This is sort of a take on
“It’s a wonderful Life” (seeing as how it’s that time of year again)
Usual disclaimers I don’t
own any of the characters, make no profit and only write to entertain (though
sometimes that’s doubtful) so enjoy feedback always welcome.
Sherlock Holmes had always
been predisposed to depression, there were times were the black mood would
seize him and he would lie upon the sofa, unmoving, speaking hardly a word for
days on end. His long-suffering companion Watson had noticed that this
depression always seemed far worse over Christmas.
During the Holiday season
Holmes would lie not upon the sofa, but in his bed covers pulled up and over
his head, not moving for anything, unless a case happened to unexpected fall
into his lap, which around Christmas was rare.
This was the first
Christmas in many years that Watson had not lived at Baker Street; in fact this
was the first year of Watson’s marriage to Mary.
While the marriage was
something for Watson to celebrate, Holmes had not fully recovered from that
shock and now the holidays were fast approaching.
As December marched on
Holmes’ mood grew more and more bleak; Watson could see the depression washing
over him.
Watson was not going to let
his friend fall into that dark depression again, and so he made frequent trips
to Baker Street determined that this year be different.
Why Watson felt that a trip
to his home on Christmas Eve for a “lovely meal and good company” as he had put
it, should make a difference, Holmes was unsure. The last thing Holmes wanted was to be reminded that he had lost
the most precious part of his life.
When he had declined Watson
looked so dejected that Holmes half felt he should change his mind, but instead
sadly shook his head. Watson left only
to return the next day and the day after refusing to take no for an
answer.
He returned one last time,
Christmas Eve.
Holmes had grown tired of
repeating himself and this night resorted to insults “Watson, you are either
going deaf and did hear me say no, or you are painfully stupid and do not
understand the word”, even Holmes had winced at the cutting remark.
Watson, who had been facing
him, turned away. “If that’s how you feel, I’m surprised you consider such a
person a friend.” His voice betrayed
the emotions he dare not show; though Holmes could see how his shoulders
slumped in defeat.
“Watson..”
Watson sadly shook his
head, and with a bitter laugh walked out of the sitting room, limped down the
seventeen steps, and out the door.
Holmes lay upon the sofa,
his mood blacker than ever, “Why do we ALWAYS hurt the ones we care for most?
Why could I not just tell him why it is that I dislike these holidays?
How does one tell that when
you were just 9 years old you witnessed the murder of your mother on Christmas
morning, by your father who had gone stark raving mad? That you had to run and
hide in the woods because that same raving lunatic came after you to repeat the
heinous crime, and that you hid so well almost no one could find you. If not
for brother's observational skills and superior powers of deduction you would
have frozen to death?
Then how to explain the
fact that it would not make you feel any better to sit in their home and watch
the only other person you have ever remotely loved play happily ever after with
his blushing bride! That this new found happiness, this domestic bliss has
taken away your own happiness, and you now lead a meaningless existence!”
Holmes looked to the mantle
above the fireplace to the photo of he and Watson. The photo had been taken
after the conclusion of a high profile case kidnapping case, Watson looked well
pleased, and Holmes looked tired and uncomfortable. That had been the first case
that caught public attention, the first time the press actually knew of his
involvement. He remembered the
conversation they had; it also ended in an argument.
“I never wanted all this
attention, I simply wanted to practice my craft to the best of my ability, to
do that I needed to remain anonymous! Instead you publish these cases under the
guise of fiction, and worse still you go about romanticising what should have
been precise scientific monographs on the art of deduction.”
“Holmes that is a bit
unfair, you know you have had NO trouble practising your so called craft, if
anything my publications have furthered your career!”
“Not to mention what they
have done for your bank balance, or your social life!”
Watson had nearly left him
then and there.
The clock striking 1pm
brought Holmes back to the present, not that it was much better.
“Meaningless existence and
painful memories! Am I to constantly be reminded of what I cannot have! Is it because I can not have him I hurt him;
Watson would certainly be better off if we’d never met.” He glared at the photo and nearly spat as he
shouted “Damn this thing called love, Damn John Watson and most of all damn me,
I wish to GOD I had never been born!”
Holmes closed his eyes and
placed his hands over them as if to shut out the world.
When Holmes again opened
his eyes he was greeted with a familiar site.
There in his waistcoat and
shirtsleeves, stood Watson, looking as if he just came from a patient.
“Watson?”
Watson smiled politely,
“Yes if you wish” and bowed his head slightly.
Holmes sat up, “Watson I
must apologise for my behaviour before I was terribly out of line” Holmes
stopped mid sentence, for the first time he noticed his surroundings. “ This
isn’t Baker Street, where am I?”
Watson walked towards
Holmes, gone however was the customary limp, and slight stiffness in the
shoulder that the cold often brought.
Watson sat beside Holmes
and smiled, there was something about him, something Holmes couldn’t put his
finger on. He looked like Watson, and sounded like him, though he seemed
softer, it was as if Holmes were looking at a dream version of Watson.
Watson laughed, “I assure
you Holmes I am no dream.”
Holmes stared at Watson,
mouth slightly agape, “How on earth did you know that?” A phrase up until now usually uttered to him
by Watson not vice versa.
“The process was very
simple, you have been watching me long enough to realise something was not
quite right, you glanced first at my leg, then shoulder, noticing of course I
bear no evident sign of injury, you then studied my face, your eyes slightly
narrowed and a brief smile with a slight blush crossed your features, what else
could you have been thinking other than you were dreaming.” Watson raised his eyebrows and smiled.
“How absurdly simple” Was
all Holmes could respond.
“Quite so.” Watson leaned
forward as if to bow.
“Now to the matter at hand
where are we?” Holmes studied his surroundings once more; they too seemed
something out of a dream. The room was not as big as the sitting room of Baker
Street, but it was much more cheery. The room was well furnished; there were
two chairs by the fireplace one slightly smaller than the other, the sofa a bit
farther back. A small rectangular table sat in the middle; upon the table were
fresh baked Christmas cookies, and mice pies.
The doorway off to the left gave glimpse into a dining area, which was
laid out for Christmas.
The feast upon the table
ready to eat, turkey and all the trimmings, even a roast goose, and Christmas
pudding. To the right and in the
corner stood the tree candles all a blaze, with decorations shining in their
light.
Holmes turned round to see
a large widow which looked out onto a busy street, and next to the window was a
door, this place was familiar.
Holmes looked puzzled, “This place reminds me of someone, of
something, but I can not put my finger on it.”
Watson smiled, “Who does it
remind you of?”
Holmes gazed about the room
again; “To be honest it reminds me of you.”
“Of me?” Watson nodded as
he looked around the room. “That would be a fair assumption.”
“Watson you are positively
cryptic this evening,” Holmes leaned back against the sofa with a deep sigh.
“Just tell me how I came to be in your home”
“Of course, it started when
you made your wish, the I”
Holmes held up a hand and
looked at Watson strangely, “Made a wish? What the devil are you on about
man!”
“Do you remember where you
were before you came to be here?”
“I was home, I must have
fallen asleep, next thing I knew I was here, how did I get here?” Holmes was
becoming agitated.
Watson touched Holmes
shoulder, “That’s almost what happened, but before that you wished to god that
you had never been born, and my friend, I am here to grant that wish.”
Holmes sat there dumbstruck,
“W.what?” Watson began to laugh a deep rich laugh that was very unWatson
like.
“Just what do you find so
amusing, you just told me you mean to end my life!” Holmes yelled.
“No, no NOTHING like that”
The still laughing Watson took Holmes hand again, “Let me explain as I started
to before you interrupted me, you know Holmes you do have that nasty habit.”
Watson stood up and cleared his throat.
“Is this going to take
long?” Holmes inquired.
“It shouldn’t, but it does
all depend on you. First let me start by saying YES, you are in my home, but I
am not Watson, I chose this appearance so you would feel comfortable with me
and so that you would trust in what I have to say, I am for lack of a better
word your guardian angel.”
Again Holmes was struck
with a look of disbelief and started to say as much, but Watson just held up a
hand and shook his finger firmly “Tsk tsk I did say not to interrupt me.”
Holmes looked like a child
who had been reprimanded.
“Yes, I am your guardian
angle, or if you prefer you guide. God sometimes listens when we think he
isn’t, this night he heard your wish and has decided to grant it. That is why you have been brought here, to
my home, its sort of a halfway point.
Before your wish can be granted, you get to see what life would be like
had you never been born, if you still feel you want your wish, then it will be
granted and you move on from here, before you ask I can not tell you what is
beyond this point THAT is strictly prohibited.” Watson bowed slightly and sat back down.
“Watson you must be well
and truly drunk to tell such a tale, either that or you are letting your choice
of reading cloud your mind. I have heard of Mr. Charles Dickens new Christmas
novel. “ Holmes stood up and headed for the door”
“I wouldn’t open that if I
were you” Watson warned.
Holmes never one to listen
pulled firmly on the door. It blew open reavaling a cold swirling mist and
beyond it darkness he looked down there was the same vast dark emptiness. He
would have fallen had Watson not pulled him back.
“I did warn you” he led
Holmes back to the sofa. “Have a brandy, you’ll feel better” Seemingly from
thin air Watson pulled a class and handed it to Holmes.
Holmes for the first time
in many years was truly clueless; he didn’t want to admit to what had just
happened, to do so would defy all logic.
Watson smiled, “When your
ready we will begin.”
Holmes looked uncertain,
“Very well then, now is as good as time as any”
“Where first?” Watson
questioned.
“Well why not Lestrade,
without me around, I imagine he’s quite happy, knee deep in investigations no
one to get in his way or question his authority. That is assuming that’s
alright with you.” He looked to his
guide, who nodded his approval, and in the blink of an eye they were on the
streets of London heading for Scotland Yard.
Holmes was now dressed in
his winter coat complete with gloves, he marvelled that this was happening but
still held to the belief that he was dreaming.
When they reached the yard
the guide took Holmes by the arm,
“I must caution you, you will
recognise many people, they will see you, but they will not know who you are.
This is no dream and I am no ghost nor are you.”
They walked to what should
have been Lestrade’s office, the door was open and Holmes could see a rather
burly salt and pepper haired man sitting at the desk, who looked up, as Holmes
walked in.
“May I help you?” his voice
was gruff.
“Yes I was wondering if I
might have a word with Inspector Lestrade” Holmes said quite confidently. The
man behind the desk began to laugh.
“This is his office is it
not?” At this the laughter stopped, and
the policeman looked at Holmes his manner as gruff as his voice.
“I beg to differ with you
sir, this has been my office for the past 10 years, and if it’s SARGENT
Lestrade you be wanting I suggest you try his area which is near the British
Museum, now if that’s all I suggest you leave me in peace!”
Holmes looked to his guide
as they walked out the door.” That’s not possible, Lestrade was made inspector
12 years go after I solved the Romfeild murder, and allowed him the credit.”
Holmes looked proud, it was the first case that he had openly assisted Lestrade
and proved beyond a shadow of a doubt his methods worked,
His guide smiled
indulgently, “ Yes that may be true, however in this reality you were not born,
you were not there to give assistance, Lestrade did not catch the killer, nor
were you there to assist on any other cases, his limited abilities took him as
far as he would go, with out your invaluable assistance, Lestrade will never be
more than a Sargent.” His guide shrugged and the continued walking.
To Holmes surprise there
was Mary Watson she was well dressed, and to further surprise Holmes she was
heavily pregnant.
“Obviously Watson must be
doing something correctly” He pointed her out to the guide, and then walked
over to her, “Mary?” he questioned.
She turned around and
nodded, she looked over both men, “Yes that’s right do I know you?” her voice
was weak and there was a sadness in her eyes.
Holmes was shocked by her haggard sickly appearance.
“I am aquatinted of Mrs.
Forrester.” He bowed slightly
Mary smiled, “How is she, I
have not seen her since I married Thaddeus”
“Sholto?” His face
reflected the amazement in his voice.
“You know my husband then?”
She seemed frightened at that prospect.
“I had heard of him, good
day to you Mrs. Sholto please take care.”
Mary smiled politly
"Thank you Gentlemen”
When she had walked out of
earshot Holmes looked to his guide, “Why should she be so frightened of her
husband?”
“Holmes, since you weren’t
born Mary had no one to turn to about those pearls, she went to meet the
brothers alone. Thaddeus fell in love with her instantly, his brother had other
ideas he wanted to kill her and keep her part of the treasure, there was a
scuffle, the brother was killed at Mary’s hand and Thaddeus blackmailed her
into marriage. He is unkind, and though she has money, she is very lonely and
sad indeed”
“But what of Watson?”
Holmes protested
“Tut tut Holmes, how would
she have met him if YOU never existed? It was you that she came to see not him,
she needed your assistance, for better or worse you were responsible for her
ultimate happiness.
Holmes sighed, “No matter,
we shall go see Mycroft, he can sort out Lestrades problem.” Holmes pulled his guide along to Pall Mall.
“Dear brother Mycroft can
sort out any problem, but don’t let him know I said that” Holmes smiled and his
eyes shone with brotherly pride.
Holmes hurriedly climbed
the familiar steps and knocked on the door, and elderly gentleman answered.
“I’d like to see Mycroft Holmes please”
“I am sorry sir, there is
no one in residence here by that name.” He said matter of factly, and politely
shut the door.
“I don’t understand this,
Mycroft has had these same rooms since he moved to London” Holmes looked
confused, his guide however looked nervous.
“Where is my brother?”
Holmes demanded.
His guide sighed and took
him by the hand and walked him down the steps and out the door. They ended up
in the woods; a manor house could be seen in the distance, “I know this place.” Holmes hugged himself
tightly. “That’s my family home, and these are the grounds beyond the river,
Mycroft and I were not supposed come here, but we frequently did, on horse back
no less!” Holmes shivered slightly;
always the happy memories were tainted by the unpleasant. “Mycroft almost died
on his 15th birthday when he fell..” Holmes voice trailed off as he came to a sickening realisation.
“No.. Don’t tell Me..” His
pleading whisper was nearly inaudible.
The guide wrapped his arm
around Holmes protectively. ”Holmes, I am so sorry, but as you have already
come to the conclusion I must tell you that your brother died on his 15th
birthday. As you must know by now, you were never born, and because of that you
were not there when Mycroft’s horse was spooked and threw him. There was no one
to pull him from the river and go for help, so he drowned. Your mother was
heart broken, and later that day she took her own life. Your father re-married,
but had no more children.”
Holmes shook his head ”
Ironic is it not, of all the people so far that HE should be better off!” He laughed bitterly. “Well Watson, what of you?”
His guide smiled, “If you
mean is John Watson MD better off, why not find out, or are you afraid?”
Holmes remained silent and
looked as if determining what might be the next plan of action. “Yes very well,
lets see Watson.”
The guide led the way down
a dark filthy alley, at the end there was a pub, “This is where you will find
John Watson,” he said, opening the door and ushering Holmes in.
Holmes eyed the room
searching for his Watson. His eyes came to rest on a man at the end of the bar,
his shoulder unnaturally stiff his face unmistakable, if a little thin. Holmes edged closer to the bar and gathering
the courage squeezed in to stand next to Watson.
Holmes looked him over, his
face haggard and his hair unkempt, he looked sickly. Watson was oblivious to
the world around him. The stiffness in
his arm came from far to much time leaning on the bar than the wound he had sustained
in the war and it was clear to Holmes that this man was an alcoholic.
Holmes stood in silence
stunned by his friends’ appearance, he turned to go just as Watson made a move,
and they ended up colliding. “I’m
terribly s..Sorry” Watson said, speech slurred, breath reeking of drink. He was unsteady on his feet, his limp more
pronounced than usual.
“It’s quite alright, it was
my fault” Holmes said, as Watson tried to move again he stumbled, Holmes
quickly grabbed him and offered support.
“I.. I’m alright, thank
you,” Watson smiled and waved Holmes off.
Holmes was reluctant to release his friend; he offered to buy him
a drink. “Why don’t you come and sit with me, have a drink, I hate drinking
alone”
Watson again smiled as
Holmes led them to a table. “Make mine a double, I had an excellent day at the
races.”
“As you wish doctor.” Holmes was about to get the drinks when
Watson grabbed him by the forearm.
“How did you know I used to
be a doctor?” Watson seemed to have sobered up and seemed horrified that Holmes
knew his profession.
“Used to be?” Queried
Holmes
“I had a practice.” Watson
looked down as his voice trailed off, he looked almost lost, “ I don’t think I
want that drink” he stood to go and fell to the floor. Holmes picked him up and
held him for a few moments before escorting him out. “I think we best get you home.”
Holmes continued to support
Watson until they reached the edge of the road where he hailed him a cab.
When the cab pulled up
Holmes bundled Watson in and climbed in after him, he motioned to his guide to
come along but he shook his head and waved him on.
The guide watched as the
cab pulled away, “I hope this does the trick, most people have begged to go
back by now, but then most people aren’t Sherlock Holmes.” He looked to the sky
and shrugged.
In The cab Watson seemed
despondent, Holmes watched silently as the doctor nearly broke into tears. The cab halted out side a rundown building,
windows all covered with soot. Holmes exited first, and then assisted Watson,
who still insisted he was all right.
Holmes paid the cabby and the two men ventured into the building.
“I have a small room at the
top, I’ll be fine, honestly I do not need an escort” Watson managed to pull
away from Holmes.
AT first he stood and
watched as Watson struggled with the stairs, he could hardly move, let alone
walk up the 3 flights of stairs.
Holmes ruefully shook his
head, he hadn’t seen Watson like this in many years, and of course he hadn’t
seen THIS Watson at all. Without a word
Holmes came to his friends aid, wrapping his arm around Watson’s waist and
pulling Watson’s arm over his shoulder, Holmes half carried the man up the
stairs. He reached in Watson’s pocket
and found the key.
Once inside Holmes put
Watson in the only chair in the room, and lit the oil lamp that sat on a short
square table.
The room was painfully
small, had only one chair, and a bed below a window, there was no fireplace,
and only a small chest of draws for storage. Watson’s army trunk was what
Holmes at first thought was a short square table. He took in the room and wondered what had happened, he had
thought to ask, but Watson had fallen asleep in the chair and was snoring
heavily.
Holmes hoisted the sleeping
man from the chair and brought him to the bed, “It’s been a long time since I
had to do this” laying him down he undressed him, and then tucked him under the
blankets.
Holmes turned the chair
around and sat facing him. Curiosity got the better of him and he found himself
searching through the old trunk. The trunk was filled with journals and relics
of the war all of which Holmes had seen before he even had the same revolver.
In amongst the clutter Holmes found racing forms and betting
slips, two bottles of whiskey and at the very bottom something wrapped in an
old newspaper. Holmes carefully unfolded the paper; there inside was Watson’s
nameplate, the shingle that hung from his one time practice. There was an
article in that old newspaper that caught Holmes eyes.
“Child Dies Due to Doctors
Blunder”
Glancing over the article
Holmes read the details of how a young girl died as a result of her doctor’s
negligence, and prescription of the wrong medication. The doctor was Watson. At
the inquest into the child’s death it was concluded that Watson had been in no
fit state to practice medicine. Further investigation discovered he had been
inebriated at the time he examined the girl and the recommendation was that he
should be struck off.
Holmes cold not believe
what he had read, the article also stated that Watson was forced to sell everything
he owned so that he could pay restitution to the girls family.
Holmes watched as Watson
slept, “How could you let this happen” he wondered, “ I can not believe this,
you should have been better off with out me.
Why aren’t you! You should be
concentrating more on building up your practice and spending time with Mary
playing happy families and having children!
WHY are you living in the bottom of a whiskey bottle? WHY!” Holmes walked over to the oblivious Watson;
he seemed so much like HIS Watson. Holmes put his hand tenderly on his cheek,
and brushed lightly.
“Excuse me” Holmes turned
to see his guide standing there, “You have to leave, you have a decision to
make,” He said rather coldly.
“Yes, I know. And I have
made it.” He looked back to Watson, and
studied him, “You were not meant for this, you were meant for so much more, I
only hope that you can forgive my selfishness and thoughtlessness on those
occasions when I will no doubt hurt you.”
Holmes took a deep breath. “ Sometimes we say things we do not mean, I
do not wish this for him, I want HIS life back, I want him happy”
His guide smiled, “It’s not
often we get a second chance, so make the most of it! You’ll still have your pain, and unless you
admit to your self and possibly to HIM what you are feeling it will always be
that way, can you live with that?”
Holmes nodded.
“What makes it possible
now?” the guide quizzically asked
“Because I know that no one
is better off alone, including myself. And before you ask, I made the choice
for him, not me, because I.” Holmes faltered, he did not want admit what he was
about to.
His guide implored him, “Go
on, because you?”
“I love him, and he
deserves the happiness he has.” Holmes spoke in hushed tones and quite fast,
yet some how he felt better, and even managed a smile.
His guide smiled brightly
and nodded, “Good –bye then, and good luck Holmes.”
Holmes woke feeling
slightly disorientated; he looked around and sighed with relief that he was
back in Baker Street. “What a dream” He
sat up and stretched, the clock on the mantel struck one, “That’s odd, if it
was one when I fell asleep how can it still be one now?”
Holmes checked the papers;
the day was the same Christmas Eve.
Holmes called down to Mrs.
Hudson “ I will be going out Mrs. Hudson no need to worry.”
With that he dressed
quickly and went about his business.
John Watson sat starring at
the fire, wondering what had he done to cause Holmes to turn on him. He was roused from his musings by loud banging
on the door; “I’ve got it” He called to his wife.
Mary joined him as he
opened the door, and standing there looking sheepish was Sherlock Holmes. In
his hands Holmes held packages, which he promptly handed to Watson. To further
astonish them Holmes leaned forward and kissed Mary on the cheek“ Merry
Christmas Mrs. Watson, thank you for your most gracious invitation.” The Watsons looked at one another in stunned
silence.
“Might I come in? It is
quite cold” Holmes half smiled as he rubbed his hands together.
Watson smiled warmly, “Of
course please do. I am delighted you have changed your mind, you know you are
always welcome in my home.” Watson grasped Holmes firmly by the hand and ushered
him in.
FIN