Sherlock Holmes/Sharpe Series - The Case of the Phantom Captain
Title: The Case of the Phantom Captain
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: Holmes/Watson (pre-slash or friendship) Sharpe/Jack Spears (strongly implied)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: A friend from Watson's army days comes to him with a problem strange enough to capture his flatmate's interest.
Spoilers: In a round-about way, for Sharpe's Sword (Film version)
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 5300
Author's Notes: Anyone familiar with Sharpe will notice that I've played with the dates, here (but only by about 70 years, shush!). I'd also like to take this opportunity to blame beeinmybonnet for this. And mention that familiarity with Sharpe is completely optional.
It was nearly a quarter past twelve in the evening when I returned to Baker Street on the 16th of April, 1883, and I was anxious that my flatmate would be awake so I could share with him the strange tale that had been relayed to me by an old friend of my army days. Thankfully, Holmes remained in the sitting room, peering out between the gap in the curtains at the street below. It was no surprise that he did not turn to greet me straight away, as he was clearly contemplating a problem of his own, judging from the draw of his brows. I made myself comfortable and went for a cigarette before deciding that I had partaken of quite enough tobacco for one evening in the company of my friend, perhaps in an effort to make up for his disinterest in smoking at all.
“Your companion for the evening must be an interesting man, Watson,” Holmes finally turned from his silent contemplation at the window and came to sit down in the armchair opposite my own, folding himself into the chair with his feet tucked to the side.
“I suppose I was out rather late, yes,” I replied absently, eager to get on with my story, “Holmes -”
“A man who spends an evening at a gentlemen's club and neither smokes nor drinks is bound to be. I take it he was coming to see you, specifically,” he interrupted, “and whilst I know your company to be absolutely riveting, it does seem rather a long way to come for an evening's entertainment, all the way from Yorkshire. So I take it he was here looking for your personal; or perhaps professional; advice. How am I doing so far?” He asked with a small smile.
“Insufferable as ever,” I knew there was little point in getting upset over my friend's ability to know my every thought or action, “I suppose you're going to tell me what he wanted as well, or is that part of the story up to me?”
“My dear fellow, if I had developed the ability to read minds in the time you've been out, it would surely have been the first thing I told you upon your return,” he shifted in place and took up his pipe, “do you mind?”
“Go ahead, it'll keep you quiet while I tell it,” I waited for him to pack and light his pipe before continuing, “I take it you know who I was with?”
“Colonel Richard Sharpe,” Holmes mumbled around the stem of his pipe, “quite the war hero, I surmise.”
“Quite. Well, I suppose you've already deduced that I was his doctor in Afghanistan; he was injured fairly severely, but he pulled through. Only a Captain at the time, but we've stayed in touch here and there. Now, I'd like to tell you that it was my own medical skill that saved him, but I think most of it was down to the sheer bull-headedness of another Captain - The Lord Jack Spears - who refused to allow him to die. They were very close at the time.”
“Lord Spears. Interesting,” Holmes nodded his understanding, “and by very close..?” He allowed the question to trail off.
“I believe so, yes, but I can't say I ever knew for sure. They were certainly very loyal to each other, almost from the instant they met. It seemed that they were each other's match, if I might put it that way. Both of them completely reckless, of course, and prone to being on the wrong side of regulations, but they tended to get things done.”
“If I didn't know better, Watson, I'd think you admired them,” Holmes smiled a little and sucked on his pipe.
“Well, it is possible that I have a fondness for people who refuse to abide by the accepted rules,” I allowed, “anyway, Captain Spears disappeared while Captain Sharpe was still resting. He was assumed dead, and the regiment moved on a week later. Sharpe was obviously hurt by his death, and he told me once that he couldn't believe that Spears would fail to accomplish what had been a straightforward mission. I will admit that it seemed unreasonable to me as well, but then the man must have been distracted by his friend's injury.”
“Tragic, but not truly unreasonable,” Holmes agreed, “but also a very old story. I take it something new has happened?”
I nodded, “there has been a development. Or at least, Sharpe seems to think there has. He...” I paused to find a way to phrase this next piece of information, “he seems to think that Captain Spears has returned. He tells me he's been getting glimpses of a man who he thinks is the apparently not dead Captain, but that every time he approaches, the man disappears. He begins to wonder if he might not be imagining it, but this is not a man prone to flights of fancy or hysteria.”
“You think there is something in it?” Holmes tapped his pipe against the arm of the chair, causing puffs of smoke to issue from the bowl.
“Yes,” I replied confidently.
“And you think we should travel to Yorkshire to investigate his claims.”
“I have already received an invitation for both of us to do so. I hear it is a nice area of the country.”
“You hear it from a Yorkshireman,” Holmes pointed out with a small smile, “I see no reason not to go,” he put his pipe back in his mouth, “as a favour to an old friend.”
***
“Watson, if you would be so kind, I would ask for a fuller impression of Colonel Sharpe. I know the history of his career, of course, and I can infer that he is amiable enough to be your friend, but I'd like to know as much about his character as you are able to tell me.” Holmes spoke up suddenly at about the halfway point of our train journey. I had thought him asleep, and his sudden question startled me out of my own half-doze.
“He's... well, I suppose as you know his history, you have surmised that he does tend to carry the vestiges of his... mixed upbringing. But then he never seemed to be interested in behaving as though he was anything other than what he was. He's comfortable with himself, I suppose.”
“He rather sounds like your kind of man, Watson,” Holmes smiled enigmatically, “and what of him now? Much change?”
“Not really. He still seems as he was when I knew him. Free spirited. Reckless. Very much a lover of life, in his own way. But between you and I, I don't think he ever quite got over loosing Captain Spears.”
“Losing a friend that close never quite leaves you, whether or not there was any romantic involvement,” Holmes remarked quietly, “he remains unmarried?”
“Indeed. He was never the sort of man who would have been happy with just one woman.”
Holmes nodded, and fell into another contemplative silence for the remainder of the train journey, then stood without another word as we pulled into the station at Sheffield. Colonel Sharpe was waiting for us on the platform, smiling wearily. He took the small case I had brought with me from me without a fuss, and guided us to a well-kept trap, which he drove himself.
Holmes, not normally a man who got on well with people who could be called by the title 'Colonel', seemed to be sizing my friend up quietly as we drove through the countryside towards Oughtibridge, an outlying village about six or seven miles from the train station, according to Colonel Sharpe. He and I passed the short drive chatting about inconsequential things; I believe I was unconsciously trying to put him at ease before Holmes decided to speak up, since I did not wish to lose one friend over another.
We arrived at what was more or less a cottage, but with more land around it than one would usually expect. I was nearly certain we would discover that the man had built much of it himself, having bought the vacant land. It was the sort of thing I could picture him doing, content in his own ability to fulfil his needs as he tended to be.
“I imagine you gentlemen can make your own way inside while I see to the horse,” he suggested as we climbed out of the carriage, “shan't be long, door hasn't got a lock on it.”
Holmes raised an eyebrow at this last statement, but said nothing other than, “thank you,” before taking my case as well as his own and heading for the door. I offered an apologetic smile for his manner, but Colonel Sharpe didn't seem put out by it - in a way, I supposed, they were not so terribly different.
The inside of the cottage was homely, and I would be tempted to describe it as sparse were I not aware that I had become rather more used to excessive clutter than the average man might be. There was a noticeable military neatness about it even to my own eyes, and I wondered briefly if this was the sort of thing Holmes saw in my own organisational habits, though I suspected that not being a career soldier as the Colonel was, my ways were subtler.
“He seems a solid sort of fellow, Watson. I can see why he appeals to you.” Holmes perched himself on one of the chairs at the kitchen table.
“I suppose so,” I joined him by sitting down opposite, “I would perhaps not have chosen him for a friend, but I would not be without his acquaintance if I was allowed to live my life for a second time. But then I have been unusually lucky with unlikely friends.”
“Kind of you to say so, doctor,” the Colonel's voice rang out from the front door, and it was only another moment before the man himself appeared again, coat having been stripped off and leaving him in slightly tattered waistcoat and wrinkled shirtsleeves.
“As I'm sure you know, Colonel Sharpe, Watson is a very kind man,” Holmes spoke up, “I know you don't smoke, but do you mind terribly if I do?”
“Go for it. I've put up with worse things,” he flopped down on one of the remaining chairs as Holmes extracted his pipe from his pocket. Silence reigned over the room while Holmes packed tobacco into the bowl and lit it before settling the stem between his teeth again and leaning back. “Now, Colonel Sharpe, I should like to hear your story from you, if you'd be so kind.”
“Of course. I suppose you already know that I knew a man called Captain Jack Spears in the war. Now, he was more like you, sir; well bred,” he smiled wryly for a moment, “and he went missing, and was assumed dead about four years ago, back in Afghanistan. Now, at the time, I thought it strange that he would have got himself killed, but it were a war and people die, don't they? So I thought no more of it, got on with the war, and then retired last year,” Sharpe shifted in his chair, “missed him, but there wasn't much point in dwelling on it, so I didn't.”
“But something changed recently?” Holmes asked around his pipe.
“Aye, it did; You saw the wood on the way past, yeah?”
“It was a little hard to miss. Charming place,” I remarked.
“I think so an' all. Go down there whenever I can. Last couple of weeks, though, I've felt like there was something... someone, more like, following me in there. Then this past week, I spotted him. When I did, and I know how stupid this sounds, but I could have sworn it were Jack. I've seen him twice more, called out to him and the like, but he just up and disappears. Three days ago, there was someone out the back there,” he nodded towards a small window at the side, “and I promise you, it was Jack. At least, I thought it was, but I was too slow chasing him. Do you think I'm going mad?”
“I don't think I'm qualified to determine that, Colonel, but the doctor doesn't seem to think so,” Holmes began diplomatically, “and I'm inclined to think that nothing is impossible. Now, it may be that you are simply seeing a man who is similar in appearance to your old friend, but there may be something else at work here. I'll need a full description of Captain Spears, but I imagine I can get that from Watson.”
“Of course. No need to go over it again,” I looked over to the Colonel, who didn't seem quite himself; he looked small and unwell, and though he was physically not a large man, it was unusual for him not to seem as though he filled the room. “Why don't you go and rest? Holmes and I can look after ourselves, and I'm sure he'll want to go looking for your mystery man. Go.”
Sharpe paused for a moment, then nodded. “Aye. Thanks, I will. Shout if you need anything.” He stood and left us both without another word.
“Right, off we go then, Watson?” Holmes stood as well and headed to the back door, “the sooner we get this sorted out, the better for your friend, I think.”
***
The wood was as charming up close as it had been from the road, full of ancient, twisted trees prone to put one in mind of fairy stories, and with a peaceful air about it. The only thing to spoil it was the noticeably tense mood Holmes had been slowly falling into since we'd arrived.
“I know you aren't fond of the country, but surely the case is enough to make up for the fresh air,” I cajoled as pleasantly as I could.
“It is not the fresh air which bothers me in this case, Watson,” Holmes stopped to look closely at a low branch that had recently been broken.
“Then what is it? I know that as a rule you dislike military men, but surely not enough to allow it to affect your judgement so - and as you've seen, Colonel Sharpe is perfectly amiable.”
“It is not his amiability or his career that bothers me,” Holmes remarked cryptically, and those were the last words he would speak to me on the subject.
On our walk, we discovered several suggestions that the wood was well-visited, but saw no sign of anyone but ourselves over the course of three hours, and had in that time seen every part of the small patch of trees, so it was clear that there was no hidden camp. This came as a surprise to neither of us, for if there had been any sign of civilisation in the wood itself, Colonel Sharpe would undoubtedly have already come across it. Holmes' sour mood did not appear to be lifting as we headed back to the Colonel's cottage, which struck me as odd, for the case seemed only to be getting more interesting.
***
The Colonel was awake again once we returned, likely not having slept at all, but looking healthier for his rest. I have often observed that Holmes' mere presence has this effect on the worried, as long as he isn't in direct contact with them for too long. He questioned the Colonel again about every encounter he'd had with the man, but nothing new seemed to be revealed, nor did his story vary in any detail. Though perhaps not gifted with the same intellect as Holmes, there was no room for doubt that my old friend's eye and memory for detail was just as good as his.
This second interview lasted so long that the light failed us, and Colonel Sharpe and I partook of a simple supper while Holmes smoked in silence by the fire. He left us earlier than I had expected, showing us before he retired the guest room that Holmes and I would share for our time here after offering to sleep in front of the fire and give up his own bedroom. As Holmes would not speak to me and I had no interest in any other pursuit while everyone else in the house was in such a poor mood, I headed to bed only shortly before ten o'clock, perhaps half an hour before the Colonel had.
Holmes, to my surprise, came to sit in the corner of the guest room within fifteen minutes of my entering it. He remained silent, though had evidently given up on his pipe and simply held it unlit between his teeth. I endured this for about five minutes before a slightly frayed temper and a good deal of worry for both of my friends got the better of me.
“You must tell me what it is that bothers you about Colonel Sharpe, Holmes. For all of our sakes,” I implored.
He seemed to be surprised by my sudden outburst, though perhaps not as much as I was. “I have no quarrel with Colonel Sharpe. I'm sure he's a charming man,” he paused for a long moment, though for reasons I would never be able to explain, it seemed to me that even when it drew out to almost half a minute that he intended to continue, “it is the case itself that bothers me, Watson, and perhaps your reaction, or rather, lack thereof, to the relationship you suspect between your two old friends.”
“They were in the army together, Holmes,” I replied tiredly, “you clearly don't see anything wrong with it yourself.”
Holmes smiled a very brief but sincere smile, “you will never cease to amaze me, Watson, with how much you know after all,” he drew his knees up to his chest and pressed himself further into the corner, “would you like to hear something of my life before you met me?”
“If it will put you at ease, then yes, I would.”
“Very well,” he nodded, and then took a moment to gather his thoughts, “the reason I am on edge, as you might put it, is that this story is all too familiar to me. Losing someone that close without really knowing what might have happened to him is a painful experience, and I have been contemplating what my reaction might be were my own misplaced friend to start showing himself in London. As I am quite convinced that he is long dead, though like Colonel Sharpe, never saw a body or had definite word, I cannot imagine how I would cope if I discovered that he was alive.”
“I see. And your relationship with this friend was analogous to the one that was between Colonel Sharpe and Captain Spears?”
“Victor and I were never lovers, Watson, but I did love him, and I can state with reasonable assurance that the feeling was mutual. Having him up and disappear without warning or explanation broke my heart in a way that I doubt a lover would match,” Holmes explained quietly, “so you see, my mood is to do with my own self-reflection.”
“And if you thought he was alive again? Or if you discovered beyond doubt that he was?”
“Then I would be put in a very difficult position indeed. It would depend on the manner of his return, I suppose. It might be easy to forgive and forget if I walked into the sitting room one day and the same man I knew years ago was taking tea in it, but I would expect to find him much different,” he stated gravely, “and I am not sure I could deal with that. I wonder, therefore, if there can be a happy conclusion to this case; either Colonel Sharpe is having a trick played on him by man or mind, or he is about to encounter a ghost of his past which may do more harm than good.” Holmes stuffed his pipe back into his pocket.
Silence reigned for a few moments before I found the words I was looking for, “Holmes, remind me, if ever I have the impertinence to suggest that you are unfeeling again, that you often surprise me in your empathy for complete strangers.”
“Thank you, Watson,” he fiddled with the pipe in his pocket for a moment before speaking up again, “and thank you for listening.”
“I will always be here to listen, Holmes. You rarely say a word that I fail to pay attention to.” I assured him, and silence fell once more until sleep claimed me.
***
When I awoke in the morning, it was to find Holmes asleep in the chair at the side of the room, dressing gown wrapped tightly around him. I rose as quietly as I could and draped a blanket over him, thinking that even if he only enjoyed an hour of so of comfortable sleep, it would do him a world of good. He looked, at least in repose, considerably less haunted.
I made my own way into the kitchen, something telling me that Colonel Sharpe was probably already up and awake. My feeling was proven to be correct when he strolled through the back door just as I stepped into the room, having just come back from an early morning walk, as evidenced by the dew clinging to the cuffs of his trousers. I smiled inwardly to myself upon realising that I appeared to be picking up some of Holmes' tricks. “Sleep well, Colonel?”
“Better than I have done. You can call me Richard, you know.” He smiled the kind little smile I remembered him best for, and put a kettle on the stove.
“No more encounters with our mysterious stranger?” I asked as I pulled out a chair at the table.
“No. No, no sign of him. Might be you two scared him off,” he smiled a little sadly, “I still miss him, you know.”
“I know. You were awfully close, after all. As far as I'm concerned, he saved you life. And I'm sure it happened more than once.”
“Aye, I suppose it did. Saved him once or twice an' all, mind.”
“I do remember you being a bit of a hero,” I smiled warmly at him, “I read about your exploits in the Boer War, as well.”
“That's me,” he grinned, “war hero and all around good bloke. Job you were doing were more important though, wasn't it? Me, I was out ending lives. You were saving them.” Suddenly, the grin had turned into that same, small look I had seen before.
“You were saving them as well, Richard. Just in a different way.”
“If you say so, doctor,” he poured two mugs of tea so thick it might well have stood on its own out of the kettle, and I was reminded for the first time of how much closer I was to my own childhood home than London. “So, what does he really think, your friend, then?”
“He is worried for you. And so am I, for that matter. I hope that however this turns out that it won't do you more harm than good to know the truth.”
“If I never found out, I'd have to leave here,” he sipped his tea and sat down, “I couldn't stand not knowing what was going on. Maybe go abroad. I hear France is nice.”
“It is,” Holmes' voice floated in through the doorway, “but I think it's equally nice out here, and there are considerably fewer French people,” he smiled wryly.
“Holmes is part French, you know,” I smiled a little to see my friend in the doorway, hair tousled and looking sleep-dulled in his tattered dressing gown, but happier than he had been.
“Oh aye? I knew a French bird once-” the Colonel cut himself off, “polite company, never mind.”
Holmes chuckled deeply and went over to check the state of the tea in the kettle, “I haven't been called polite in a number of years, Colonel.”
He was halfway to pouring himself a cup when he dropped the kettle and tore out of the back door as though the hounds of hell were at his heels. Colonel Sharpe and I soon followed after him, but neither of us were quite as fit as we once might have been, and lost him completely after only a short distance. Unable to think of any other course of action to take, we headed back to the cottage and waited for Holmes to make his return.
It was about an hour later when Holmes opened the back door again, hair completely awry and eyes wild. He slumped down at the table heavily, took the remainder of my tea from me and gulped it down in huge swallows. The Colonel and I stared in a stunned silence while we waited for an explanation.
“Captain Spears,” Holmes practically gasped the name, “tall man, dark hair, broad shoulders, correct?”
Colonel Sharpe nodded. “That's the general description, yeah,” I could hear that he was trying to keep us from detecting the hope in his voice.
“I suppose the better piece of evidence is that he answered to his name. He was most surprised to find that I knew it.”
“You've spoken to him? Where is he?” Colonel Sharpe demanded.
“Not exactly spoken to him, no, but I do know where he's gone. I thought it might be best if you accompanied me, Colonel. I think your friend may be in need of a friendly face.”
“Take me to him. Please.” The Colonel stood and pulled his coat from the hook at the back of the door.
“Of course. Give me one minute to dress, and we'll see what we might do about reuniting you with the long-lost Captain.” Holmes disappeared towards the guest room and returned in record time with his coat on, and strode out the back door ahead of us.
We walked for several miles before cresting what was on the cottage side a small hill, but much steeper after the peak. At the bottom, there was a small wooden shack, derelict, but with a line of smoke issuing from the chimney. “Be sure you wish to see him, Colonel. I cannot take it back if you find you have made a mistake.”
Colonel Sharpe nodded. “It's my own mistake to make, Mr. Holmes, and I'll live with it.”
“Good man,” Holmes began to head down the slope, “good man indeed.”
The approach to the shack was made in relative quiet, though we were careful to make enough noise that we would not startle the inhabitant. Colonel Sharpe approached the door hesitantly, and then in a show of the bravery I had known him for previously, opened it and went inside.
In the darkness of the small wooden construction, illuminated only by a fire large enough to take the chill off the air, it was obvious that there was a figure in the shadows, not quite hiding, but making himself inconspicuous as well as he could.
“Jack?” Colonel Sharpe asked with obvious apprehension. I suddenly felt as though I was intruding, but curiosity stopped me from looking away.
The figure stepped forward, and it was obvious to me that this was the same man I'd known years ago; older, certainly and looking worse for the wear - he was one arm down since the last time I'd seen him - but definitely the same man. “Richard,” he looked down at the floor, “hello.”
There was a moment in which nothing at all seemed to move, and then the Colonel rushed forward and threw his arms around his long-missing friend. “Jack. You came back.”
Holmes' tugging at my arm broke my attention away from the scene, and we both stepped outside to allow the two men their privacy, heading back to the cottage to wait for them to return.
***
It was about three hours before the two men arrived back at the Colonel's cottage. Holmes and I were waiting in the sitting room, he recounting the tale of his chase after the man in vivid, and perhaps slightly exaggerated detail. He seemed, to me, to be recovered from his foul mood, having seen that he had done the right thing in finding the Captain.
The Colonel and the Captain both looked significantly younger than they had only hours ago. There was very strong tea made in short order, and we soon found ourselves listening to Jack's story of having been captured, rather than killed, and how he ended up finding his way back to Colonel Sharpe. I felt it probable that he was failing to tell us exactly what had happened after he'd been captured for good reason, but hoped that he would be able to tell it to his friend eventually.
“Mr. Holmes, doctor,” Captain Spears eventually spoke up once there was a break in Colonel Sharpe's hovering about him, “I wanted to thank you. I don't know if I would ever have had the courage to show myself had I not been forced to.”
“You are perfectly welcome, Captain. I am pleased to have been of service.”
As the attention of the Colonel was diverted somewhat, Holmes and I left without a fuss at about two in the afternoon, making our way into the village on foot and then back into town by way of another man who was heading in and had spare room in his trap. Holmes said little that wasn't entirely necessary and mundane until we were safely in our train compartment.
“Well, Watson, what do you think of that?” He asked as he pulled his pipe out his pocket and began to pack it.
“I think we've done a very good thing, Holmes. A very good thing indeed. But I wonder what you think of it. Has it changed your mind about your friend?” My curiosity over the matter was very nearly impossible to contain.
“Not really, no, but I believe I have realised what makes my situation different from the Colonel's,” he answered before striking a match and puffing at his pipe to light it. I waited for him to continue for a moment before growing impatient.
“Well? What makes it different?”
He smiled a small, private smile, “Colonel Sharpe has been alone since Captain Spears disappeared. He has almost been waiting for him to reappear, and I suspect, without doing it deliberately, has put his own life somewhat on hold because of a missing piece. The hole that I was left with, however, has long since been filled; not with a replacement, of course, but with another person who I feel supplies the same purpose,” he frowned, “I fear I am being entirely uncomplimentary, but the point I am trying to make is that if Victor came back now, it would be to a man who no longer had a place for him to slot neatly into. You, Watson, have quite earned it in my life, if you are willing to accept.”
It took me entirely too long to gather my wits enough to make a reply, “I think I can accept that, yes,” I agreed, still a little stunned by Holmes' speech, “thank you, Holmes.”
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: Holmes/Watson (pre-slash or friendship) Sharpe/Jack Spears (strongly implied)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: A friend from Watson's army days comes to him with a problem strange enough to capture his flatmate's interest.
Spoilers: In a round-about way, for Sharpe's Sword (Film version)
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 5300
Author's Notes: Anyone familiar with Sharpe will notice that I've played with the dates, here (but only by about 70 years, shush!). I'd also like to take this opportunity to blame beeinmybonnet for this. And mention that familiarity with Sharpe is completely optional.
It was nearly a quarter past twelve in the evening when I returned to Baker Street on the 16th of April, 1883, and I was anxious that my flatmate would be awake so I could share with him the strange tale that had been relayed to me by an old friend of my army days. Thankfully, Holmes remained in the sitting room, peering out between the gap in the curtains at the street below. It was no surprise that he did not turn to greet me straight away, as he was clearly contemplating a problem of his own, judging from the draw of his brows. I made myself comfortable and went for a cigarette before deciding that I had partaken of quite enough tobacco for one evening in the company of my friend, perhaps in an effort to make up for his disinterest in smoking at all.
“Your companion for the evening must be an interesting man, Watson,” Holmes finally turned from his silent contemplation at the window and came to sit down in the armchair opposite my own, folding himself into the chair with his feet tucked to the side.
“I suppose I was out rather late, yes,” I replied absently, eager to get on with my story, “Holmes -”
“A man who spends an evening at a gentlemen's club and neither smokes nor drinks is bound to be. I take it he was coming to see you, specifically,” he interrupted, “and whilst I know your company to be absolutely riveting, it does seem rather a long way to come for an evening's entertainment, all the way from Yorkshire. So I take it he was here looking for your personal; or perhaps professional; advice. How am I doing so far?” He asked with a small smile.
“Insufferable as ever,” I knew there was little point in getting upset over my friend's ability to know my every thought or action, “I suppose you're going to tell me what he wanted as well, or is that part of the story up to me?”
“My dear fellow, if I had developed the ability to read minds in the time you've been out, it would surely have been the first thing I told you upon your return,” he shifted in place and took up his pipe, “do you mind?”
“Go ahead, it'll keep you quiet while I tell it,” I waited for him to pack and light his pipe before continuing, “I take it you know who I was with?”
“Colonel Richard Sharpe,” Holmes mumbled around the stem of his pipe, “quite the war hero, I surmise.”
“Quite. Well, I suppose you've already deduced that I was his doctor in Afghanistan; he was injured fairly severely, but he pulled through. Only a Captain at the time, but we've stayed in touch here and there. Now, I'd like to tell you that it was my own medical skill that saved him, but I think most of it was down to the sheer bull-headedness of another Captain - The Lord Jack Spears - who refused to allow him to die. They were very close at the time.”
“Lord Spears. Interesting,” Holmes nodded his understanding, “and by very close..?” He allowed the question to trail off.
“I believe so, yes, but I can't say I ever knew for sure. They were certainly very loyal to each other, almost from the instant they met. It seemed that they were each other's match, if I might put it that way. Both of them completely reckless, of course, and prone to being on the wrong side of regulations, but they tended to get things done.”
“If I didn't know better, Watson, I'd think you admired them,” Holmes smiled a little and sucked on his pipe.
“Well, it is possible that I have a fondness for people who refuse to abide by the accepted rules,” I allowed, “anyway, Captain Spears disappeared while Captain Sharpe was still resting. He was assumed dead, and the regiment moved on a week later. Sharpe was obviously hurt by his death, and he told me once that he couldn't believe that Spears would fail to accomplish what had been a straightforward mission. I will admit that it seemed unreasonable to me as well, but then the man must have been distracted by his friend's injury.”
“Tragic, but not truly unreasonable,” Holmes agreed, “but also a very old story. I take it something new has happened?”
I nodded, “there has been a development. Or at least, Sharpe seems to think there has. He...” I paused to find a way to phrase this next piece of information, “he seems to think that Captain Spears has returned. He tells me he's been getting glimpses of a man who he thinks is the apparently not dead Captain, but that every time he approaches, the man disappears. He begins to wonder if he might not be imagining it, but this is not a man prone to flights of fancy or hysteria.”
“You think there is something in it?” Holmes tapped his pipe against the arm of the chair, causing puffs of smoke to issue from the bowl.
“Yes,” I replied confidently.
“And you think we should travel to Yorkshire to investigate his claims.”
“I have already received an invitation for both of us to do so. I hear it is a nice area of the country.”
“You hear it from a Yorkshireman,” Holmes pointed out with a small smile, “I see no reason not to go,” he put his pipe back in his mouth, “as a favour to an old friend.”
***
“Watson, if you would be so kind, I would ask for a fuller impression of Colonel Sharpe. I know the history of his career, of course, and I can infer that he is amiable enough to be your friend, but I'd like to know as much about his character as you are able to tell me.” Holmes spoke up suddenly at about the halfway point of our train journey. I had thought him asleep, and his sudden question startled me out of my own half-doze.
“He's... well, I suppose as you know his history, you have surmised that he does tend to carry the vestiges of his... mixed upbringing. But then he never seemed to be interested in behaving as though he was anything other than what he was. He's comfortable with himself, I suppose.”
“He rather sounds like your kind of man, Watson,” Holmes smiled enigmatically, “and what of him now? Much change?”
“Not really. He still seems as he was when I knew him. Free spirited. Reckless. Very much a lover of life, in his own way. But between you and I, I don't think he ever quite got over loosing Captain Spears.”
“Losing a friend that close never quite leaves you, whether or not there was any romantic involvement,” Holmes remarked quietly, “he remains unmarried?”
“Indeed. He was never the sort of man who would have been happy with just one woman.”
Holmes nodded, and fell into another contemplative silence for the remainder of the train journey, then stood without another word as we pulled into the station at Sheffield. Colonel Sharpe was waiting for us on the platform, smiling wearily. He took the small case I had brought with me from me without a fuss, and guided us to a well-kept trap, which he drove himself.
Holmes, not normally a man who got on well with people who could be called by the title 'Colonel', seemed to be sizing my friend up quietly as we drove through the countryside towards Oughtibridge, an outlying village about six or seven miles from the train station, according to Colonel Sharpe. He and I passed the short drive chatting about inconsequential things; I believe I was unconsciously trying to put him at ease before Holmes decided to speak up, since I did not wish to lose one friend over another.
We arrived at what was more or less a cottage, but with more land around it than one would usually expect. I was nearly certain we would discover that the man had built much of it himself, having bought the vacant land. It was the sort of thing I could picture him doing, content in his own ability to fulfil his needs as he tended to be.
“I imagine you gentlemen can make your own way inside while I see to the horse,” he suggested as we climbed out of the carriage, “shan't be long, door hasn't got a lock on it.”
Holmes raised an eyebrow at this last statement, but said nothing other than, “thank you,” before taking my case as well as his own and heading for the door. I offered an apologetic smile for his manner, but Colonel Sharpe didn't seem put out by it - in a way, I supposed, they were not so terribly different.
The inside of the cottage was homely, and I would be tempted to describe it as sparse were I not aware that I had become rather more used to excessive clutter than the average man might be. There was a noticeable military neatness about it even to my own eyes, and I wondered briefly if this was the sort of thing Holmes saw in my own organisational habits, though I suspected that not being a career soldier as the Colonel was, my ways were subtler.
“He seems a solid sort of fellow, Watson. I can see why he appeals to you.” Holmes perched himself on one of the chairs at the kitchen table.
“I suppose so,” I joined him by sitting down opposite, “I would perhaps not have chosen him for a friend, but I would not be without his acquaintance if I was allowed to live my life for a second time. But then I have been unusually lucky with unlikely friends.”
“Kind of you to say so, doctor,” the Colonel's voice rang out from the front door, and it was only another moment before the man himself appeared again, coat having been stripped off and leaving him in slightly tattered waistcoat and wrinkled shirtsleeves.
“As I'm sure you know, Colonel Sharpe, Watson is a very kind man,” Holmes spoke up, “I know you don't smoke, but do you mind terribly if I do?”
“Go for it. I've put up with worse things,” he flopped down on one of the remaining chairs as Holmes extracted his pipe from his pocket. Silence reigned over the room while Holmes packed tobacco into the bowl and lit it before settling the stem between his teeth again and leaning back. “Now, Colonel Sharpe, I should like to hear your story from you, if you'd be so kind.”
“Of course. I suppose you already know that I knew a man called Captain Jack Spears in the war. Now, he was more like you, sir; well bred,” he smiled wryly for a moment, “and he went missing, and was assumed dead about four years ago, back in Afghanistan. Now, at the time, I thought it strange that he would have got himself killed, but it were a war and people die, don't they? So I thought no more of it, got on with the war, and then retired last year,” Sharpe shifted in his chair, “missed him, but there wasn't much point in dwelling on it, so I didn't.”
“But something changed recently?” Holmes asked around his pipe.
“Aye, it did; You saw the wood on the way past, yeah?”
“It was a little hard to miss. Charming place,” I remarked.
“I think so an' all. Go down there whenever I can. Last couple of weeks, though, I've felt like there was something... someone, more like, following me in there. Then this past week, I spotted him. When I did, and I know how stupid this sounds, but I could have sworn it were Jack. I've seen him twice more, called out to him and the like, but he just up and disappears. Three days ago, there was someone out the back there,” he nodded towards a small window at the side, “and I promise you, it was Jack. At least, I thought it was, but I was too slow chasing him. Do you think I'm going mad?”
“I don't think I'm qualified to determine that, Colonel, but the doctor doesn't seem to think so,” Holmes began diplomatically, “and I'm inclined to think that nothing is impossible. Now, it may be that you are simply seeing a man who is similar in appearance to your old friend, but there may be something else at work here. I'll need a full description of Captain Spears, but I imagine I can get that from Watson.”
“Of course. No need to go over it again,” I looked over to the Colonel, who didn't seem quite himself; he looked small and unwell, and though he was physically not a large man, it was unusual for him not to seem as though he filled the room. “Why don't you go and rest? Holmes and I can look after ourselves, and I'm sure he'll want to go looking for your mystery man. Go.”
Sharpe paused for a moment, then nodded. “Aye. Thanks, I will. Shout if you need anything.” He stood and left us both without another word.
“Right, off we go then, Watson?” Holmes stood as well and headed to the back door, “the sooner we get this sorted out, the better for your friend, I think.”
***
The wood was as charming up close as it had been from the road, full of ancient, twisted trees prone to put one in mind of fairy stories, and with a peaceful air about it. The only thing to spoil it was the noticeably tense mood Holmes had been slowly falling into since we'd arrived.
“I know you aren't fond of the country, but surely the case is enough to make up for the fresh air,” I cajoled as pleasantly as I could.
“It is not the fresh air which bothers me in this case, Watson,” Holmes stopped to look closely at a low branch that had recently been broken.
“Then what is it? I know that as a rule you dislike military men, but surely not enough to allow it to affect your judgement so - and as you've seen, Colonel Sharpe is perfectly amiable.”
“It is not his amiability or his career that bothers me,” Holmes remarked cryptically, and those were the last words he would speak to me on the subject.
On our walk, we discovered several suggestions that the wood was well-visited, but saw no sign of anyone but ourselves over the course of three hours, and had in that time seen every part of the small patch of trees, so it was clear that there was no hidden camp. This came as a surprise to neither of us, for if there had been any sign of civilisation in the wood itself, Colonel Sharpe would undoubtedly have already come across it. Holmes' sour mood did not appear to be lifting as we headed back to the Colonel's cottage, which struck me as odd, for the case seemed only to be getting more interesting.
***
The Colonel was awake again once we returned, likely not having slept at all, but looking healthier for his rest. I have often observed that Holmes' mere presence has this effect on the worried, as long as he isn't in direct contact with them for too long. He questioned the Colonel again about every encounter he'd had with the man, but nothing new seemed to be revealed, nor did his story vary in any detail. Though perhaps not gifted with the same intellect as Holmes, there was no room for doubt that my old friend's eye and memory for detail was just as good as his.
This second interview lasted so long that the light failed us, and Colonel Sharpe and I partook of a simple supper while Holmes smoked in silence by the fire. He left us earlier than I had expected, showing us before he retired the guest room that Holmes and I would share for our time here after offering to sleep in front of the fire and give up his own bedroom. As Holmes would not speak to me and I had no interest in any other pursuit while everyone else in the house was in such a poor mood, I headed to bed only shortly before ten o'clock, perhaps half an hour before the Colonel had.
Holmes, to my surprise, came to sit in the corner of the guest room within fifteen minutes of my entering it. He remained silent, though had evidently given up on his pipe and simply held it unlit between his teeth. I endured this for about five minutes before a slightly frayed temper and a good deal of worry for both of my friends got the better of me.
“You must tell me what it is that bothers you about Colonel Sharpe, Holmes. For all of our sakes,” I implored.
He seemed to be surprised by my sudden outburst, though perhaps not as much as I was. “I have no quarrel with Colonel Sharpe. I'm sure he's a charming man,” he paused for a long moment, though for reasons I would never be able to explain, it seemed to me that even when it drew out to almost half a minute that he intended to continue, “it is the case itself that bothers me, Watson, and perhaps your reaction, or rather, lack thereof, to the relationship you suspect between your two old friends.”
“They were in the army together, Holmes,” I replied tiredly, “you clearly don't see anything wrong with it yourself.”
Holmes smiled a very brief but sincere smile, “you will never cease to amaze me, Watson, with how much you know after all,” he drew his knees up to his chest and pressed himself further into the corner, “would you like to hear something of my life before you met me?”
“If it will put you at ease, then yes, I would.”
“Very well,” he nodded, and then took a moment to gather his thoughts, “the reason I am on edge, as you might put it, is that this story is all too familiar to me. Losing someone that close without really knowing what might have happened to him is a painful experience, and I have been contemplating what my reaction might be were my own misplaced friend to start showing himself in London. As I am quite convinced that he is long dead, though like Colonel Sharpe, never saw a body or had definite word, I cannot imagine how I would cope if I discovered that he was alive.”
“I see. And your relationship with this friend was analogous to the one that was between Colonel Sharpe and Captain Spears?”
“Victor and I were never lovers, Watson, but I did love him, and I can state with reasonable assurance that the feeling was mutual. Having him up and disappear without warning or explanation broke my heart in a way that I doubt a lover would match,” Holmes explained quietly, “so you see, my mood is to do with my own self-reflection.”
“And if you thought he was alive again? Or if you discovered beyond doubt that he was?”
“Then I would be put in a very difficult position indeed. It would depend on the manner of his return, I suppose. It might be easy to forgive and forget if I walked into the sitting room one day and the same man I knew years ago was taking tea in it, but I would expect to find him much different,” he stated gravely, “and I am not sure I could deal with that. I wonder, therefore, if there can be a happy conclusion to this case; either Colonel Sharpe is having a trick played on him by man or mind, or he is about to encounter a ghost of his past which may do more harm than good.” Holmes stuffed his pipe back into his pocket.
Silence reigned for a few moments before I found the words I was looking for, “Holmes, remind me, if ever I have the impertinence to suggest that you are unfeeling again, that you often surprise me in your empathy for complete strangers.”
“Thank you, Watson,” he fiddled with the pipe in his pocket for a moment before speaking up again, “and thank you for listening.”
“I will always be here to listen, Holmes. You rarely say a word that I fail to pay attention to.” I assured him, and silence fell once more until sleep claimed me.
***
When I awoke in the morning, it was to find Holmes asleep in the chair at the side of the room, dressing gown wrapped tightly around him. I rose as quietly as I could and draped a blanket over him, thinking that even if he only enjoyed an hour of so of comfortable sleep, it would do him a world of good. He looked, at least in repose, considerably less haunted.
I made my own way into the kitchen, something telling me that Colonel Sharpe was probably already up and awake. My feeling was proven to be correct when he strolled through the back door just as I stepped into the room, having just come back from an early morning walk, as evidenced by the dew clinging to the cuffs of his trousers. I smiled inwardly to myself upon realising that I appeared to be picking up some of Holmes' tricks. “Sleep well, Colonel?”
“Better than I have done. You can call me Richard, you know.” He smiled the kind little smile I remembered him best for, and put a kettle on the stove.
“No more encounters with our mysterious stranger?” I asked as I pulled out a chair at the table.
“No. No, no sign of him. Might be you two scared him off,” he smiled a little sadly, “I still miss him, you know.”
“I know. You were awfully close, after all. As far as I'm concerned, he saved you life. And I'm sure it happened more than once.”
“Aye, I suppose it did. Saved him once or twice an' all, mind.”
“I do remember you being a bit of a hero,” I smiled warmly at him, “I read about your exploits in the Boer War, as well.”
“That's me,” he grinned, “war hero and all around good bloke. Job you were doing were more important though, wasn't it? Me, I was out ending lives. You were saving them.” Suddenly, the grin had turned into that same, small look I had seen before.
“You were saving them as well, Richard. Just in a different way.”
“If you say so, doctor,” he poured two mugs of tea so thick it might well have stood on its own out of the kettle, and I was reminded for the first time of how much closer I was to my own childhood home than London. “So, what does he really think, your friend, then?”
“He is worried for you. And so am I, for that matter. I hope that however this turns out that it won't do you more harm than good to know the truth.”
“If I never found out, I'd have to leave here,” he sipped his tea and sat down, “I couldn't stand not knowing what was going on. Maybe go abroad. I hear France is nice.”
“It is,” Holmes' voice floated in through the doorway, “but I think it's equally nice out here, and there are considerably fewer French people,” he smiled wryly.
“Holmes is part French, you know,” I smiled a little to see my friend in the doorway, hair tousled and looking sleep-dulled in his tattered dressing gown, but happier than he had been.
“Oh aye? I knew a French bird once-” the Colonel cut himself off, “polite company, never mind.”
Holmes chuckled deeply and went over to check the state of the tea in the kettle, “I haven't been called polite in a number of years, Colonel.”
He was halfway to pouring himself a cup when he dropped the kettle and tore out of the back door as though the hounds of hell were at his heels. Colonel Sharpe and I soon followed after him, but neither of us were quite as fit as we once might have been, and lost him completely after only a short distance. Unable to think of any other course of action to take, we headed back to the cottage and waited for Holmes to make his return.
It was about an hour later when Holmes opened the back door again, hair completely awry and eyes wild. He slumped down at the table heavily, took the remainder of my tea from me and gulped it down in huge swallows. The Colonel and I stared in a stunned silence while we waited for an explanation.
“Captain Spears,” Holmes practically gasped the name, “tall man, dark hair, broad shoulders, correct?”
Colonel Sharpe nodded. “That's the general description, yeah,” I could hear that he was trying to keep us from detecting the hope in his voice.
“I suppose the better piece of evidence is that he answered to his name. He was most surprised to find that I knew it.”
“You've spoken to him? Where is he?” Colonel Sharpe demanded.
“Not exactly spoken to him, no, but I do know where he's gone. I thought it might be best if you accompanied me, Colonel. I think your friend may be in need of a friendly face.”
“Take me to him. Please.” The Colonel stood and pulled his coat from the hook at the back of the door.
“Of course. Give me one minute to dress, and we'll see what we might do about reuniting you with the long-lost Captain.” Holmes disappeared towards the guest room and returned in record time with his coat on, and strode out the back door ahead of us.
We walked for several miles before cresting what was on the cottage side a small hill, but much steeper after the peak. At the bottom, there was a small wooden shack, derelict, but with a line of smoke issuing from the chimney. “Be sure you wish to see him, Colonel. I cannot take it back if you find you have made a mistake.”
Colonel Sharpe nodded. “It's my own mistake to make, Mr. Holmes, and I'll live with it.”
“Good man,” Holmes began to head down the slope, “good man indeed.”
The approach to the shack was made in relative quiet, though we were careful to make enough noise that we would not startle the inhabitant. Colonel Sharpe approached the door hesitantly, and then in a show of the bravery I had known him for previously, opened it and went inside.
In the darkness of the small wooden construction, illuminated only by a fire large enough to take the chill off the air, it was obvious that there was a figure in the shadows, not quite hiding, but making himself inconspicuous as well as he could.
“Jack?” Colonel Sharpe asked with obvious apprehension. I suddenly felt as though I was intruding, but curiosity stopped me from looking away.
The figure stepped forward, and it was obvious to me that this was the same man I'd known years ago; older, certainly and looking worse for the wear - he was one arm down since the last time I'd seen him - but definitely the same man. “Richard,” he looked down at the floor, “hello.”
There was a moment in which nothing at all seemed to move, and then the Colonel rushed forward and threw his arms around his long-missing friend. “Jack. You came back.”
Holmes' tugging at my arm broke my attention away from the scene, and we both stepped outside to allow the two men their privacy, heading back to the cottage to wait for them to return.
***
It was about three hours before the two men arrived back at the Colonel's cottage. Holmes and I were waiting in the sitting room, he recounting the tale of his chase after the man in vivid, and perhaps slightly exaggerated detail. He seemed, to me, to be recovered from his foul mood, having seen that he had done the right thing in finding the Captain.
The Colonel and the Captain both looked significantly younger than they had only hours ago. There was very strong tea made in short order, and we soon found ourselves listening to Jack's story of having been captured, rather than killed, and how he ended up finding his way back to Colonel Sharpe. I felt it probable that he was failing to tell us exactly what had happened after he'd been captured for good reason, but hoped that he would be able to tell it to his friend eventually.
“Mr. Holmes, doctor,” Captain Spears eventually spoke up once there was a break in Colonel Sharpe's hovering about him, “I wanted to thank you. I don't know if I would ever have had the courage to show myself had I not been forced to.”
“You are perfectly welcome, Captain. I am pleased to have been of service.”
As the attention of the Colonel was diverted somewhat, Holmes and I left without a fuss at about two in the afternoon, making our way into the village on foot and then back into town by way of another man who was heading in and had spare room in his trap. Holmes said little that wasn't entirely necessary and mundane until we were safely in our train compartment.
“Well, Watson, what do you think of that?” He asked as he pulled his pipe out his pocket and began to pack it.
“I think we've done a very good thing, Holmes. A very good thing indeed. But I wonder what you think of it. Has it changed your mind about your friend?” My curiosity over the matter was very nearly impossible to contain.
“Not really, no, but I believe I have realised what makes my situation different from the Colonel's,” he answered before striking a match and puffing at his pipe to light it. I waited for him to continue for a moment before growing impatient.
“Well? What makes it different?”
He smiled a small, private smile, “Colonel Sharpe has been alone since Captain Spears disappeared. He has almost been waiting for him to reappear, and I suspect, without doing it deliberately, has put his own life somewhat on hold because of a missing piece. The hole that I was left with, however, has long since been filled; not with a replacement, of course, but with another person who I feel supplies the same purpose,” he frowned, “I fear I am being entirely uncomplimentary, but the point I am trying to make is that if Victor came back now, it would be to a man who no longer had a place for him to slot neatly into. You, Watson, have quite earned it in my life, if you are willing to accept.”
It took me entirely too long to gather my wits enough to make a reply, “I think I can accept that, yes,” I agreed, still a little stunned by Holmes' speech, “thank you, Holmes.”