As much as I bombarded Watson with my bee information, he told tales of his beloved wife, Christy. He told me again how they had met after Mary’s death, how he had courted her and what her likes and dislikes were. He went into great detail how his courtship was not a happenstance series of circumstances, but well planned out strategy with stages of conquest. I however deduced from the minutely described situations that the hunter was in fact the hunted, the matrimonial trap was sprung on dear Watson rather than the reverse. He was not boring me with his long tales and descriptions, not because the subject was personally interesting to me, but in the passion and manner in which he told his stories. In fact, his elaborate and continuous references to Christy’s lovely and absent presence, made me wonder why he had not gone with her on her visit with her relatives. I finally asked him why he had not accompanied her. “To tell you the truth, she was sparing me. Her sister, who lives with her mother, is a hypochondriac. On my last visit with her relatives, the poor dear hounded me mercilessly and continuously with her imagined aches and pains and detailed description of all kinds of bodily discharges from every orifice of her tiny body. I had to prescribe all sorts of exercises, cautions about foods, and prescribe several placebos to placate her fears. “My practice has been quite hectic lately, with patients that have real physical ails, some life threatening. My Christy knew I was working myself into a detrimental state. When her folks insisted she visit them, she remembered your invitation to visit here. I made sure any crisis in my patient’s situations has crested, and my neighbor could cover for what remained. ” “I must admit, although I miss her terribly, the visit with you has been quite pleasant and rejuvenating. The sea air is invigorating, and just being with you brings back to memory so many extraordinary adventures from our younger days.” “My offer to host you any time you find yourself in London remains in tact. Christy says she found you fascinating at our wedding, and would love to have you visit just for an evening or for a stay of days if you are so inclined.” I thanked Watson for the renewal of his generous offer, and said I would certainly take him up on it sometime in the near but unspecified future. In the morning, a well-rested Watson left me behind, to rejoin his wife in busy London and once again obtained a promise from me to keep him informed of any new revelations about the undercurrent of menace percolating from the Continent.
Mycroft’s Discernment and Concern The very next day after Watson left, I received a large dossier by special messenger. It was early in the morning, I was suited up and working my bees when an interrupting “I say, excuse me, sir. Mr. Holmes, I presume?” called out to me from a safe distance. It emanated from an eager young faced man, with an air of expectation and a leather briefcase with locks that heralded important papers. He was unknown to me, but familiar for some reason. “Just a moment,” I returned his hail. I strode forward and removed my headgear, and pocked my notebook, to intercept a proffered hand and vigorous handshake. “Can we go inside, sir? I have some important matters to discuss with you?” he blurted as his eyes proficiently scanned the immediate, yet vacant surroundings. “Why yes, please proceed “ I motioned to my back door with an open hand “what news do you have from the Continent, what does my brother Mycroft have for me?” “Why yes, I have just left your brother and I have just returned from the Continent, how did you know?” he asked in amazement. “Quite simply, the shirt you are wearing would be found in Paris, not London, and I was anticipating some significant response from my bother. That official issue briefcase you are toting, bulky and locked, connotes highly confidential government matters. “But you have failed to introduce and identify yourself my young man…” I replied as we entered my kitchen and I set down my bee apparel. “Let us go into my library where we should not be disturbed, as my house keeper is out this afternoon. Here, have a seat by the desk, where you can put down your heavy briefcase.” I observed that he was casually casing the building as we strode to the library, and scanned the features of the room as we entered. He nonchalantly sat to position himself to keep his back from both the windows and the doorway to the room. As I was settling into my chair and swung around to face him, I noticed he was scanning my office. We would see my extensive collection of books and magazines and newspapers. Watson had always bothered me when I got too untidy in our Baker Street apartments, but I would eventually catalogue all the data I had been collecting, store the books and articles I deemed worthy of keeping for future research, and tossed out the dross. Watson’s nagging had been replaced with the good natured repartee of my housekeeper, who would not dare move anything from its current setting place let alone deem to throw out any one item, yet constantly cajole me not to physically bury myself in my study in my studies.