Work Text:
We were seated at Breakfast, a warm morning of May, Holmes and I.
I was reading the Daily Telegraph, relating the fashionable and sumptuous wedding of our last poorly noble client, Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Falstein.
My companion was with a cup of coffee in one hand and a boiled-egg in the other, as fresh and trim as possible.
- ‘This unfortunate King of Bohemia !’ I blurted out, pointing at the newspaper with my egg-spoon. And my words appeared to afford Holmes considerable amusement.
- ‘Was he unfortunate, then ?’ said he at last, sardonically.
I began to run back in my mind, the principal events in the King of Bohemia's story ; he was not so unhappy, as my friend had solved his case and - moreover the man was such a boastful and arrogant fellow, unfortunately (and I thought it was the right word at the time) such men were usually happy.
Yet, for not caring to retract my epithet—and less to explain it—and least of all, to twist my tale (like men of lore) to serve a system—after a hum and a haw, I went on—
- 'The King of Bohemia, and please give me the eggs and a couple of rashers Holmes,' I replied, 'was unfortunate, as thus—That taking great pleasure and delight in navigation and all sort of sea affairs—and there happening throughout the whole kingdom of Bohemia, to be no sea-port town whatever—'
- ‘Dear me - You sound very confused this morning, as you may recall Bohemia has sea-ports in winter, friend Watson. I rather expected you would be, indeed you really drank too much of this excellent Montrachet, yesterday evening when we came back from Covent garden -and, after the night we –‘
- I coughed twice and, thanks God, he didn’t speak out his train of thoughts.
- ‘But maybe you said that because of Irene Adler, such a loss for our hero’ – (and an expression of disgust written upon his face showed out that he was ironical in his heroical qualification of the ‘fortunate’ newly bridegroom.) ‘as she is happily married, in love and loved by the dark and dashing Godfrey Norton,’ - and with a malignant grin - ‘Don’t be jealous of their happiness my dear boy..’
- ‘I’m certainly not,’ I cried. 'Must I remind you that I was not the man whom she gave a sovereign, – and I raised my voice – 'A man, who decided to wear it on his watch-chain in memory of the occasion.'
- 'Tut tut tut, Doctor - if I remember it well, at the time you found the well-known adventuress Irene Adler beautiful, and never were you more heartily ashamed of yourself in your life than when you conspired against her with ME, you spoke of her grace and kindliness...
- '… With which she waited upon YOU, Holmes, a poor old injured clergyman !!'
- ' And don't you keep on calling her The Woman, Watson ?! I never said that, it’s so ‘cliché’ !
- ' The Woman, yes, she deserved the surname, ‘c’est vendeur’[1], and last but not least ‘She thought I was handsome’.
- ‘ Very indeed, but you didn’t say as much in your story ‘a Scandal in Bohemia’, did you ?
- ' You know well my dear man that I couldnt write ‘'Good night, Mister Sherlock Holmes, did you enjoy your walk with the handsome doctor ?’ She was the cleverest one in London – And had she not fled the country, you would find yourself only in the third position now..
- 'Pshaw! I didn’t notice her at all, that evening in the street, in front of our locked door, and if you hadn’t recognised her…
- ‘You didn’t notice but you kept the sovereign’ I said.
- 'It was more'… (was he drunk too ? Or in an euclidean mood ? I couldn't tell)
'1/ 'A reminder of her cleverness (which I revere).'
'2/ A reminder of what Love (which I revere above all other things) could make us do…'
'2/a Against mighty Kings, 2/b Against the world,' he said with a sudden vehemence,'like you she was brave'
'and never, as you know well my dear, a reminder of my utter passion for "the Woman." And what was more laughable than choosing Sherlock Holmes for witness at one’s wedding…a calculating machine, a man against passion…or so they say… You know how much I can be forgiving with crimes of passion, don't you Doctor ?
I was both relieved with the first part of his discourse, and a little afraid with the latter, 'the crime-thing' and the glare he darted me then.
And yet I couldn't help speaking again, but only, I thought, to tease him
- ‘You staggered back, white with chagrin and surprise, when you learnt that she had left England - 'Never to return.' And I uttered the three last words dramatically, 'détachant chaque syllabe' [1].
‘So... Well, this is why all people say you are in love with Irene Adler’ said I, with a feigned offended voice.
'Lestrade and Gregson, Wiggins and even your brother Mycroft, who said to me last week that…
- ‘They are a pack of liars, I believe…’ cried Holmes.
- 'They are somehow or other deceived in this matter.’ I replied.
- 'and Mycroft did it on purpose – to annoy you – or more certainly to annoy ME'
Our hearts, both of Holmes and I, were alike subject to sudden over-flowings ;—a short silence ensued
- ‘You know I came back to London because I was wounded in the knee at the battle of Maiwand’
- ‘Wounded in the knee ? Really Watson, according to your works, my dear fellow, you were struck on the shoulder, or later wounded in the leg ! The knee is more specific’
- ‘Stop it now, Holmes, you know what really happened in Afghanistan*’
- ‘Yes I figured it out, some day the true story must be told my dear man ! At present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight that it may have an influence upon Watsonian history.' Holmes laughed.
- 'Besides,' said I, ignoring his jibe, and resuming my discourse—but in a gayer accent—'if it had not been for that single shot, I had never, been in love—'
- ‘So, you were once in love, John !’ said my intimate friend, and I could see from the little questioning glances which he kept shooting at me, that he believed my statement. ‘I don't know what to say…' he whispered then, blushing slightly.
Toby the dog barked at his words, but he didn’t seem to notice –
When Mrs Turner finally entered our sitting-room to clear up the remnants of our breakfast, Holmes startled, woke up from his little ‘rêverie’, but he refused to give her his plate, which was loaded with seven eggshells. Eggshells that looked like seven besieged castles, if you were, like me gifted with a great imagination, and with burgundy wine rushing in your blood…Kindly, she just noticed he was ravenous this morning..
And, as if he was an honest lawyer speaking before a British jury
- ‘Pray hear me…’ he said, and I restrained myself not to answer ‘an’ please your honour’ like Trim in 'Tristram Shandy'–
After a dramatic pause, to gather the full attention of his audience, Holmes looked at me with a mischievous glint in his dreamy grey eyes, and as I looked at him looking at me, I scorned to change my state with kings…with or without seven castles…or with Irene Adler of divine repute, or with anyone else in the world. Then leaning forwards, and laying his hand gently upon my shoulder, my lover declared solemnly
- ‘What a sentimental journey breakfast is, with you my dear Watson !’ And he swallowed his last boiled-egg with a grin.