Let me share a SECRET…

~~~

Okay, all you brettish, follow this link!!!

 

Trust me!

Edited on Nov. 13th – sorry guys, now I have amended the correct link… must had been changed in between…

Coming Home (Part 6+7) – a Holmes and Watson fanfiction

(back to Part 5)

I decide I’d better continue talking as long as I still dare to do so. After a few deep breaths I take (figuratively spoken) the plunge into the dephts of openness.

“My brother Mycroft…”, I begin, slowly, measuring every word. “I have already told you about the way he is leading his life. Secluded. Without much contact to the public. The impersonated enigma. Few people know about the relation between him and me. Remember how long it had taken even you to find out that I have a brother.

Now, when I understood the urgency for me to obtain the funds for my exile, I contacted him. He had the means to provide for me – not only regarding the money, but also regarding the logistics. After all, he has the British Government behind him. I also thought his lifestyle and his position might render – per definitionem – some sort of protection against any possible schemes of Moriarty’s henchmen, should they find out that I was still alive. So I wrote to him instead of you.”

Watson is watching me. He does not interrupt me, but he has started to look more at ease, much more himself.

“When you accompanied me to Switzerland, three years ago”, I continue, “I soon began to scent the danger that surrounded us. And I knew I was not the only target person, meanwhile. By bringing you along, I had endangered your life severely, and I almost could not endure this thought. On our way to the Falls, when this presumed messenger came to lure you away from me, I did not doubt for a minute, that this had been Moriarty’s work. And I was more than glad to get you out of the line of fire.

You know what happened then. I decided to dissappear. From my hidden place at the Falls I watched you… and, believe me, it had been the hardest thing I had ever done and I will ever do to let you go away without any sign that I was still alive. Not very much unlike my dream – the difference being the fact that maybe my body would have allowed me to call out for you… but not my conscience! By that time I had promised myself that I would not let you become a target person for Moriarty’s men. I know you would not have let me go on my own if you knew I was alive. So I had you rather believing me dead than being in any further danger on my behalf.”

He has closed his eyes now, wiping his face with his right hand. I anxiously hope that when he will look at me again, I will be able to read from his features that he has not only forgiven me – but that he now also understands me. Otherwise I should see myself liable to dip in even deeper emotional waters – and that would be something quite outside my ususal range of experience.

~~~

“You know”, he says at length. “I believe there is a reason why Professor Moriarty had taken care to separate us before attacking you.” His voice sounds pensive now, but the tension seems finally gone, and so I feel relaxing myself a little.

“What do you mean?”

“Because he knew very well, that together we are stronger than separated.”

It is a simple statement, and I am glad beyond words that his expression and his tone do not contain a reproach.

“You are right”, I reply. “And I have learned that the hard way.”

He looks at me, then nods. “I am sure you did… but I must tell you, Holmes, as your friend and doctor, that you should really try to get yourself some sleep now.”

Ah! To hear this familiar admonition again, coming from his own mouth! Marvellous!

“Whatever the good doctor says”, I agree. “But you – do you feel allright?”

“Oh, I am fine”, he assures me. “After a few hours of additional sleep, a good breakfast and some strong coffee in the morning I will be almost as new. The rest can be discussed later.”

There suddenly seem to be some new tension. “The rest?”

“Yes.” He is hesitating. “Actually, I wish to consult you.”

This surely gets my by surprise! Obviously I should really drop the thought of him being always so predictable.

“The thing is, I could need your advice on some financial affairs. Nothing to worry about, but I would be interested in your opinion.”

Predictable? Watson? What a strange idea!

“Of course”, is all I can say.

“Splendid!”

And if I am not totally mistaken, I have just perceived a very slight and very quick grin on his face. He pulls the blanket a bit higher, exhales and adds, contentedly: “’Night, Holmes.”

“Good night, old boy.” How often have I envied him his ability to fall asleep thus easily… I am rising from my seat. “Oh – Watson?”

“Hm?”

“Would you mind me sitting here another moment before heeding doctor’s orders?”

“Not in the least.”

“Thank you.” I settle back, and it is only now I realise that he had not told me anything about his dream. Maybe he will, someday. But I think it is not that important anymore, as I have reason to hope his dreams now will change for the better…

(t.b.c.)

Coming home (PART 5), a Holmes and Watson Fanfiction

(back to Part 4)

* * *

“I am having those dreams, you know”, I say slowly, as he finally loosens his firm grip on me and sinks back against the pillow. His eyes are following my every move, as I bend to his feet to take off his shoes.

“No, old chap”, I say, as he starts to protest. “Let me at least return this favour. And pray, make yourself a bit more comfortable, will you? It is time for your mind and body to have a little rest.”

I undo his tie and open his collar; I lift his feet to position them on the mattress; I take the blanket and cover him up to his chin. Numerous times he has rendered those services to me, especially during my darker hours, when I had been weak, vulnerable, sick and tired. Now it is my turn.

“I’m sorry, Holmes”, he finally says, his voice sounding a little hoarse. “I must have mistaken the room…”

“That’s all right”, I assure him and try my best to smile. I know very well that he is not telling the truth, that he has come here absolutely on purpose. By means that have not much to do with logic and deductions I understand that he had chosen my bedroom to be able to feel himself closer to me. Maybe he had just wanted to sit here for a while before retiring for the night. I know these things, because I would have done the same.

I clear my throat and point to an armchair in the corner. “Would you mind to bear my company for a couple of additional minutes?” I am now setting sail for a long overdue conversation. “It is actually a little bit lonely out there.”

“Please, go on”, he replies, trying a half-smile. “Just make yourself at home.”

“You are indeed obliging, doctor”, I retort, as I understand that he is obviously trying to lighten the mood. I pull the chair close to the bed, make myself as comfortable as the situation allows and just behold his face for a while. I would have never believed that I could miss the man, any man, so much!

He returns my glance. “You… are having dreams?”, he finally ventures.

“Oh, yes.” This is not going to be easy for me, but I owe him the truth.

“Every single night. I am crouching down in my hideout at the Reichenbach Falls, and I am watching you coming to look for me. You are examining the surroundings, you are calling my name, you are finally finding and reading my letter. You are so very near. I want to stand up and open my mouth to make you notice me. But I am unable to make the slightest move. I want to shout, but I cannot produce any sound. You are finally going away, and I cannot reach you. You are out of sight. I am falling. I am falling down the Falls.”

I am suddenly finding it hard to steady my voice. At some point I must have closed my eyes, because as I now look up, I see his eyes fixed on me with an intense and utterly amazed gaze.

***

I decide I’d better continue talking as long as I still dare to do so. After a few deep breaths I take (figuratively spoken) the plunge into the dephts of openness.

“My brother Mycroft…”, I begin, slowly, measuring every word. “I have already told you about the way he is leading his life. Secluded. Without much contact to the public. The impersonated enigma. Few people know about the relation between him and me. Remember how long it had taken even you to find out that I have a brother.

Now, when I understood the urgency for me to obtain the funds for my exile, I contacted him. He had the means to provide for me – not only regarding the money, but also regarding the logistics. After all, he has the British Government behind him. I also thought his lifestyle and his position might render – per definitionem – some sort of protection against any possible schemes of Moriarty’s henchmen, should they find out that I was still alive. So I wrote to him instead of you.”

Watson is watching me. He does not interrupt me, but he has started to look more at ease, much more himself.

“When you accompanied me to Switzerland, three years ago”, I continue, “I soon began to scent the danger that surrounded us. And I knew I was not the only target person, meanwhile. By bringing you along, I had endangered your life severely, and I almost could not endure this thought. On our way to the Falls, when this presumed messenger came to lure you away from me, I did not doubt for a minute, that this had been Moriarty’s work. And I was more than glad to get you out of the line of fire.

You know what happened, then. I decided to dissappear. From my hidden place at the Falls I watched you… and, believe me, it had been the hardest thing I had ever done and I’ll ever do to let you go away without any sign that I was still alive. Not very much unlike my dream – the difference being the fact that maybe my body would have allowed me to call out for you… but not my conscience! By that time I had promised myself that I would not let you become a target person for Moriarty’s men. I know you would not have let me go on my own if you knew I was alive. So I had you rather believing me dead than being in any further danger on my behalf.”

He has closed his eyes now, wiping his face with his right hand. I anxiously hope that when he will look at me again, I will be able to read from his features, that he has not only forgiven me – but that he now also understands me. Otherwise I should see myself liable to dip in even deeper emotional waters – and that would be something quite outside my ususal range of experience.

(Part 6/7)

Coming home, PART 4 (a Holmes and Watson fanfiction)

(back to part 3)

***

WATSON!

I instantly abandon reasoning and clear thinking and rush into the direction where the source of these sounds is to be found.

I push the door open (it had only been ajar) – and there he is! He is shivering badly, he is groaning, he is in tears… he is asleep!

Normally, this would raise a few questions: For example, why he had chosen MY bedroom for his intended rest, given the fact that Mrs. Hudson had made sure that everything (including his bed) had been prepared for him to spend the night…

…and why he was still wearing his suit and shoes, lying in a quite uncomfortable position, only halfway on the coverlet, head on the pillow, with his legs still outside the bed.

While I have to assume that he had obviously only intended to stay a short while in the room and must have fallen asleep there rather involuntarily, I have no time for idle deductions that would further prevent me from stopping him… crying…!

Oh, dear God!

I have never ever seen my friend shedding tears. I have been with him in all kinds of moods, but I have surely never seen him crying. Years ago, I would have considered such a sight uttlerly abhorrent. The imposition of having to deal with a person so far beyond self-control…!

Anyway, there is only one thing that bothers me now: That my Watson could secretly suffer that much! That there might be something in his mind haunting him so badly!

If it is somehow in my power to help him, I have to do that right away! What’s pride now to me, what’s self-control, what’s the benefit of a mind being all brains?

“Watson! Watson, old fellow!”

He is stirring, but still seems in the jaws of a nightmare, helpless and beyond my reach…

I remember the soothing effect of his smile and the unspoken promise: Everything is going to be all right…

“It’s all right, Watson. You hear me? It’s all right, wake up. JOHN!”

I am kneeling beside the bed now, throwing my arms around his shoulders, calling him by his name. I have never felt so much fear in my life, not even at the Reichenbach Falls!

It is with a sob and a start that he suddenly opens his eyes. The candle light only illuminates the room dimly, but I can see more than just a trace of embarrassment on his face. Anyway, what’s embarrassment in a moment like this!

He is still panting, not uttering a single word. Then I feel his arms around me, though it is less a hug than a vicelike grip! I can feel a heart pounding, and I am not sure whether it is his or mine.

Gradually, slowly, his breathing becomes more calm and steady. And I know that there is something for me to do right now, before these strange moments are over.

***

[part 5...  and if you like...

please share your thoughts via the comment function! ]

Coming Home, PART 3 (a Holmes and Watson fanfiction)

(back to Part 2)

* * *

It is all I can do not to start screaming! I hasten back into the sitting room, and still it is vacant and looks strangely deserted.

What has happened? Where the deuce can he be? I drop down on the couch.

I remember the look on his face, the tone of his voice. I remember his smile that has given me all this desperately needed reassurance during the last hours. A smile that was saying: Everything will be all right!

And I had clung to that smile, ignoring my observations of the unsufficiently veiled question in his eyes.

Those eyes that were asking: WHY?

I know, I had given him some kind of answer. I had given him a reason for my not letting him know earlier that I was alive. And by telling him about this reason I had not told him a lie.

But I had not told him the whole truth, either.

THINK!

I pull myself together and examine my surroundings. Watson had taken the time to cover me with a blanket, he had even taken off my shoes and placed them accurately on the floor under the couch, where it was most unlikely that I might stumble over them in the dark. On the small table beside my seat he had even placed a fresh glass of water for me.

So, this has my old chap Watson written all over it, a methodical and caring and kind man. It does clearly not seem as if he had left me there in an agitated mood, let alone anger. I open the door that leads to the staircase, and there is his overcoat, still hanging on his usual hook at the wardrobe. This alludes to him being still around, somewhere.

Now, these perceptions should have a calming effect, shouldn’t they?

The problem is, I am anything but calm!

Suddenly, there is a low, strange noise, and it’s got me wincing and jumping to my feet in even heightened alarm! I feel my heart pounding heavily in my chest…

There it is once more!

And now I understand what had been the cause for my waking up so suddenly…

***

go to Part 4

(Please feel free to share your thoughts…)

Coming Home, PART 2 (a Holmes and Watson fanfiction)

(back to Part 1)

* * *

Yes, something is wrong, indeed: I am, once again, alone.

Where is Watson? His armchair is empty. For a moment, a flash of frantic panic rushes through my mind, and I have to force myself to think logically again. That is the problem with emotions, they too often interfere with proper judgement!

Damn idiot!, I curse myself. What did you expect? You know very well that he is not in the habit of sleeping outside of a halfway decent bed! Finding me asleep, he must have retired to his old bedroom to lay down for the remains of the night.

Luckily those trains of thoughts still run swiftly enough, so that  my sudden anxiety is not lasting very long… but I have to convince myself, nevertheless. I have to see with my own eyes that he is really there.

So I put the blanket aside with which he – always the good doctor – must have covered my sleeping body to keep it warm. I take the light and approach the door to the guest room. It has never really been a guest room, of course, but he had started to call his former bedroom that way after having moved out from Baker Street to live with his wife. Needless to mention that it had always been his room and that I would have never permitted anyone else except him to spend the night there!

I open the door as gingerly as possible, reminding myself that the man does need his sleep to recover. All I need is to see his face on the pillow, and I shall be at ease, withdraw to the sitting room again and contemplate the fact that I am such a lucky man!

But the bed is empty.

He is not there!

* * *

Part 3

“Coming Home” (A Holmes and Watson fanfiction in 8 parts)

Dear all,

as a girl can not always think only of biographies and Jeremy Brett alone, here is the first part of my current project from fanfiction.net.

This is based on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock-Holmes-Adventures… with sincere respect.

It is an 8-part story about the night and the following day of Sherlock Holmes’ return to Baker Street after his 3-year hiatus (post “Empty House”).

Both, Holmes and Watson, indulge in their reunion. But there are still, on both sides, a lot of unspoken emotions and open questions to be dealt with…

* * * 

Part 1

[Holmes' POV]

All of a sudden I am wide awake… panting… sweating. I keep having those disturbing dreams, almost got used to them during the last three years without my friend, but full of doubts, loneliness and fear.

The night is pitch black, and it takes an eternity to adjust my eyes better to the darkness and to realize where I am: This, at last, is Baker Street! I am home!

Utterly relieved I try to steady my breathing and fumble for some matches to light a candle. It is only now that I notice I am not lying in my bed, but on the couch in the sitting room, where I must have eventually dozed off, after sitting up with my dear, sorely missed Watson for hours.

After the arrest of Colonel Moran, after returning together to our old rooms, neither Watson nor I had had the heart to go to sleep. None of us had wanted this day to end, this wonderful golden day of reunion… almost of resurrection, if one wants to put it that way. And it is true, I have not felt so alive for… well… a lifetime. And during these last hours, thank God, I did have the opportunity to see life somehow returning to the features of my best, my only friend.

It had been a shock, indeed, to see my Watson thus much altered by obvious grief, undoubtedly caused by the double loss of friend and wife. And I had been stupid enough to shock the poor man another time by my unnecessarily theatrical return into the world of the living. This must have been the first time in his life this solid rock of a character had surrendered himself to a faint.

But then – how his face, his whole person had been illuminated by sheer joy. I will never forget this look, as long as I shall live. A shadow of his smile, like an echo, had remained on his face the whole rest of the day…

…even while ambushing the bloody Moran.

…even when I had to admit to him that during the time of my disappearance I had to confide in my brother Mycroft, while keeping him, Watson, in the dark.

…even when he forgave me right away, pushing the undeniable hurt aside to focus on the joy of being together again.

After capturing Moran, we had – quite naturally, it seems – headed back to Baker Street, settled down in the sitting room we had shared for so many years and indulged in the simple fact of togetherness. It had been a most peculiar state, spellbound, detached from time and reality, and neither of us had wanted to break this spell by such a trivial action as saying good-night.

Nevertheless, I must have fallen asleep eventually… the strains and hardships of the last days finally taking their toll.

But now I am wide awake.

And something is wrong.

* * *

 

[To be continued]

go to Part 2

 

Holmes, Jeremy – and an agenda

 

Beyond my daily work this Holmes and Brett issue has begun to keep me happily busy, that is for sure. I have set up such a large agenda for myself, so that I surely will not have to bother about boredom for the next months.

 

Sept. 12 (JB died that day in 1995) and Nov. 3 (his birthday) are approaching, which, I assume, will lead to increasing activity on the internet on that account. I am not quite sure yet what to do with Sept. 12 (more reaction than action for me, I dare say), but I will certainly do a tribute regarding his birthday. If all works out well I will do a “Happy Birthday”-Song with some fellow youtubers (No, girls, I have NOT forgotten about those plans!).

 

I must not forget to write that letter to Edward Hardwicke till then. I am determined to thank him (strange as that may sound) for his support he had given to JB during his illness, and I must do some thinking how to put those words right, so that Edward can understand, why that should concern ME! Anyway, after having performed some research I phoned up his agent, and a nice assistant there agreed that she would forward my mail to him, so the logistic problem is solved.

 

I have also returned to being a rather frequent ebayer again, spending my money on Sherlock Holmes literature, memorabilia etc. (By the way, readers, if you have something to offer, just let me know.) I also used this way to get a little present for one of my favourite youtubers to send to her London home, and I am really excited that she actually seems to like it. With some of these girls it is like being a huge family (yes, I KNOW that this sounds like a cliché!)

 

Ah, and speaking of families, a very special thanks to ladyinred2014, who has done some magic with her photoshop software to create a very nice would-be or “What-if” family portrait:

 

 

 

The idea for this photo seems to have emerged from a still ongoing discussion within the JB group. Well… *ahem*… let’s just say, we got a bit carried away *lol*… Imagination running wild seduced me to post, rather jokingly, a little fan fiction challenge. Okay, lafemdilletante obviously took me by my word, so the next thing I saw was her brilliant (!!!) entry on fanfiction.net:

 

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4452932/1/Moriarty_Nightshirts_and_Oysters

 

I tried to back off… but after having created a rather emotional and pensive tribute vid (you know, the “Recovering” one) I had to do something more light-hearted. So I spent a half-sleepless night and jotted down some random sentences, which, brought into proper order, make for a beginning of a little weird attempt for satire with JB consulting Holmes and Watson on the issue of madly stalking fans and Holmes being a little nutty himself… Well, I did not dare to publish this onto fanfiction.net, but I sent it to lafem with the humble request not to kill me on that one, as satire is not really my writing genre (especially when Jeremy Brett is involved). Hah! Strangely enough, she has replied, politely (?) indicating that she liked it!!

 

Hm.

 

Okay, so I have made up my mind to at least publish a little excerpt … (I think you’ll have to know some background stuff if you want to find it funny… but anyway… here we go:

 

 

* * *

 

(…)

 

A face, very indignantly, appears above the edge of the couch’s backrest.

 

Holmes:   MRS. ORINOCO!! I wonder if you would do me the very great kindness of considering the possibility… the heck with it, just GO AWAY!

 

JB:          Orinoco? No, my name is Huggins, and I am generally considered to be a MISTER. Beyond that I really do need your advice, Mr. Holmes!! I am in serious trouble, as you might already know.

 

A sudden flash of daylight as Dr. Watson dramatically pulls back the curtains from the window.

 

Holmes:   (apparently having slept on the couch and looking rather wrinkled up, mumbling something about the theatrical part usually being HIS department) Oh, should I, indeed? I do not think so. I am sorry, my dear Sir. I can assure you, apart from the obvious facts that you are an actor and that you do a lot of meditation, I know nothing about you.

 

JB:          (looking utterly taken aback) So you DO know me after all?

 

Holmes:   (yawning) Not in the least, it was a simple deduction: Only an actor could be eccentric enough to wear such bright red socks to a semi-formal morning suit. (…) in which way we may be of your assistance? (…)

 

JB:          I am being stal- (suddenly interrupting himself) How could you have possibly guessed that I am practicing meditation?

 

Holmes:   I NEVER guess, Mr. Huggins.

 

JB:          But how do you know…?

 

Watson steps forward and points at Jeremy’s feet.

 

Watson:   Levitation, Sir. Your shoes do not even touch our Persian carpet.

 

Holmes:   Quite so. Mrs. Orinoco will be quite obliged to you on that account.

 

JB:          Mrs. Orinoco?

 

Holmes:   Yes, our good housekeeper.

 

Watson:   (frowning) That’s Mrs. HUDSON, Holmes!

 

Holmes:   Oh, really? Well, I knew at least it had something to do with the name of a river… Never mind, who could possibly keep up with all those names? There is this guy, Conan the Barber…

 

JB:          I beg your pardon?

 

Holmes:   No, I mean, Conan… (tentatively) the Barbarian…?

 

Watson:   I assume you are referring to Conan DOYLE!

 

Holmes:   Ah, Doyle, of course! This Conan, anyway, he has difficulties in remembering her name, too. He sometimes calls her “Turner”… (suddenly turning impatient) But if you would condescend to tell us about your problem, I shall be better able to advise you. I recall you claiming the matter an urgent one!

 

JB:          Yes, that is true. Mr. Holmes, they’re after me! Have you not read the latest news on the internet?

 

Holmes:   No, not this morning. So, let us at least consult my index!

 

Watson:   (searching) I can not find any “Huggins” in here, Holmes…

 

JB:          Oh! I am sorry I forgot, you’ll have to look under “B” for “Brett”. That is my stage name.

 

Holmes:   Brett, indeed! I believe I we used to have a tailor with that name… right, Johnny?

 

Watson:   Pray, Holmes! Would you please stop calling me that way?

 

Holmes:   Oh, come on, we’ve been sharing these rooms for decades, now. You even know how I look in a nightie! Why don’t you allow me to call you by your first name?

 

Watson:   My first name is “John”, Holmes! And that is such a common name! Everybody is called “John” these days.

 

Holmes:   No, not me, they call me “Sherlock”.

 

Watson:   No, Holmes, they call you “Holmes”!

 

Holmes:   Hm. How about “Bosey”?

 

Watson:   WHAT?

 

Holmes:   Well, as a nickname. For Boswell.

 

Watson:   Are you trying to be funny?

 

Holmes:   Funny? No, that’s supposed to be your part.

 

Watson:   (now getting somehow upset) No, it’s NOT! You’re talking about this other guy, Nigel Whatshisname! I AM A MEDICAL MAN! I AM TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY!!

 

(…)

 

Cheers,

Susa