Fantastic Metropolis

By John M. Watson, M.D.

INTRODUCTION

IN CONSIGNING THESE papers to the care and consideration of History I am following the instructions of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, who desired that they be published, if published at all, one hundred years after the date of the last record, when those involved will be long dead and events so remote as no longer to embarrass living descendants. All the cases in question occurred during the years l894 and l895, when Holmes’s reputation as a consulting detective was known to every street arab and peer of the realm, all of whom celebrated his recent ‘re-birth’. My reports in The Strand Magazine and later Collier’s Magazine had captured the imagination of the civilised world. There was little doubt that my friend enjoyed his notoriety, though pretending to dismiss it. Fame brought him his choice of cases, enabling him to work for emperor or pauper, entirely dependent on the nature of the mystery, yet relieved him of all financial anxieties.

So many of Holmes’s cases involved our absolute discretion that I have yet to set them down. Even those few I leave for posterity arouse feelings of acute discomfort when I think of their being published. No doubt I have nothing to fear and the Man of the Future, lounging in the comfort of his personal airship while his chauffeur drives him home from his office on the Moon, will have lost interest in such ancient scandals, especially if no hint of them ever reaches public ears.

Without further preamble, I consign these papers to the strong-box awaiting them, with instructions for my good friend, Sir Arthur Moorcock of Tower House, near Dent, to hold them in trust, and for his family to hold them in trust, until the year l995, whereupon they may be published at the discretion of his descendants.

—John M.Watson, M.D.

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IT WAS ONE of those singularly hot Septembers, when the whole of London seemed to wilt from over-exposure to the sun, like some vast Arctic sea-beast foundering upon a tropical beach and doomed to die of unnatural exposure. Where Rome or even Paris might have shimmered and lazed, London merely gasped.

Our windows wide open to the noisy staleness of the air and our blinds drawn against the glaring light, we lay in a kind of torpor, Holmes stretched upon the sofa while I dozed in my easy chair and recalled my years in India, when such heat had been normal and our accommodation rather better equipped to cope with itI had been looking forard to some fly fishingin the Yorkshire Dales. Meanwhile, a patient of mine was experiencing a difficult confinement and I had not in conscience been able to go too far from London. However, we had both planned to be elsewhere at this time and had confused the estimable Mrs Hudson, who had expected Holmes himself to be gone.

Languidly, Holmes dropped the note he had been reading to the floor. There was a hint of irritation in his voice when he spoke.

“It seems, Watson, that we are, after all, to be evicted from our quarters. I had hoped this would not happen while you were staying.”

My friend’s fondness for the dramatic statement was familiar to me, so I hardly blinked when I asked: “Evicted, Holmes?” I understood that his rent was, as usual, had paid in advance for the year.

“Temporarily only, Watson. You will recall that we had both intended to be absent from London at about this time, until circumstances dictated otherwise. On that initial understanding, Mrs Hudson commissioned Messrs. Peach, Peach, Peach and Praisegod to refurbish and decorate 221b. This is our notice. They begin work next week and would be obliged if we would vacate the premises since minor structural work is involved. We are to be homeless for a fortnight, old friend. We must find new accommodations, Watson, but they must not be too far from here. You have your delicate patient and I have my work. I must have access to my files and my microscope.”

I must admit Iwas not glad to hear the news. I had already suffered several setbacks to my plans and this fresh interruption, combined with the heat, shortened my temper a little. “Every criminal in London will be trying to take advantage of the situation,” I said. “What if a Peach or Praisegod were in the pay of some new Moriarty?”

“Faithful Watson! That Reichenbach affair made a deep impression. It is the one deception for which I feel thorough remorse. Rest assured, dear friend. Moriarty is no more and there is never likely to be another criminal mind like his. I agree, however, that we should be able to keep an eye on things here. There are no hotels in the area fit for human habitation. And no friends or relatives nearby to put us up.” It was almost touching to see that master of deduction fall into deep thought and begin to cogitate our domestic problem with the same attention he would give to one of his most difficult cases. It was this power of concentration, devoted to any matter in hand, which had first impressed me with his unique talents. At last he snapped his fingers, grinning like a Barbary ape, his deep-set eyes blazing with intelligence and self-mockery.. “I have it, Watson. We shall, of course, ask Mrs Hudson if she has a neighbour who rents rooms!”