A small nod to Watson's department

 

Mary Morstan at Baker Street. Illustration by Richard Gutschmidt in Das Zeichen der Vier (Robert Lutz, 1902, p. 24)

I've had fun for the past five years writing short fictions about Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John H. Watson, and their world. I've also been a member of a small writer's group meeting twice a month at my neighborhood library for the past six years. I rarely write anything Holmes related as part of that group's various writing exercises. Holmes writing always seems more appropriately confined to the IYKYK Sherlockian community. Although the writers in the group are learning more and more about Holmes with each passing year because most of the time I'm there I'm talking about writing about Holmes. They are very patient and sort of interested.

 

The group has a practice of completing various writing exercises such as three-word prompts, ten minute writing sessions based on assigned situations, etc. This week, while sorting through some of these exercises, I came across a small bit of group writing I did about Holmes and Watson. I decided it might be fun to share this little nod to Watson here.

 

Exercise: Three Word Prompt/Ten minutes to write

Three words: Bees, Glass, Bellowed

 

The fellow at the door didn't want to hear that Sherlock Holmes no longer lived in Baker Street. In fact, he had only found me there because I stopped in to collect some papers I had left behind.

"What do you mean he's not here??!" he bellowed. "I need him to make some sense of this!"

I nodded in agreement. "We all want Holmes here to make sense of everything. But its no good, man. He has taken his glass and retired to the Sussex Downs to raise his bees."

"Raise his what?"

"Bees. He is writing a monograph about bees. He won't be back here in Baker Street, ever."

The man's face fell. We stood silently looking at one another, as if we could jointly wish Holmes into existence before us. I thought for a moment he might weep as he struggled for control of his emotions. Finally he sighed deeply and turned to go. On the third step, however, he stopped and looked back at me. 

"I don't suppose you could explain it to me, Dr. Watson?"

"Explain what?"

"Why it is that since I met my Daisy Marie, I feel like I have an arrow in my heart and a rock in my stomach."

I laughed and motioned for him to come back into the sitting room.

"You may be happy to learn," I said, clapping him on the back as he passed through the doorway, "that Holmes always said that the fair sex is my department. Come, sit down. I'll pour us a brandy. This will take a little while. I do have some experience in these matters."