55. THE CASE OF THE ROMANTIC DETECTIVE

Dr Watson is employed in Rome and Holmes ... married?

I examined the envelope carefully and the strong handwriting bearing my name and address in Rome took me back over a great part of my life. This was unmistakably a missive from Sherlock Holmes and I was curious to know what he was up to these days, since his marriage to Annabelle, now Annabelle Holmes. I had written to him and was awaiting a reply, considering it impolite not to write again until I received one.

I held the envelope expectantly and then I opened it carefully, and there was his writing on several sheets of near perfect calligraphy that sloped in a clearly legible italic style.

“My dear Watson,” I read, and as the words leapt off the paper it seemed that I could hear his voice in my head.

“Many thinks indeed for the letter I received from you several weeks ago, and I must apologise that you have had to wait so long for my reply. I don’t want you to think me in any way remiss for not writing sooner than this, but nobody explained to me the delights of marriage.

“You were shocked, I know, when I told you that Annabelle and I were to be married because, and this is perfectly true, we had only known each other for a few hours. But I am of a mind that it doesn’t take long at all for a man (or a woman, come to that) to make their mind up over even important matters, and the dedication of one’s life to another person is a truly important matter. Kings may reign, Prime Ministers serve, whole civilisations rise and fall, but the relationship of two people is more vitally important than any of those….”

“This is going to take a bit of reading if he’s being philosophical,” I thought to myself, and I poured myself a glass of red wine. It would come as some surprise to Holmes that I have taken to be a wine drinker, but when in Rome, etcetera ... and I’m in Rome and anyway Italian wine is first class. I will send him a few bottles by and by!

I returned to the letter.

“Annabelle is a true treasure, Watson. She not only fulfils the role played by our dear friend and late landlady Mrs Hudson, but she has taught me how to be a husband when all my existence I’ve lived the life of a self-obsessed bachelor. No, Watson, don’t protest when you read this! You know it is true. You must recall how I expected you to be at my side in difficult cases even though your dear Mary was at home expecting your return or even after her passing, when your waiting room was filled with patients in need of their doctor!”

“That is true, Holmes,” I muttered, “though you never quite appreciated how a friend can’t always be at your side when he has a life of his own to live.”

The letter called me again. I was curious to learn how Holmes was coping with someone else to consider other than himself. I read on.

“You would be shocked were you to return to Baker Street, Watson. Upon entering the familiar front door and making your way up the stairs to our first floor rooms you would observe that little has changed, though dear Annabelle says that she has plans! But our own rooms, those we shared together during the long years of our joint toil now have what I believe is called the feminine touch, and there is rarely even a single sheet of paper or envelope out of place. It is quite amazing how different the room looks, and my violin (in its case) now has a special stand that makes it the centre of attention.

“Do you recall how you often nagged me about the cocaine I used to employ as a means of concentrating my mental powers when I have a particularly hard problem to solve? Well, she has managed to convince me that in the long run the stuff may be doing my mind no good and possibly even harm, and I have voluntarily ceased turning to it for release from mental stress. Not that, in all honesty, I get much mental stress these days. I have few cases on my ledger, and those that I do accept occupy precious little of my time. I refuse to turn my powers to domestic issues like lost wives or recalcitrant husbands because that was never my trade, and yet that sort of issue seems to be the dominant one in my mail, though there was one case quite recently that intrigued me and that I called, in my notes, the case of the errant pig after I had dealt with ut! I may explain more should I see you again soon.

“To tell you the truth, I consider myself to be retired from work. I have accumulated sufficient funds to see Annabelle and myself comfortably to the next world when our time comes. She has no offspring from her previous marriage and there is absolutely no chance that we will be blessed with such in this at our respective ages! And, you know, Watson, I don’t think I could cope with the disharmony of babies and toddlers. Even though my life is considerably less rigorous than it used to be, it still requires a certain amount of discipline.”

I grunted to myself. “If you consider the way you behaved at Baker Street as disciplined you clearly have no idea what the word means,” I muttered to myself.

Then I turned back to the letter. I did say that it was on several sheets of writing, didn’t I?

“I felt the need to write to you in order to apologise for my lack of understanding when it comes to the way I was when you were wed to Mary. You see, what I never knew anything about nor began to understand was the intimacy that lies between a woman and a man when they have considerable feelings for each other. But there is such a thing as love, of that I am totally convinced despite the fact that I have, occasionally in the past, been cynical about its existence. And, Watson, I’m sure that I love Annabelle with all my heart, and will until the ending of my days. I dared say I will be writing to the already knowledgeable when I say we spend long minutes in the morning or at night whilst in bed and possibly half asleep discussing nothing very much, and reminiscing about moments that the other knows nothing about because we are still in the green years of our lives together. And there are other things that it would be imprudent and, indeed improper, for me to mention but that you will know all about from the way I refuse to mention them! But closeness and joy are involved, and such things have, I’m sure, made me a changed man!

“But I am not idle despite the lack of cases. Under the encouragement of the sweetest lady I know I am resolved to compose a musical piece and fill it with what is going on in my heart. And it will rise, in its piquant notes, to a great height of living joy and fall in moments to the sleepy dreaming depths of sleep. That will be my gift to tomorrow, that, and maybe, a cleaner, calmer, more honest world as a consequence of my previous labours. A man must always dream that his passing through life is no negative thing, but that it offers a change to the affairs of mankind that is, to say the least, unique.

“Well, that is me for the moment, Watson, and I will write again should any news cross my mind or any events be worth reporting. Until then, my dear fellow, I send my regards, and Annabelle, who is by my side as I write this, sends her love.

“Yours ever,

“Sherlock.”

“Well I’ll be blowed,” I thought, “who would have thought it possible? The man is clearly stricken by the bug of love. Best of luck to him, that’s all I can say, best of luck for today and tomorrow.”

© Peter Rogerson 02.10.17