"Baker Street 14: A Recollection of a Wayward Youth"
Watson contines to remember an important time in his past...
Title: "Baker Street 14: A Recollection of a Wayward Youth"
Author: Gaedhal
Pairing/Characters: Sherlock Holmes/Dr. John H. Watson; various ladies and gentlemen.
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Notes/Warnings: "Sherlock Holmes" (2009) Universe. Set before the Blackwood case.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Summary: Watson continues his remembrances.
First chapter here:
1. "A Walk to Regent's Park"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/367955.html
Previous chapter here:
13. "An Unsettling Acquaintance"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/374530.html
New Chapter here:
By Gaedhal
After hastening away from Italy, I spent the next few months touring the continent. I visited Greece, taking in Athens and Delphi, as well as a few of the scenic isles, until I landed in Alexandria. There I found another English colony that gladly gave shelter to a young wanderer. I connected myself to the family of an attaché at Her Majesty's embassy. The ladies of the family were preparing to travel alone through North Africa, via Tripoli and Morocco, and on to Gibraltar and the gentleman's next appointment.
I presented myself as the perfect chaperon for the attaché's wife and daughter on their journey and was happily accepted. The truth is that I fancied myself in love with the daughter. And with his wife. That was the trouble. I found myself courting the girl, while having an affair with the woman. It was most confusing, but also most delightful. The daughter was petite and blonde with a laugh like a babbling brook, while the mother was redhaired and buxom, a lusty female who made me forget my close calls with the gentlemen in Italy, and especially the Irishman.
But my romantic situation became extremely sticky as we three -- the attaché remaining in Alexandria to finish his business -- arrived and then tarried on the Rock. But the weather in summer on the Spanish coast was beastly, the heat the most oppressive I had ever experienced. I found myself longing for cooler climes even as I also found many reasons to work up a sweat with the wife. But I needed to seek a safer situation, since the attaché would very soon be joining our menage.
Full of regret, I bid the dear ladies adieu with the excuse that my brother expected me to begin my studies shortly. This was actually a fact, although I neglected to add that I had no intention of opening my books at Michaelmas term or any other term that season. I had not yet settled on a way of living, although my brother wanted me to take up the Law, following in his and our father's footsteps. But I knew that pursuit was not for me. I had more of an affinity for Medicine, but I knew that study was an onerous one and was not eager to turn myself over to its heavy discipline. At least not yet.
I wandered north through Spain, finding that country both picturesque and easy on my limited purse. But I was eager to get to La Belle France and try out the years of French I had labored over in school. And also to try out the charms of Paris I had read so much about in the literature of Dumas, Hugo, and Verne.
Needless to say, those charms did not disappoint. Paris is a city with a reputation for sin, especially for jaded Englishmen. But I was far from jaded, which worked to my advantage. Even relative innocence has its appeal, and compared to the usual run of English sinner, I was a mere babe in the woods. As elsewhere on the continent, my youthful enthusiasm and fresh face opened doors to palaces and brothels, ballrooms and low dives, theatres and racecourses, literally anywhere that offered amusements I had scarce dreamed of in my Spartan Jesuit school.
Once again I was solicited by gentlemen of a certain inclination, but by now I was seasoned at playing their game without succumbing to their enticements. I am not proud to confess that I took small gratuities from them, allowed them to buy me drinks and meals I could not have otherwise afforded, and even permitted a few harmless liberties -- what is the cost of a kiss, after all, to a callow lad of 17? But when they attempted to press their point up me, I relied upon my open and seemingly guileless face to protect me from offering up the integrity of my arsehole. Luckily for me, the sodomites of Gay Paree did not believe in forcing the issue.
I enjoyed myself in Paris more than I can say, but unfortunately war broke out between the French and their eternal adversaries, the Germans. I ignored the fact that I was dancing on the lip of a volcano until the Prussian Army was at the very gates and the city effectively under siege. It was my first taste of war and would not be my last, although I must say that experiencing war in Paris and experiencing it in the bleak Afghan mountains are quite different things. By Christmas it was obvious the city could not hold out much longer and, sadly, I collected my belongings and made my way out, not wishing to meet up with any Prussian officers who might decide that the sodomitical virginity of a foolish English boy was their due as victors.
Reaching London in the New Year, I fancied myself a well-traveled, self-proclaimed expert in the art of love, proud to be still in firm possession of my manhood. In other words, I was a smug and insufferable young jackass. And I was happier and more carefree than I have ever been in my life, before or afterwards.
I presented myself to my brother, who was not pleased to see me, especially when he learned I had no intention of enrolling in any course of study. But the money my father had set aside for my higher education was not going to disappear and I had a modest allowance from my inheritance. I had sampled the pleasures of Amsterdam, Rome, Alexandria, and Paris, as well as points in between. Now I was ready for those of the capital of my own homeland.
I fell in with a fast set of indolent young gentlemen. All we cared for was drinking, gambling, dressing like dandies, chasing women, and gaining entrance at the houses of our betters in order to sponge off them. I quickly became adept at all these practices. The skills I had learned on the continent served me equally well in London. I slept with a myriad of older but still extremely pleasing females, often while paying court to their daughters and playing cards with their husbands. But that was the way of the world, as Lady Percy would have said. I joined a club I could ill afford and there I gambled like a lord. I lost much, but when I won I took it as a sign that I was leading a charmed life. I ran up debts, but rarely paid them -- I was young and paying my debts of honour could wait until I was older. Until I had a career and cash coming in. Or until my brother made good on them.
What I did not know at the time was that my brother was also leading a life full of chaos. His work as a solicitor bored him and he was delving into the speculative business practices that would eventually reduce him to bankruptcy. He was also drinking, albeit secretly, well on his way to becoming a drunkard. But this was in the future and I could not recognize the signs that were plainly before my eyes. But we never recognize the signs, do we? Not until it is too late.
But the reckoning always comes. For me it came after a little over a year of cheerful debauchery. I was 18 years old, arrogant, pleasure-loving, and foot-loose. I was making love regularly to two beautiful women, a French countess-in-exile who was the mistress of a duke, and the wife of a Member of Parliament with a house off Grosvenor Place and an estate in Hertfordshire. I was living rent-free at my brother's house in Kensington and spending every shilling of my allowance on my wardrobe. For food and drink, I depended on invitations, and I had many. A beautiful face and an ingratiating smile took me far and my mirror told me that I might expect to parlay these gifts of nature into marriage to a wealthy widow or even the daughter of a peer. Then I would be set for life.
Until I found my gambling debts catching up with me. I was barred from my club until I paid my debts of honour. But my brother, already beginning to sink in his own financial seas, would not settle them. Then a fellow I considered a good friend became engaged. I also owed him money and he demanded it, needing all the ready cash he could gather to set up his new household. I gritted my teeth and paid all I had. Other creditors pressed me and I tried to make good. But my allowance was not enough. I resorted to the pawnshops of Holborn and gained a little money from my possessions, but it was still not enough. I asked for a loan from my countess, but she refused and broke off our liaison. Then the wife of the MP, deciding I was now a liability, closed her door to me. I began to panic, not knowing which way to turn.
Then one of my club friends directed me to a certain gambling establishment. It was in a disagreeable area of the City, which I will refrain from naming because the humiliation of my youthful imprudence still stings. But I was sure the gods were with me -- I was young, handsome, and cocky. The cards must turn my way! Luck had to be mine!
Alas, you can imagine how it was. I lost and continued losing. The gambling establishment allowed me credit, which they must have known I could not repay. But I plunged ahead, deeper and deeper, until I was all but lost. I realize now that it had all been decided beforehand. I was a dupe and never had a chance.
I went back to the establishment again and again in a futile attempt to find the winning streak that would make all good. But that fortunate hand never came. One afternoon a pair of men, dressed in black with their hats pulled low over their faces, visited me at my brother's house while he was at his office and warned me that if I did not pay up, I would live to regret it.
"Such a pretty face," said the larger man, a fellow with dead eyes and a slim stiletto that he pressed lightly against my ashen cheek. "Be a bloomin' shame to see such beauty all bloodied and scarred, wouldn't it, Fred?"
"Yeah, Bill," said his compatriot. "A dirty shame. No one would want to kiss that cheek after we got finished with it. A pity, that."
"For the love of God!" I cried. "I'll pay! Just give me more time!"
"A little more," said Bill. "But just a little. We'll be back in three days. Then we expect payment in full."
I considered retreating to the continent or even America, but I had no ready funds. If I fled, it would be in complete penury and that I could not contemplate. I also thought about joining the Army or Navy, but I would need to buy a commission -- I knew I would never survive in the ranks of common soldiers or sailors. And I dared not ask my brother for another pence. I went into the drawing room and stared at the portrait of my mother that had once hung in my father's house in Guildford, a house long since sold. It was the only thing left of my childhood, yet as I gazed at it, I thought only about the value of the gilt frame and what I might get for it at the pawnbroker's. That's when I cracked, weeping until I had nothing left. That night I lay in bed and turned over in my head the many ways a man might kill himself.
The next day, after my brother left the house, I walked out, aimlessly. I found myself on the High Street, looking into windows, my hands shoved in my pockets, my misery at its height. That's when I became aware of a large carriage halted in the road nearby. A familiar carriage with a crest on the side.
My heart leapt in dread, but also in anticipation. The door of the carriage opened and I walked over and climbed inside.
"Well, Johnny Lad," he said. "You are in some trouble I see. But I think I might be of service to you -- if you will be of service to me. Let's have a little talk together, shall we?"
And the carriage rattled off down the street.
***
Title: "Baker Street 14: A Recollection of a Wayward Youth"
Author: Gaedhal
Pairing/Characters: Sherlock Holmes/Dr. John H. Watson; various ladies and gentlemen.
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Notes/Warnings: "Sherlock Holmes" (2009) Universe. Set before the Blackwood case.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Summary: Watson continues his remembrances.
First chapter here:
1. "A Walk to Regent's Park"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/367955.html
Previous chapter here:
13. "An Unsettling Acquaintance"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/374530.html
New Chapter here:
By Gaedhal
After hastening away from Italy, I spent the next few months touring the continent. I visited Greece, taking in Athens and Delphi, as well as a few of the scenic isles, until I landed in Alexandria. There I found another English colony that gladly gave shelter to a young wanderer. I connected myself to the family of an attaché at Her Majesty's embassy. The ladies of the family were preparing to travel alone through North Africa, via Tripoli and Morocco, and on to Gibraltar and the gentleman's next appointment.
I presented myself as the perfect chaperon for the attaché's wife and daughter on their journey and was happily accepted. The truth is that I fancied myself in love with the daughter. And with his wife. That was the trouble. I found myself courting the girl, while having an affair with the woman. It was most confusing, but also most delightful. The daughter was petite and blonde with a laugh like a babbling brook, while the mother was redhaired and buxom, a lusty female who made me forget my close calls with the gentlemen in Italy, and especially the Irishman.
But my romantic situation became extremely sticky as we three -- the attaché remaining in Alexandria to finish his business -- arrived and then tarried on the Rock. But the weather in summer on the Spanish coast was beastly, the heat the most oppressive I had ever experienced. I found myself longing for cooler climes even as I also found many reasons to work up a sweat with the wife. But I needed to seek a safer situation, since the attaché would very soon be joining our menage.
Full of regret, I bid the dear ladies adieu with the excuse that my brother expected me to begin my studies shortly. This was actually a fact, although I neglected to add that I had no intention of opening my books at Michaelmas term or any other term that season. I had not yet settled on a way of living, although my brother wanted me to take up the Law, following in his and our father's footsteps. But I knew that pursuit was not for me. I had more of an affinity for Medicine, but I knew that study was an onerous one and was not eager to turn myself over to its heavy discipline. At least not yet.
I wandered north through Spain, finding that country both picturesque and easy on my limited purse. But I was eager to get to La Belle France and try out the years of French I had labored over in school. And also to try out the charms of Paris I had read so much about in the literature of Dumas, Hugo, and Verne.
Needless to say, those charms did not disappoint. Paris is a city with a reputation for sin, especially for jaded Englishmen. But I was far from jaded, which worked to my advantage. Even relative innocence has its appeal, and compared to the usual run of English sinner, I was a mere babe in the woods. As elsewhere on the continent, my youthful enthusiasm and fresh face opened doors to palaces and brothels, ballrooms and low dives, theatres and racecourses, literally anywhere that offered amusements I had scarce dreamed of in my Spartan Jesuit school.
Once again I was solicited by gentlemen of a certain inclination, but by now I was seasoned at playing their game without succumbing to their enticements. I am not proud to confess that I took small gratuities from them, allowed them to buy me drinks and meals I could not have otherwise afforded, and even permitted a few harmless liberties -- what is the cost of a kiss, after all, to a callow lad of 17? But when they attempted to press their point up me, I relied upon my open and seemingly guileless face to protect me from offering up the integrity of my arsehole. Luckily for me, the sodomites of Gay Paree did not believe in forcing the issue.
I enjoyed myself in Paris more than I can say, but unfortunately war broke out between the French and their eternal adversaries, the Germans. I ignored the fact that I was dancing on the lip of a volcano until the Prussian Army was at the very gates and the city effectively under siege. It was my first taste of war and would not be my last, although I must say that experiencing war in Paris and experiencing it in the bleak Afghan mountains are quite different things. By Christmas it was obvious the city could not hold out much longer and, sadly, I collected my belongings and made my way out, not wishing to meet up with any Prussian officers who might decide that the sodomitical virginity of a foolish English boy was their due as victors.
Reaching London in the New Year, I fancied myself a well-traveled, self-proclaimed expert in the art of love, proud to be still in firm possession of my manhood. In other words, I was a smug and insufferable young jackass. And I was happier and more carefree than I have ever been in my life, before or afterwards.
I presented myself to my brother, who was not pleased to see me, especially when he learned I had no intention of enrolling in any course of study. But the money my father had set aside for my higher education was not going to disappear and I had a modest allowance from my inheritance. I had sampled the pleasures of Amsterdam, Rome, Alexandria, and Paris, as well as points in between. Now I was ready for those of the capital of my own homeland.
I fell in with a fast set of indolent young gentlemen. All we cared for was drinking, gambling, dressing like dandies, chasing women, and gaining entrance at the houses of our betters in order to sponge off them. I quickly became adept at all these practices. The skills I had learned on the continent served me equally well in London. I slept with a myriad of older but still extremely pleasing females, often while paying court to their daughters and playing cards with their husbands. But that was the way of the world, as Lady Percy would have said. I joined a club I could ill afford and there I gambled like a lord. I lost much, but when I won I took it as a sign that I was leading a charmed life. I ran up debts, but rarely paid them -- I was young and paying my debts of honour could wait until I was older. Until I had a career and cash coming in. Or until my brother made good on them.
What I did not know at the time was that my brother was also leading a life full of chaos. His work as a solicitor bored him and he was delving into the speculative business practices that would eventually reduce him to bankruptcy. He was also drinking, albeit secretly, well on his way to becoming a drunkard. But this was in the future and I could not recognize the signs that were plainly before my eyes. But we never recognize the signs, do we? Not until it is too late.
But the reckoning always comes. For me it came after a little over a year of cheerful debauchery. I was 18 years old, arrogant, pleasure-loving, and foot-loose. I was making love regularly to two beautiful women, a French countess-in-exile who was the mistress of a duke, and the wife of a Member of Parliament with a house off Grosvenor Place and an estate in Hertfordshire. I was living rent-free at my brother's house in Kensington and spending every shilling of my allowance on my wardrobe. For food and drink, I depended on invitations, and I had many. A beautiful face and an ingratiating smile took me far and my mirror told me that I might expect to parlay these gifts of nature into marriage to a wealthy widow or even the daughter of a peer. Then I would be set for life.
Until I found my gambling debts catching up with me. I was barred from my club until I paid my debts of honour. But my brother, already beginning to sink in his own financial seas, would not settle them. Then a fellow I considered a good friend became engaged. I also owed him money and he demanded it, needing all the ready cash he could gather to set up his new household. I gritted my teeth and paid all I had. Other creditors pressed me and I tried to make good. But my allowance was not enough. I resorted to the pawnshops of Holborn and gained a little money from my possessions, but it was still not enough. I asked for a loan from my countess, but she refused and broke off our liaison. Then the wife of the MP, deciding I was now a liability, closed her door to me. I began to panic, not knowing which way to turn.
Then one of my club friends directed me to a certain gambling establishment. It was in a disagreeable area of the City, which I will refrain from naming because the humiliation of my youthful imprudence still stings. But I was sure the gods were with me -- I was young, handsome, and cocky. The cards must turn my way! Luck had to be mine!
Alas, you can imagine how it was. I lost and continued losing. The gambling establishment allowed me credit, which they must have known I could not repay. But I plunged ahead, deeper and deeper, until I was all but lost. I realize now that it had all been decided beforehand. I was a dupe and never had a chance.
I went back to the establishment again and again in a futile attempt to find the winning streak that would make all good. But that fortunate hand never came. One afternoon a pair of men, dressed in black with their hats pulled low over their faces, visited me at my brother's house while he was at his office and warned me that if I did not pay up, I would live to regret it.
"Such a pretty face," said the larger man, a fellow with dead eyes and a slim stiletto that he pressed lightly against my ashen cheek. "Be a bloomin' shame to see such beauty all bloodied and scarred, wouldn't it, Fred?"
"Yeah, Bill," said his compatriot. "A dirty shame. No one would want to kiss that cheek after we got finished with it. A pity, that."
"For the love of God!" I cried. "I'll pay! Just give me more time!"
"A little more," said Bill. "But just a little. We'll be back in three days. Then we expect payment in full."
I considered retreating to the continent or even America, but I had no ready funds. If I fled, it would be in complete penury and that I could not contemplate. I also thought about joining the Army or Navy, but I would need to buy a commission -- I knew I would never survive in the ranks of common soldiers or sailors. And I dared not ask my brother for another pence. I went into the drawing room and stared at the portrait of my mother that had once hung in my father's house in Guildford, a house long since sold. It was the only thing left of my childhood, yet as I gazed at it, I thought only about the value of the gilt frame and what I might get for it at the pawnbroker's. That's when I cracked, weeping until I had nothing left. That night I lay in bed and turned over in my head the many ways a man might kill himself.
The next day, after my brother left the house, I walked out, aimlessly. I found myself on the High Street, looking into windows, my hands shoved in my pockets, my misery at its height. That's when I became aware of a large carriage halted in the road nearby. A familiar carriage with a crest on the side.
My heart leapt in dread, but also in anticipation. The door of the carriage opened and I walked over and climbed inside.
"Well, Johnny Lad," he said. "You are in some trouble I see. But I think I might be of service to you -- if you will be of service to me. Let's have a little talk together, shall we?"
And the carriage rattled off down the street.
***