Fic For colebaltblue : Casualties
Title: Casualties
Recipient: colebaltblue
Author: autumnatmidnite
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Stamford, Mycroft, ACD
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: When Watson attempts to enlist in the Great War, a series of misunderstandings (and much angst) ensues. An epistolary fic set after the events of ‘His Last Bow’.
A/N: A thousand thanks to my beta, kcscribbler
10 August 1914
War Office
Whitehall, London SW 1
To Whom It May Concern:
I am writing as a retired surgeon late of the army medical department, to request enlistment for the conflict with Germany. I am sixty-two, but I am very strong and hardy, and as I have been informed by my celebrated fellow lodger, can make my voice audible at great distances, which is useful at drill. I think I may say that my name is well known to the younger men of this country, and that if I were to take a commission at my age, it would set an example which might be of help. *
My sincerest thanks for your time and consideration,
John H. Watson, M.D.
26 August 1914
Dr John Watson
46 Queen Anne Street, London W1
My Dear Sir,
We regretfully inform you that due to your advanced age and serious injuries sustained in the Second Afghan War, we must decline your application for enlistment.
William Finch, War Office Undersecretary
7 September 1914
War Office
Whitehall, London SW1
c/o Mr Percival Upton
Mr Upton:
I am writing to collect on that substantial favour I am owed in regards to my sweeping under the rug that matter of Sir Bainbridge’s kidnapped spaniel, which was subsequently loosed upon the Tottenham Court Road a fortnight later, and discovered to be in a deplorable state of inebriation.
It has come to my attention that one Doctor John H. Watson will be joining us with his service in the German conflict, and I wish to be informed of where his regiment will be stationed.
Your cooperation in this matter is much appreciated.
Mycroft Holmes
10 September 1914
My Dearest Mr Holmes,
Please know I shall ever be in a debt of gratitude to you pertaining to the unspeakable incident of the drunken spaniel. I have been a strict teetotaler ever since.
We have several doctors of that common surname currently serving the King, but there is one John Harland Watson of London who is scheduled for deployment to Ypres on the morrow.
With fondest regards,
Percival Upton, War Office Secretary
15 September 1914
Dr Bertram Stamford
St Bartholomew’s Hospital
West Smithfield
London
My Dear Stamford,
My warmest felicitations on the upcoming nuptials of your daughter to that upstanding young lad from Bristol. Dr Winthrop Flaversham, who lavished praise upon you for curing his wife of the ague in ‘09, informed me of the happy event when he came round this morning to sign the papers which effectively turn my practice, such as it is, over to his more capable hands. Fortune never did favour me when in general practice; I daresay because my heart never was truly set on dispensing handkerchiefs and sugar pills to malingers or applying sticking plasters to boys with scraped knees.
I preferred, as you are well aware from my days assisting you with student lectures at Bart’s, when the merest word from Holmes had me off to be by his side in a trice, the thrill of adventure and quickness of wit required in the urgency of battle. Holmes, of a certainty, would be inclined to enumerate my deficiencies in the latter department quite succinctly, yet even he cannot deny my resolution of spirit that saw us through the tightest of fixes. I suppose it is that very willingness to brave adversity which causes me so great a restlessness in such devilishly interminable periods of inactivity. Which, I suppose, is not unlike my friend's periods of ennui, when I lived in a horror of what those black moods should cause him to inflict upon himself.
Holmes claims to welcome respite now, and I think, Stamford, I should as well were I able to spend it in his company. It is no writer’s exaggeration to say he lived in a constant state of insinuating himself into the queerest of predicaments, while it was my sworn duty to extricate the trying fellow from them. I do not for one second swallow that rot about Sherlock Holmes, of all men, living quietly among his bees, for there was always an air of stifled mischief about him whenever I visited his cottage. The devil only knows what he gets up to in that laboratory he’d converted from the spare room the summer before leaving for that “American stunt”, as he refers to it. The thought alone fills me with dread.
I suppose to dwell on the thing is the height of futility, for what need has Holmes of my assistance any longer? Or my companionship, if ever he did value it beyond the task of acting as his sounding board.
For that matter, it is the topic of our longstanding friendship I wish to broach with you. The blame lies squarely on my shoulders for that quarrel which nearly had us coming to blows. And all my poor friend was guilty of was stating the truth. Oh, we have had our share of differences, and on more than one occasion I was the recipient of the blackest glares or fits of petulance, though these all ended when his annoyance at me would slip his mind for an instant, and in his attempt to compensate for the lapse with an appropriately murderous scowl, we both broke down into an outburst of undignified laughter.
That shan’t be the outcome of this pretty hash I have made of things, and yet it is not in me to stay angry with the fellow for long.
There is a volunteer regiment in Calais that is sorely in need of qualified medicos, so there I shall be until this forsaken war is over. I’ve no end of arrangements to be made before I leave come the crack of dawn the day after next. And since Holmes is holed up in the hotel on Half-Moon Street, where I understand you have lodgings, I should be eternally obliged if you would be so kind as to inform him that his friend is heartily sorry and should like nothing more than to meet him for dinner tomorrow. Simpson’s, 7 o’clock sharp.
Please give Violet my regards at her wedding. My Mary was terribly fond of her, you know.
Sincerely,
John Watson
16 September 1914
11:03 a.m.
Mr Sherlock Holmes:
Forgive me for taking the liberty of slipping this note under your door, but the maid said you were out and hadn’t the faintest idea when to expect you back. Have corresponded with Dr Watson, who wishes me to convey his remorse for that terrible row betwixt you, which he feels entirely responsible for. He desires nothing more than to make amends and has implored me to relay to you that your presence at Simpson’s In The Strand is requested to-night at seven. For God’s sake, treat the fellow to dinner and talk him out of this mad notion he has got in his head of serving in some volunteer regiment.
Your friend,
Stamford
16 September 1914
9:27 a.m.
Attn: Mycroft Holmes
Returning to Sussex by 10:21 from Victoria STOP Expect retirement to remain permanently uninterrupted STOP German spies can go to blazes FULL STOP
- SH
13 December 1914
My Dear Watson,
By now you are no doubt fully engaged in the most nobly foolish endeavour in a long and distinguished parade of similar such undertakings, and if the newspapers and reports from Whitehall are to be credited, this little conflict England has entangled herself in holds far more peril than even your last encounter with war. Though I seem to have riled that long dormant temper of yours by the mere mention of it last we met, I maintain that a fellow your age ought to be giving serious consideration to rusticating in the country, or perhaps, since you are so bull-headed about the concept of laying down your stethoscope, you would do well to secure for yourself employment as a resident physician of sorts.
Here I must needs take this opportunity to remark it is neither a withering of the brain in my dotage or any mawkish feeling of loss at your absence that has compelled the penning of this missive. You of all men know my thoughts on the effects of allowing emotions to hold sway over the intellectual faculties.
It is only that I’ve a proposal of sorts, which I am certain you can hardly fail to see the wisdom of. It has come to my attention there is a retiring sort of fellow right here on the Downs, who I am told can be quite insufferable, though he is prepared to pay handsomely any medico willing to oblige his whims. Your burden would be light. Usage of an arm for him to slip through his on walks along the shore, for his rheumatism is nigh on intolerable of a morning. Packing your swim trunks may also be advisable. Upon my word, Watson, it would benefit you immensely to take some healthy exercise and lose that spare weight which has settled itself most unflatteringly about your middle.
There is also the requirement for a pair of sharp eyes to read aloud to him the daily agony columns, for his housekeeper insists upon switching off the electric lights, which she has a marked distrust of. Such stygian conditions, as you can well imagine, have given the fellow no end of trouble with his vision. He does not need spectacles, mind, only prefers to have a stout voice to recite the daily goings on to the abominable squinting he is forced to endure at the hand of superstitious servants. Were it not for her chicken and mushroom pies, my dear fellow, this patient I speak of would have stern words with her about the matter.
It might also be mentioned this resident physician should have a tolerance for the indigenous flora and fauna, both of which are found in abundance surrounding his property. In particular, a fondness for aphids would not go unwelcome.
I hear tell on the Downs the fellow is possessed of a highly singular nature, and can attest to the fact his living quarters tend towards a poisonous atmosphere from overuse of tobacco. Your familiarity of the condition, I trust, shall prepare you for such an arrangement. Furthermore, he has been known on more than one occasion to bolt the doors of his cottage in unabashed terror when the post has brought letters written by members of the fair sex offering their services as a housekeeper and volunteering their services at “segregating the queen.” Good Heavens. It leaves one to wonder what this world is coming to when a woman can make so forward an advance on an unsuspecting fellow.
Sorting through his correspondence, I dare say, will be another of your responsibilities.
And do not forget that vile antiseptic concoction you once forced upon every minor scrape and paper cut I incurred during our time in Baker Street. Your patient is prone to intermittent misadventures with apis mellifera, and though it stings like the very devil, its application would not go amiss.
Really Watson; consider it your sworn duty as a medical practitioner to see to it this poor aforementioned soul does not meet his end so ingloriously as to expire face down in a field, or having tripped over the fringe of his own carpet whilst attempting to navigate his way towards the nearest light switch.
I have consulted with Mycroft on this most discommodious business of your being stationed in Ypres until the spring, and after some minor persuading on my behalf, he has agreed it best you fulfill your obligations to King and Country back on the home front, as it were. Aware of my Watson’s unshakable sense of patriotism as I am, I’ve no expectations of you dropping your scalpel at my behest. There was indeed a time such a summons would have drawn you to my side without hesitation, yet I fear in my recklessness with your loyalties, I made quite the hash of things.
And perhaps it was not overly judicious for me to have raised my objections to the sensibility of running your head into such danger a your age, when you scarcely survived your last brush with the frontlines. Mind you, Watson, I still do not approve of this venture - I shan’t change my mind on that account. Only, do think on that offer, and remember when you are ankle deep in some muck-laden trench, that accepting it should not be akin to deserting your country in its hour of need, not when this poor hapless fellow I have herein described is likely to be called upon to act for England in the role of emissary, and should be very much obliged were he to avoid having to sit in the driver’s seat of some infernal machine with all its confounded gears and levers.
Enclosed you shall find a jar of honey, which the bees send with their warmest regards. And while we did not part on the most congenial of terms, please do believe me to be, my dear fellow,
Very sincerely yours,
Sherlock Holmes
2 January 1915
My dear Watson,
Word of the ‘Christmas Truce’, as the press has so imaginatively dubbed the event, has reached us here in our lonely little corner of the South Downs. You may be amused to hear how I chanced upon the news, for I was in a raucous public house at the time, imbibing a pint of ale with the locals. Ha! You never did suspect your reclusive friend might happen to find himself in so bustling a centre of activity, nearing midnight on Christmas, at that.
You see, my dear fellow, among the innumerable shortcomings of my old housekeeper is the habit of laying too many coals on the fire, which created an atmosphere so stifling, there was nothing else for it but to vacate my humble domicile in search of fresh air. My appetite of late has been slighter than was its wont in years past, and being that, for practicalitie's sake, I had warned the woman not to bring anything so frivolous as a seasonal goose into the house (a request that set her to griping and bleating in a most vexatious manner for days on end), my wanderings left me covetous of a good meal.
My ramblings into the village led me to the 'Black Swan', where the place was fairly buzzing worse than the hives during mating season over the most remarkable set of occurrences said to be spreading through the Western Front, and culminating in the past four-and-twenty hours. There was talk of unofficial cease fires declared by the troops themselves, of Allied and German soldiers wishing each other the compliments of the season, exchanging gifts, and calling an outright truce beginning on Christmas Eve.
Remarkable, Watson. The men fighting this war, it seems, are made of finer stuff than the governments sending them off with nary a pat on the back for their troubles.
My inquiries, and indeed, a perusal of the papers which were veritably bursting with accounts of the thing, seemed to indicate Ypres was not immune from this extraordinary event. You shall be glad to hear, if at all my well-being remains a concern for you, that I did partake of the celebratory plum pudding which was passed around on the compliments of the house, such was the state of exultation over this unexpected turn of events.
If I am not much mistaken, this event bodes well for an ending near at hand.
Though I have received no response to my previous epistle, I would have you know, Watson, that the offer to assist with your medical prowess that unfortunate old recluse remains permanently open.
Sherlock Holmes
5 March 1915
My dear Watson,
That pestiferous Doyle chap who takes the brazen liberties of affixing his name to your work, nauseatingly romanticised as it may be, has been urging me to forward him new notes on your cases, which he promises to write up as sensationalised fiction to rival your own. The Strand, it appears, is nipping at his heels for more of the lurid tales, and he has taken to the most unendurable habit of ringing me up on the ‘phone at all hours, burring into my ear with that insufferable Scottish accent of his. This persecution is more than a fellow can endure.
Please communicate with the horrid blighter, and inform him that I do not possess the key to your dispatch box at Cox & Co, nor have I any concern for the public’s ravenous appetite for them, as my own attempts to convince him of my apathy on the matter seems to have fallen upon the deafest or most obstinate pair of ears on this side of the Continent.
P.S. - I thank Providence your accent never had so sharp an edge to it. What with your eternal tobacco smoking and irregular habits, my dear fellow, I should have been driven to distraction.
Sherlock Holmes
5 April 1915
Miss Theodosia Hudson
221B Baker Street
London, W1
My Dear Theodosia,
I trust this letter finds you well, and that Holmes's compensation for retaining our old rooms was sufficient for your needs. I cannot with mere words adequately communicate to you what it means for two ancient relics such as ourselves to have our old digs preserved so. The gesture was most kind. Your generosity and willingness to humour the whims of Sherlock Holmes does a credit to your late and much lamented aunt.
Well, I daresay it was not to dwell on the past that I have scribbled this missive. I find myself in the position of being invalided out of a volunteer regiment - an unheard of feat I am certain only I should be capable of - with what those wet-behind-the-ears pups passing themselves off for medical practitioners are referring to as a mild apoplectic fit. I was merely exhausted, and my head was in a whirl from choking on the tear gas which our makeshift masks of torn linen were pathetically ineffectual against.
Their fallacious diagnosis of my condition aside, my vision seems to be slightly diminished, while my right arm does suffer a mild, intermittent palsy, which is entirely to blame for my illegible scrawl.
I shall be dispatched from the town of Calais, where we have been working under abominable conditions to arm the civilians and heal the wounded being brought here in droves, and once deported back home, will be in the position of having no home to speak of. Might I impose upon your hospitality by appealing you to consider taking in a broken-down army surgeon who can offer you any assistance about the place he is capable of and the entirety of his pension, meagre a thing as it is.
Warmest regards,
Dr John Watson
La Place d’Armes
Calais, France
13 April 1915
Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have you back in Baker Street STOP My aunt Martha would be spilling tears of joy to know you were home FULL STOP
- Theodosia
30 April 1915
Attn: Sir A.C. Doyle
RE: Publishing Inquiry
Am I to take it another of those ludicrous accounts which give no sway to the science of analysis and deduction is set to assail an unsuspecting public? STOP Response imperative FULL STOP
- SH
30 April 1915
Mr Holmes,
I regret to inform you that I have yet to hear back from your friend STOP Message may have been lost or misdirected STOP Do not lose heart FULL STOP
- A.C. Doyle
4 June 1915
My Dear Watson,
By now you may be aware that on Monday last, that is, the 31st of May, bombs were dispatched over London via German airships.
I am loathe to peruse the decidedly sensationalistic headlines that greet me of a morning, disturbing my well deserved withdrawal from the world with their unhealthy preoccupation on the mounting death tolls and heretofore unheard of atrocities. Not that I have, in my dotage, descended so low as to live in a constant state of agitation over the continued safety of a perfectly capable army surgeon, never mind the stupid fellow was invalided out six-and-thirty blasted years ago for good reason.
It simply would not do to have my peaceful retirement inundated with such disagreeable topics day after day, with naught else of interest in the papers to occupy my stagnated brain. Therefore, I took upon myself the exceeding clever measure of alleviating my ennui from those tedious headlines by paying a call upon Whitehall, where I came to acquire a firsthand acquaintance with the zeppelins and their accursed cargo.
After departing my brother’s unprofitable company, I decided to appraise myself of the myriad changes which have left their mark on our city, for Mycroft had proved most unhelpful to my aims, and I was of a mind take in our haunts of old. Much as I should have liked to pass the time in a peaceful stroll, my joints creaked in protest at the mere prospect, and I was forced to stew in severe dislike for my corpulent relation in the discomfort of a motorised omnibus.
Really, the gall of that infuriating lout and his state secrets! What does it take for one to finagle a mere breath of classified information from a government official? Perhaps if I once more assumed the role of Altamont, then I might have luck appealing more to the traitors than the patriots, eh Watson?
But I fall into the habit of digressing, which no doubt stems from an accidental perusal of your embellished chronicle of the Lord St Simon affair, as it were, which I came across at a bookseller’s when I alighted on the Strand.
I’d every intention of heading up to Baker Street, for I hear ownership was passed on to Mrs Hudson’s niece some years back, and that the girl recently let our old rooms out again, despite my strict injunction that it remain empty or else be converted into a museum. Heaven knows I wrote her a substantial enough cheque to cover any costs incurred by the absence of first floor lodgers, yet this younger generation is decidedly possessed of a tendency to sneer at the dictates of their elders. Alas, Watson, what use would it serve to tour that place which for us was a sanctum from choking fog and the evils of those nefarious men and places we so often encountered during our three decades of residence there? Time cannot be turned backwards as can the hands of a clock, nor can we relive the finer moments which have been allotted us.
So it was that in a fit of nostalgia I paid tribute to that venerable institution which provided me its share of satisfaction in the days when I dedicated my powers and my very life to the snuffing out of crime. The Old Bailey, I was pleased to note, remained a fixture of that age you and I seem to be perpetually mired in, and as fortune would have it, I was able to sit in on the trial of the Embankment strangler, who was sentenced to the gallows for his crimes.
I’ve a notion the passing years have not dulled my ability to shock you, as from there I made the short sojourn to Christ Church on Newgate Street, where my friend entered into a brief and ill-fated wedlock with the only woman in London who was worthy of him. See here, Watson. I would have you know once and for all it was not any great animosity towards her that obliged me into as deep an enforced solitude and propensity to disencumber myself from the chains of humanity - especially my dear fellow, from you - in that handful of years following your marriage. It was, as you are aware, due in part to my single-mindedness in untangling the knot of Moriarty’s criminal organisation, but also because it was not the same coming home after a day of delving into that iniquitous domain, and finding there was no comfort in reporting on my trifling achievements when the chair opposite mine had been abandoned by its occupant.
I do believe that was the first instance wherein I had set foot into hallowed ground outside of the tying up of Irene Norton, nee Adler. The vicar, who was hunched with rheumatism but in his pride did forgo the sensible use of a walking stick, seemed to scent out the sinning devil in his midst, and made a most admirable attempt at converting your friend into a churchgoing saint.
I needn’t convey to you in so many words how spectacularly that effort failed.
Suffice it to say he promised to… well, he gave me his solemn oath to keep an eye out for your name transcribed in stone on any memorial list he may happen upon, and to alert me in the event such should occur.
At precisely a quarter to eleven, I set out in search of temporary lodgings, for the last train had long since left Victoria Station. My amblings were leading me in the direction of St Bart’s when the glass of every shop window in the vicinity simultaneously blew out in a single thunderous cacophony. The force of the blast had felled me, but I escaped with only a sprained wrist and the slightest of abrasions. Fortune, however, did not smile so on many others who’d the mischance of standing in the wrong doorway or in cars that skidded and crashed into flaming wrecks.
There is nothing of that night I should care to dwell upon, but for once my dear fellow, I was glad you were stationed in Ypres, and not here to witness London coming down around its unhappy inmates.
Be that as it may, I should very much care to see you back safe and sound, preferably in a cozy chair opposite mine, reminiscing of the old days and convincing ourselves of the imminent knock of a client upon our door, and of the game once more being afoot.
Yours faithfully,
Sherlock Holmes
17 August 1915
My Dear Watson,
A year after our capture of the treacherous Von Bork, I have been duly advised by the highest powers in the land that my services are once more required in the retrieval of certain documents. The very nature of this assignment is so esoteric I can neither hint at the subject, nor do I have a clear understanding of its intricacies myself. To-night I am headed to an undisclosed location where I shall, behind closed doors, be given my official task, which I’ve reason to believe is what our brave soldiers on the battlefield refer to as a ‘suicide mission’.
What use have I for such concerns in my advancing years? I once made mention of your deserting me for a wife being your only selfish action of our acquaintance. Well, Watson, I have come to change my mind on the topic. This deuced silence on your end is more than I can bear, though it is but half of what I deserve for the callous neglect of my old friend for nigh on a decade, and for those cruel words which passed my lips in a self-serving desire to keep you from your duties and by my side.
You were, of a certainty, the man of words in this partnership, for I find myself pitifully unable to conclude this letter in a satisfactory fashion. I trust those occasions I have so indiscreetly let slip what you once referred to as my mask will be sufficient in conveying the extent of my own affectionate regard.
I remain very sincerely yours,
Sherlock Holmes
24 December 1915
Hamburg, Germany
Attn: Mycroft Holmes
Hunting trip you suggested most invigorating STOP One last pheasant to bag STOP Hope our mutual friend is well FULL STOP
- Sherringford
24 December 1915
Take care with those hunting rifles STOP Bird not so valuable as all that STOP Our friend would advise you of same had we not lost contact with him STOP Happy Christmas FULL STOP
- MH
24 December 1915
You are a blighted imbecile STOP Bah, humbug FULL STOP
- Sherrringford
12 April 1916
Mr Sherlock Holmes:
On behalf of Jean and myself, I offer our warmest congratulations on your successful capture of the treasonous Herr Drechsler, whose theft of the Haversham Plans could easily have cost us the lives of an untold number of English soldiers. And if I interpret the data correctly, your efforts went some way into bringing down a nefarious plot to destroy the Limehouse dockyards via an explosive device conveyed within a submarine which would travel in through Canary Wharf.
I need not convey to you how grateful is the nation in her hour of misery, or how appreciated were your courageous and selfless actions, which rose far above the expectations of your fellow countrymen.
Why, it was almost as though you considered your own life to be of no consequence in your tireless crusade to root out these adversaries of the English nation. I assure you, Mr Holmes, that it most certainly is of great significance, especially, I believe, to one man in particular - even if you do not exalt is as highly as does he.
On a similar note, you may indeed be aware that since my urging them to commence the use of inflatable rubber belts to prevent loss of life when our cruisers are attacked, I have been in constant contact with the War Office, and have subsequently been made a Private officer in the Crowborough Company of the Sixth Royal Sussex Volunteer Regiment. **
Because of this intimate correspondence, I have made for myself a reliable confidant or two in that department. And though we have, over the years, had our clashes of opinions, and as they say, ‘butted heads’ over my role as literary agent for your doctor, I have my loyalties to your friend, which inevitably must extend to you.
Through this channel, a whimsical little incident of sorts has come to my attention which I believe may be of the utmost interest to you. Please accept my invitation, then, to dine with us this weekend of May 1st , where we can further discuss what I anticipate you will come to look upon as a happy error.
A.C. Doyle
Crowborough, East Sussex
18 April 1916
Dr John H. Watson
221 B Baker Street
London, W1
Watson,
Hallo, old chap! I see that friend Holmes has managed to get his face plastered all over the front pages again, just like in the old days, when nary a fortnight would pass where his likeness could not be found staring back at you from The Times. I should have taken him for being well past the age when one can prudently tackle spies, though he seemed sprightly enough when I happened upon him outside Whitehall a few days ago. Oh, he wrung my hand heartily enough, though I wonder if he is having trouble with dyspepsia, for a pained glaze came over him at the mention of your name. He nodded curtly and was off in a trice, before I could properly thank him for his service to this country. Queer sort, that one.
I thought I would take it upon myself, then, to relay to Holmes through you how indebted we all are to him. Imagine, a submarine carrying enough explosives to blow us back into the days of Londinium, and set to detonate underneath our cargo vessels in Canary Wharf! Those thrice blasted Prussians!
Do take care of yourself, dear fellow, and perhaps we shall meet at the Psychical Society Séance your renowned literary agent is holding on the first of May. He has intimated to me that I am to track you down and drag you to Sussex by your collar if need be.
P.S. My Violet is with child and the proud parents wish you and Mr Holmes to be the honorary godparents of their forthcoming bundle of joy. If she delivers a boy, they have decided to name him John (for some reason or other, they are adamantly against Sherlock as the child’s Christian name) and if a girl, it has been settled she will be called Mary.
Yours,
Stamford
20 April 1916
My Dear Stamford,
I am glad to hear from you and that from what you say Mr Holmes is in excellent health and his usual spirits. You would be well advised to contact Holmes in his cottage on the Sussex Down, though be advised he lives the life of a recluse. As do I, of late, for my gait is not so reliable and I hate to impose on poor Miss Hudson to lead a worn down old relic through a walk in the park.
Thus far, I have yet to communicate with Doyle as to my whereabouts, for he will surely pester me to wring out another story for The Strand, and as you are no doubt aware by now, my penmanship is nigh on indecipherable. I am certain you will manage to have a convivial evening at his séance without me.
P.S. I am in the hopes that your Violet has a girl.
Watson
25 April 1916
Attn: S. Holmes
Pick up your ‘phone or open your post STOP There’s a good fellow FULL STOP
- A.C. Doyle
27 April 1916
sent by special messenger
Sussex Downs, England
Sherlock,
I shan’t have authorial persons ringing me up at one in the afternoon and interrupting my requisite arranging of the day’s files, which I have never, in all my fifty odd years in this position, had disturbed in so boorish a manner. The infernal gall of this Doyle person! It was an unacceptable way to have one’s schedule irreparably derailed, and all because one’s fraternal kin has seen fit to uninstall his telephone and will not be bothered to glance over his post.
This not answering your own messages is most incommodious of you, sir, and should to-morrow bring a repeat occurrence of this unpardonable disturbance of my routine, I shall forthwith pass a law forbidding the keeping of honeybees, and have your hives burnt down.
- MH
27 April 1916
You are a deplorable brother FULL STOP
- SH
27 April 1916
You may expect me in attendance at your nonsensical séance STOP Only promise never to ring up my relations again or I will write to The Strand claiming I am a fictional character whose identity you have purloined FULL STOP
SH
27 April 1916
You have my solemn oath FULL STOP
- A.C. Doyle
1 May 1916
My dearest Gertie,
It gives me no end of joy that the stodgy old windbag your dear, loving father has finally agreed to our marriage. When I turned down his offer to accord me double your dowry amount should I take it and vanish from your lives, I can only believe it left an impression on him of the sincerity of my intentions. When I heard he was struck down with brain fever last night, I hurried to be by the side of my true love, and you have my promise I will be with you shortly.
Already, I have boarded a train, and should be well on my way to catching the next ship to America once the two madmen responsible for this current hold-up have been spirited away to the appropriate lunatic asylum.
It was the most curious sight, Gertie.
A middle-sized old gentleman with a veritably bristling grey moustache, was being led about the platform by his collar, while he limply brandished a stick at the man leading him into the train. They made quite the spectacle, with the old boy carrying on about not believing in ghosts, confound it all, while the stouter man behind him warned him in a severe tone that he dare not refer to them as aught but spirits in the presence of their host.
The attention of a constable had been drawn to this bizarre scene, and for a moment I expected sprightly old walrus-moustache to engage the copper in a singlesticks match with truncheon pitted against battered old cane. That is, until this spectacle caught the interest of some infernally lanky fellow, who appeared not to have had a decent meal in weeks, for all he was skin and bones. But the truly irregular thing of it was, when old moustache and starving-to-death caught sight of each other, they exchanged such menacing glowers, their eyes might have been tried and convicted for attempted murder.
For a tense moment, we all collectively held our breaths, speculating internally as to which one would be first to do the other an injury. Were I a betting man, I might have placed a fiver on moustache, for he seemed to me an unstable sort of chap, the kind one might write off as useless - to their own detriment.
Then, to the shock and absolute bewilderment of us spectators, both fellows burst into a spell of uncontrollable laughter, wrung each other by the hands, until moustache pulled his starving compatriot into an embrace so tight you might have thought they were the most intimate of companions who never wanted to stray from the side of the other so long as either had the breath of life in them.
Mad as a hatter, I say. Both of them.
Well, Gertie, there you have it. My railway adventures while I whittle away the hours waiting to see your pretty face again. Do give my regards to your father, and hopefully we will be reunited soon after this letter reaches your shores.
You faithful and loving,
Augustus Fieldstone
* Excerpt of Sir ACD’s actual letter to the War Office petitioning enlistment
** This is all tru fax
Recipient: colebaltblue
Author: autumnatmidnite
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Stamford, Mycroft, ACD
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: When Watson attempts to enlist in the Great War, a series of misunderstandings (and much angst) ensues. An epistolary fic set after the events of ‘His Last Bow’.
A/N: A thousand thanks to my beta, kcscribbler
10 August 1914
War Office
Whitehall, London SW 1
To Whom It May Concern:
I am writing as a retired surgeon late of the army medical department, to request enlistment for the conflict with Germany. I am sixty-two, but I am very strong and hardy, and as I have been informed by my celebrated fellow lodger, can make my voice audible at great distances, which is useful at drill. I think I may say that my name is well known to the younger men of this country, and that if I were to take a commission at my age, it would set an example which might be of help. *
My sincerest thanks for your time and consideration,
John H. Watson, M.D.
26 August 1914
Dr John Watson
46 Queen Anne Street, London W1
My Dear Sir,
We regretfully inform you that due to your advanced age and serious injuries sustained in the Second Afghan War, we must decline your application for enlistment.
William Finch, War Office Undersecretary
7 September 1914
War Office
Whitehall, London SW1
c/o Mr Percival Upton
Mr Upton:
I am writing to collect on that substantial favour I am owed in regards to my sweeping under the rug that matter of Sir Bainbridge’s kidnapped spaniel, which was subsequently loosed upon the Tottenham Court Road a fortnight later, and discovered to be in a deplorable state of inebriation.
It has come to my attention that one Doctor John H. Watson will be joining us with his service in the German conflict, and I wish to be informed of where his regiment will be stationed.
Your cooperation in this matter is much appreciated.
Mycroft Holmes
10 September 1914
My Dearest Mr Holmes,
Please know I shall ever be in a debt of gratitude to you pertaining to the unspeakable incident of the drunken spaniel. I have been a strict teetotaler ever since.
We have several doctors of that common surname currently serving the King, but there is one John Harland Watson of London who is scheduled for deployment to Ypres on the morrow.
With fondest regards,
Percival Upton, War Office Secretary
15 September 1914
Dr Bertram Stamford
St Bartholomew’s Hospital
West Smithfield
London
My Dear Stamford,
My warmest felicitations on the upcoming nuptials of your daughter to that upstanding young lad from Bristol. Dr Winthrop Flaversham, who lavished praise upon you for curing his wife of the ague in ‘09, informed me of the happy event when he came round this morning to sign the papers which effectively turn my practice, such as it is, over to his more capable hands. Fortune never did favour me when in general practice; I daresay because my heart never was truly set on dispensing handkerchiefs and sugar pills to malingers or applying sticking plasters to boys with scraped knees.
I preferred, as you are well aware from my days assisting you with student lectures at Bart’s, when the merest word from Holmes had me off to be by his side in a trice, the thrill of adventure and quickness of wit required in the urgency of battle. Holmes, of a certainty, would be inclined to enumerate my deficiencies in the latter department quite succinctly, yet even he cannot deny my resolution of spirit that saw us through the tightest of fixes. I suppose it is that very willingness to brave adversity which causes me so great a restlessness in such devilishly interminable periods of inactivity. Which, I suppose, is not unlike my friend's periods of ennui, when I lived in a horror of what those black moods should cause him to inflict upon himself.
Holmes claims to welcome respite now, and I think, Stamford, I should as well were I able to spend it in his company. It is no writer’s exaggeration to say he lived in a constant state of insinuating himself into the queerest of predicaments, while it was my sworn duty to extricate the trying fellow from them. I do not for one second swallow that rot about Sherlock Holmes, of all men, living quietly among his bees, for there was always an air of stifled mischief about him whenever I visited his cottage. The devil only knows what he gets up to in that laboratory he’d converted from the spare room the summer before leaving for that “American stunt”, as he refers to it. The thought alone fills me with dread.
I suppose to dwell on the thing is the height of futility, for what need has Holmes of my assistance any longer? Or my companionship, if ever he did value it beyond the task of acting as his sounding board.
For that matter, it is the topic of our longstanding friendship I wish to broach with you. The blame lies squarely on my shoulders for that quarrel which nearly had us coming to blows. And all my poor friend was guilty of was stating the truth. Oh, we have had our share of differences, and on more than one occasion I was the recipient of the blackest glares or fits of petulance, though these all ended when his annoyance at me would slip his mind for an instant, and in his attempt to compensate for the lapse with an appropriately murderous scowl, we both broke down into an outburst of undignified laughter.
That shan’t be the outcome of this pretty hash I have made of things, and yet it is not in me to stay angry with the fellow for long.
There is a volunteer regiment in Calais that is sorely in need of qualified medicos, so there I shall be until this forsaken war is over. I’ve no end of arrangements to be made before I leave come the crack of dawn the day after next. And since Holmes is holed up in the hotel on Half-Moon Street, where I understand you have lodgings, I should be eternally obliged if you would be so kind as to inform him that his friend is heartily sorry and should like nothing more than to meet him for dinner tomorrow. Simpson’s, 7 o’clock sharp.
Please give Violet my regards at her wedding. My Mary was terribly fond of her, you know.
Sincerely,
John Watson
16 September 1914
11:03 a.m.
Mr Sherlock Holmes:
Forgive me for taking the liberty of slipping this note under your door, but the maid said you were out and hadn’t the faintest idea when to expect you back. Have corresponded with Dr Watson, who wishes me to convey his remorse for that terrible row betwixt you, which he feels entirely responsible for. He desires nothing more than to make amends and has implored me to relay to you that your presence at Simpson’s In The Strand is requested to-night at seven. For God’s sake, treat the fellow to dinner and talk him out of this mad notion he has got in his head of serving in some volunteer regiment.
Your friend,
Stamford
16 September 1914
9:27 a.m.
Attn: Mycroft Holmes
Returning to Sussex by 10:21 from Victoria STOP Expect retirement to remain permanently uninterrupted STOP German spies can go to blazes FULL STOP
- SH
13 December 1914
My Dear Watson,
By now you are no doubt fully engaged in the most nobly foolish endeavour in a long and distinguished parade of similar such undertakings, and if the newspapers and reports from Whitehall are to be credited, this little conflict England has entangled herself in holds far more peril than even your last encounter with war. Though I seem to have riled that long dormant temper of yours by the mere mention of it last we met, I maintain that a fellow your age ought to be giving serious consideration to rusticating in the country, or perhaps, since you are so bull-headed about the concept of laying down your stethoscope, you would do well to secure for yourself employment as a resident physician of sorts.
Here I must needs take this opportunity to remark it is neither a withering of the brain in my dotage or any mawkish feeling of loss at your absence that has compelled the penning of this missive. You of all men know my thoughts on the effects of allowing emotions to hold sway over the intellectual faculties.
It is only that I’ve a proposal of sorts, which I am certain you can hardly fail to see the wisdom of. It has come to my attention there is a retiring sort of fellow right here on the Downs, who I am told can be quite insufferable, though he is prepared to pay handsomely any medico willing to oblige his whims. Your burden would be light. Usage of an arm for him to slip through his on walks along the shore, for his rheumatism is nigh on intolerable of a morning. Packing your swim trunks may also be advisable. Upon my word, Watson, it would benefit you immensely to take some healthy exercise and lose that spare weight which has settled itself most unflatteringly about your middle.
There is also the requirement for a pair of sharp eyes to read aloud to him the daily agony columns, for his housekeeper insists upon switching off the electric lights, which she has a marked distrust of. Such stygian conditions, as you can well imagine, have given the fellow no end of trouble with his vision. He does not need spectacles, mind, only prefers to have a stout voice to recite the daily goings on to the abominable squinting he is forced to endure at the hand of superstitious servants. Were it not for her chicken and mushroom pies, my dear fellow, this patient I speak of would have stern words with her about the matter.
It might also be mentioned this resident physician should have a tolerance for the indigenous flora and fauna, both of which are found in abundance surrounding his property. In particular, a fondness for aphids would not go unwelcome.
I hear tell on the Downs the fellow is possessed of a highly singular nature, and can attest to the fact his living quarters tend towards a poisonous atmosphere from overuse of tobacco. Your familiarity of the condition, I trust, shall prepare you for such an arrangement. Furthermore, he has been known on more than one occasion to bolt the doors of his cottage in unabashed terror when the post has brought letters written by members of the fair sex offering their services as a housekeeper and volunteering their services at “segregating the queen.” Good Heavens. It leaves one to wonder what this world is coming to when a woman can make so forward an advance on an unsuspecting fellow.
Sorting through his correspondence, I dare say, will be another of your responsibilities.
And do not forget that vile antiseptic concoction you once forced upon every minor scrape and paper cut I incurred during our time in Baker Street. Your patient is prone to intermittent misadventures with apis mellifera, and though it stings like the very devil, its application would not go amiss.
Really Watson; consider it your sworn duty as a medical practitioner to see to it this poor aforementioned soul does not meet his end so ingloriously as to expire face down in a field, or having tripped over the fringe of his own carpet whilst attempting to navigate his way towards the nearest light switch.
I have consulted with Mycroft on this most discommodious business of your being stationed in Ypres until the spring, and after some minor persuading on my behalf, he has agreed it best you fulfill your obligations to King and Country back on the home front, as it were. Aware of my Watson’s unshakable sense of patriotism as I am, I’ve no expectations of you dropping your scalpel at my behest. There was indeed a time such a summons would have drawn you to my side without hesitation, yet I fear in my recklessness with your loyalties, I made quite the hash of things.
And perhaps it was not overly judicious for me to have raised my objections to the sensibility of running your head into such danger a your age, when you scarcely survived your last brush with the frontlines. Mind you, Watson, I still do not approve of this venture - I shan’t change my mind on that account. Only, do think on that offer, and remember when you are ankle deep in some muck-laden trench, that accepting it should not be akin to deserting your country in its hour of need, not when this poor hapless fellow I have herein described is likely to be called upon to act for England in the role of emissary, and should be very much obliged were he to avoid having to sit in the driver’s seat of some infernal machine with all its confounded gears and levers.
Enclosed you shall find a jar of honey, which the bees send with their warmest regards. And while we did not part on the most congenial of terms, please do believe me to be, my dear fellow,
Very sincerely yours,
Sherlock Holmes
2 January 1915
My dear Watson,
Word of the ‘Christmas Truce’, as the press has so imaginatively dubbed the event, has reached us here in our lonely little corner of the South Downs. You may be amused to hear how I chanced upon the news, for I was in a raucous public house at the time, imbibing a pint of ale with the locals. Ha! You never did suspect your reclusive friend might happen to find himself in so bustling a centre of activity, nearing midnight on Christmas, at that.
You see, my dear fellow, among the innumerable shortcomings of my old housekeeper is the habit of laying too many coals on the fire, which created an atmosphere so stifling, there was nothing else for it but to vacate my humble domicile in search of fresh air. My appetite of late has been slighter than was its wont in years past, and being that, for practicalitie's sake, I had warned the woman not to bring anything so frivolous as a seasonal goose into the house (a request that set her to griping and bleating in a most vexatious manner for days on end), my wanderings left me covetous of a good meal.
My ramblings into the village led me to the 'Black Swan', where the place was fairly buzzing worse than the hives during mating season over the most remarkable set of occurrences said to be spreading through the Western Front, and culminating in the past four-and-twenty hours. There was talk of unofficial cease fires declared by the troops themselves, of Allied and German soldiers wishing each other the compliments of the season, exchanging gifts, and calling an outright truce beginning on Christmas Eve.
Remarkable, Watson. The men fighting this war, it seems, are made of finer stuff than the governments sending them off with nary a pat on the back for their troubles.
My inquiries, and indeed, a perusal of the papers which were veritably bursting with accounts of the thing, seemed to indicate Ypres was not immune from this extraordinary event. You shall be glad to hear, if at all my well-being remains a concern for you, that I did partake of the celebratory plum pudding which was passed around on the compliments of the house, such was the state of exultation over this unexpected turn of events.
If I am not much mistaken, this event bodes well for an ending near at hand.
Though I have received no response to my previous epistle, I would have you know, Watson, that the offer to assist with your medical prowess that unfortunate old recluse remains permanently open.
Sherlock Holmes
5 March 1915
My dear Watson,
That pestiferous Doyle chap who takes the brazen liberties of affixing his name to your work, nauseatingly romanticised as it may be, has been urging me to forward him new notes on your cases, which he promises to write up as sensationalised fiction to rival your own. The Strand, it appears, is nipping at his heels for more of the lurid tales, and he has taken to the most unendurable habit of ringing me up on the ‘phone at all hours, burring into my ear with that insufferable Scottish accent of his. This persecution is more than a fellow can endure.
Please communicate with the horrid blighter, and inform him that I do not possess the key to your dispatch box at Cox & Co, nor have I any concern for the public’s ravenous appetite for them, as my own attempts to convince him of my apathy on the matter seems to have fallen upon the deafest or most obstinate pair of ears on this side of the Continent.
P.S. - I thank Providence your accent never had so sharp an edge to it. What with your eternal tobacco smoking and irregular habits, my dear fellow, I should have been driven to distraction.
Sherlock Holmes
5 April 1915
Miss Theodosia Hudson
221B Baker Street
London, W1
My Dear Theodosia,
I trust this letter finds you well, and that Holmes's compensation for retaining our old rooms was sufficient for your needs. I cannot with mere words adequately communicate to you what it means for two ancient relics such as ourselves to have our old digs preserved so. The gesture was most kind. Your generosity and willingness to humour the whims of Sherlock Holmes does a credit to your late and much lamented aunt.
Well, I daresay it was not to dwell on the past that I have scribbled this missive. I find myself in the position of being invalided out of a volunteer regiment - an unheard of feat I am certain only I should be capable of - with what those wet-behind-the-ears pups passing themselves off for medical practitioners are referring to as a mild apoplectic fit. I was merely exhausted, and my head was in a whirl from choking on the tear gas which our makeshift masks of torn linen were pathetically ineffectual against.
Their fallacious diagnosis of my condition aside, my vision seems to be slightly diminished, while my right arm does suffer a mild, intermittent palsy, which is entirely to blame for my illegible scrawl.
I shall be dispatched from the town of Calais, where we have been working under abominable conditions to arm the civilians and heal the wounded being brought here in droves, and once deported back home, will be in the position of having no home to speak of. Might I impose upon your hospitality by appealing you to consider taking in a broken-down army surgeon who can offer you any assistance about the place he is capable of and the entirety of his pension, meagre a thing as it is.
Warmest regards,
Dr John Watson
La Place d’Armes
Calais, France
13 April 1915
Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have you back in Baker Street STOP My aunt Martha would be spilling tears of joy to know you were home FULL STOP
- Theodosia
30 April 1915
Attn: Sir A.C. Doyle
RE: Publishing Inquiry
Am I to take it another of those ludicrous accounts which give no sway to the science of analysis and deduction is set to assail an unsuspecting public? STOP Response imperative FULL STOP
- SH
30 April 1915
Mr Holmes,
I regret to inform you that I have yet to hear back from your friend STOP Message may have been lost or misdirected STOP Do not lose heart FULL STOP
- A.C. Doyle
4 June 1915
My Dear Watson,
By now you may be aware that on Monday last, that is, the 31st of May, bombs were dispatched over London via German airships.
I am loathe to peruse the decidedly sensationalistic headlines that greet me of a morning, disturbing my well deserved withdrawal from the world with their unhealthy preoccupation on the mounting death tolls and heretofore unheard of atrocities. Not that I have, in my dotage, descended so low as to live in a constant state of agitation over the continued safety of a perfectly capable army surgeon, never mind the stupid fellow was invalided out six-and-thirty blasted years ago for good reason.
It simply would not do to have my peaceful retirement inundated with such disagreeable topics day after day, with naught else of interest in the papers to occupy my stagnated brain. Therefore, I took upon myself the exceeding clever measure of alleviating my ennui from those tedious headlines by paying a call upon Whitehall, where I came to acquire a firsthand acquaintance with the zeppelins and their accursed cargo.
After departing my brother’s unprofitable company, I decided to appraise myself of the myriad changes which have left their mark on our city, for Mycroft had proved most unhelpful to my aims, and I was of a mind take in our haunts of old. Much as I should have liked to pass the time in a peaceful stroll, my joints creaked in protest at the mere prospect, and I was forced to stew in severe dislike for my corpulent relation in the discomfort of a motorised omnibus.
Really, the gall of that infuriating lout and his state secrets! What does it take for one to finagle a mere breath of classified information from a government official? Perhaps if I once more assumed the role of Altamont, then I might have luck appealing more to the traitors than the patriots, eh Watson?
But I fall into the habit of digressing, which no doubt stems from an accidental perusal of your embellished chronicle of the Lord St Simon affair, as it were, which I came across at a bookseller’s when I alighted on the Strand.
I’d every intention of heading up to Baker Street, for I hear ownership was passed on to Mrs Hudson’s niece some years back, and that the girl recently let our old rooms out again, despite my strict injunction that it remain empty or else be converted into a museum. Heaven knows I wrote her a substantial enough cheque to cover any costs incurred by the absence of first floor lodgers, yet this younger generation is decidedly possessed of a tendency to sneer at the dictates of their elders. Alas, Watson, what use would it serve to tour that place which for us was a sanctum from choking fog and the evils of those nefarious men and places we so often encountered during our three decades of residence there? Time cannot be turned backwards as can the hands of a clock, nor can we relive the finer moments which have been allotted us.
So it was that in a fit of nostalgia I paid tribute to that venerable institution which provided me its share of satisfaction in the days when I dedicated my powers and my very life to the snuffing out of crime. The Old Bailey, I was pleased to note, remained a fixture of that age you and I seem to be perpetually mired in, and as fortune would have it, I was able to sit in on the trial of the Embankment strangler, who was sentenced to the gallows for his crimes.
I’ve a notion the passing years have not dulled my ability to shock you, as from there I made the short sojourn to Christ Church on Newgate Street, where my friend entered into a brief and ill-fated wedlock with the only woman in London who was worthy of him. See here, Watson. I would have you know once and for all it was not any great animosity towards her that obliged me into as deep an enforced solitude and propensity to disencumber myself from the chains of humanity - especially my dear fellow, from you - in that handful of years following your marriage. It was, as you are aware, due in part to my single-mindedness in untangling the knot of Moriarty’s criminal organisation, but also because it was not the same coming home after a day of delving into that iniquitous domain, and finding there was no comfort in reporting on my trifling achievements when the chair opposite mine had been abandoned by its occupant.
I do believe that was the first instance wherein I had set foot into hallowed ground outside of the tying up of Irene Norton, nee Adler. The vicar, who was hunched with rheumatism but in his pride did forgo the sensible use of a walking stick, seemed to scent out the sinning devil in his midst, and made a most admirable attempt at converting your friend into a churchgoing saint.
I needn’t convey to you in so many words how spectacularly that effort failed.
Suffice it to say he promised to… well, he gave me his solemn oath to keep an eye out for your name transcribed in stone on any memorial list he may happen upon, and to alert me in the event such should occur.
At precisely a quarter to eleven, I set out in search of temporary lodgings, for the last train had long since left Victoria Station. My amblings were leading me in the direction of St Bart’s when the glass of every shop window in the vicinity simultaneously blew out in a single thunderous cacophony. The force of the blast had felled me, but I escaped with only a sprained wrist and the slightest of abrasions. Fortune, however, did not smile so on many others who’d the mischance of standing in the wrong doorway or in cars that skidded and crashed into flaming wrecks.
There is nothing of that night I should care to dwell upon, but for once my dear fellow, I was glad you were stationed in Ypres, and not here to witness London coming down around its unhappy inmates.
Be that as it may, I should very much care to see you back safe and sound, preferably in a cozy chair opposite mine, reminiscing of the old days and convincing ourselves of the imminent knock of a client upon our door, and of the game once more being afoot.
Yours faithfully,
Sherlock Holmes
17 August 1915
My Dear Watson,
A year after our capture of the treacherous Von Bork, I have been duly advised by the highest powers in the land that my services are once more required in the retrieval of certain documents. The very nature of this assignment is so esoteric I can neither hint at the subject, nor do I have a clear understanding of its intricacies myself. To-night I am headed to an undisclosed location where I shall, behind closed doors, be given my official task, which I’ve reason to believe is what our brave soldiers on the battlefield refer to as a ‘suicide mission’.
What use have I for such concerns in my advancing years? I once made mention of your deserting me for a wife being your only selfish action of our acquaintance. Well, Watson, I have come to change my mind on the topic. This deuced silence on your end is more than I can bear, though it is but half of what I deserve for the callous neglect of my old friend for nigh on a decade, and for those cruel words which passed my lips in a self-serving desire to keep you from your duties and by my side.
You were, of a certainty, the man of words in this partnership, for I find myself pitifully unable to conclude this letter in a satisfactory fashion. I trust those occasions I have so indiscreetly let slip what you once referred to as my mask will be sufficient in conveying the extent of my own affectionate regard.
I remain very sincerely yours,
Sherlock Holmes
24 December 1915
Hamburg, Germany
Attn: Mycroft Holmes
Hunting trip you suggested most invigorating STOP One last pheasant to bag STOP Hope our mutual friend is well FULL STOP
- Sherringford
24 December 1915
Take care with those hunting rifles STOP Bird not so valuable as all that STOP Our friend would advise you of same had we not lost contact with him STOP Happy Christmas FULL STOP
- MH
24 December 1915
You are a blighted imbecile STOP Bah, humbug FULL STOP
- Sherrringford
12 April 1916
Mr Sherlock Holmes:
On behalf of Jean and myself, I offer our warmest congratulations on your successful capture of the treasonous Herr Drechsler, whose theft of the Haversham Plans could easily have cost us the lives of an untold number of English soldiers. And if I interpret the data correctly, your efforts went some way into bringing down a nefarious plot to destroy the Limehouse dockyards via an explosive device conveyed within a submarine which would travel in through Canary Wharf.
I need not convey to you how grateful is the nation in her hour of misery, or how appreciated were your courageous and selfless actions, which rose far above the expectations of your fellow countrymen.
Why, it was almost as though you considered your own life to be of no consequence in your tireless crusade to root out these adversaries of the English nation. I assure you, Mr Holmes, that it most certainly is of great significance, especially, I believe, to one man in particular - even if you do not exalt is as highly as does he.
On a similar note, you may indeed be aware that since my urging them to commence the use of inflatable rubber belts to prevent loss of life when our cruisers are attacked, I have been in constant contact with the War Office, and have subsequently been made a Private officer in the Crowborough Company of the Sixth Royal Sussex Volunteer Regiment. **
Because of this intimate correspondence, I have made for myself a reliable confidant or two in that department. And though we have, over the years, had our clashes of opinions, and as they say, ‘butted heads’ over my role as literary agent for your doctor, I have my loyalties to your friend, which inevitably must extend to you.
Through this channel, a whimsical little incident of sorts has come to my attention which I believe may be of the utmost interest to you. Please accept my invitation, then, to dine with us this weekend of May 1st , where we can further discuss what I anticipate you will come to look upon as a happy error.
A.C. Doyle
Crowborough, East Sussex
18 April 1916
Dr John H. Watson
221 B Baker Street
London, W1
Watson,
Hallo, old chap! I see that friend Holmes has managed to get his face plastered all over the front pages again, just like in the old days, when nary a fortnight would pass where his likeness could not be found staring back at you from The Times. I should have taken him for being well past the age when one can prudently tackle spies, though he seemed sprightly enough when I happened upon him outside Whitehall a few days ago. Oh, he wrung my hand heartily enough, though I wonder if he is having trouble with dyspepsia, for a pained glaze came over him at the mention of your name. He nodded curtly and was off in a trice, before I could properly thank him for his service to this country. Queer sort, that one.
I thought I would take it upon myself, then, to relay to Holmes through you how indebted we all are to him. Imagine, a submarine carrying enough explosives to blow us back into the days of Londinium, and set to detonate underneath our cargo vessels in Canary Wharf! Those thrice blasted Prussians!
Do take care of yourself, dear fellow, and perhaps we shall meet at the Psychical Society Séance your renowned literary agent is holding on the first of May. He has intimated to me that I am to track you down and drag you to Sussex by your collar if need be.
P.S. My Violet is with child and the proud parents wish you and Mr Holmes to be the honorary godparents of their forthcoming bundle of joy. If she delivers a boy, they have decided to name him John (for some reason or other, they are adamantly against Sherlock as the child’s Christian name) and if a girl, it has been settled she will be called Mary.
Yours,
Stamford
20 April 1916
My Dear Stamford,
I am glad to hear from you and that from what you say Mr Holmes is in excellent health and his usual spirits. You would be well advised to contact Holmes in his cottage on the Sussex Down, though be advised he lives the life of a recluse. As do I, of late, for my gait is not so reliable and I hate to impose on poor Miss Hudson to lead a worn down old relic through a walk in the park.
Thus far, I have yet to communicate with Doyle as to my whereabouts, for he will surely pester me to wring out another story for The Strand, and as you are no doubt aware by now, my penmanship is nigh on indecipherable. I am certain you will manage to have a convivial evening at his séance without me.
P.S. I am in the hopes that your Violet has a girl.
Watson
25 April 1916
Attn: S. Holmes
Pick up your ‘phone or open your post STOP There’s a good fellow FULL STOP
- A.C. Doyle
27 April 1916
sent by special messenger
Sussex Downs, England
Sherlock,
I shan’t have authorial persons ringing me up at one in the afternoon and interrupting my requisite arranging of the day’s files, which I have never, in all my fifty odd years in this position, had disturbed in so boorish a manner. The infernal gall of this Doyle person! It was an unacceptable way to have one’s schedule irreparably derailed, and all because one’s fraternal kin has seen fit to uninstall his telephone and will not be bothered to glance over his post.
This not answering your own messages is most incommodious of you, sir, and should to-morrow bring a repeat occurrence of this unpardonable disturbance of my routine, I shall forthwith pass a law forbidding the keeping of honeybees, and have your hives burnt down.
- MH
27 April 1916
You are a deplorable brother FULL STOP
- SH
27 April 1916
You may expect me in attendance at your nonsensical séance STOP Only promise never to ring up my relations again or I will write to The Strand claiming I am a fictional character whose identity you have purloined FULL STOP
SH
27 April 1916
You have my solemn oath FULL STOP
- A.C. Doyle
1 May 1916
My dearest Gertie,
It gives me no end of joy that the stodgy old windbag your dear, loving father has finally agreed to our marriage. When I turned down his offer to accord me double your dowry amount should I take it and vanish from your lives, I can only believe it left an impression on him of the sincerity of my intentions. When I heard he was struck down with brain fever last night, I hurried to be by the side of my true love, and you have my promise I will be with you shortly.
Already, I have boarded a train, and should be well on my way to catching the next ship to America once the two madmen responsible for this current hold-up have been spirited away to the appropriate lunatic asylum.
It was the most curious sight, Gertie.
A middle-sized old gentleman with a veritably bristling grey moustache, was being led about the platform by his collar, while he limply brandished a stick at the man leading him into the train. They made quite the spectacle, with the old boy carrying on about not believing in ghosts, confound it all, while the stouter man behind him warned him in a severe tone that he dare not refer to them as aught but spirits in the presence of their host.
The attention of a constable had been drawn to this bizarre scene, and for a moment I expected sprightly old walrus-moustache to engage the copper in a singlesticks match with truncheon pitted against battered old cane. That is, until this spectacle caught the interest of some infernally lanky fellow, who appeared not to have had a decent meal in weeks, for all he was skin and bones. But the truly irregular thing of it was, when old moustache and starving-to-death caught sight of each other, they exchanged such menacing glowers, their eyes might have been tried and convicted for attempted murder.
For a tense moment, we all collectively held our breaths, speculating internally as to which one would be first to do the other an injury. Were I a betting man, I might have placed a fiver on moustache, for he seemed to me an unstable sort of chap, the kind one might write off as useless - to their own detriment.
Then, to the shock and absolute bewilderment of us spectators, both fellows burst into a spell of uncontrollable laughter, wrung each other by the hands, until moustache pulled his starving compatriot into an embrace so tight you might have thought they were the most intimate of companions who never wanted to stray from the side of the other so long as either had the breath of life in them.
Mad as a hatter, I say. Both of them.
Well, Gertie, there you have it. My railway adventures while I whittle away the hours waiting to see your pretty face again. Do give my regards to your father, and hopefully we will be reunited soon after this letter reaches your shores.
You faithful and loving,
Augustus Fieldstone
* Excerpt of Sir ACD’s actual letter to the War Office petitioning enlistment
** This is all tru fax