Sherlock hears Watson’s nightmares for the first time maybe only a week or two after he moves in. He hears that harsh, unnatural sound from upstairs and looks up at the ceiling, so startled at such a strange noise that at first he does not understand that it comes from Watson himself.
Watson may be a strong man with steady hand by day but the blood-stained landscapes of India and Afghanistan are not scenes easily left behind, least of all by a man who still carries the weight of the wars in the aches of a gun shot wound in his shoulder and the pains of another man’s injury in his thigh. Sherlock has seen enough of the cruelties of mankind to know that the atrocities men visit upon one another are not lightly put aside, particularly in the vulnerable abyss of one’s sleep-soft mind.
He goes to the bottom of the stairs and waits. Though he is not wed to the rules and regulations of propriety, there is something about entering another man’s private room while he is exposed, in sleep and in terror, that makes him hesitate.
Watson, in particular, is no ordinary character in the great cast on life’s stage and Sherlock would not end his act too early through embarrassing presumptions if he could at all avoid it.
The cry sounds again, choked and wounded.
He climbs the stairs.
Watson’s room is dark and thick with the sound of his ragged breathing. Sherlock can just make out his figure on the bed, flat on his back, fists clenching at the blankets. He makes a noise near to whining.
“Watson,” Sherlock calls out quietly, “Watson, wake up.” There’s no response other than a gasping, wrenching sound. “Watson. John. John.”
Across the room John flies up into a sitting position, chest heaving under his sweat-soaked night shirt, “Who–Who is there? Sherlock?”
Sherlock takes a half-step forward at his name, his heart beating against his ribs at the sound of it spoken in the small rasp of his friend’s voice. “Yes. I heard–you sounded–” He struggles for an appropriate word and finds none.
John falls back onto his pillow, waving his hand. “It’s fine, I know how I sounded,” he says. The ends of his mustache, unwaxed and soft, sit curiously around his mouth when he speaks. “Thank you.”
Sherlock clears his throat. “I’ll just–I’ll be in the sitting room for at least an hour yet,” he offers, “if there is any way I can be of assistance.”
There is a weighty pause as John stares at him across the room and for a moment Sherlock thinks he is going to ask him to stay. He would, if John asked it of him. He would sit upon the floor as he did when he was a small boy and watch John settle back into bed with that strange exhaustion that comes from being woken unexpectedly in the night. Perhaps he could tell him about the experiment abandoned on the table downstairs to soothe his thoughts into something less troublesome, or perhaps they could discuss the latest issue of The Strand, or even the upcoming performances at Royal Albert Hall. He would stay, and sit, and speak in low tones until John relaxed again and fell back into a hopefully more peaceful sleep.
But John only says, “Good night, Holmes,” in a softer voice, the likes of which reminds Sherlock of a far more intimate relationship than two bachelors sharing a set of rooms. Sherlock flushes and believes them both to be grateful for the dark.
“Good night, Watson,” he says, and minutes later as he takes up his experiment again, Sherlock thinks if there were ever going to be a man worth the risk of unmasking himself on the chance he might be reciprocated, a man worth his life and livelihood, that Sherlock has just left him in the bed upstairs.
Oh and when I’m back tomorrow I definitely want to talk about the
fact that the Sherlock Holmes Museum displays Watson’s Diary from April
1894… where you can see that he went to the Turkish bath with Holmes
on the 5th and decided to sell his practise in Kensington and move back
to Baker Street just the next day… I wonder what had happened in that
bath the other day that might have help Watson with his decision to move
back….
I’ll leave you to your deductions!!!
What’s that I spy with my little eye? Can it be a….‘Missing Wednesday’?
It
is a truth universally acknowledged that [I should really stop
quoting Pride and Prejudice immediately…] Holmes’s and Watson’s
leaving London in The Three Students is connected with the Oscar
Wilde trials. Yet 3STU is not the only story set in 1895. To
conclusively say that they were in reality doing their best to avoid
the public eye the other three stories have to be considered too. 31
of the 60 stories are set in Baker Street, which makes the
setting of the 1895 stories interesting…
The
Solitary Cyclist: late April
On
referring to my note-book for the year 1895 I find that it was upon
Saturday, the 23rd of April, that we first heard of Miss Violet
Smith. Her visit was, I remember, extremely unwelcome to Holmes […]
I
should be none the worse for a quiet, peaceful day in the country,
and I am inclined to run down this afternoon and test one or two
theories which I have formed.” […]
A
rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and the
heath-covered country-side with the glowing clumps of flowering gorse
seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of the duns
and drabs and slate-greys of London. Holmes and I walked along the
broad, sandy road inhaling the fresh morning air, and rejoicing in
the music of the birds and the fresh breath of the spring.
That
is 1) ridiculously romantic and 2) proof that they were indeed quite
keen on not seeing anyone (Holmes initially wanted to reject the
client and changed his mind when it became clear that the case was
going to be in the country, which then prompted several excursions
there).
The
Three Students: late April/early May
It
was in the year ‘95 that a
combination of events, into which I need not enter, caused Mr.
Sherlock Holmes and myself to spend some weeks in one of our great
University towns
[…] It will be obvious that any details which would help the reader
to exactly identify the college or the criminal would be injudicious
and offensive. So
painful a scandal may well be allowed to die out. With due discretion
the incident itself may, however, be described,
since it serves to illustrate some of those qualities for which my
friend was remarkable. I will endeavour in my statement to avoid
such terms as would serve to limit the events to any particular
place, or give a clue as to the people concerned.
Or to
give a clue as to what really happened. In the year 1895 there were
the Oscar Wilde trials, which caused a great many men who were more
or less openly gay to “go on holiday” for a few months.
Universities were supposed to be more progressive than cities: for
example, Oscar Wilde met Robbie Ross at uni. The “painful
scandal” Watson is talking about here is about three students
who are meant to sit a Greek exam, but one of them cheats. That’s not
a scandal: it is basically impossible to do perfectly in a Greek
exam. This means this: they had to flee from London because of the
public awareness the spectacular trials had caused and went to a
friend of Holmes’s. But of course Watson could not say it like that,
so he had to invent a virtually new case.
The
fact that even though Holmes is clearly everything but thrilled at
being anywhere but Baker Street, he is not in London anyway, is
fairly obvious: My
friend’s temper had not improved since he had been deprived of the
congenial surroundings of Baker Street. Without his scrap-books, his
chemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was an uncomfortable man.
This
is important because 3STU is not the only case where Holmes and
Watson leave London for a prolonged period of time. What are they
doing in that “university town”? The given reason (research into
old charters) is more than suspicious. Yet if you consider the
circumstances of the Oscar Wilde trials in April and May it becomes
clear that the best thing to do if the slightest rumour about you
existed, was to flee. And given Watson’s writing, such rumours must
have circulated.
Another
suggestive quotation: The
exercise consists of half a chapter of Thucydides. The
exam papers that are left on the professor’s desk are taken from
Thucydides, probably by his most famous work on the Peloponnesian
War. Thucydides was a Athenian historian who lived in the 5th
century BC and is known for being an analyst and “scientific”
writer – he credits humans with their actions, not the gods.
Furthermore, Athens (the most “glorious” city in Greece) was his
home, but he was exiled for something that was not his fault. Does
this sound like someone? Holmes, maybe? Here, Watson had to choose an
author, so he chose one who mirrors Holmes.
Moreover,
Watson will not identify the town even ten years later: a clear sign
that they had to protect somebody – and their hiding place.
Black
Peter: early July
It
starts with a few clues of exactly how Watson sees Holmes: “I
have never known my friend to be in better form,
both mental and physical,
than in the year ‘95.”
and “Holmes,
however, like all great artists, lived for his art’s
sake”
(come on, sound even more like Oscar Wilde – oh, not possible, I
understand…). He also calls the year “memorable”,
which it must have been – Holmes and Watson spent a nice part of it
most purposefully not in London, i.e. hiding somewhere.
The
story is set in early July. Just as a reminder, Wilde lost his third
trial against the Crown on May 25, and everybody involved who had not
made his way to the country or continent yet or had returned like
Holmes and Watson, did so then. Initially, Watson is at home in Baker
Street, but Holmes is not: my
friend had been absent
so often and so long from our lodgings,
which implies that even though Holmes has to be in London for some
reason, he does his best in order not to be available or even
findable. Watson even tells us explicitly that and exactly how Holmes
is hiding: Holmes
was working somewhere under one of the numerous disguises and names
with which he concealed his own formidable identity. He had at least
five small refuges in different parts of London, in which he was able
to change his personality.
But
what other 1895 cases does Watson refer to?
In
this memorable year ’95, a curious and incongruous succession of
cases had engaged his attention, ranging from his famous
investigation of the sudden death of Cardinal Tosca (ITALY)–an
inquiry which was carried out by him at the express desire of His
Holiness the Pope–down to his arrest of Wilson, the notorious
canary-trainer, which removed a plague-spot from the East End of
London (UNSAVOURY PART OF
LONDON, and according to Google Maps SIX MILES from 221b Baker
Street). Close on the heels of these two famous cases came
the tragedy of Woodman’s Lee, and the very obscure circumstances
which surrounded the death of Captain Peter Carey (IN
THE COUNTRY). No record of the doings of Mr. Sherlock
Holmes would be complete which did not include some account of this
very unusual affair.
He
is never at home or somewhere reachable…
The
whole thing ends with this line from Holmes: “If
you want me for the trial, my
address and that of Watson will be somewhere in Norway
– I’ll send particulars later.”
Apart from the pun on the trial, this mostly shows that Holmes is
taking the chance of leaving the country, apparently “for a case”,
for a very long time – he had virtually no case-connected reason to
go to Norway (he could have sent wires to clear up the loose strands,
as he always does, and anyway Norway is not important for the case),
but Norway is far enough from London to be safe, is it not? To put it
in a nutshell, the case begins with Holmes hiding and ends with
Holmes and Watson leaving the country on a trip that will mean that
they will not be traceable for a while – Holmes’s detective friend
(and he does like Hopkins) only gets a “promise for later”.
The
Bruce-Partington Plans: November
Watson
begins the narrative with a statement of the date: “in
the third week of November, in the year 1895”,
and goes on to clarify that he and Holmes have not left the flat for
four days, asserting that this happened because of the “dense
yellow fog”.
Translation: it has been six months since Oscar Wilde’s trials, the
waters have mostly calmed down, but it would still be unwise to be
too noticeable to the outside world, and Holmes and Watson are
hiding. Indeed, so much so that only Jupiter leaving his orbit (i.e.
Brother Mycroft) can drag them out of Baker Street. This impression
is reinforced by the association of the colour yellow with caution
– they simply cannot risk being overly visible, but are in Baker
Street because everything else (given Holmes’s famous habits) would
attract even more attention.
In
conclusion, Holmes and Watson do their best not to be where people
could find them throughout the year 1895, starting comparatively
“small” in The Solitary Cyclist, where the situation is not too
dangerous yet and they thus still officially live in Baker Street, to
the full-out flight in The Three Students, which is set exactly
during the most important trial, over the slightly less conspicuous
“I’m out working” of Black Peter, which ends with a long holiday
in Norway for Holmes and Watson, to lying low in 221b in order not to avoid suspicion and trying not
to appear in public at all. Watson, you are terrible at hiding
evidence in your stories…
