital which, rather tiresomely, necessitated a trip there for us both. I also knew that Sherlock had been in communication with Mr. Tudor at Middleton's over some matter so something was definitely up.

I really wished that he would stop with the knowing looks. That was not what was up. Well, it was but I was not that predictable!

Look, at my age he should have been damn well grateful!

Mr. Anthony Hall stared in surprise as Sherlock swept into his office with me behind him, not at all distracted by the fact that the door we went through looked very like the one on a certain beach-house.......

I wondered just how much time I would end up having to serve in Purgatory one day. At least the sex-mania responsible for it would be right there with me!

“Sir!” Mr. Hall said, smiling what was very obviously a false smile. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

Sherlock said nothing but sat himself down in a chair and focussed his azure gaze on the businessman. Who I was not surprised to see was already sweating.

“Mr. Hall”, Sherlock said at last, “I have a couple of questions for you.”

“Well, yes, of course.....”

“The first concerns your sacking of several men at one of my mines for their participation in the recent General Strike.”

“Yes”, the manager said. “They had abandoned their posts. Safety, you understand.”

The gaze resumed. The clock ticking in the corner seemed unnaturally loud, I thought.

“I instructed all my managers not to take any such retribution against my employees”, Sherlock said firmly. “And those instructions were delivered to you by registered post so I know for a fact that you received them.”

The villain across the table was silent. He clearly knew that the game was up.

“My second question concerns a certain villa in Deauville on the French coast”, Sherlock said and I saw his prey twitch at that name. “It is registered to a Miss Louisa Grade, better known as Mrs. Louisa Hall. Your wife.”

“Well, she does own some property under her maiden name....”

“But it was paid for solely by funds from your account”, Sherlock said coldly.

Again the clock was very loud. Sherlock rose slowly to his feet.

“I have a replacement for you outside”, he said calmly. “You are no longer in my employment. The funds that you have sequestered from my business to fund the lifestyle you apparently think you deserve will be returned to me within the week – and you will be watched from the moment you quit these premises so do not even think of trying to go abroad. Otherwise you will have the 'joys' of spending a considerable length of time at His Majesty's Pleasure on top of your many other worries. Good day!”

And with that he left. I scurried after him, suppressing a smile. Sherlock always liked to celebrate these 'victories' and there was a good hotel not far from here.

No, I was still not that predictable. I had only worn the turquoise panties on the off-chance.

Shut up!

Chapter Text

1927

[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]

As well as the bees I had caved (yes, inevitably, shut up!) to Sherlock's request for a house-pet. Unusually he had opted for a guinea-pig, a small rat-sized thing he called Anaximander who it seemed was determined to commit guinea-pig hara-kiri at every opportunity. The number of times I ended up chasing the little fellow around the house to get him back into his cage was far too high although Sherlock always rewarded me afterwards.

No, I did not let him escape deliberately. I got way more than enough sex from the sex-maniac as it was, thank you very much!

We had travelled up to Cranleigh in Surrey to see Jack and Toni for the day. They had had five children of their own by this time and one reason for our visit was to confirm that Toni was expecting number six.

“I see that you drove up this morning”, she said. “It is good that you have the car what with us living in such a rural area.”

“Very useful”, Sherlock agreed. “It would have been up to three train rides to get here from our little hideaway and a carriage ride at either end. Though it did mean that I was subjected to John’s driving which has not improved one iota since he became mobile. If those rumours about them making people pass a test before they can drive are true he may well be forced off the road!

Most irritatingly he had sidled out of swatting range as he spoke so I had to settle for a pou.... a scowl. My nephew and his wife both chuckled.

“I drive very well”, I said loftily, “though I must say that the roads are definitely getting busier. I am the only one in the village garage who can fix some problems now that Ben has gone to work in the new and bigger place over in Hayward's Heath. And I can fix anything that is wrong with the Impala.”

“With the what?” my nephew asked clearly confused.

“Our car is apparently not only female but also named after a South African species of antelope”, Sherlock said glumly, sounding like he was the most put-upon fellow in the history of ever. “I wanted to eat a packet of crisps as we were driving here and your uncle insisted that we pull over so that I would not soil 'her’.”

I thought of what we still managed to do from time to time on the back seats and grinned. Until Jack, who had somehow managed to inherit his uncle's mind-reading abilities somehow or other, coughed pointedly.

“Uncle John?” he said sharply. “Really!”

“Says the man with five children and number six on the way”, I replied acidly. “Clearly you know how the game is played.”

“Pie!” Toni almost shouted looking mortified. “I made it especially. And for Heaven's sake let us please change the subject!”

I exchanged a smirk with Jack and just thought longingly of the Impala’s back seat.

On the way back home I did not have to just think....

Chapter Text

1927

[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]

One of the many annoying things about growing older was that my memory slowed down. When I read a vaguely familiar name in the paper one day I knew that I had seen it somewhere before but could not quite place it so asked Sherlock.

“Porthduilleyn”, he said. “That was where we went to track down my errant namesake Mr. Sherrinford Holmes.”

Now I remembered – back in the eighties when we had crossed the length of England and Wales to reunite that gentleman with his lover, Mr. Victor Trevor. The two had returned to Norfolk but had moved to Wales when Mr. Trevor had retired.

“Telford Cottage was their home”, I said. “Lord, the article says it has been blown up! They are not hurt?”

He smiled and shook his head.

“A local building firm, Grant's, purchased the other five cottages for renovation and pressured them to sell up”, he said. “I arranged it all and their move to Carnarvon, where they wished to go.”

“But why was their old house blown up?” I asked.

“It seems that Grant's renovations went a little awry”, he said calmly. “How very unfortunate.”

I think that I had managed more sincerity than that over his brother Bacchus' passing.... and why was he shaking his head at me like that?