My Full Confession

The Life Of the Party

It was agonizing to call off their usual appointment, however it had come to be a Saturday night, and Molly insisted on having a little dinner party. Greg had been waiting in agony for a long while, wondering what was going to become of Mr. Watson's life story, and found himself miserably picking up the phone and dialing the ever present number on his phone. Well of course he had saved the number initially to make apology phone calls, to which the only response would be that man yelling angrily on the other end. Who knew he would be making so many social visits, who knew he could actually come to miss the old man? Greg sat, listening to the dial tone until finally there was another voice at the end of the line. It came sharply, in that rude voice Mr. Watson wore when he didn't know who was on the other end of the line.
"Hello?" he snapped, in such a recognizable voice that Greg almost forgot they had gotten on different terms now. Oh how many times he had picked up that phone and received such a bitter reply!
"Hey, Mr. Watson. It's Greg." Greg said, to which he heard a little sigh on the other end, perhaps something or relief.
"Detective, sorry to have been so harsh." He muttered.
"Oh it's fine; certainly that's not the first time." Greg assured, chuckling a bit awkwardly. The man hummed, yet after a moment it was clear that he could not think of something to reply. "So I just wanted to let you know that I can't make it tonight, Molly's having a dinner thing and she's got guests coming at five, so I've got to set up and help cook and whatnot."
"Oh, oh yes. Well that's alright. I know Saturdays are busy, I wouldn't have expected you on a weekend anyways." Mr. Watson assured, although his voice sounded a bit disappointed.
"Yes well, I'm the only one in the house who knows how to grill steaks, so that's sort of my job." Greg mumbled a bit guiltily.
"That's quite understandable, Mr. Lestrade." Mr. Watson assured. Greg felt a pang of guilt, something akin to responsibility even though he certainly wasn't obligated to do anything for this man. In fact, Mr. Watson was almost triple his age; surely he should be the one who had a parental instinct? All the same, just as Greg was mourning the loss of their time together, a brilliant idea popped into his head.
"You should come over!" he suggested, almost too excitedly than what the old man could handle. For a moment Mr. Watson was quiet, no doubt weighing the effects of such a visit on his health. Not only was he something of a recluse, but his arch nemeses both lived in this very household, and would undoubtedly give him something a rough time. "I'll make sure the boys behave." Greg added hastily, deciding that was probably one of the main reasons Mr. Watson might want to stay away.
"I'm not sure that I'm quite entertaining enough for house parties." Mr. Watson tried, however Greg knew immediately that he was looking more for validation. He wanted to be insisted upon, surely that was part of his ego that was flaming up once more.
"Oh come on now, my wife has been dying to meet you. And you're one of the best story tellers I know! Surely you could keep us all entertained! There's only going to be two other couples here, Molly's best friend Kate and her husband Isa, and my friend from the force, Mike Stamford and his wife Sarah." Greg insisted, to which he heard a slight sigh of hesitation. All the same, he knew that he had it in the bag. Surely Mr. Watson was not one to back down from flattery, and if he could get a spotlight at their table he would more than happy to attend.
"Yes alright, but so long as you keep your ruffians under control." He warned, to which Greg laughed a bit nervously.
"I will do my best, yet to keep them under complete control is to put them in chains, and that's illegal." Greg teased.
"As a man of the law, surely you understand that some laws need to be broken, so as to better keep the peace. Good day Detective, I will see you at five o'clock." Mr. Watson decided, and with that he hung up the phone rather abruptly. No doubt he was off to preen himself, so as to make a good first impression on humanity after how many years he had been a recluse. In fact, Greg had to wonder how long it had been since he had ever talked to more than one person at a time. Certainly he was about to find out.
"Molly, I invited Mr. Watson!" Greg called out through the house. Well of course the first ones to arrive at such a name were the boys, who appeared from upstairs and hung on the banister of the staircase excitedly.
"He's coming here?" they asked, their excitement obviously growing with every passing moment.
"Yes, and you're not to bully him, tease him, or harass him in any way, got it? If I see you even make a wrong glance at the man, you'll be grounded for a month." Greg warned, waving a finger at them so as to ensure his seriousness. Thankfully the boys got the message, for their faces grew rather pale and they nodded eagerly before racing back up the steps to go play. Molly was in the kitchen, sweeping up a little while she began to get the dishes ready for cooking. She was the master of the indoor cooking; everything on a stove and in an oven was her specialty. Greg grilled, and made some mean microwave food when he found himself alone.
"You've invited Mr. Watson?" Molly clarified, not seeming as enthusiastic about the idea as Greg had previously assumed.
"Well ya, I thought...well I thought you wanted to meet him?" Greg wondered, leaning on the counter and trying to look as innocent as he could. Molly frowned slightly, yet nodded and went on sweeping up some crumbs into the dust pan.
"Perhaps there was a better time than our dinner party. I've got nothing against the man, but with Kate and Mike? They're so rambunctious; surely they'll give that poor man a heart attack?" Molly presumed, her face dropping into a cute little look of concern.
"Oh Molly, don't fuss. He's a lot more than he seems, I promise you that. And he's one of the best story tellers I've ever met, it feels like I was there, watching it all happen!" Greg exclaimed, smiling excitedly while his wife chuckled, shaking her head at his enthusiasm.
"What happened then, in the life of Mr. Watson?" she wondered.
"Well, his best friend John, soon to be husband, his father was so poor that he had to rob the bank to plant their crops. The Sherriff found out, who's the father of Mr. Watson's brother Mycroft's best friend Victor, and hanged him. And Mycroft took Sherlock to the hanging, to make sure he knew what would happen if he ever got caught as a homosexual." Greg said quickly, to which Molly blinked for a moment, gaping. Well of course the story didn't sound as poetic in this thirty second summary as it had in the four hour production; in fact it seemed like quite a lot of information for one moment. Nevertheless, Molly processed it, and a look of utmost concern came across her face.
"You're quite sure he's not making all of this up? You have to admit, it sounds just a little bit fantastic." Molly pointed out, finishing up her sweeping before grabbing a bottle of glass cleaner and shoving it into Greg's hands. He decided that he ought to make himself useful, and set to cleaning the fridge and microwave to make them shiny, just the way Molly liked it.
"He's not making it up, what reason would he have to do that?" Greg wondered a bit defensively.
"Oh I don't know, a captive audience? How do you know he didn't just marry this man when he was drunk one night? Certainly he couldn't possibly have the upbringing and relationship of a Disney princess?" Molly presumed, to which Greg frowned.
"I think he was there, I think it's real. Surely he couldn't have so much detail inside of a crafted lie." Greg suggested, to which Molly nodded in agreement.
"As I have not yet heard his wonderful stories I will take your word for it." Molly decided with a shrug. Greg nodded, thankful that she had let the subject drop, and decide din the back of his mind that he would like to set to clarifying these stories. Well of course he believed Mr. Watson, every word out of his mouth was filled with such emotion that it was almost impossible to imagine that he might be lying. Yet then again, Molly had something of a point. Mr. Watson's life did seem like something of a fairytale, did it not? With a youthful friendship turned romance? Then again, all love stories were possible in the end. All fairytales would have to have been crafted by someone who had known genuine love. Greg had to admit, he was becoming just a little apprehensive as five o'clock rolled around. The steaks were staying warm in the grill, all cooked and prepared, while the first of the cars were rolling into the driveway. First arrived Kate and Isa, who had brought a considerably large bottle of wine to share. They each gave the Lestrades a big hug in welcome, and Molly ushered her friend inside to show off her new handbag, one which Greg had bought her for her birthday a couple of weeks before. The next to arrive was the Stamfords, who brought a nice cake and their usual poker chips, so as to have a game after the end of dinner. Mike was a big poker fan, and he often liked to bait his friends out of their loose change. Greg accepted them inside, yet still lingered near the door, waiting for that black car to roll up. Both couples had been a bit early, for people these days thought five minutes early was one minute late. It would seem as though Mr. Watson aspired to be very punctual, and by that of course he meant to arrive just at five o'clock, when he had been expected. Greg excused himself from the small talk (and bid his children one last warning) before going out the door to make sure the man didn't need any help getting out from his car. It was that ominous black car, the one with the bullet holes in the side, that Mr. Watson still insisted on driving. The thing was undoubtedly just as ancient as he was, and now Greg could not help wondering if those bullet holes were inflicted in his moments of crime. Was this some sort of getaway vehicle, one which had taken the damage and lived to tell the tale? Just how violent had Mr. Watson been in his days, if his car was showing signs of gunfire? The door opened and Mr. Watson clambered out, looking just as preened and proper as Greg might expected from a man of class. He wore what appeared to be a three piece suit, with a golden watch chain hanging between his jacket pocket, and a dapper black fedora resting atop his bald head. He walked slowly, tapping his walking stick across the pavement carefully, yet gave Greg a big smile of enthusiasm. He looked genuinely happy to have left his house once and for all.
"Oh I hope you do not come to regret my being here." he muttered finally, shaking Greg by the hand in formal welcome.
"Nonsense, Mr. Watson. I'm sure you'll be the life of the party." Greg insisted, leading the man inside to meet the small crowd which had gathered in the sitting room. The room fell silent in some surprise, for surely no one had been expecting an old man to be something of a guest of honor, yet Molly forced a smile on her face and went to receive Mr. Watson as warmly as she could, being a proper hostess.
"Everyone, this is our neighbor Mr. Watson. He's been recounting his life story to me, as something of an autobiography, and we've become good friends. I thought tonight would be a good excuse to get him out of the house and have a little fun." Greg announced, presenting Mr. Watson who nodded his head in greeting, for he was too old now to bow. "Mr. Watson, this is my wife Molly, her friends Kate and Isa, and Mike Stamford from the force, and his wife Sarah."
"Nice to meet you all." Mr. Watson managed. "It's um; well I must admit it's different to see more than one pair of eyes staring at me. Mostly it's just um, just my own reflection in the mirror." He managed, to which the party actually laughed. Greg himself chuckled, looking over at Molly with something of an 'I told you so' look in his eyes, so as to make sure she knew that Mr. Watson had just made everyone laugh. Surely he was an easy going man, once he got comfortable around other people.
"I've seen you around town, I think." Sarah decided, nodding his head.
"Yes, once a week or so I decide to leave my house and scare the children in the grocery store." Mr. Watson agreed, to which he now got a large, genuine laugh out of the group. Even Greg burst into something of a fit of giggles, wondering just where all of this humor had come from. He hadn't ever heard the man make a joke before now, and yet he seemed so naturally good at it. The man smiled nervously, and shuffled now closer towards the group, and less in the doorway than he had been before.
"I'll leave you all to it, I need to go and get our dinner from the grill." Greg muttered, patting Mr. Watson's shoulder encouragingly before disappearing on the deck. He couldn't help but have a smile on his face the whole time, proud that he had most likely discovered the most overlooked yet much needed house guest in the town. Molly appeared not too shortly after, closing the screen door behind her and shivering now, for the temperature was dropping rapidly as the sun was declining over the horizon.
"You never told me he was funny." She pointed out, almost accusingly in a way.
"I didn't know it either, trust me." Greg assured, holding up the grilling fork defensively. Yet Molly just smiled, lingering next to Greg's shoulder and staring out through their yard. There was no snow on the ground yet the dirt was frozen, and a chilly wind was cutting through their jackets and chilling them to the bone.
"I'm glad he's here, though. Seemed to me like he needed someone to talk to." She decided finally.
"You'll come to appreciate him as more than just an old man, trust me. He's, well he's terribly colorful in his words. He's got a brain tucked up in his head, that's for sure." Greg insisted.
"Well I hope he makes a good impression. No matter how this ends up, it's on your head." Molly warned.
"I'm sure you'll be thanking me, by the time the night is over." Greg assured, heaping the steaks onto a plate and turning to go inside. Molly got the door for him, and together they walked in to find all of their guests collected in the living room. Mr. Watson was sat in their large, most glamorous arm chair. He had his legs crossed daintily, and still wore his hat even though he was inside. The other guests were sitting on the couch, each couple sitting closer together, and yet they were all leaned in close towards Mr. Watson, and he was telling them some sort of story that they seemed to find incredibly captivating. Greg knew the feeling, of course. Undoubtedly they were all so entranced in his words that they hadn't even noticed their hosts had reappeared. As Greg was setting the table with all of the food he was able to catch a little bit of what Mr. Watson was saying, something about a census taker coming to his door. Of course Greg hadn't listened enough to hear the punch line, and yet when Mr. Watson finally concluded his tale the audience burst into a large fit of laughter, and the man leaned back in his chair while chuckling in success.
"Dinner's ready, if you all are!" Molly called out, deciding that it was a good time interrupt their conversation.
"Boys, come on down!" Greg yelled towards the staircase. There was a slight pause before finally their footsteps began to thunder down the steps in a small stampede. By the time the boys appeared at the foot of the stairs Mr. Watson was just hobbling by, and Greg clasped them both by the shoulder and held them back for a moment. "Now remember, be nice." He hissed.
"We will." Graham agreed, nodding his head anxiously yet looking over towards Mr. Watson with a very eager look in his eyes, as if he wanted nothing more than to kick that cane out from underneath him. Reluctantly Greg let them go, and together they took their spots and the table, waving their legs from their chairs and eying the guest of honor with something of a mischievous look in their eyes. Mr. Watson looked just a little bit hesitant, yet he sat himself at the table and looked towards the children. They looked right back, and for once the enemies were able to look each other right in the eyes. It was a tense moment, and Greg was just about to prepare himself to grab the boys in restraint, however finally Mr. Watson settled back in his chair.
"Hello, ruffians." He muttered. They grumbled their greeting, for obviously they didn't know that they had just been insulted. Their vocabulary was not as advanced as Mr. Watson's was, at least not at this age.
"Do you wear false teeth?" Gavin asked curiously, leaning over the table so as to get a better look at the old man's mouth. He withdrew apprehensively, yet gave the boys a smile none the less.
"Yes." He muttered finally. "And you will too, once you get to my age."
"How old are you?" Graham asked, titling his head peculiarly.
"A lady never reveals her age." Mr. Watson insisted with a little shake of his head.
"You're not a lady." Graham corrected.
"Well, neither does a gentleman in any case." Mr. Watson defended promptly. "But I am old enough to remember when I was your age, I remember thinking that old age was so far off that it would never happen to me."
"You remember all the way back?" they wondered. Mr. Watson chuckled, yet nodded.
"Vividly." He agreed finally. "Yet I didn't have it quite so easy as you all did. I lived on a farm, and did a lot of horrible chores."
"We do chores. We have to pick up our laundry, and take out the trash." Gavin whined, twisting his napkin in his hands with a scowl.
"Well I had to milk the cows, and brush the horse, and tend to the crops. I had to rake the hay, and do the dishes, and light the fires at night." Mr. Watson said.
"That sounds horrible." Graham decided.
"It wasn't quite so bad, simply because I didn't know any better." Mr. Watson admitted with a shrug. "When you live in an age where the only communication is letters, you find that you don't know much about the world other than what you were able to see."
"Did you know about space?" Gavin wondered. Mr. Watson merely chuckled, taking a small sip of water and watching now as Greg settled himself down at the head of the table.
"Any old fool could look up at night and see the stars." Mr. Watson insisted, and with that he ended his conversation, and looked to Greg to get the dinner started.