The Last Romantics

A Pleasure To Meet You, Mr. Watson

"True to her word, Mary Morstan decided that it was in her best interest not to let me alone. It was a terrible bother at first, for I really had no use for a companion and Victor found the presence of other people to be terribly threatening. He didn't trust people in general, but women scared him the most. I'm sure it had something to do with his guilty conscious, suspecting that the women would sense his disinterest in them and automatically phone for the police. It was around this time that they were cracking down on men like us, deeming us indecent and treating us like criminals. It wasn't until a couple of days after her first visit that I got to meet her suitor, or supposed suitor at least, and after that I began to find me much more interesting than ever before. It was a sunny day in February, abnormally warm for that month (probably only hitting about forty, but that in itself was a miracle) and I had been sitting out on the steps, basking in the warm rays and enjoying myself as best I could. While I was wearing a coat my hands were free of gloves, and on my lap I had set to writing down a little poem about the warmth, a little trifle to amuse my host. Over the weeks with Mr. Trevor I had excelled in my studies, and before long we had polished up my poem about the shipyard nearly ready for publication. It spoke, in so many words, about the heroics of sailors and the indifference of regular people. I hadn't yet told Mary that she had been depicted in my art, though I expected once it hit the newspapers that she would notice her own relevance to my documentation. Well, as if my thoughts had predicted her arrival, here she came in a bright blue dress, strutting down the street with one arm confined in the arm of her sailor and another holding a great basket of shopping. Presumably they had been at the market, taking advantage of the abnormal day and making it into some sort of date. The idea of romance still turned my stomach, and it really hadn't been since James Moriarty's arrival that I had thought anything of the sort. In trying to express my feelings on paper I seemed to have forgotten that they were mine to act upon, and the lure of men or anyone in general seemed to have been forgotten in place of my rather ambitious artistic endeavors. And despite Mr. Moriarty's general disappearance from the house (the last I heard of him, he was engaged in a very loud argument with my host) the sight of two young love birds still made me cringe.
"Oh look who it is! My darling neighbor!" Mary called from all the way across the street, aiding on John's guidance to help her cross safely through the traffic of wagons and carts. I smiled, shutting my notebook rather defensively but staying where I was. I mustn't always act on impulse, for it would be rude to run away at a moment like this.
"Hello Mary." I muttered, forcing some enthusiasm into my would-be sarcastic tone. She stood with her sailor at the sidewalk near my feet, looking upon me under the brim of her wide hat as if I was just the most interesting thing she had ever seen.
"I don't believe you've met John, not formally at least." Mary muttered. "John darling, Sherlock met me on the bench when you first came home."
"Oh yes? Are you related to a sailor then?" John presumed, addressing me directly and sending the first of many shivers down my spine.
"No I was just...well just sitting." I lied quickly, not overly prepared to hear his voice. It was much softer than I would have imagined, for on the outside he seemed to be as rough and tough as any man who would take voluntarily to the sea. He was wearing rather shabby clothes, however underneath I could make out his strong build, despite his rather uncanny stature. I didn't see any visible tattoos, though I assumed he would have had one or two about his skin, as many of the sailors did, and even from here I could see the outline of a large callous on his palm. He was an interesting character, for one would expect such a hardened creature to be stern and aggressive. All the same he talked to me with a pleasant voice, a soft and understanding tone, a tone which became the most inconvenient aspect of my young life. How different things would be if he repulsed me. However, quite accidentally, he charmed me. I was interested.
"Just sitting at the docks? Well they are much too smelly for a man of your class I'm sure." John laughed, to which Mary just shook her head in exasperation, clinging even more desperately to his arm as if to scold him for his rude behavior.
"Sherlock is a poet! He was writing a piece on the sea, the sailors, all sorts of nautical things." Mary explained quickly. John's face broke into the first smile that I had witnessed, a smile that made me clutch a bit tighter to my book, in an attempt to hide the blood that was now rushing to my face. God, that was quite a smile.
"I love poetry." He admitted at last.
"I wouldn't think you were the type to enjoy it. Though I suppose times have changed." I admitted quickly, meaning no insult but obviously coming across as rather rude.
"Wordsworth himself said it...not only the rich can enjoy poetry." John said a bit harshly, to which Mary pursed her lips and stayed out of it. I suppose she thought I was being rude as well, though she didn't say it directly.
"Oh yes, yes I wasn't supposing that you were incapable of enjoying poetry, I just thought that sailors enjoyed hard liquors to any emotional verse." I explained quickly. John still didn't look amused, though I could tell that he was beginning to see my original point. I laughed a bit nervously, realizing that I had really dug myself into a hole for our first official meeting. Even Mary looked as though she had nothing to say, and I was in no better position myself.
"You got back from the Americas, then?" I remembered, trying to change the conversation as quickly as I could manage. Thankfully, it worked.
"Oh yes, just the other day." he agreed.
"What was it like?" I wondered quickly, leaning forward onto my knees in interest, as I had never even left England before. To travel across the world, to see things that were foreign and exciting...it was something I could only hope to understand. John Watson had seen things I probably couldn't imagine, and in turn lived more lives than I ever could.
"Well it was different...magical, exciting, but wholly different. We went down to Cuba, and Jamaica, all territories with vast jungles, violent natives, and animals I couldn't even begin to describe." John admitted, his face lighting up once more with a look of delight.
"A jungle...what characterizes a jungle?" I wondered, having heard the word before only in stories and books, though never knowing they were biomes that existed on this planet.
"Well...well there were trees everywhere, but not trees like we have here. Their bark was much thicker, their leaves larger, greener...everywhere you stepped there were new plants, strange insects...I even saw a snake that was about as thick as your leg! You can't see anything but plants, and water, and everything that moves it probably out to kill you." John explained at last.
"Fascinating." I whispered. "And you, well I imagine you survived?"
"Barely. We had a run in with this gigantic spotted cat; it was the size of a dog and twice as quick! Its teeth were about the size of a drinking glass, and its claws as sharp as a blade! It killed one of our local guides, and as it dragged his body up a tree we were just able to escape. It was a terrifying experience, but honestly a good story." John admitted with a little smile.
"John that's perfectly horrid." Mary exclaimed, releasing her arm from his grasp just so that she could hit him very lightly on the arm. Perhaps that was her form of scolding.
"Mary doesn't believe me." John explained quickly, to which the woman scoffed.
"I do." I said immediately. "I always knew that humans couldn't be the most vicious things on earth."
"Well that depends on your definition of vicious. This cat was only trying to eat, to survive. Later on the locals went over and shot him, out of nothing but their own fear. Animals kill to live, it's their instinct. Humans kill just to kill...sometimes it helps them sleep better at night." John explained quickly, his words fascinating me beyond compare. He had a deep intellect which I could not begin to explain, so advanced in his knowledge being nothing but a sailor of a poor household, yet able to hold up a conversation with an academic and provide a new perspective on the world. I was astounded, and I recognized a knowledge and potential within that man that I knew I must act upon. He had already expressed an interest in poetry, and here he was loaded with stories and knowledge of another world! I could help him, I told myself I could. If I could become a poet, well then certainly so could he!
"You fascinate me, Mr. Watson." I admitted. "Have you ever considered a career in the arts?"
"In the arts? Well, no sir. I can appreciate art as well as the next man, but I need to support myself more than I need to entertain others. Money is hard to come by as it is." John admitted quickly. I nodded gravely, understanding of course that he had a true meaning in his words. Life would be different for me if I had grown up poor, and like most talent mine may very well have gone forgotten, or even unnoticed.
"Well Sherlock, we best be getting inside. We've bought ice cream at the market and if we waste away out here in the sun I'm sure it will start to melt." Mary said quickly, waving her shopping bag at a dangerous angle as if trying to prove her point. I didn't know why she decided to hurry him along, especially when our conversation seemed to be getting started, though I was in no position to argue.
"Very well, John Watson. A pleasure to meet you, truly." I muttered at last, getting to my feet and offering a rather awkward hand for him to shake. The man smiled, but shook my hand with an honest interest. His hand was just as calloused as I predicted, in fact it was rather uncomfortable to hold onto it for very long. Mary bid me good day and ushered John inside, though their disappearance did not erase them from my mind. I was fascinated, and for the first time in a long time I felt as though there was a possibility here, a possibility for real friendship. And, like most of my friendships to date, perhaps something even more special.