Sherlock Holmes in 2012: LORD OF DARKNESS RISING

by Mohammad Bahareth

  “Yes, I must have been mistaken… , sorry. My name is Watson, Dr. John Watson.”

  As if he had been hit by lightning, Sherlock froze and stared. “Did you say, Dr. John Watson? Impossible!” he exclaimed.

  “I can assure you it is my name, sir,” Watson countered, seemingly taken aback by Sherlock’s apparent disbelief. “And may I ask what’s yours?”

  “When I will tell you, you might not believe me, but there it is; my name is Sherlock Holmes.”

  Dr. Watson exploded in a roar of laughter, much to Sherlock’s astonishment. “I knew it! The minute I laid eyes on you, I knew it was you – but you are absolutely correct, I cannot believe this serendipitous encounter. You are here in the flesh. Here in New Zealand – my Good God – it cannot be true!”

  “And yet it is, Doctor. I have travelled many miles just a few days ago with my wife and only landed here to have a rest for a time.”

  “How long will you be in town then?” Watson asked.

  “That I don’t know, Doctor, but if you would do me the honour to meet with me again at my hotel when it will be convenient, I would be most interested to know how you came to live in this fair city.”

  “Oh that’s simple, Mr. Holmes. My great-grandfather, as you are probably aware, went to the Far East when you – I mean the Mr. Holmes my great-grandparent knew – disappeared, and married my great-grandmother in New Delhi. They moved to England before the First World War, but then took refuge in New Zealand as soon as they heard that a German invasion of Europe was imminent. My father was born in Auckland but died several years back in the days that followed my obtaining a doctorate in engineering science and technology. I only came to Wellington at the beginning of the November trimester.”

  “However simple you may think this summary of your parentage and of your academic prowess may be, Doctor, my offer still stands; I would like to know a lot more about life on this island and in New Zealand – that is if I may impose on your time, of course.”

  “By all means, Mr. Holmes, I would be delighted to sit down and visit with you and your wife.” He paused. “May I ask her name, sir?” then shook his head. “I don’t know… , please forgive me, sir, I shouldn’t have asked… , I am very sorry.”

  “So like your great-grandfather,” Holmes replied, “you always apologize when there isn’t really any need.” He smiled. “I have had the immense pleasure of marrying Miss Irene Adler in Washington, D.C. before we left the United States… .” Sherlock stopped. Watson’s gaze didn’t leave the man before him. “What is it? Do you know Miss Adler?”

  Watson shook his head emphatically. “No, Mr. Holmes, I have never had the pleasure, of course, but since I have all of my great-grandfather’s notebooks, and I have read them all, I know only one Miss Irene Adler – she was the diva that captured your heart during the Bohemian Affair, wasn’t she?”

  “Shall we say that Miss Adler at the time “captured” my admiration during that affair, yes, but she captured my heart, as you described, once I realized that she was free to love again and that her integrity was no longer at risk.”

  “Mr. Holmes, this is more – much more in fact – than a serendipitous encounter. I will need to discuss these and other extraordinary matters with you at length, indeed, but for now, you will have to excuse me, I must go and give my lecture… .”

  “Absolutely, Doctor.” Sherlock then extracted a business card that he had picked up at the hotel’s reception from his jacket pocket and handed it to Watson. “Here is the address of our lodgings. We are staying in their “Guest Room” for the time being.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.” Watson looked at the card and since he could not find a mobile number on it, he asked, “Do you have a cell phone or a mobile?”

  “Yes, but it is a New York number… .”

  “Never mind then, sir. I will call the hotel tonight and if convenient, we can then make arrangements to meet later. Will that suit you?”

  “Yes, yes, Watson… . I mean, yes, Doctor, that will be perfect.”

  John Watson couldn’t help but smile at the faux pas.

  “I’ll be talking to you then, Mr. Holmes,” he said, walking away and then trotting rapidly towards one of the campus’s buildings.

  Left alone in the quad, Sherlock looked after the young man. He even looks like my friend, he said under his breath.

  An hour later Sherlock was back at the B&B to find Irene unpacking a number of shopping bags and hanging several new outfits in the wardrobe. “Sherlock… , you’re back!” she burst out, turning to him for a moment before hanging another pair of trousers in its place.

  “Yes, my dear… . I see that you must have bought nearly half of the clothiers in town,” he remarked, taking a seat near the window. “Perhaps we should endeavour to find a house as soon as possible…”

  “A house, Sherlock? What ever for? We hardly know this city; wouldn’t you want to wait a while?” She turned and came to stand before her husband.

  He took her hand. “What I meant, my dear, was that maybe we should need a house fairly soon to store all of your purchases…”

  Irene’s reaction was instantaneous; she plunged ahead and kissed Sherlock amorously, leaving him no time to continue with the bantering.

  “Is that how you intend to punish me when I decide to flatter you with a tease,” Sherlock asked when Irene resumed her matronly stance before him.

  “No, Sherlock, this is the way I will shut you up when you deserve to close your mouth to such irritating remarks as my buying too many clothes for us. Do you realize that half of these purchases are for you?”

  “For me?” Sherlock chortled.

  “Yes, for you, my husband. I want you to feel comfortable in your clothes and in your surroundings, Sherlock. Summer is at our doorsteps in this island, and as you may have noticed, people here dress fairly casually, that is when they are not working in some office or other where a shirt and tie are required.”

  Sherlock continued to smile. He was definitely not used to this sort of enticing charm and care, which Irene was bestowing upon him ever since she came to find him in Washington. He was delighted with the attention he was getting – to say the least. “Alright, my dear,” he said, standing up, grabbing hold of her hand once again, and leading her outside onto the veranda. “Let’s sit down for a while, shall we?”

  “Yes… , that’s an excellent idea. Shopping is exhausting in this century, don’t you know?” She sat down across the table from her husband. “In London or in Europe for that matter, the tailors would come to me – I didn’t have to step out of my hotel or out of my house to purchase a new outfit, but now, it is I who has to go to every shop and choose everything from hats to shoes in the merchant’s premises – quite tiring, don’t you know?”

  “This is why I never go shopping,” Sherlock replied with a broad grin on his face.

  “And now you will not have to do any of it, my dear husband – your slave has done it all!”

  Sherlock’s laughter accompanied Irene’s giggle for a few moments before Sherlock said, “I must relate something that happened to me while you were exhausting yourself buying half of Wellington…”

  “Sherlock!” Irene admonished him.

  “All right, all right… , let me then tell you…”

  “I am all ears.”

  “As you know I went to the university this afternoon and while I was walking across the quad I bumped into someone…”

  “Who? Did you know the person?”

  “Well, yes and no.” Irene opened her eyes wide. “I knew him – his great-grandfather that is – in 1890 but I didn’t know the man I met, no.”

  “Who was it? Please tell me,” Irene pleaded, quite impatient now.

  “Doctor John Watson!”

  “Impossible!”

  “That’s exactly what I said when he told me his name – but sure enough, he is the great grandson of Dr. Watson.”

  “Does he look like him?”

  “There are
some definite traits of resemblance, yes, but you see, he is part Indian – his great-grandmother was from New Delhi apparently – and he has a darker complexion, but he has Watson’s gentle eyes and demeanour.”

  “Did you mention we were married?”

  “Oh yes, my dear. I had to, in fact, for it was he who asked me the name of my wife.”

  “And did you tell him?”

  “Absolutely, and he would have recognized you anyway I am sure… when we meet him together.”

  “How could he recognize me, if he’s never seen me?”

  “Because Watson – I mean his great-grandfather – described you in detail in his notebooks, and the Doctor Watson of today is in possession of these books.”

  “Good heavens, Sherlock, that’s wonderful!” She got up from her seat. “I must let Sally know that we might have a visitor… .” She stopped on her way out of the terrace and swung on her heels. “Does he live in Wellington or is he just visiting, do you know?”

  “He lives in town, as far as I know… , and I gave him the card from this hotel, so we should expect a call from him.”

  Irene regained her seat. “Did you two talked about anything else?”

  “No, nothing in detail, just a little about his parentage and his academic achievements, that’s all,” Sherlock said musingly while lighting his pipe.

  Irene was up from her seat again. “I am going to get some lemonade from Sally so we could have some refreshments…”

  “I am not surprised that you are exhausted, my dear, you are always up and down from your chair. Wouldn’t you just remain seated for a while and enjoy the marvellous view?”

  “All right, I will… , once I have fetched the lemonade. I am thirsty!”

  Watching Irene walk away, Sherlock had to smile. He shook his head. As stubborn as ever, he said to himself.

  They were sitting in the parlour of the B&B, waiting for Dr. Watson to arrive, when Irene and Sherlock set their gazes on a lovely little girl, leading her father by the hand and entering the room with him. “Is that them?” she asked, lifting her head to her dad. Her summery and colourful dress accented the natural tan of her skin, while her long, dark curls encircled the intelligent and curious face of a child visibly more mature than her years.

  “Yes, Darling, that’s Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.” Watson looked at the couple and smiled. “Mrs. Holmes, Mr. Holmes, let me introduce you to Sarah Watson, my daughter,” he said with undisguised pride.

  Sherlock stood up and took the little one’s extended hand. “How do you do, Miss Sarah; a pleasure, I’m sure.”

  Sarah gave him a little curtsy, saying, “Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” and then turned to Irene. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Holmes,” she added, with a tinge of admiration in her voice.

  “It is I who is delighted to meet you, young lady.” Irene patted the sofa cushion beside her. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Sarah replied while plopping herself down beside Irene.

  “Dr. John Watson,” the young man said to Irene, bowing slightly.

  “A real pleasure, I’m sure. Do take a seat, please,” Irene said, indicating a chair beside that of Sherlock. The latter regained his seat quietly.

  “I must apologize for this somewhat impromptu visit, Mr. Holmes,” Watson began, “but I couldn’t control my impatience – I mean I have so many things to tell you both”—he shot a glance in Irene’s direction—“that I could not refrain from invading your privacy so soon after our meeting at the university.”

  “No need to apologize, Doctor; I had related our extraordinary encounter as soon as I came back yesterday afternoon. But do tell us, what is so urgent… ?”

  “Oh nothing of such urgency, no, Mr. Holmes, it’s just that I was eager to ask you quite a few questions, mainly about your strange – shall we call it – appearance in this century. Since you did not mention being the descendant of Sherlock Holmes when we met, I tossed and turned all night, at a loss to find an explanation as to your presence here, in New Zealand and in 2010.”

  “Dad said that you must have both come in a time-machine,” Sarah piped-up unexpectedly, looking up at Irene. “Did you really?” Her innocent gaze instantly melted Irene’s heart.

  “And did you believe your father when he told you that?” Irene asked.

  Sarah nodded vigorously. “Yup…”

  “Sarah!” Watson said sternly. “I have told you many times that you must say “yes” and not “yup” when you answer a grown-up’s question.”

  “Okay, Daddy. But I did believe you, you know?” Sarah returned her attention to Irene. “He’s the greatest dad on Earth, you know? If he says that you came over from the last century in a time-machine, then that’s what happened!”

  “Out of the mouth of babes,” Sherlock said almost inaudibly. “And yes, my dear Sarah, we did come in a time machine… .”

  “Oh, Wow! Can I see it? Where is it? Did you come all the way from London in England with it? Did it take you long to get here? Weren’t you sad to leave your century and all your friends… ?”

  Watson waved a hand in between him and his daughter. “Hold on, Little One, not so fast. You need to give people time to answer all of these questions.” His eyes travelled from Irene to Sherlock. “I must apologize for my daughter’s forwardness, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. Even though most of these questions would have been my own to ask, I would not have taken such a direct approach. Please forgive us.”

  Sherlock smiled. “Didn’t I mention yesterday that you resemble your great-grandfather in that regard – apologizing when there isn’t any need for it?”

  Watson nodded. “Yes, you did, Mr. Holmes, but in this case, I still think that I must be a little more circumspect with my queries, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I don’t think there is any need for circumspection in this instance,” Irene interposed. “On the contrary, I hate pussyfooting around.” She turned to Sarah. “Since these two snails seem to have decided to take the slow road up the mountain, I’ll tell you what happened…” Sarah burst out in a string of giggles to the evident delight of both Sherlock and her father. “We were in London and this professor had built a time machine that he wanted to use to travel in the past…”

  “In the past? What for? We know all about the past!” Sarah was obviously finding the reasoning quite illogical.

  Sherlock didn’t say anything, but he recalled instantly Sarah’s reaction being precisely his own when her ancestor told him about H.G. Wells’s time machine.

  “ . . . Yes, Sarah, and that’s exactly what Mr. Holmes and I thought at the time. So Mr. Holmes asked the professor to borrow the machine to travel to 2010, and I followed in the second machine a little while later. And here we are!”

  “But, Mrs. Holmes, there are two time-machines then; are there?”

  “Yes, my dear,” Sherlock replied for Irene. “There are two time-machines.”

  “And where are they now? May I see them?”

  “Now, Sarah, that’s enough!” Watson scolded. “If Mr. and Mrs. Holmes wish to invite us to visit these machines; give them time to do so – don’t impose yourself, will you?”

  “Sorry, Daddy,” Sarah replied, shrinking to the back of the sofa.

  “I wish I could invite you to visit the one machine at least,” Sherlock said, “but I’m afraid this might prove difficult since both are back in Washington, D.C. and I don’t think your father would be prepared to make the journey just to see these machines, do you?”

  “But Daddy goes to Washington all the time,” Sarah contradicted. “He always says that one day I’ll be going with him. Don’t you, Daddy?” She threw a pleading glance in his direction.

  “Yes, I did, Sarah, but not right away… .”

  Irene then bent down to Sarah’s ear. “Why don’t we go to the kitchen and see if we can round up some tea and sandwiches. Would you like that?”

  Sarah was up in a shot. “Yup… , ooops! Sorry, Daddy.” She looked at her dad a
nd then turned to Irene again. “Yes, please, Mrs. Holmes.”

  Both men smiled as the two ladies left the room hand in hand.

  “Your daughter is as clever as the father, I suspect,” Sherlock said to Watson.

  “Yes, Mr. Holmes, she is indeed very intelligent, but I doubt she got all of her cleverness from me. Her mother had a large contribution in her being so advanced for her age, I believe.”

  “And when will we have the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Watson then?”

  Watson bowed his head, put his elbows on his knees and said, “She is no longer with us, Mr. Holmes.”

  “I’m very sorry, Watson. Please accept my condolences.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.” Watson straightened up and reclined to the back of the chair. “It’s been hard for me to accept or even comprehend her passing, but Sarah was somehow stronger than I was. She said something to me about a year ago that I’ll never forget. She said, “I’ll never forgive him,” and to this day, I have yet to find out what she meant.”

  “In what circumstance did your wife die, if I may ask?”

  “We were in London at the time, and she took the train. And that was the train that was bombed in 2006, Mr. Holmes. She was crushed in the wreckage.”

  “David Penny!” Sherlock shouted without restrain. “He is the one responsible, Watson! He has been playing this game for years now.” He stood up and went to stand by the window, as he used to do when he was living in Baker Street. “I’ve had the displeasure of being aware of some of his latest enterprises in London and in New York since I arrived in this century, and I am now certain that he is behind most of the bombings.”

  “How would you know that, Mr. Holmes?” Watson asked, staring at the figure of the detective his great-grandfather had described so accurately some 120 years ago.

  “Because, Watson, it is the only reasonable answer to this quandary. David Penny is not the al Qaeda stooge that every one suspects him to be, no, he’s much more than that. I believe he’s a puppet in the hands of some other sombre evil-doer.”

  “But, Mr. Holmes, how would my daughter know that? She was only six years old.”