A note from the Editor: This manuscript was found by a great nephew of Doctor Watson, long known as the Amanuensis of Sherlock Holmes. Many of Dr. Watson’s personal possessions came into the hands of his sister’s family. The family, having always been proud of the Doctor and thankful for the income from his writings, treasured and preserved his things. One such possession was a book. One day, his great nephew was bathing with this book and absent minded, soaked the back cover of the book undoubtedly weakened the old paper glue of the binding. In his haste to ameliorate the damage, vigorous rubbing of the cover loosened the back flap and lo and behold, he discovered this manuscript carefully hidden inside.
Reading it, one instantly understands why Doctor Watson was loath to let this manuscript see the light of day. At the end of the manuscript, in Doctor Watson’s hand, was the postscript, “Reading this account, I find I cannot let it be published. Too many good souls would be harmed by the lurid details contained therein. I should burn it today.” Luckily, the good doctor must have stayed his match. But with the passage of years and the passing from the scene of all involved, one no longer feels the same trepidation. We hope that publishing this case will further enlighten readers and admirers of the great detective and his friend, and not sully their reputations.
I was sitting in the study at Baker Street that I shared with Sherlock Holmes. It was late and I was waiting to see what had occupied Holmes so late into the night. It was a bit unusual for him to be out this late and not have informed me. I thought it likely he must be pursuing a case.
I heard a key inserted into the lock in the door and looked over to see the door swing open very slowly. I was about to reach for my trusty service revolver when I saw Holmes’ severe face peering in. He looked surprised to see me still about.
“Get out! To your room,” he whispered fervently.
“Now Holmes...” I started.
“Ssss. Now!” he whispered imperiously.
Having no idea what he was about, but certain he indeed meant it, I snuffed out my cheroot and headed for my room. I did leave the door ajar and with the lamp in my room off. I was able to see through the crack and into the study, assured by the surrounding dark that I could not be spied in my room.
Sherlock disappeared, then I heard steps coming from the landing. He opened the door wide and a woman swept into the study, her head covered by a dark shawl which threw her face into shadows. I could tell from the dress that this was no common wench. That dress was obviously of the finest materials and manufacture. ‘The lady has brought a case,’ I thought as Holmes closed the door. That was when Sherlock swept her into his arms and kissed her. Then he led her into his room, silently closing the door behind. Frustrated, I lit the lamp in my room and began preparing for bed. At least he was safe.
For those devoted readers who are surprised by this revelation of Holmes’ character, I think it incumbent on me to explain. There really are two reasons for the suppression of such facts in my other writings. I have had occasion, for the reasons of decency, to suppress many lurid tales, such as the case of Robert Greenwood, the Shepard of Shropshire, and his bestial habits that were suppressed even at the inquest. Those tales are not fit for any decent person. The second reason I have had to suppress certain facts had to do with the flawed humanity of Mr. Holmes himself. I once made mention of his one true love in Scandal in Bohemia, Irene Adler. At the time, I downplayed the corporeal aspect of his attraction to the lady in deference to the sensibilities of the fair sex amongst my readers and since the lurid details did not play any significance in the solving of the mystery. But those, less gentlemanly aspects of personality shall we say, were certainly present. Let us just say that Holmes was quite particular with his affections, but once committed, his desires were as strong as any man’s. In fact, he had quite the tryst with Miss Adler which I did not see fit to include in the published manuscript which would be read by the distaff members of our society. Holmes said many times afterwards when I would mention some woman as a possible companion, that none could ever match the intensity of passion and fervor of Miss Adler. He could settle for nothing less, except on a temporary basis.
One other note which will help the reader understand why I have previously omitted mention of this aspect of Holmes’ character. Since the time I had assisted him in overcoming his cocaine addiction he had, shall we say, replaced one addiction with another - women. And not just any woman, but he wanted only those already spoken for. It was the danger that Holmes needed, I think. When he was on a case, he wouldn’t even bother looking at a woman, except that she might provide clues. As I had mentioned in the Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez, Holmes could charm any woman when he set his mind to it to get such clues as were necessary for the resolution of a mystery. But in those interregnums between cases, he needed the stimulation of danger and could use those same skills with less savory consequence. Like the cocaine, the danger of persuing married women was its own narcotic. These were his temporary 'interludes' as he called them. Obviously, as a gentleman, I could not expose these women to public scrutiny of their private affairs.
Had Holmes been like most men and found his solace among the women of Whitechapel, I would have thought nothing of it. After all, men need such solace at times. I myself sought such companionship from time to time. Having developed a liking for the very young girls whilst in India, I knew exactly where in the district to find the young and fresh ones. I can tell you, I was appalled when they put through Parliament the Age of Consent Act, raising the age to twelve before a girl could be put to work. By that age they are no longer so fresh and eager, as are the girls in India. It is the one thing I miss about my service in the East, the young Indian maidens so eager and willing to ride a European stallion.
But I must return to the remarkable Mr. Holmes and leave my maundering memories for another time. When I first noted this new conduct, I determined to change it. I would show him the more usual methods of satisfying a man’s lust. After all, a gentleman should not pursue women of good breeding, for women of good standing should remain chaste their whole life, except for those few times necessary for bringing forth children. That being my thoughts, I took him with me to Whitechapel. I found my favourite at the time, a girl of twelve who had a sister just a year older. With Holmes, I took both girls to a room leased for the hour we would need by an accommodating proprietor.
It reminded me of the outings the officers would make into the city from our barracks in the Punjab. There would be a group of us lined up as though for parade, our staffs all out as the lovely Indian maidens would kneel in front of us and lavish their attentions on our staffs until we would spew our manly seed on their upturned faces. There would often be Gentlemanly wagers on who could spew the most, or the fastest, or the farthest... all in good fun of course.
Good memories those, but back to Whitechapel, my favourite had shed her dress and stood in her stockings revealing that she had nothing else covering her lovely little pudenda, including even the beginnings of hair. The sight brought my member erect. She took my shaft in hand, peeled back the foreskin, and took it in her mouth, kissing and licking it, making it hard and throbbing. Oh my, I tell you as a gentleman, there is no greater feeling than a girl suckling your manly pestle, except one, and I was sure to douse my organ in her little quim before the night was out. She covered my shaft with her spittle, then she laid back on the bed and spread wide her legs, opening herself to my pleasure. Manfully, I stepped up, boring straight into the girl. She cried out as I split her open for she was still quite tight, being young and not yet overly abused in her trade. I grabbed her thin thighs and using them for purchase, proceeded to have my way with my little sweet until I spewed my seed into her.
I had completely forgotten the other two, but vigorous noises reminded me. I turned to see Holmes, with his quite substantial rod, giving it to the other girl. My girl looked over as well and said, “My, ’e’s really goin’ at it, ain’t he?”
“Indeed,” I responded, watching as Sherlock’s eyes closed, his head tilted back, and a most passionate howl emerged from him. He slammed into the girl several more times and I could see his seed being whipped to froth. This girl had a triangle of hair above her opening, something which to this day puts me off, and it was matted with their spending, glistening and wet. Holmes fell back from the girl, his staff producing a substantial pop as it exited the girl. He propped himself against the wall.
His girl looked over at us, “Quite a vigorous gentleman, ’e is. I earned my coppers this night, I did.” Both girls giggled as only young girls can. I pulled the coins from my purse and gave them both a tip for being so accommodating. “Thank you, sir,” they responded. “We will be ready for your service anytime. You knows where to find us.” The girls quickly dressed and departed as I put myself back together. Holmes did so as well.
“Well Holmes, what think you of these girls?” I asked.
“They were quite satisfactory my Dear Watson, but…” he said.
“But what, man?” I asked becoming a bit peeved. I was wroth that he might not appreciate such fine pieces of girl flesh.
“But, they only satisfy the body, not the soul,” he responded. I admit to some confusion at that moment. Isn’t that the reason a fellow pursues sex, for satisfaction of bodily lust? Holmes was watching my expression. “I can put it no better, old boy. For me, the chase is more important than the kill. With these ladies, there is no chase and the kill is simply too easy. Don’t get me wrong, they certainly fulfilled their function, but it isn’t enough. You’ll simply have to take me at my word on this.”
I couldn't. "But Holmes, you can't succeed often with women who are married! These girls provide much greater satisfaction."
"My Dear Watson. It is the misses which make the hits all the more valuable. Indeed, I do miss the target on occasion. I would say that one in five women do resist my charms. That only makes the other four all the more precious. Oh yes, women, even when they know they will acquiesce, make a man labor before granting their charms. Watson, that's the game! Winning the game is the point, you see? If a man never lost a game, what would be the profit in playing? Nothing. It is the chance of loss which gives the game its zest," he said, looking at me as if he had stated the most obvious of platitudes.
Truth be told, I did not understand. I quite liked being able to pick up my favourite and knowing my hard earned coins wouldn't be wasted, that I would receive the satisfaction I wanted.
I had tried but failed to divert Holmes from his new addiction. That is how I found myself that night, listening to Holmes making vigorous love to a woman with whom he should not. I will say this, as in anything which aroused his interest, he became a master at it. I had to listen to a torrent of sounds coming from his room. “No, Mister Holmes, you shouldn’t put your mouth to my sex. It is… Ohhhhhhh… Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!” This was followed by screams of rising intensity, finally cut off as though the poor woman had passed out. A brief respite, then more keening, “Oh my God, You are so big. Ohhhh… Yes, faster, harder.” The bed sounded as though it were being battered to pieces and the lady’s screams no longer were coherent, just passion in full voice. Until again, there was a cut off of all sound.
It had become too much for me. I grabbed my coat and purse and readied to hurry to Whitechapel. As I prepared to leave, his door opened and I saw the woman’s face, one I recognized. “Excuse me,” I said. To Holmes, I ejaculated, “I’ll be back later,” as I hurried from the room. I heard Holmes laughing and him saying to the woman something about Whitechapel as the door closed, a most ungracious remark on his part I thought. I did give one of my favourites a thorough working over that night.
We both arose rather later than usual the next morning from our previous evening’s exertions. Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, brought us tea and biscuits. She had been tidying up the study and proceeded to clean our rooms as we ate. The bell rang and Mrs. Hudson went off to answer it. Holmes and I sat in the study when Mrs. Hudson returned and announced a woman visitor. I hoped it was a case to take Holmes’ interest off his new fancy and back to solving crimes.
Our landlady escorted a woman into the study. I recognized her immediately; it was she. I cannot name her, or even give clues to her identity for you would know her, or at least, her husband. He is prominent in the Government and such an exposure would wreak havoc at a time of delicate foreign entanglements. There was an uncomfortable moment when Sherlock started to introduce her. She immediately blushed, “We’ve met,” I said, saving some embarrassment.
“What is it?” Holmes asked her, to divert the conversation.
The poor lady was in distress, which was obvious. “I’ve lost it.”
“Lost what?”
“The locket, the locket I was wearing. It was a gift from my…” she looked at me and could not finish the sentence. I knew it must be from her husband to arouse such foreboding in the poor woman.
Holmes was looking off to the distance. “You were wearing it last night, I remember.” The lady blushed as she regarded me. One wouldn’t have needed the abilities of Holmes to have remembered. I’m sure the lady was naked except for the locket, making identification quite simple. “But I don’t remember it when you left. Therefore, it must be here. Do not worry, we will recover it.” He had Mrs. Hudson escort her to the door. He lit his pipe and sat in his favourite chair. I could not understand his somnolence. Why wasn’t he doing something? Finally, he put down his pipe. “Not even a one pipe mystery old boy. It must be here. Come help me search. You start in the study. Leave nothing unturned. I’ll be in my room.”
He was turning over everything in his room as I did the same to the study. I even pulled the cabinet from the wall and looked behind. Mrs. Hudson came in and nearly had apoplexy at what we were doing to the rooms. Holmes told her we were looking for something valuable and sent her away. She seemed not at all happy with what we were doing, and frankly, I thought she was right.
Holmes came forth from his room and surveyed the study. “Watson, I think we can assume that the locket is not here. If that is the case, where can it be? When we have eliminated all but one possibility, that possibility, no matter how unlikely we think it, must be the true choice.”
We straightened up the rooms and Holmes told me to go to my surgery for he was off to discuss the matter with his brother, Mycroft, at his brother’s club. While both men were brilliant, they could not have been more dissimilar when Sherlock was on a case. His energy was beyond belief while his brother, Mycroft, never ventured from his club preferring to sit and ponder. Sherlock would often have occasion to consult with Mycroft on especially troublesome cases, so I was not surprised to hear his plans as I wondered what was so different or difficult about this case.
That evening, I returned to see Holmes sitting in his chair playing his wretched fiddle. Making disagreeable noises I should say. “Blast it, Holmes. What is that wretched noise?”
“Wagner, dear boy. Tristan und Isolde. Saw it last week at Covent Garden. Absolutely wonderful music,” he said as those disagreeable sounds kept issuing from his fiddle.
“Well, it’s blasted awful I say.” I turned away from the horrible screeching. Holmes set his fiddle down. Thankful, I turned and looked his way. “You seem quite happy. Has something broken in the case?” I asked.
“Indeed, our little mystery is about to come to its inevitable conclusion,” he said.
“You found something today?”
“No, I knew the solution to our little mystery this morning before I left. I was but giving it time to play out. Come help me search. I am sure the locket is in this room,” he said as he rose and began looking under various things.
I couldn’t believe he could be correct. “That’s impossible. We searched everywhere this morning.” He gave me a tut-tut and started his search. I had to admit that whenever he seemed this certain, he usually was correct. I searched.
To keep Holmes happy, I pulled out the cabinet from the wall just as I had done in the morning and glanced behind knowing there was no possibility of the locket being hidden there. I spied a shiny reflection. There was the locket. “Holmes!” I cried out in great surprise.
He sprang over and picked it up, snapping it open to see the picture of the same lady whom had graced our lodgings earlier in the day. “Eureka. It is the lady’s locket,” he said.
“But how, we looked here this morning.” I was sore puzzled by this development.
“Elementary, my dear Watson.” He went to the door and called for Mrs. Hudson. She came up the stairs. When she entered and saw Holmes with the locket, she nearly stumbled. “Ah, Mrs. Hudson, good of you to come. Oh yes, the locket. You seem most intrigued by it.”
“Why Mr. Holmes, I know nothing of this locket,” she protested.
“Indeed… Please, Mrs. Hudson, please sit down.” He helped her to a chair. “Mrs. Hudson, It seems that this locket has quite magical powers.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, it appears and disappears all of its own. It was left in my room and from there it disappeared. Dr. Watson and I turned this entire flat upside down searching for it. Then, mysteriously, it appeared behind the cabinet where we had searched earlier this morning at the exact moment you made an appearance. Dr. Watson went to his surgery. But I, while appearing to leave to visit my brother, went across the street and under disguise, watched the house all day. Not a person entered or left until I and Dr. Watson reappeared this afternoon. What am I to make of that?”
I had watched Mrs. Hudson as Holmes told his story. Having seen more than a few people under interrogation, I had learned to watch for clues. Mrs. Hudson was not a hardened criminal and could no more hide her feelings than a child. It was on her face for all to see. Somehow, she knew about the locket.
She looked at me and I am sure my face betrayed me. She looked at Holmes and he allowed his face to mirror mine, quite deliberately I’m sure, for Holmes, on a case, was a natural actor and could have graced the stage had he a mind to it. Mrs. Hudson broke down and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, I am sorry Mr. Holmes. I am sorry.”
It was all clear. No one else had access to our flat. Mrs. Hudson had taken the locket. “Mrs. Hudson, if you needed money…” I started.
She turned on me and angrily declared, “I have no need of money.”
“No, indeed,” said Holmes.
Mrs. Hudson turned back to Holmes. “I am sorry Mr. Holmes. It’s just when I saw that floozy and you, and then I heard… I’m not old am I?”
“No, indeed you are not,” he said.
“I think I am still an attractive woman,” she said.
“Mrs. Hudson, you are a handsome woman,” Holmes said.
“Do you think that, Mr. Holmes?” she asked.
“Yes, I do,” he said.
“As I am widowed. There’d be no sin in it,” she said.
“That would be the only drawback, admittedly one that should not be insuperable,” he acknowledged.
Mrs. Hudson sprang from her chair and threw her arms round Holmes’ neck. “Now, Mr. Holmes,” she cried out.
I was aghast at the cheek of the woman throwing herself at him like that. To my complete surprise, Holmes carried her into in his room, kicking the door closed behind. I sat, unable to move, staring at the locket now left carelessly on his side table, trying to piece it all together. Mrs. Hudson must have stolen the locket out of jealousy. Holmes knew it was her because no one else had access to our rooms but she. Elementary, once you know.
I heard a wail coming from his room, a wail I well recognized. “Oh God, Mr. Holmes. That is a monsterrrrrrrrrrrr ahhhhhhhhhhh…….” No doubt Mrs. Hudson had just been pierced by Holmes’ harpoon. I grabbed my coat and purse and hailed a cabbie. As I stepped in I shouted up to him, “Whitechapel, and quickly.”
Did you like the story? Let me know what you thought. I answer all feedback. Please make sure your address is correct and you are set up to accept email from me:
Or you can e-mail me directly
The next story is Among the Savages
Return to Somethings a Little Different homepage
Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2006, 2007, 2008, 2010, 2011, 2013