For All Our Sakes

Chapter One

Chapter One

Watson

In the year 1895, Mr. Sherlock Holmes was consulted about many an outré and fascinating case, but no case from that particular year stands out in my mind so starkly as this one. It was one of the few times that my friend admitted that he was anything less than superhuman, and one of the fewer times that I had been given the privilege of having a glimpse into his deeply-buried soul and mysterious past. Not only was this case of a personal nature, it was unusual in the fact that the only clients were ourselves, and arguably Holmes's brother Mycroft and two Scotland Yard Inspectors.

I am amazed that my friend gave me permission to publish this case at all, and more astonished still that has he agreed to add his own account to the story, though the whole affair would hardly make sense without it.

The events of which I speak began on an average Wednesday morning in April. Holmes and I were steadily working our way through one of Mrs. Hudson's magnificent breakfasts and various morning papers.

"Anything of interest in The Times?" asked my friend from behind The Pall Mall Gazette.

"Well," I answered, "On Friday, there's to be a wedding between the Duchess of —"

"Watson!" he snapped, putting down his paper to glare at me.

I blinked innocently back at him. "My sincere apologies, old fellow. Did you mean of interest to you?"

Holmes snorted in a very undignified fashion as he snatched a pair of scissors from the table and began to cut a section out of the paper. "So was there?"

"What if I was going to read that paper?" I asked, completely ignoring his question.

"What would you have wanted to read?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I don't know," I answered, deliberately irritating him.

"Then how do you know that you wanted to read it?" he asked exasperatedly, though I could tell he really wasn't irritated at me. At least not very much.

"I never said I knew I wanted to read it; I only asked what you would have done had I wanted to," I countered slyly, turning a page in my paper and scanning my eyes down the page for anything that would interest my friend. "Hmm. This message is a little odd," I said, pointing out a small section in the agony column and handing the paper to Holmes.

"That could be something, but it could just as easily be nothing," my friend replied thoughtfully. "It appears to be the first message sent; look at the wording at the start of the message. We shall have to wait and see what this mysterious "P" says in the next few days, or weeks. Or months, possibly."

We returned to our perusal of the newspapers, and a couple of minutes later, Mrs. Hudson entered the sitting room, a telegram in hand. "It's for you, Mr. Holmes," she said, handing it to him. She glanced down at our progress on the breakfast front (and scowled when she saw Holmes's pipe lying on the table) before sweeping from the room.

As Holmes ran his eyes over the telegram, his thick brows knotted together, and he handed it to me. Looking down at it, I read:

COME TO MY ROOMS IMMEDIATELY SHERLOCK STOP IT IS A MATTER OF GREAT PERSONAL IMPORTANCE STOP MYCROFT STOP

"It must be something paramount if Mycroft wants you to meet him at his rooms," I said, handing the telegram back to my friend, who set it on the table next to our half-eaten breakfast.

"My brother does not alter his habits lightly," said Holmes. "Only something very significant could have thrown him out of his usual orbit." He started toward the door leading to the hall, but before he had taken two steps, he glanced back at me over his shoulder. "Aren't you coming, Watson?" he asked, and I am willing to swear that under his usual phlegmatic tone, he sounded a trifle disappointed.