"Baker Street 7: A Warm Bed Shared"
A few mysteries explained... but not all.
Title: "Baker Street 7: A Warm Bed Shared"
Author: Gaedhal
Pairing/Characters: Sherlock Holmes/Dr. John H. Watson.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Notes/Warnings: "Sherlock Holmes" (2009) Universe. Set before the Blackwood case.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Summary: A pillow conversation.
Previous segments here:
1. "A Walk to Regent's Park"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/367955.html
2. "A Meeting in Piccadilly"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/368712.html
3. "A Journey in a Closed Carriage"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/370637.html
4. "An Arrival at Dusk"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/371960.html
5. "A Meal at a Long Table"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/372435.html
6. "A Hot Bath Proffered"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/372531.html
By Gaedhal
"Good Lord, Holmes!" I cried. "What are you doing?"
"Warming myself."
I felt his cold feet touch my calves. "Egads, man! Put them against the brick!"
"Ah!" sighed Holmes. "That's the ticket!"
"Are you going to tell me what you are doing in my room?" I demanded.
"This is not your room," Holmes replied. "It's Mycroft's room. Perhaps you were expecting him and are sorely disappointed?"
"Now see here, Holmes!" I sputtered. "This is too much!"
"Or..." he added with a smile. "Perhaps you thought your young footman had returned to see if he could offer more of his personal services?"
"Don't be preposterous!" I have always known that Holmes had a depraved streak, but on this trip he seemed particularly determined to provoke me.
"Just as well," he said, easing back on the bolster. "I thought Young Hopkins would never leave. He ever was a talker, even as a small boy."
"Hopkins?"
"James. The footman. His mother is Mrs. Hopkins, the cook."
"Oh, yes, so he said."
"He and his brother were born in this house, even as were Mycroft and myself," Holmes commented, rustling the sheets with his restless movement. He was very close to me, too close for my mind -- or body -- to be completely at ease.
"How the devil did you get in here? The door did not open and I doubt you climbed in through the window."
"I could have done," said Holmes. "I used to do it regularly when I was a lad. But no, I came through another venue -- one known only to myself and my brother." He yawned and stretched his legs. "That's much better!"
The man can be infuriating! "And that is?"
"What is, my dear boy?"
"How did get into this bloody room?" I blasted.
"Well!" said Homes. "There's no need to swear, Watson. I thought it obvious. I came through the secret passageway between my room and Mycroft's. This house was a gift to my ancestor, Henry Sherringford-Holmes, from King James the First. My theory is that the passageway was created for the king to have effortless access from this room, which was the Royal Guest Chamber in olden times, to Henry's room next door."
"And why in heaven's name would King James want to do that?" I inquired with growing exasperation.
"Rudimentary, dear boy," answered Holmes. "Henry Sherringford-Holmes was his lover. You know your history, man! King James was infamous for lusting after beautiful young noblemen and then showering them with titles and gifts of land and jewels. Henry was young, noble, and beautiful -- if his portrait in the drawing room is accurate, which I assume it is -- and, apparently, not averse to the king's attentions. The result is this house and the continued fortune of the Sherringford-Holmes family. Oh, and the title, as well."
"Title?" I thought back to the way James -- the footman, not the king -- had referred to Mycroft as 'His Lordship.'
"Yes," Holmes said. "A title in return for a few romps in the king's bed. Undoubtedly this very bed. And that is how pretty Harry Sherringford-Holmes became the First Earl of Sherringford! Isn't that a fine picture?"
I was not sure whether to proclaim my unease at being in the bed of such royal infamy, at being in that same bed with my intimate friend and compatriot, or at learning that he was the scion not just of a wealthy family, but of a titled one.
"That explains something Lovell said when we arrived."
"What was that, Watson?"
"That he was going to put me in the Earl's room."
Holmes sniffed. "That's in the Georgian wing of the house. My grandfather's room. It's not as dark and gothic as this chamber, but it's even colder. And much too far away! You could call for the servants all night and they'd never hear you!"
"I thought if I wanted anything I was to use the bell-pull and ring for them?"
"Poppycock!" said Holmes. "You may ring until your arm falls off, my dear fellow, no one will come. Lovell would sleep through a cyclone. And what if I needed you in the night? What if there were to be an emergency?"
"Emergency? What kind of emergency? A consulting detective emergency?" I huffed. "If I were safely installed in the Earl's room then you wouldn't be unable to creep through the secret passageway and make your way into my bed! Then I could get an uninterrupted night's sleep!"
"You flatter yourself, Watson. I'm not in your bed, I'm in Mycroft's bed! Or King James' bed. Besides, it's infinitely more comfortable than mine. That feather tester was old when our beloved sovereign was still a blushing girl! But Mycroft ordered this mattress new a mere fifteen years ago. It's only logical that I should prefer it."
Insufferable! "Then why did you not take this room to begin with and give me the other?"
Holmes frowned. "Because the other room is my room and has been all of my life! Don't be silly, Watson! This is the best solution. Trust me. And now, I believe I will take my rest. It's been a long and tiring day." And with that he turned over and buried his head in the pillow.
"Wait a moment!" I protested. "You haven't even begun to answer all my questions!"
Holmes sat up. "What else could you possibility need to know at this hour?"
I stared at the man. "You have the gall to leave me hanging with so many mysteries unexplained? For instance, the title. Mycroft is your older brother. Is he the Earl of Sherringford or is there some other relative that might spring out of a secret door and leap into my bed?"
"Don't be absurd, Watson," said Holmes. "There's no other secret door in this room. In other rooms in the house, yes, but not in this one. And Mycroft is my only other living relative."
"So Mycroft is the Earl of Sherringford?"
"Well..." Holmes paused. "Yes... and no."
"Which is it?" I grumbled. "He either is or he isn't!"
"That's not a simple question," said Holmes. "But we are not a simple family."
"Obviously!"
"My grandfather, Sheridan, was the Seventh Earl. All in order, no shilly-shallying. He married a woman from an illustrious family, Mary Fitzalan, and they had a son, Delafield, the heir to the title."
"Hold a moment, Holmes! I thought you said your grandmother was French. The sister of that painter fellow."
"Vernet," he provided. "Yvonne Vernet. Yes, she was my grandmother. Unfortunately, she was not my grandfather's wife, the Countess of Sherringford."
Now Holmes had truly shocked me. "You mean that..."
"Yes," he said. "She was my grandfather's mistress. And her son, my father Osric Holmes, was born on the wrong side of the blanket."
"A bastard!" I exclaimed. "How appropriate!"
"Well, Watson. There's no need to sound so pleased about it," Holmes said, more than a little peeved. "Besides, Mycroft and I are not bastards. My parents were quite legally wed in the parish church not far from here. My father was the one with the sketchy provenance. My grandfather always claimed that after his noble wife died -- of a broken-heart not long after the early, lamented death of their heir at age 14 -- he and Mademoiselle Vernet married in Paris. But no one ever saw the proof of it."
"So your father inherited the house, but not the title?"
"My father and mother were killed in a freak gondola accident in Venice when I was 18 years old, predeceasing the old Earl by more than a decade. When old Sheridan Sherringford-Holmes finally died at quite an advanced age, my elder brother inherited all, according to the laws of primogeniture. But as to the title -- it is still in dispute. Of course, Mycroft, being the indolent creature that he is, has never pursued the matter and I doubt he ever will. And so the ancient Earldom will die with him, since I cannot conceive of a more unlikely candidate for marriage and procreation."
"But then you would inherit the title, Holmes," I reasoned. "You would be a peer of the realm!"
"Twaddle!" said Holmes. "What earthly use to me is a title? I have even less need of it than Mycroft. And if Mycroft is the most unlikely man to breed an heir, I am certainly the second most unlikely. I have an allowance for life that more than meets my needs, and if I am ever short of funds, I ask Mycroft for an advance. Whatever would I do with this hideous monstrosity of a house? And all the land and farms surrounding it? And to be responsible for the lives of all the servants and tenants? I like my life as it is -- I am a free Englishman, Watson, as are you, unencumbered by such trifles. Who could ask for more in this life?"
A log cracked loudly on the fire and the hearth flickered briefly. I heard Gladstone groan as he dreamed his doggy dreams.
"Wife. Children. A secure home. A place to belong. A place to feel safe," I whispered.
"You have a place where you belong, Watson," said Holmes. "Which is by my side, my loyal companion and partner in crime-solving. Now go to sleep. In the morning I'll show you the most fascinating place on the estate -- the hives. You'll find them riveting. And the beekeeper is a most amusing fellow."
Holmes rolled over and moments later was snoring loudly.
But I, who had been so tired before, found sweet sleep strangely elusive.
***
Title: "Baker Street 7: A Warm Bed Shared"
Author: Gaedhal
Pairing/Characters: Sherlock Holmes/Dr. John H. Watson.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Notes/Warnings: "Sherlock Holmes" (2009) Universe. Set before the Blackwood case.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Summary: A pillow conversation.
Previous segments here:
1. "A Walk to Regent's Park"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/367955.html
2. "A Meeting in Piccadilly"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/368712.html
3. "A Journey in a Closed Carriage"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/370637.html
4. "An Arrival at Dusk"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/371960.html
5. "A Meal at a Long Table"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/372435.html
6. "A Hot Bath Proffered"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/372531.html
By Gaedhal
"Good Lord, Holmes!" I cried. "What are you doing?"
"Warming myself."
I felt his cold feet touch my calves. "Egads, man! Put them against the brick!"
"Ah!" sighed Holmes. "That's the ticket!"
"Are you going to tell me what you are doing in my room?" I demanded.
"This is not your room," Holmes replied. "It's Mycroft's room. Perhaps you were expecting him and are sorely disappointed?"
"Now see here, Holmes!" I sputtered. "This is too much!"
"Or..." he added with a smile. "Perhaps you thought your young footman had returned to see if he could offer more of his personal services?"
"Don't be preposterous!" I have always known that Holmes had a depraved streak, but on this trip he seemed particularly determined to provoke me.
"Just as well," he said, easing back on the bolster. "I thought Young Hopkins would never leave. He ever was a talker, even as a small boy."
"Hopkins?"
"James. The footman. His mother is Mrs. Hopkins, the cook."
"Oh, yes, so he said."
"He and his brother were born in this house, even as were Mycroft and myself," Holmes commented, rustling the sheets with his restless movement. He was very close to me, too close for my mind -- or body -- to be completely at ease.
"How the devil did you get in here? The door did not open and I doubt you climbed in through the window."
"I could have done," said Holmes. "I used to do it regularly when I was a lad. But no, I came through another venue -- one known only to myself and my brother." He yawned and stretched his legs. "That's much better!"
The man can be infuriating! "And that is?"
"What is, my dear boy?"
"How did get into this bloody room?" I blasted.
"Well!" said Homes. "There's no need to swear, Watson. I thought it obvious. I came through the secret passageway between my room and Mycroft's. This house was a gift to my ancestor, Henry Sherringford-Holmes, from King James the First. My theory is that the passageway was created for the king to have effortless access from this room, which was the Royal Guest Chamber in olden times, to Henry's room next door."
"And why in heaven's name would King James want to do that?" I inquired with growing exasperation.
"Rudimentary, dear boy," answered Holmes. "Henry Sherringford-Holmes was his lover. You know your history, man! King James was infamous for lusting after beautiful young noblemen and then showering them with titles and gifts of land and jewels. Henry was young, noble, and beautiful -- if his portrait in the drawing room is accurate, which I assume it is -- and, apparently, not averse to the king's attentions. The result is this house and the continued fortune of the Sherringford-Holmes family. Oh, and the title, as well."
"Title?" I thought back to the way James -- the footman, not the king -- had referred to Mycroft as 'His Lordship.'
"Yes," Holmes said. "A title in return for a few romps in the king's bed. Undoubtedly this very bed. And that is how pretty Harry Sherringford-Holmes became the First Earl of Sherringford! Isn't that a fine picture?"
I was not sure whether to proclaim my unease at being in the bed of such royal infamy, at being in that same bed with my intimate friend and compatriot, or at learning that he was the scion not just of a wealthy family, but of a titled one.
"That explains something Lovell said when we arrived."
"What was that, Watson?"
"That he was going to put me in the Earl's room."
Holmes sniffed. "That's in the Georgian wing of the house. My grandfather's room. It's not as dark and gothic as this chamber, but it's even colder. And much too far away! You could call for the servants all night and they'd never hear you!"
"I thought if I wanted anything I was to use the bell-pull and ring for them?"
"Poppycock!" said Holmes. "You may ring until your arm falls off, my dear fellow, no one will come. Lovell would sleep through a cyclone. And what if I needed you in the night? What if there were to be an emergency?"
"Emergency? What kind of emergency? A consulting detective emergency?" I huffed. "If I were safely installed in the Earl's room then you wouldn't be unable to creep through the secret passageway and make your way into my bed! Then I could get an uninterrupted night's sleep!"
"You flatter yourself, Watson. I'm not in your bed, I'm in Mycroft's bed! Or King James' bed. Besides, it's infinitely more comfortable than mine. That feather tester was old when our beloved sovereign was still a blushing girl! But Mycroft ordered this mattress new a mere fifteen years ago. It's only logical that I should prefer it."
Insufferable! "Then why did you not take this room to begin with and give me the other?"
Holmes frowned. "Because the other room is my room and has been all of my life! Don't be silly, Watson! This is the best solution. Trust me. And now, I believe I will take my rest. It's been a long and tiring day." And with that he turned over and buried his head in the pillow.
"Wait a moment!" I protested. "You haven't even begun to answer all my questions!"
Holmes sat up. "What else could you possibility need to know at this hour?"
I stared at the man. "You have the gall to leave me hanging with so many mysteries unexplained? For instance, the title. Mycroft is your older brother. Is he the Earl of Sherringford or is there some other relative that might spring out of a secret door and leap into my bed?"
"Don't be absurd, Watson," said Holmes. "There's no other secret door in this room. In other rooms in the house, yes, but not in this one. And Mycroft is my only other living relative."
"So Mycroft is the Earl of Sherringford?"
"Well..." Holmes paused. "Yes... and no."
"Which is it?" I grumbled. "He either is or he isn't!"
"That's not a simple question," said Holmes. "But we are not a simple family."
"Obviously!"
"My grandfather, Sheridan, was the Seventh Earl. All in order, no shilly-shallying. He married a woman from an illustrious family, Mary Fitzalan, and they had a son, Delafield, the heir to the title."
"Hold a moment, Holmes! I thought you said your grandmother was French. The sister of that painter fellow."
"Vernet," he provided. "Yvonne Vernet. Yes, she was my grandmother. Unfortunately, she was not my grandfather's wife, the Countess of Sherringford."
Now Holmes had truly shocked me. "You mean that..."
"Yes," he said. "She was my grandfather's mistress. And her son, my father Osric Holmes, was born on the wrong side of the blanket."
"A bastard!" I exclaimed. "How appropriate!"
"Well, Watson. There's no need to sound so pleased about it," Holmes said, more than a little peeved. "Besides, Mycroft and I are not bastards. My parents were quite legally wed in the parish church not far from here. My father was the one with the sketchy provenance. My grandfather always claimed that after his noble wife died -- of a broken-heart not long after the early, lamented death of their heir at age 14 -- he and Mademoiselle Vernet married in Paris. But no one ever saw the proof of it."
"So your father inherited the house, but not the title?"
"My father and mother were killed in a freak gondola accident in Venice when I was 18 years old, predeceasing the old Earl by more than a decade. When old Sheridan Sherringford-Holmes finally died at quite an advanced age, my elder brother inherited all, according to the laws of primogeniture. But as to the title -- it is still in dispute. Of course, Mycroft, being the indolent creature that he is, has never pursued the matter and I doubt he ever will. And so the ancient Earldom will die with him, since I cannot conceive of a more unlikely candidate for marriage and procreation."
"But then you would inherit the title, Holmes," I reasoned. "You would be a peer of the realm!"
"Twaddle!" said Holmes. "What earthly use to me is a title? I have even less need of it than Mycroft. And if Mycroft is the most unlikely man to breed an heir, I am certainly the second most unlikely. I have an allowance for life that more than meets my needs, and if I am ever short of funds, I ask Mycroft for an advance. Whatever would I do with this hideous monstrosity of a house? And all the land and farms surrounding it? And to be responsible for the lives of all the servants and tenants? I like my life as it is -- I am a free Englishman, Watson, as are you, unencumbered by such trifles. Who could ask for more in this life?"
A log cracked loudly on the fire and the hearth flickered briefly. I heard Gladstone groan as he dreamed his doggy dreams.
"Wife. Children. A secure home. A place to belong. A place to feel safe," I whispered.
"You have a place where you belong, Watson," said Holmes. "Which is by my side, my loyal companion and partner in crime-solving. Now go to sleep. In the morning I'll show you the most fascinating place on the estate -- the hives. You'll find them riveting. And the beekeeper is a most amusing fellow."
Holmes rolled over and moments later was snoring loudly.
But I, who had been so tired before, found sweet sleep strangely elusive.
***