The spoilet return of sherlock holmes
Recorded by Mrs Helen Holmes n;e Watson
«So it was, my dear Watson, …I found myself in my old armchair in my own old room, and only whishing that I could have seen my old friend Watson in the other chair which he has so often adorned.
”
A. Conan Doyle “The empty house”
It was the gloom winter afternoon. The cold rain fell in the garden. In the drawning room of Lady Helen Holmes the fire was brightly lid. She was spending the aftenoon studing the papers of her father Dr John Watson delivered by the Cox’s and Co banc according the sollicitor’s autorisation six month after the death of its owner. Lady Helen just entered in its possession.
The country cottage situated just outside of Oxford where she lived with her family was silent. Her husband Mickael Holmes – a proffessor fellow at the Trinity college of Oxford was busy in this study in the opposite side of the house and children were out for a visit.
She put the low seat near the fire and started to explore the precious records relating the whole carreer of Doctor Watson’s freind – the famous consulting detective Mr Sherlock Holmes.
The first vault containted the serie of ancian notes of different years ranged from 1894 to 1901.
She opened the first volume and paused a moment for resuming her emotions. The handwriting of her father refreshed the memory of this recent loss.
The year 1894 filled three big handbooks. It was as well the first year after Mr Holmes retern to Backer street.
Lady Helen went through the dusty pages marked by the different notes some time very brief, some time quite developped. Passing several pages she felt to the short account dated of April 10th 1894.
« It was written a week after Mr Holmes’ return » remembered she.
The texte was develloped enough to represent an extract of an accomplished tale. It run to only seven pages.
She set down more confortabely on the sofa and read :
« The cab halted in the corrner of Holland and Church streets in Kensington. An old cripped man descended and strolled in the bizzare cloping manner long the street. He stopted for a moment in the cross-road of Holland street and looked at the right. Just in opposite he noticed the antique elizabetian house occupied by a small bouquinist shop.
The man smiled and continued on Holland street. He was a bookseller or bibliophile. At least he was clad like that. He has a sharp wizened face, his eyes peered out from a frame of white hair. He held under his right hand a pile of old volumes of different shapes.
He marked a stop at each gate searchig his adress. He stood finally at the prety terrasse house with the braced copper plate
« Dr John H Watson. Surgeon ».
He smiled again, came up several steps and rang to the front door.
In few minutes a young maide opened. She was surprised to see a such unusial caller, but the old man asked in strange ckoaking voice.
« I want to see Doctor Watson »
The maide let him come in and went to announce the visitor.
The man straightened for a moment becoming a foot higher that he was, but at the noise of the maide’s steps he crept again.
The girl showed him the way.
I have just returned home from my fruitless inquiry to the 427 Park line that the maide came to announce me the visitor. To my astonishmient it was the non other than my strange old book seller, with whom I was brusque half an hour early.
« You are surprised to see me, sir ? Asked he without giving his name.
I acknowledged that I was.
« After you accidentely let fall my precious books I was hobbeling though the Hide park. Nearly in the half way I was awe following you in the same direction . When I saw you enter this house, I thought that I must appologise for roughness.
I smiled and answered.
« You make so much of a triffle. »
On that I thought the incedient closed, but he continued
« Well sir, if it isn’t a liberty, I am neighbour of yours, for you’ll find my little bookshop at the corner of Church street. I will be very glad to see you. May be you collect youself… »
I rose to my feet realising that it was a street ambulant seller, who caught an occasion to introduice himself to a prospecting client. I paused a moment thinking how to get rid of him, but he kept speaking continuing his offer
« Hier is British Birds and Catullus and The Holly War – a bargain every one of them »
I began to loose patiance and noticed to the visitor that I was extrimely busy, and he should leave. To smooth the roughness of my demand I promised to call this week to his shop, but he had no intention to leave my study.
- Look, sir, - insisted he - with five volumes you could fill the gap on the second shelf. It looks untidy, does it not, sir ?
I steped to the cabinet to close the door which was half opened. Sudenly I herd behind me the very well knowen voice asking:
« Can you be so good, my dear Watson, as to find me a match »
I turned back abruptely and I saw instead of the old book seller Sherlock Holmes now arisen and smiling to me across my study table. I stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and it appers that I must have fainted for the first and the last time in my life. I remember the grey mist swirled before my eyes and I herd the distant Sherlock Holmes’ voice calling me by name.
I would collapse backward if someone didn’t restrain my fall and when I regained consciousness I found myself seated in my chair, the end collar of my shirt was undone and I felt the aftertaste of brendy upon my lips.
Sherlock Holms was bending over my chair with his flask in his hand. He smiled when I opened my eyes.
« My dear Watson, I owe a thousand apologises, I had no idia that you would be so affected.
I griped his arm.
- Holmes, - I cried. – Is it possible that is you ?
- Oh yes, My dear fellow, It’s me without doubt.
I was holding his left sleeve, and he griped my right hand shaking it vigouresely.
- Watson, it’s realy me, - he repeat.
- You are not a spirit any how, - I said feeling across the cloth his thin sinewy arm.
Then he walked to his chair and set down. He lit a cigarette and looked at me cordially. He was dressed in the book seller frock –coat, but the rest of the disguise laid in the pile upon the table. He looked even thinner and keener then of old, but there was a dead-white tinge in his face which told me that his life recently had not been a healthy one.
- Good heavens, Holmes, - said I finaly, - I can hardly bealive my eyes. How does it possible that you came alive out of that dreadful chasm.
Sherlock Holmes looked at me with unusual concern and answered.
- My dear Watson, are you sure that you are fit to discuss things, I gave you a serious chock by my unecessery dramatic reapeariance.
- I am all right, Holmes, - said I, rubing my face with hands.
Saying that I confess I have not yet complitely believed to this miracle resurrection. I feared that the next moment the Holmes’ gost should transforme in a smoke cloud and would vanish from my sight.
I think Holmes guessed my fear and kept talking.
- Now my dear Watson in the matter in explanation we have, if I may ask for your cooperation tonight a hard and dangerous night’s work is in front of us. Pehaps it would be better if I gave you an account of the whole situation when that work is finished. You will come with me tonight ?
- When you like and where you like, - cried I more unconsciously, for I can not yet completely realised the sense of his words.
- This is inded like the old days.
- Holmes, I should much prefer to hear it now – said I giving up to restrain my curiosity.
Holmes glanced at me seriously hesitating a moment. Then he said calmly
- I had no serious difficulty in getting it out for the very simple reason that I never was in it.
- You never were in it ?
- No, Watson, I was never in it. But my note to you was absulustely genuine. – he added.
- But where have you been during these long years ? – I asked in astonishment
He smiled in his own discret manner which I knew so well and began his extraordinaty account.
I kept silence listening this remarkeble narrative. He explaned that at the Reichenbarch Fall he guessed that the note of a dying English woman was a hoax, and he expected the devellopement like it realy happened afterward.
I listened the unbeliveble story of his escape without interupting, and only one question turned up on my tongue « Why did he deceive me ? But I didn’t ask. I expected the explanetion at the end.
Holmes told me about his travel to the est, to Tibet, Persia and Khartoum. He spent last eight months in Monpelliers working in the chemical libarotory of the local university.
He coughed heavely, interrupting his speach and I rose to serve him a glass of water. He drank and could master his respitation. I remarqued to him
- You dont look healthy, Holmes, have you been ill ?
- Why no, - he answered.
- You look thinner, I would say you lost at least 3 pounds of wight. You have always been pale, but that livid tinge of your skin tells me that you could have some problem with liver.
He looked at me surprisly, my neutral voice and expression must puzzle him . He could understand that the reconciliation was not yet won and probably for that raison he suprised me acknoledging
- You are right, Watson, I was ill, seriously ill.
- When and what was the desease ?
- In India, in the spring of 92. It was some intestinal fever or like that. For several weeks I was alighted and so feeble, that I was forced to postpone my departure to Lhassa.
- Have you been attended by an European doctor ?
Holmes sneered
- There, where I have been, My dear Watson, the representatives of our lands are not really welcome.
- Good god, - I cried, - remembering the awful treatement of local wizards on the borders of our Est colonies. – you nearely escaped the death. What were the symptoms ?
He gave me the short account of it, and it was clear to me that he caught a dysentery
- Recently – he added - I worked with some tocsic fumes in Monperllier.
I was very anxious and asked without much hope to his consentment, knowing his aversion to the medicine.
- I could exemine you, Holmes, in order to prescribe the appropriate treatment.
To my estonishment he agreed again. I exemined him and fortunatuly found nothing very allarming. He needed rest, flresh air and some good food.
Then I came back to my cabinet, open the archive drawer and took out from the files of patiants that I could not save, the Holmes’s medical file.
Sherlock Holmes remarked it and rose from his chair approching me.
- You file your clients as well, Watson?
- Of cause I do, - astionished I, - I can not keep in mind all prescribed treatements.
- I have never seen my medical file, - said he with a cheer interest. - But I Perceive something should be corrected.
He took a pen from my study table and read alout the title :
« Mr Sherlock Holmes
Born June 12th 1854
Deceased May 4th 1891
Cause of death : accident.
He crossed out the two last lines and wrote instead « Still alive »
Than he returned to his chair.
I did’nt open my file, starring to the fresh inscription and asked
- But how did you live, I mean how did you gain your life during this long period? Have you been a consulting detective in the colonies ?
His face became grave and he looked directely in my eyes answering to my question
- I had one confident, my brother Mycroft. I owe you many appologies, my dear Watson, but it was all important that it should be thought I was dead, and it is quite certain that you would not have written so convincing an account of my unhappy end had you not yourself thought that is was true.
- That trustworrthiness costed me some grey hairs. – I said bitterly.
Sherlock Holmes frowned, but did not interupt me.
- You chose you brother before me. And I naively thought that I could be as thrusteful as your brother.
- Of cause, you are, my dear freind, - cried he, - but I needed money to live.
- Whatever your reasons, Holmes, I could accomodate it, I could send you money, I would sell my practice to assiste you.
I noticed that his pale face became quite white. I think he was at that instant awe of the harm he did to me.
I feel my heart weigh a tonne. Suddenly I realised that my freind has so heavely desappointed me, that I could not compose myself since nearly an hour.
- I could never mention such a probability. – he said .
- So, - ventured he asking in a little voice after a short silence, - you are not glad to see me ?
- Of cause I am, - I cried , - I am overjoied - but Holmes, do you realise your heartlesseness ! Do you value our freidenship so little ?! Can there be any secret so precious that a man could allow his closest freind to beleive he was dead for three whole years. A single note, just a word could make me happy ! Conseder the reverse, If I desappeared without word to you, would you not take it as a triffle unfeeling of me ?
The Holmes’ eyes were now widly open, he stoped smoke and his cigarette has extinguished. He did’nt answer, but I could undestand that he might remember my Edinbourgh’s desappearience four years ago, and the feelings he could recolect of it.
I must stare to him with such a reproach that he finaly said
- Is it clear to me now that I deeply offended you. You know me better than everyone, you know that this mind absence is propper to me. I asure you, my dear freind, I was not awe of the harm I was inflicting.
I rose my eyes and cross his gaze. His grey eyes were at that moment quite limpid, I saw that he could hardly restrain his emotions.
But my resentement was so big, that I felt that I would realy prefer him leaving me alone. It was certainly an unproper reaction on the nervous chock but at that moment I have not realised it.
The Sherlock Holmes legend as I built it for healing my mourning has collapsed now. The heroe, I consedered to be the best and the wiserst man as I have ever known, betrayed me cowardly.
- I have taken my pen to write to you severel times during these years – trayed he to explane, -but always I feared lest your affectionnate regards for me should tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray my secret, and . . he hesitetated to close the sentence.
- And what, - I insisted
- I thought that you were married, your wife would comfort you.
That was to much for me. Holmes was jelous of Mary. I vaguly guessed it before, but now it sounded like a sneer.
- Do you know, Holmes, - explosed I, without realising that I was shouting, - that there was Mary who suggested me to start my writtings to glorify your memory and your exploits !
Sherlock Holmes sent me a sharp gaze and said bending torward me.
- Watson, I beg you a pardon. I may only hope that you find it in your soul to forgive me.
I have never seen Sherlock Holmes so humble before, but my heart did not melt. I was staring at him hardly without a word.
Finaly, Holmes decided that his presence was unpleasant to me and he rose to his feet. Gravely he said his last word
- Today at two o’clock I called to Baker street, threw Mrs Hadson in violent hysterics…
- She too loved you like a her own son - said I bitterly, but he did‘nt interupt his speech
- Myckfort had preserved my rooms and my pappers exactly as they had always been. So I found myself in my old armchair in my own old room, and only wishing that I could have seen my old freind Watson in the other chair which he has so often adorned.
- Watson, - called he, for I was listning without looking at him,
- Watson, - called he again
I rose my eyes
- I wish you know that the Baker street’s doors are always open to you.
After that he exited, and I remained seated petrified anable to move.
I downed my eyes to the card board of Holmes’ medical file and suddenly the inscription he made on it flashed in my mind : « still alive », I awoke as struck by the electric shock and rushed to the hall.
He was still there walking to the front door, I run after and caught him by the shoulder. He turned on his heels. I brusquely shacked his hand and he took me in his arms.
- Holmes – I whispered hardly retaining tears, - forgive me, I would not bear to loose you again.
- You will never do, I promise, - answered he leading me back to my study.
He close the door and helped me to seat down into my chair. Reaching his seat he rather collabsed on it. He took of his flask and drank some brandy.
- Holmes, I am not myself. I dont understend my own reaction. I hope I did not offence you, - trayed I to justify my absurt conduct. - A dear freind comes from the dead to me, and what a cold welcome I offer him !
- My dear fellow, - answered Holmes in his usual calm and warm voice, - your grievance is perfectly justified, I was wrong, but you can conceder youself revenged, for the while you have frighten me.
I looked at him in such amasment, that he explaned
- I realy beleived that I have lost you .
I was ashamed of such a foolish idia and hurried to question
- Well, Holmes, and what about the hard nightwork you have mentioned before. »
When Helen finished reading, she stood for a long moment in puzzling mood. This tale was well known in the family. It described in quite different way the return of Sherlock Holmes to the londoner practice. The facts were widely commented by the reading public of Sherlock Holmes admirers when Dr Watson published the public version of this account known as « An adventure of the Empty House ».
In the begging of 94 Helen was a small girl, and could not remember the reported circustomces by herself, but she always knew how benefacturing was Mr Holmes’ return to her father. Short after his freind’s return to England Dr Watson sold his Kensington practice and devoited himself for more then 7 years to his freind’s adventures.
Helen always knew the very kind regards that her father eprouved to Mr Holmes. This unexpected and strange account devailed the hidden side of their relationship. That was the very rare personal touch that Dr Watson has indulged to pour out in his personal diary describing what he realy felt : the rough and unarranged for the editor purpose emotions, the striking reality of the uneasy temper of Sherlock Holmes.
Helen rose and went accoss the house to her husband study - the Sherlock Holmes only son Michael, to show him her increadible finding.
Michael Holmes was seated at his huge study table crowed by the many books, drawnings and manuscripted paper sheets. He was preparing the cycle of conferences for the aerodinamic course he was condacted at the Trinity college.
The big bow window lead to the south, but the day light was so feeble that he could light the table lampe.
The green abajour alighted the the small space around him throwing the deformed shadow to the tall book shelfs behind him. He was deeply in his thoughts when Helen opened smoothly the door and came in.
He rose the head to the light noise of her movement and his face’s expression changed immidiately from the pensive and wandering to the happy smile.
- Mike, - said Helen approaching the study table, - sorry to disturb you, but I could not wait.
- What are you found out, - asked he rising from his chair. – a new unpublished father’s adventure ?
- More then that, - said she giving him the notebook opened on the Dr Watson’s account. – I think I found the exeptional evidence of their row.
- I could guess knowing father’s heavy temper – answered Mike smiling, - that there should be many.
- But never recorded by Papa.
- Doctor Watson had an angel’s patiance. I think he treated Sherlock Holmes as one of his patiants with a proffessional stoicism. For him his freind was genious, somewhat crazy, so he didn’t juge him by the common beheivor standards.
Michael took the note book and set down on the sofa, Hellen set down in the armchair in front of him.
The Sherlock Holmes son read the texte and during few minutes the only sound in the room was the cricked wood in the fire place. Finaly he put the book to his knees and said.
- That version is much more realistic then the sweet happy retrouvailles that Dr Watson related in the « Strand magasin »’ publishing.
- But Papa has always asserted that he wrote only the truth on Mr Holmes cases. – said Helen suprised.
- Dont forget, that Dr Watson tales are the brilliant sample of the fiction’s literature. For hiding names, facts well known to the contemporary public he was obliged to change and some times complitely refabric the initial story. Remember, he starts to write on father’s adventures after the Reichenbarch Fall accident only 10 years after his actual return.
- Yes, - said Helen vively, - I remember it very well. In 1904 Mr Holmes was so impressed by your unxepected arrival in his life, that he decided to give up his career and devote himselt to your education.
Michael frowned for a moment and said dryly.
- He would, but he could’nt.
- No Mike, dont tell that, - Helen was obviously desappointed, - he loved you, you know it very well.
- Yes, of cause, - he answered, - in his own way. Fortunately he had his closest freind family to substitute him to give me a litle love that a child could expect of his parents.
Helen knew the complicated ralationship between the son and the father, but now nearly 2 years after M Holmes diappearience she hoped that the memory would keep only the positive feelings sweeping away all the bad ones.
- I think – she continue, - Papa simply forgot his rescentment torward Mr Holmes regardless conduct, and put on the paper only his joy seeing him in live and coming back to London. He justifily expected that his readers would be happy to find Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson in perfect harmony and ready for the new thrilling adventures.
- You are quite right to the second point rather then to the first ? – said Michael.
- But I am still under the chock of Papas’s words , - said Helen shaking the head.- I thought papa unable to any greivance torward M Holmes. Only one thing puzzele me why Mr Holmes was so estonished to papa’s emotional reaction ? Did he seurch to surprise him on the limit of permitted, did’nt he ?
- But how, my dear, - stirred Michael up, - should Dr Watson react ? Father theatrichal as ever, throws off his disguise while his freind turned. When Dr Watson saw a man whom he thought dead suddenly spring to life before him, he not unnaturally faints. How would an avarage man respond to witnessing such a resurrection ?
Helen shook the head.
- And this account of his travel to Tibet. – Michel sneered continuing. – I believe Dr Watson relate it quite blithely to put in evidence its absurdness.
- How can you dare to accuse Mr Holmes to lie to Papa !
- Whatever he was, - answered Michael, - he obviously coul’nt tell the truth to Dr Watson, so he invented the hoax story, wich autencity Dr Watson could guess.
- How can you say that ?
- Consider, my dear, - answered Michael mastering his excitement, - If somebody disappiers now for several years and , on his return tells his friend that he has been on the Moon, that is the same probability that fourty years ago was to visit Tibet.
- I think – said Helen, - he left a complete rapport of his mission to Forein offic, he said it to papa. Now many decades later you could ask to consult it.
- Why then ?, - estonished Michael – all his doings belong now to the history and to Doctor Watson’ novels. But it is in our power to continue his adventure’s story and doctor Watson probably would agree.
- What do you mean ?
- I mean to accomplish his work. Dr Watson probably lacked time to publish some father’s cases. You will find some untold stories in his papers. This one, could be published as an sensational alternative to the very known one.
Helen sudenly paled. Michael was worred of her reaction and asked with great concern.
- What is it, my dear ?
- We will never do it. – answered she gravely. – It is not permitted to correct that Papa decided to write on Mister Holmes. Their freidenship was their pravate matter. The Sherlock Holmes legend was created by Dr John Watson, and it remains forever as he decided to record it.
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