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Chapter Text

1905

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

In October a chance arose to travel to London to hear a Trafalgar Day concert which would feature a new piece by Mr. Henry Wood. I was initially reluctant to go mostly because I feared any disruption to my happy existence but Sherlock eventually 'persuaded' me (use your imagination!). We could have travelled on to Baker Street to see Mr. and Mrs. Lindberg afterwards but we arranged to meet them instead at my favourite Trafalgar Street restaurant. I was doubly glad at that; 221B belonged to the past and I wanted to remember it fondly while walking boldly into my future with the man I loved. Although after our night at the hotel in London walking was something I could only do with difficulty And the capital's roads were even bumpier than I remembered!

This was also the year that the militant suffragette movement began to make its presence felt and as I had predicted (I just know that a certain blue-eyed genius is muttering something about wiseacres as I write this!) the public reaction was hostile. Votes for women would come just as the last century had brought three great acts that had led to about sixty per cent of men (mainly those with property) having a vote, but this sort of direct action served only to antagonize people and press criticism was particularly fierce. The suffragette movement did however claim one early casualty; Mr. Ranulph Holmes followed up a major speech at an anti-suffragette rally with a six-course meal and promptly dropped dead of a heart-attack!

Perhaps I was wrong to say that the suffragettes were all bad – and damnation if he is not shaking his head at me again!

Chapter Text

1905

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

Casdene is not that far from Lewes, to which small town the railway that serves Berwick runs before continuing on to Brighton or London. Although we loved the cottage dearly there were times when we needed to be away from it for a while, and one of our favourite places to go was the fields above Lewes, where Simon de Montfort had won the great victory that had secured an English parliament.

“Of course we did have a form of that institution before the earl came along”, said the resident know-all.

“It is strange”, I said, ignoring the show-off in the vicinity, “that it took two really bad kings like John and his son Henry the Third to advance the English constitution. But then I suppose that poor Earl Simon would turn in his grave if he saw our modern system, especially when women do finally get the vote.”

“My unpleasant brother Mycroft is, like the late and unlamented Ranulph, bitterly against that idea”, Sherlock said with a smile. “He thinks that the franchise is far too wide already, although I assume that he has not yet voiced those opinions in our parents' house.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked. It was wonderfully peaceful up here, the quiet barely disturbed by the faint sound of church bells and a train chuffing along the distant line towards London. It may have been November but it was still pleasantly warm, and I was feeling happy with life just now.

“Because he had not yet appeared in the obituary pages!” Sherlock grinned. “Mother has decided that she is in favour of women having the vote, which of course means that Father will be too. Shall we start our picnic?”

Sherlock had purchased an honest-to-good picnic set, complete with a gingham blanket that we were resting on. He had however insisted on buying as much food as possible from the village.

“Very peaceful up here”, I sighed.

“That is good”, he said. “Hopefully the good citizens of Lewes will not hear your screams when I fuck you on this blanket.”

He really was incorrigible! Praise the Lord!

Chapter Text

1906

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

Two years into my and Sherlock's time at the cottage and mercifully the public seemed to have accepted his retirement which had been announced at the end of our adventure in Oxfordshire (The Adventure of the Creeping Man) published that May. One magazine lamented the loss of 'that great Hercules' which bearing in mind that particular legendary character's somewhat chequered career I found rather odd. True, Sherlock had rid the world of pests like the Greek hero had done but without the acts of brutality and slaying of his own family (though having said that, with Sherlock's family.....). Then again even if my man did not look like the archetypal strongman that appearance had been the undoing of more than one criminal who had underestimated him as a result. Besides as I have said before, he was more than Herculean in, ahem, some areas.

Oh come on! Do I have to do all the work here?

The first few months of that year saw two events of interest, the first of which was the one foretold by those knowing ladies we had met a few years back on the Isle of Wight (and who still sent Sherlock various knitwear, some of which.... seriously!). The famous 'H.M.S. Dreadnought' was launched and duly revolutionized naval warfare, but the inevitable result was an arms race as other nations scrambled to catch up; indeed the most powerful ship in the world would end up beings crapped shortly after the terrible Great War. The other event was the first international rugby match in which England beat France, which I only mention because I told Sherlock about it one day, he ordered a rugby kit and....... and I could not make it to church the following Sunday. Talk about a scrum-down!

Chapter Text

1906

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

That summer we were due to visit the Singers in Eastbourne. We had intended to travel by train from Berwick Station but a few days before we set out there occurred the terrible and inexplicable Salisbury railway accident when some twenty-eight people lost their lives as an express train tried to take a sharp curve at far too high a speed. Sherlock of course knew immediately of my concerns and instead suggested hiring a trap in the village and going by road. It was considerably slower but I enjoyed the journey, especially as we passed a lonely and deserted barn on the way there.

Well, we did not exactly pass it. I remembered that painting in the London studio of the angel Castiel, and decided that we might as well do our own little re-enactment of it and see if the acoustics were the same as in the barn a way along from our cottage (they were). Fortunately that building did not intrude on our privacy as it was both screened from us by a small copse and had its own access track in from the other direction, although the farmer who owned it sometimes gave us both knowing looks if we saw him in the tavern. Oh well.

We had a good time in Eastbourne and took the same route back. With the same stop. Those acoustics needed testing thoroughly!

It was just a week after that memorable trip that a chain of events began which would end in my being horribly embarrassed.