‘…but when you take into account the humble honeybee–’
‘And when you were ear-to-the-floor, arse-in-the-air this morning? That’ll be on Instagram. ‘Spotted these two in The Hive at Kew Gardens today.’ Heart emoji, magnifying glass, eggplant.’
‘Of course Bombus humilis wouldn’t be seen dead on a–’
‘There’s a chill in the air now. It’s a bit chilly. I’m chilly. Are you chilly?’
‘…and it is odd that no one ever–’
‘The gardens close in an hour, Sherlock. I’ve seen the inside of the loo and the inside of this beehive.’
‘…plus, if you think about it, society would be better off if we took lessons–’
‘I guess you could lie here all day, as we’ve just proven, but that’s not to say we haven’t annoyed everyone, including those five school groups.’
‘…the synergy, John. The downright majesty of a well-formed–’
‘That volunteer has been glaring at us for the last three hours, you know.’
‘…and if, if I believed in reincarnation, which is a ludicrous fairytale, I’d come back as a bumblebee.’
1952
‘The broad had gams as tall as the Hoover Dam.’
‘John. Stop it.’ Sherlock flattened himself against the cold brick wall with a pistol loaded and ready.
‘She was deadly, like a clip joint full of rattlesnakes,’ John drawled from a tight jaw. He tipped the brim of his hat low over his eyes.
‘Really, now?’ Sherlock glanced back. ‘This is a serious investigation.’
‘Her name was trouble. The kind that walked around in stilettos and wasn’t afraid to kick a fella right in the unmentionables. The broad didn’t have a lick of sense but she sure had the spondulix to hire a sleuth.’
‘What’s gotten into you?’ Sherlock took a swift peek around the corner.
‘Lucky for her, the greatest private dick in town was on the job, along with his faithful assistant Doctor Long John.’
‘In town?’
‘The greatest private dick in the world was on the job.’
‘No more detective movies, John. They’re no good. You’ve gone all doolally.’
‘He also had the best privates and the greatest dick.’
Sherlock blinked in confusion for a moment, took a peek around the wall again. ‘That makes no sense but you may proceed, and once we’ve caught this grifter we’re going home. I’ll let you investigate the greatest private dick in the world if you play your cards right, baby.’
1816
‘Don’t call it that, Sherlock, I beg of you.’
‘Come now, John, Old Boney only wants to say how do.’
‘And I shall greet him with good cheer but if you persist with the name Old Boney I shall be warming my bed instead of yours.’
‘Ah, but my Old Boney is much prettier and by all accounts much taller than Old Emperor Boney-parte. See here his rosy complexion?’
‘It’s with thanks to that Old Boney that I returned to England half an invalid.’
‘Awful man. I’ve a mind to go off and give him what for for injuring my own precious John.’
‘You mock me, you rogue.’
‘Not at all, my dear. But here, look.’ Sherlock gripped his Boney and gave it a waggle. ‘You have a chance to punish my Old Boney. He needs a good thrashing and you are the very man to do it.’
John growled and moved like a whirlwind to straddle Sherlock’s long bare legs. ‘A thrashing? I hardly think that would be sufficient for such a tyrant.’
‘No?’ Sherlock huffed as John rolled his hips.
‘Oh, no. I’ve a much more punishing ordeal in mind. Brace yourself.’ John leant in to murmur in his darling’s ear. ‘This won’t hurt, much.’
Every inch of Sherlock’s skin quivered at those words, hummed in his love’s baritone.
1929
‘Can’t say I understood a word he said. You must do, Doctor Watson, being a genius yourself?’ said Barbara Dalrymple.
‘Me? No.’ John Watson blushed and shooed away the compliment.
‘I say, do you know what would be rather splendid? If you came down to Dalrymple House. Daddy won’t mind at all.’
‘Well, I–’
‘Do you shoot? You can shoot all you like there. Must be the season for something or other. Whatever it is, there’ll be enough about.’
‘Yes. No, but–’
‘Roderick Montalbert Fitzlexington is throwing a frightful shindig tomorrow. You ought to come, Johnny – may I call you Johnny? – make sure I don’t get too blotto.’
John looked to Sherlock, his eyes sending distress signals.
Sherlock left Gregson and came to his darling’s aid, leaning in close. ‘All right, old chap?’
John clutched his arm.
‘Was telling old Johnny I didn’t understand a word you said, Mr Holmes. It’s quite the mystery.’
Sherlock placed his hand in the small of John’s back. ‘Shall I slow it down for you, Miss Dalrymple? You murdered your entire household, including the gardener, you’re quite mad, and Gregson over there will arrest you shortly.’
‘I say, you’re a grim sort of fellow, ain’t you? What do you say to that party, Johnny?’
John hooked his arm around Sherlock’s. ‘I’m happily spoken for, Babs.’
1348
PART 1
I did not know loneliness until there was no one left to hear my voice. I have nothing. No one. All I have are memories I would gladly give away, and a life I am not prepared to let go of.
Last Wednesday, that’s when little Wiggins died.
My entire village is gone. I should’ve died too, I should’ve joined my Mary and be done with it. Now I tramp my way, praying I am not alone in the world.
Another village looms dark and still in the evening light. I think to find a house to sleep in that is not someone’s tomb. There is not a movement to be seen, not a sound, but that’s when I see the faint glow of firelight from beneath a door.
That is where I find him, pale as the figure of death that sits at his head, waiting, alone. Dark bruises ring his eyes. He has no rash I can see, only the wicked buboes, one upon his fevered neck, the other in the crease of his thigh – that one burst and bleeding.
I sit