So here is the Mystery.
Of course, Sherlock Holmes is infinitely fascinated by the whole thing - the Mystery of how the Arkenstone, a near-priceless cultural treasure of a sovereign country, has managed to end up being stuffed into a Christmas goose, left on the doorstep of a flat in London.
There are, of course, some worrisome signs. There is the matter of the fact that Bilbo’s name was left on that goose. There is the fact that the luck of the genetic draw has made it so that Bilbo Baggins and John Watson do resemble each other. It’s normally an amusing sort of coincidence, easily remedied. Now, there is an underlying current of threat to this.
Sherlock Holmes does not take kindly to threats aimed at John Watson.
There is, of course, also one more small matter.
Bilbo did, indeed, steal the Arkenstone once.
But he’d also been telling the truth. Until Sherlock had suddenly produced the Arkenstone in Bilbo’s small living room, the jewel was, to the best of Bilbo’s knowledge, safely back in Erebor. In fact, Bilbo had been done with most of the aspects of his “old business,” thank you very much. He had his books, his armchair, his garden and maybe he was nursing a broken heart, but he had peace, of a sorts.
He no longer had any use for adventure.
CCTV footage of Baker Street (and Lord only knew how Sherlock got hold of THAT) shows that the goose was delivered by a teenaged boy - street urchin by the look of him and Sherlock’s got his so-called Homeless Network searching for the kid now. “The Baker Street Irregulars” John calls them and Christ, since when did his Cousin John end up living the life of a detective hero straight out of the telly?
“And you’re the bloody English version of Indiana fucking Jones so the words “pot,” “kettle,” “calling” and “black” spring to mind,” John tells him with a snort.
Bilbo feels Thorin shake with silent laughter and he none too gently elbows the man in the side making him “oof!” softly.
“You know, you could let me go now,” Bilbo tells him. “If you want to avoid further injury, that is.”
“I’ll suffer it,” Thorin answers quite calmly. “It’s no less than I deserve. And now that I’ve got you, I find myself suddenly disinclined to let you go anywhere.” And he flashes Bilbo a bit of That Smile, the one Bilbo has privately labeled “Panty-Dropper Number 3” and God damn Thorin for at least managing to figure out that Bilbo is ridiculously, ridiculously weak where That Smile is concerned.
In the corner of the room where Fili and Kili are curled up on beanbag chairs that should really be in the boys’ own flat but have managed to make their home in Bilbo’s own living room anyway, the boys cringe. Or at least Fili cringes, while Kili tries to shield his eyes and comfort his older brother at the same time.
“It’s okay, Fee - Uncle will probably settle down once he’s gotten around to giving our Mister Boggins a good and proper snog.”
Fili pats Kili on the head. “Still got a lot to learn, Kee. Trust me - it’s not going to stop there.”
“And of course, if you two would like to get to the reunion fight and make-up sex sooner rather than later,” Sherlock says waspishly. “I would appreciate it if you start telling me what you know.”
John facepalms.
Bilbo glares at Sherlock levelly.
But he’s got a point.
So Bilbo leans back against Thorin, because if he’s going to be Bilbo’s chair for the moment, then he might as well take advantage. He carefully pretends he didn’t just shiver delightedly at Thorin stealing a quick kiss from the back of his neck.
And Bilbo starts to tell his story.
It really starts with Erebor, which is one of those tiny, yet prosperous European countries that still have a working, stable monarchy. Erebor is rich with gold, silver, iron and jewels. Mining is a major industry. Its people are tough, hardy, utterly no-nonsense and many of them are experts in engineering, architecture, jewelry-making, clock-making, and smithing. Even the ancient arts of swordmaking and the creation of other old weapons are still practiced. And like the Gurkhas of Nepal, they make fearsome soldiers.
Which is why the people of Erebor didn’t simply sit back when a Nazi general named Klaus Smaug, nicknamed “The Red Dragon” came to conquer the country in the name of Hitler and his Third Reich. King Thror, Thorin’s grandfather, led the vicious guerilla campaign designed to drive out Smaug and the Nazis. The King succeeded and freed his country.
But not before Smaug had managed to smuggle away a considerable amount of the treasures of Erebor - gold, silver, jewels, artworks and the Arkenstone. Decades had been spent trying to find the lost treasure and Bilbo had done his own preliminary investigations into tracing the whereabouts of the Lost Treasure of Erebor. Yes, he’d started it as a purely academic exercise, if only to try and get it away from the hands of hacks like Dr. Albert Smeagol, his worst rival in the community of historians and archaeologists. It was known that Smeagol promised a share of the treasure to any private collector who would fund his research. And that the treasure, would, you know, be brought back to the UK for “further study” and “research purposes.” And if a few pieces somehow wound up in auction or the black market because they were “mysteriously stolen” then that was just part of the risks one would take, right?
Bilbo would prefer that the treasure be returned to its people - nothing else would do.
And that was when he’d been approached by Thorin Durin, then the Crown Prince of Erebor. Thorin had raised a company of trusted men to find the treasure and restore it to his country. Bilbo had been only too willing to help. But of course, there were complications.
Smeagol and his team of treasure hunters had been one of them.
The terrorist Azog was another. Azog had long been trying to overthrow the government of Erebor and install himself as the new “Great Leader” - never mind if his so-called political platform stood for “democracy” while he and his group of fanatics regularly killed innocent civilians in their attacks.
Now, the happy ending to this story would be that Thorin and Company succeeded into getting the treasure first and were able to bring it back, intact, to Erebor. And if Bilbo carefully left out any mention of what had been a budding romance between him and the Prince, then that was his own bloody business, thank you. Of course, things hadn’t ended that way. Not quite.
But basically, Bilbo had ended up using the Arkenstone to gain the cooperation of Smeagol’s group of treasure hunters, who were not, in fact, just after the treasure for profit. Bard and his team were actually interested in the treasure being as part of it had belonged to their families - they too were natives of Erebor, though not of what was called “Khazad” descent, which was a proud majority in the country. Nonetheless, they too were descendants of those the Nazis had determined to be “unfit” to be part of the Third Reich and they too had equal rights in a share of that treasure. And Bard was only too happy to leave Dr. Smeagol out in the cold while his people and Thorin’s successfully fended off Azog and his group.
And if Bilbo came out of this adventure having earned the wrath of the Crown Prince and losing his love, then, it was all right, so long as Thorin Durin and his Company survived and the treasure restored to its rightful owners at last. Of course, Bilbo left that last unsaid, sticking quietly to simple facts and trying not to register each time Thorin’s arms around him tightened briefly, as if to comfort.
So much for Bilbo’s side of the story.
“Interesting,” Sherlock answers after Bilbo is done and of course, the jammy bastard would know everything else that Bilbo had left out - all the personal, private things - but apparently John had taught him some measure of discretion after all. Or maybe Sherlock himself had long known what the word meant and was keeping mum on his own. “Of course, if His Majesty would deign to to tell us his own tale, not to mention the recent interest in his marital status in the press - “
Thorin winces.
Fili swears. “Durin’s beard, is it that thing again - “
Thorin holds up a hand. “Peace, nephew. I’ll talk.” And then, with a brief, regretful look at Bilbo, he starts.
- end -