![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Author: Karadin
Fandom: SHERLOCK BBC
Principal Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating PG
*takes place after series two*
Genre: Humour, Mystery, Friendship
(Can be seen as pre-slash if you put those goggles on)
Sherlock Holmes and related characters created by Arthur Conan Doyle
Sherlock (BBC 2010) created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss
This is a work of fiction; no remuneration is taken by the author.
Illustrations copyright Karadin 2011 all rights reserved.
Synopsis: John Watson takes on the challenge of finding the Perfect Present for the World's Only Consulting Detective and the complications that ensue when he finds It.
Part One of Three That will post from Xmas to New Year's Eve.
word count 4.661
***
John Watson watched as Detective Inspector Lestrade locked the top drawer of his desk, stating with emphasis as he turned the key. "You know that partner of yours could have this out in a half-second."
John chuckled. "The point of giving you my mobile is so it won't be taken apart, set on fire or otherwise irreparably damaged by my flatmate while I'm away."
"Ah, the now legendary Present-Hunting Weekend," Lestrade grinned. "Himself can't be arsed to celebrate Crimbo like anyone else?"
"The mission-quest-thing was my idea." John held up his hand, "Since I've discovered Sherlock Holmes' Christmas list is a thing of beauty; hundreds of names long, with each individual on it cross referenced by statistics of their height, weight, blood groups, shoe sizes, hobbies, foodstuffs-with-corresponding-allergies and even favourite colours." The doctor smiled, recalling that their landlady Mrs. Hudson's information was annotated by 'plum no cerise'.
John Watson had discovered the list whilst updating his blog with Sherlock Holmes looking over his shoulder as he scanned the Excel spreadsheet.
"This is incredible, Sherlock! How long did this take?"
The detective's response was a smirk of justifiable pride.
When John deduced that the reason his name was not on the list was due to the fact Sherlock had used his laptop - and being a project for the greater good he could not bollock him for it - his partner surprised him by remarking,
"John Watson is not there because I keep all his data here," and he tapped his forehead, "... on my 'hard drive.'"
John took a moment to recall the feeling of unabashed pleasure he had felt at Sherlock's admission, only to have his reverie broken by Lestrade.
"So, he's trading in favours. Still, all that organizing must take a bit of work." The Inspector folded his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. "This doesn't do much for Sherlock Holmes' self-promoted reputation as a sociopath."
"Oh, if you ask our Favourite Consulting Detective, he'll tell you." John imitated his flatmate's imperious expression. "My networks of informants need to be rewarded to continue their efforts. Our clients, John, who provide the gifts of goods and services, will be reminded of our invaluable assistance. At the social gatherings of the season they will be inclined to give us referrals; hopefully one in hundreds will result in an interesting case."
John couldn't help smiling. "I knew from the second day we met that Sherlock loved Christmas as much as a serial murder, so I said, "If it's not the giving of gifts you enjoy, I'm guessing you like to receive them."
"Everyone likes presents." Sherlock replied and shoving his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown, he wandered over to the breakfast table where Mrs. Hudson had left a tin of homemade biscuits.
Sherlock pulled off the lid pausing before biting into a chocolate shortbread. “Not that any of the gifts I receive are surprising in any way."
John giggled as he told Lestrade the Great Detective was 'pouting' as he said this.
"You knew that I was giving you a scarf last year?"
"A simple deduction. You pointed out a fortnight before the holiday that my old scarf was looking ragged. Also, the dimensions of the box were indicative of the contents and the shop where you bought it."
Sherlock had quickly added, seeing the expression of dismay on the doctor's face,
"I like my new scarf or I wouldn't wear it. I would have used it in an experiment, like that particularly awful jumper Harry sent you. You observed the weave of my former scarf and its colour and found something similar, though stripes are to your preference not mine."
"I liked the Daniel Craig Bond DVD's."
"As I knew you would." Sherlock sat down at the table, the biscuit tin held between his hands as if he were guarding it.
John sat down across from his flatmate. "So, what you would really like this Hols, is to be surprised."
Sherlock nodded. "Useful gifts are expected at Christmas from well meaning Aunts, or siblings."
John paused to scowl as Sherlock had done and Lestrade laughed, aware of the animosity between the Consulting Detective and his elder brother Mycroft.
Sherlock had continued, "... things like awful jumpers or socks or being coerced into rehab; but everyone wants a Father Christmas gift, the Perfect Present, not inherently practical or useful but necessary to one's well-being. The gift you don't know that you've wanted until you hold it in your hands."
Lestrade blinked, leaning forward. "A Perfect Present? I can't remember one of those since I was a kid, getting my first football."
John nodded. "So, I asked him, "How long has it been, Sherlock, since you've had a Perfect Present?"
"When I was eight years old I was given the Strad." The detective turned to look at his priceless violin, ensconced in its case beside his music stand.
Lestrade sighed, "So you promised, right then and there that you'd get Sherlock Holmes Who-Knows-Everyone-and-Everything-in-a-Glance a Perfect Present?"
The doctor threw up his hands. "What could I do? He looked like a little lost child. Tt was disturbingly adorable and completely manipulative on his part ,but when I think of all he's done, all the gifts are anonymous, no one knows Sherlock is the donor. No one's tried to surprise him with a gift in ages."
"You gotta put some blame on Himself for that with his anti-social behaviors."
"I'm pretty certain that's an attempt to keep from being disappointed on numerous levels."
Lestrade shook his head in wonder. "You're tilting at windmills you know."
"I'm hoping here that the effort will count for something, which is why I've made him agree to certain conditions." John stood up from his chair, pulling on the lapels of his brown leather coat.
"You mean the Tinker-Tailor-Spy stuff?" the Inspector indicated with a wave of his hand John's new clothes. "I suppose he'd be insufferable and know where you'd been because of the mud on your shoes."
"The only way I can surprise Sherlock is to disappear, which is why you're keeping my mobile, watch and the clothes and shoes I came over with - I wouldn't be surprised if they were tagged - I'll get out of London where I can't be in view of CCTV and use only cash. Thanks by the way, for helping."
"It's no skin off my nose, but what if a case comes up?" Lestrade asked.
"I'm going to be watching The Science of Deduction site from internet cafs. If Sherlock posts the signal we agreed to in case of danger - and I mean of the extreme sort - I'll contact him."
John didn't mention that the signal he and his partner had agreed to was COME HOME, the doctor hauled his luggage over his shoulder and stretched his arm out to shake hands with the Detective Inspector.
"Good luck. By the way, will there be reciprocation? Is Sherlock going to find you a present as well?"
"Oh, yes. He's going to make me a gift!
"God help us all." Lestrade groaned, wiping his face with his hands as John Watson laughed his way out the door.
***
John gave himself a deadline of 3 days and 2 nights to acquire a gift for Sherlock. He would not call any of his friends or online acquaintances for help as he was certain that if Sherlock tracked him down any surprise would be ruined. He supposed the best way to elude the detective was to pick a random destination.
The doctor looked at the timetables in Waterloo station before flipping a 10p coin to direct him north or south. He purchased a ticket and boarded the train, taking a seat in an empty first class carriage with his holdall between his feet, reading a Dick Francis paperback he had bought at the newsagents.
During the journey John found himself reaching into the pocket of his coat for a mobile that wasn't there, waiting for constant texts that didn't come, as he tried to settle into an unusual sense of quiet.
John hoped that Sherlock was being a good Consulting Detective and staying at the flat - or the lab, hopefully not the morgue - working on his present.
***
When John arrived at Salisbury, he found a hostel in an ancient Tudor house which would have been frequented by students and tourist during the busy seasons, tonight he was the only guest. He was given a key to the front door and the mistress of the house was willing to put his holdall in a locked cupboard, the door of which was teetering on worn hinges. On the High Street John stopped for a bacon sarnie and cuppa before shopping; but was disappointed to find the shops at Maltings were either the same as those he could visit on Marylebone Road or twee specialty boutiques geared to tourists.
Then John spotted a fellow Afghan vet outside Reeve the Baker using the skills of deduction Sherlock had instilled in him, as well as his own ability to spot a military man by his upright posture and bearing.
John and David Plaskett - of the 88th Postal and Courier Regiment - struck up an immediate accord and after trading a few war stories, David escorted John round to the outdoor markets locals frequented.
While many of the goods displayed were distinctly interesting - John could imagine the inferences Sherlock might have found in old Jasperware, antique sledges and worn tapestry chairs regarding their former owners - none of the items seemed intriguing enough for John's brilliant, exhilarating, exasperating, flatmate.
John exchanged phone numbers with David, writing the ex-soldier's down in a small notebook - now that his mobile was safe with Lestrade - and stopped at a chip shop for supper. He spied a flyer pinned to a notice board promoting a free holiday concert at the Cathedral and attended this before returning to the hostel to sleep.
The first floor was divided, with the men's side on the right. The ancient house had a floor which warped at almost 40 degrees and the headboard of the single bed s had its feet cut off to accommodate the angle. John felt disoriented, as if on the deck of an old sailing ship and could not read his novel. As he lay quite still, thinking about Sherlock's gift, John determined that if he were to succeed in his quest, he had to narrow his choices to a category.
John considering the interests of Sherlock Holmes, running the gamut from men's designer fashion to obscure poisons and drifted off with digitalis rather than sugarplums dancing through his head. When he woke at the crack of dawn, it was with this revelation; when in need, find a consultant.
Dressing quickly, John slid his payment for the room under the door of the hostel owner's bedroom and jogged to the railway station to buy a ticket for the first train to Oxford.
***
John had never visited the University town before, but the scenes that greeted him, narrow cobbled streets and medieval towers of blond coloured stone were familiar from frequent viewings of Inspector Morse.
He hiked up Hythe Bridge Street toward the Ashmolean Museum where the Lead Curator of Eastern Art, a Mr. Wong, had assisted Sherlock during a case involving forgeries of ancient Japanese Ukiyo-e prints. This gentleman had extended an invitation to tour the museum, and Sherlock had been enthusiastic at the time - John had listened raptly to Sherlock's stories of living in Tokyo after leaving university - but the detective had been too busy to follow up.
As luck would have it, Kevin Wong was at the museum early on a Saturday and willing to meet John. Mr. Wong proved to be a young Asian man in his early-thirties, slender and golden-skinned with dark brown hair in a stylish shag cut. His clothes were casual and when he reached out to take John's hand, the doctor noticed a sandalwood mala bracelet on his right wrist.
"Dr. Watson, this is such a pleasure. I'm sorry that Mr. Holmes is not with you. We had so many interesting conversations."
"I'm sorry to trouble you, and the name's John."
"It's not any trouble, the Ashmolean owes a great debt to you and your partner. Call me Kevin or Kev, my friends do. Have you visited us before?"
"No, I've never been to Oxford. I thought that the museum would be smaller, somehow."
The curator's face opened with a large smile. "We expanded in 2009, adding two new floors, including a Japanese tea house."
Kevin took John's bag, handing it to the guard at the security desk for safekeeping. The curator then led the doctor through the galleries, working their way upward through the museum.
"Can I ask a question? Sherlock mentioned to me that your surname is Chinese, but your specialty is Japanese art."
Kev smiled, having been asked this question numerous times. "My family is full Chinese, but I was born and grew up in Oxford. I've certainly an interest and through knowledge of my Chinese heritage, but the culture of Japan appeals to me as well."
"Oh, I get that," John replied. "I'm part Scots, but you can't get me into a kilt."
"From what I've heard, Scots clan tartans are a Victorian invention," Kev said, and both men laughed as they entered the exhibit that Mr. Wong had recently devised, a display of brilliant woodcut prints of Kabuki actors. John regaled Kev with a story - heavily edited - of meeting a living treasure, Japan's leading onnagata, on a case.
There were more of the Ashmolean's great treasures to view as they continued the tour, such as the Messiah Stradivarius.
John astonished his guide by remarking, "Sherlock has one that looks just like it!"
When informed that the antique violin had never been played, John had a sudden inspiration, but the curator visibly shuddered at the idea of allowing anyone to 'try out' the Messiah.
"Bugger," John sighed. At Kev's expression of surprise, he explained, "the reason I came up this weekend was to find a Christmas present for Sherlock. He likes all things Japanese, so I took the chance that you might have some suggestions."
"I can imagine someone like Mr. Holmes would be difficult to buy for."
"You have no idea," John said with a sigh.
"We have beautiful things in our gift shop."
"I'm certain you do, but he's not really a gift-shop type of person." John thought on Sherlock's bespoke clothing, antique books and esoteric decorations and slid his hands into his trouser pockets, allowing his shoulders to slump in resignation.
Discovering the doctor had only eaten a few sausage rolls on the train for breakfast, Kev suggested that they visit the museum's Dining Room on the rooftop, where both men ordered from the festive set menu and discussed John's dilemma.
"Say you narrow your search to something Japanese," Kev said as he sampled the braised lamb shank, "... that still encompasses pottery, textiles, paintings and weapons."
"Weapons?" John asked, his curiosity piqued.
Kev nodded. "A mate of mine has a shop over his dojo - the martial arts school where I train - Gareth carries some antiques, which include Japanese katana, swords, you know."
John chuckled. "The idea of Sherlock with a sword is rather frightening. It's not that he can't fight, he's an expert fencer."
"There are other things than swords, menpo, which are helmets," Kevin flicked the fingers of his left hand as he recited, "... naginata, shuriken."
"Throwing stars?" John glanced up, with a gleam of interest. "That might just be something that might appeal to Sherlock, with the added attraction they would stick in the walls rather than go through them."
Kevin's eyebrows rose at this remark. "Shuriken can resemble small daggers, nails, even hairpins, but they aren't just for show. You wouldn't want to get hit with one of these in the neck!"
After lunch Kevin collected John's holdall from the security desk and the men walked to the staff car park. Kev took a moment to show off his restored green Morris Minor two-seater. John's holdall was dropped in the boot and they were off.
Gareth Hobbs, who waited at the door of his dojo - in a converted cinema - was not much taller than John but much broader in build. His hair was long and dark, pulled back into a topknot, and he wore the Gi uniform of a Ju-Jitsu Master.
"Dr. Watson, you look just like the pictures on your website!" The proprietor slapped John on his shoulder in a good-natured way, the doctor was only grateful it was his right side and resisted rubbing out the sting with the flat of his palm.
As Gareth led the way through the wide vaulted space, students in silver and black Gi practiced their kata on polished wooden floors. A set of stairs at the back lead up to a small but impressive shop with deep red painted walls hung with vertical banners silkscreened with Japanese clan designs.
John and Kev were not the only customers. The doctor noticed a lean older man with a patrician nose and stooped shoulders standing beside the shop register. Never out of habit as the assistant to the World's Only Consulting Detective, John took in the following details at a glance, the gentleman was dressed in a red button up cardigan which was well worn and well-loved, indicated by careful mending along the hem and elbows. His hair was short and he wore a neatly trimmed beard and moustache.
On the counter before the gentleman was a canvas bag holding various items and John deduced he might be a fellow antiques dealer.
Gareth guided John and Kev to a set of display cases before excusing himself to confer with the dealer. John peered into the case to see a row of metal ovals and circles, shaped with flowers and cranes, bamboo and tigers. John thought aloud that they appeared too beautiful to be thrown around. Kev laughed, informing the doctor that the round pieces of metal were in fact tsuba, or sword guards, not a type of shuriken.
"The soul of a warrior resides in his sword, so the finest swords are not only deadly, but works of art. If you cannot purchase a katana, the antique guards still highly collectible."
John moved from the case to study vases and lacquered boxes on shelves; the suits of armour were out of the question, John's attention was captured by a coat displayed in a box frame on the wall, painted with a design featuring a human skull. Kev informed him this was a fireman's coat from ancient Edo and John whistled at the amount of zero's on the label below.
"I don't suppose there's anything else here with a skull? Sherlock likes them."
"Oh, of course! Siger!" Kev knocked the side of his head in a pantomime of frustration.
John was taken aback for a moment before he recalled that anyone who followed his blog would know the name of the skull that took pride of place on their mantelpiece at 221B Baker Street.
"Let's ask Gareth."
But the shop's owner shook his head. "That fireman's coat is all I have right now. I'd go as far as knocking off a hundred pound on the price."
"Sorry, still a thousand out of my range."
"I could put you on a list when something comes up," Gareth offered.
"Thanks for that," John replied, "but I need something this weekend."
The older man in the cardigan now turned toward the doctor.
"Skulls, do you say? Does it have to be Japanese? I do have a particular memento mori in my inventory."
"Bart, are you pinching my customers?" Yet Gareth smiled as he rolled up a felt cloth on the counter.
"A memento-what?" John asked.
"Memento-mori," The dealer reached out to shake John's hand, introducing himself as Charles Bartholomew, or Bart as he preferred to be called, former Librarian for Jesus College and a specialist in Victorian antiques since his retirement.
"From the Latin, translated as 'remember you will die.' There was quite a fad during Medieval Europe for funerary art depicting dancing skeletons and skulls, revived during Victoria's reign after the death of Prince Albert as the Queen remained in mourning."
Reaching into his canvas bag, Bart pulled out a leather drawstring pouch and opened it to reveal an ivory-coloured pocket watch. The face of the watch was decorated with circles denoting each hour, each circle delicately hand-painted with Arabic numerals in gold. A smaller dial at the bottom displayed seconds. There was no glass cover to the watch, so the painting showed a bit of wear.
"Most memento mori are timepieces, an apt reminder of mortality," Bart explained. "This watch was possibly made Germany before the First World War, alas, there is no maker's mark. However, it is rare for such a watch of this age to retain its original chain and key."
And here was the skull Bart had mentioned, a carving the size of John's thumbnail depending from the chain. In his thoughts John named it 'Little Siger'. Without being prompted, the dealer placed the watch and chain directly into John's hands and the doctor was surprised to find its surface warm to the touch. On the back was an inscription.
"Sine Pari."
"That is Latin for 'Without Equal'" Bart explained with a shrug which indicated to John that the dealer thought the watch might be more valuable without it. "It's unusual. Inscriptions would usually say 'tempus fugit' which means time is fleeting or some other variant on the theme."
John thought the inscription fit his flatmate perfectly.
"Does it work?" Kev asked, leaning over John's shoulder.
"It's still functional." Bart lifted the chain and used the key to wind it. "I would advise that this be kept as a showpiece, not an item for everyday use."
"You're interested in selling it?" John asked as he was about to lift the watch to his ear, but this proved unnecessary as the clicking of the gears inside were quite audible.
"I am in the process of reducing my collections. As a young man I was quite the hoarder, now I find pleasure in paring myself down to the essentials. This watch was an interesting find, but I'm not particularly attached to it."
John found himself nodding as he gently rubbed the back of the watch casing absently with his thumb, sensing a faint grain in its texture.
"Is the watch enameled?" Kev asked.
"I believe so," the older gentleman replied.
But John realized the material of the watch was familiar to an army doctor who lived with a Consulting Detective and his more grisly experiments.
He was holding an antique pocket watch made entirely of bone.
As to what type of bone, John had no idea. Would Sherlock be eager to investigate? John licked his lips.
"Now, before you make up your mind," Bart was saying, "open up the back. Just there at that small indent."
John used the edge of his fingernail to pry up the back of the watch. Inside he spied what he supposed were typical watch works, spinning cogs and wheels, yet the only part of the interior that was metal was one coil of dull gold, all of the other tiny mechanisms were made of the same material as the watch.
"Interesting, isn't it?" said Bart rubbing his hands together.
"It is, that," John admitted, hoping that the tone of his voice was one of mild interest and not the breathless excitement he was feeling.
I've found Sherlock's Perfect Present.
"What are you asking for it?" John tried to calculate what was left of his cash reserves and wished for a moment that Sherlock were here to help him negotiate, his flatmate had often told him he lacked a proper 'poker face'.
The dealer folded his hands before him as he stated, quickly, "Three hundred and fifty pound."
Before John could make a counter-offer Kevin spoke up."Two hundred fifty."
John's mouth dropped open.
Gareth, who walked out past the counter, responded with, "Three hundred!"
"Wait!" John said, just at the time that Bart stated,
"Let the gentlemen have a word!"
"Do you know who this is for?" Kevin said, gesturing to the watch in John's hand. "Sherlock Holmes!"
While John appreciated the compliment, he was certain this information would not help his cause and this proven when Bart said,
"Then I'm thinking he could pay as much as three fifty!"
John stepped forward in an attempt to control the negotations. "Mr. Bartholomew, I'm interested in purchasing this watch, but I've only got so much cash on hand."
The older man stroked his beard with the tips of his fingers.
"You could put down some as an installment.."
"But it's a Christmas present!" Kevin said.
"Three hundred, cash seems a fair price to me." Gareth chimed in. "With a bit coming to me as commission, as this is my shop, in case anyone has forgotten."
John sighed, knowing Sherlock would have wanted him to barter further. He turned toward Mr. Bartholmew.
"I probably shouldn't admit this, but I wanted to find my best friend the perfect present, and this is made for him. If three hundred is acceptable to you and to Mr. Hobbs, you have a deal."
The three gentlemen stared at the doctor, and then at each other.
Gareth put his hands in the pockets of his Gi. "Seeing it's Christmas, I could forget about the commission."
Mr.Bartholmew nodded. "I'd be willing to take two seventy five."
John could only laugh. "Gareth, you deserve a commission and Bart, I certainly wouldn't want you to feel you'd taken less for the watch than it's worth. Three hundred is fine."
The older man rubbed his hands together, his eyes sparkling with pleasure as he placed the watch back in its leather pouch.
"Inside you'll find the receipt for the watch from the shop where I purchased it back in '76 in Niece. This is the item's provenance or record of ownership, which makes it more valuable."
"In my profession we call that a 'chain of evidence.'” John smiled as he pulled out his wallet.
"If you'd be willing to mention the shop in your blog, Dr. Watson," Gareth suggested,"I’d be grateful."
But Kev went back to a set of shelves to select a pair of lacquer boxes.
"I want to donate something to the cause! John, pick one of these."
John selected the box with a design of koi fish, waiting beside the counter as Gareth placed the pouch with the watch inside the lacquer box, wrapping everything neatly in white and blue printed paper and placing it in a plastic carrier bag.
"Thanks, Kev," John said. "It’s been wonderful to meet you and I wouldn't have found this," he held up the bag, "... without your help."
The young man grinned. "I feel like I've just walked into one of your stories, Dr. Watson. What do you say we all go round the corner for a pint and celebrate?"
John nodded, in a buoyant good mood, happy to spend time with his new friends in Oxford before heading back to London and Sherlock Holmes.
***
TBC
Part Two Wherein Sherlock and John exchange presents
http://karadin.livejournal.com/3436806.html
Part Three Sherlock must solve a problem - Posting New Year Week
Fandom: SHERLOCK BBC
Principal Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating PG
*takes place after series two*
Genre: Humour, Mystery, Friendship
(Can be seen as pre-slash if you put those goggles on)
Sherlock Holmes and related characters created by Arthur Conan Doyle
Sherlock (BBC 2010) created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss
This is a work of fiction; no remuneration is taken by the author.
Illustrations copyright Karadin 2011 all rights reserved.
Synopsis: John Watson takes on the challenge of finding the Perfect Present for the World's Only Consulting Detective and the complications that ensue when he finds It.
Part One of Three That will post from Xmas to New Year's Eve.
word count 4.661
***
John Watson watched as Detective Inspector Lestrade locked the top drawer of his desk, stating with emphasis as he turned the key. "You know that partner of yours could have this out in a half-second."
John chuckled. "The point of giving you my mobile is so it won't be taken apart, set on fire or otherwise irreparably damaged by my flatmate while I'm away."
"Ah, the now legendary Present-Hunting Weekend," Lestrade grinned. "Himself can't be arsed to celebrate Crimbo like anyone else?"
"The mission-quest-thing was my idea." John held up his hand, "Since I've discovered Sherlock Holmes' Christmas list is a thing of beauty; hundreds of names long, with each individual on it cross referenced by statistics of their height, weight, blood groups, shoe sizes, hobbies, foodstuffs-with-corresponding-allergies and even favourite colours." The doctor smiled, recalling that their landlady Mrs. Hudson's information was annotated by 'plum no cerise'.
John Watson had discovered the list whilst updating his blog with Sherlock Holmes looking over his shoulder as he scanned the Excel spreadsheet.
"This is incredible, Sherlock! How long did this take?"
The detective's response was a smirk of justifiable pride.
When John deduced that the reason his name was not on the list was due to the fact Sherlock had used his laptop - and being a project for the greater good he could not bollock him for it - his partner surprised him by remarking,
"John Watson is not there because I keep all his data here," and he tapped his forehead, "... on my 'hard drive.'"
John took a moment to recall the feeling of unabashed pleasure he had felt at Sherlock's admission, only to have his reverie broken by Lestrade.
"So, he's trading in favours. Still, all that organizing must take a bit of work." The Inspector folded his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. "This doesn't do much for Sherlock Holmes' self-promoted reputation as a sociopath."
"Oh, if you ask our Favourite Consulting Detective, he'll tell you." John imitated his flatmate's imperious expression. "My networks of informants need to be rewarded to continue their efforts. Our clients, John, who provide the gifts of goods and services, will be reminded of our invaluable assistance. At the social gatherings of the season they will be inclined to give us referrals; hopefully one in hundreds will result in an interesting case."
John couldn't help smiling. "I knew from the second day we met that Sherlock loved Christmas as much as a serial murder, so I said, "If it's not the giving of gifts you enjoy, I'm guessing you like to receive them."
"Everyone likes presents." Sherlock replied and shoving his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown, he wandered over to the breakfast table where Mrs. Hudson had left a tin of homemade biscuits.
Sherlock pulled off the lid pausing before biting into a chocolate shortbread. “Not that any of the gifts I receive are surprising in any way."
John giggled as he told Lestrade the Great Detective was 'pouting' as he said this.
"You knew that I was giving you a scarf last year?"
"A simple deduction. You pointed out a fortnight before the holiday that my old scarf was looking ragged. Also, the dimensions of the box were indicative of the contents and the shop where you bought it."
Sherlock had quickly added, seeing the expression of dismay on the doctor's face,
"I like my new scarf or I wouldn't wear it. I would have used it in an experiment, like that particularly awful jumper Harry sent you. You observed the weave of my former scarf and its colour and found something similar, though stripes are to your preference not mine."
"I liked the Daniel Craig Bond DVD's."
"As I knew you would." Sherlock sat down at the table, the biscuit tin held between his hands as if he were guarding it.
John sat down across from his flatmate. "So, what you would really like this Hols, is to be surprised."
Sherlock nodded. "Useful gifts are expected at Christmas from well meaning Aunts, or siblings."
John paused to scowl as Sherlock had done and Lestrade laughed, aware of the animosity between the Consulting Detective and his elder brother Mycroft.
Sherlock had continued, "... things like awful jumpers or socks or being coerced into rehab; but everyone wants a Father Christmas gift, the Perfect Present, not inherently practical or useful but necessary to one's well-being. The gift you don't know that you've wanted until you hold it in your hands."
Lestrade blinked, leaning forward. "A Perfect Present? I can't remember one of those since I was a kid, getting my first football."
John nodded. "So, I asked him, "How long has it been, Sherlock, since you've had a Perfect Present?"
"When I was eight years old I was given the Strad." The detective turned to look at his priceless violin, ensconced in its case beside his music stand.
Lestrade sighed, "So you promised, right then and there that you'd get Sherlock Holmes Who-Knows-Everyone-and-Everything-in-a-Glance a Perfect Present?"
The doctor threw up his hands. "What could I do? He looked like a little lost child. Tt was disturbingly adorable and completely manipulative on his part ,but when I think of all he's done, all the gifts are anonymous, no one knows Sherlock is the donor. No one's tried to surprise him with a gift in ages."
"You gotta put some blame on Himself for that with his anti-social behaviors."
"I'm pretty certain that's an attempt to keep from being disappointed on numerous levels."
Lestrade shook his head in wonder. "You're tilting at windmills you know."
"I'm hoping here that the effort will count for something, which is why I've made him agree to certain conditions." John stood up from his chair, pulling on the lapels of his brown leather coat.
"You mean the Tinker-Tailor-Spy stuff?" the Inspector indicated with a wave of his hand John's new clothes. "I suppose he'd be insufferable and know where you'd been because of the mud on your shoes."
"The only way I can surprise Sherlock is to disappear, which is why you're keeping my mobile, watch and the clothes and shoes I came over with - I wouldn't be surprised if they were tagged - I'll get out of London where I can't be in view of CCTV and use only cash. Thanks by the way, for helping."
"It's no skin off my nose, but what if a case comes up?" Lestrade asked.
"I'm going to be watching The Science of Deduction site from internet cafs. If Sherlock posts the signal we agreed to in case of danger - and I mean of the extreme sort - I'll contact him."
John didn't mention that the signal he and his partner had agreed to was COME HOME, the doctor hauled his luggage over his shoulder and stretched his arm out to shake hands with the Detective Inspector.
"Good luck. By the way, will there be reciprocation? Is Sherlock going to find you a present as well?"
"Oh, yes. He's going to make me a gift!
"God help us all." Lestrade groaned, wiping his face with his hands as John Watson laughed his way out the door.
***
John gave himself a deadline of 3 days and 2 nights to acquire a gift for Sherlock. He would not call any of his friends or online acquaintances for help as he was certain that if Sherlock tracked him down any surprise would be ruined. He supposed the best way to elude the detective was to pick a random destination.
The doctor looked at the timetables in Waterloo station before flipping a 10p coin to direct him north or south. He purchased a ticket and boarded the train, taking a seat in an empty first class carriage with his holdall between his feet, reading a Dick Francis paperback he had bought at the newsagents.
During the journey John found himself reaching into the pocket of his coat for a mobile that wasn't there, waiting for constant texts that didn't come, as he tried to settle into an unusual sense of quiet.
John hoped that Sherlock was being a good Consulting Detective and staying at the flat - or the lab, hopefully not the morgue - working on his present.
***
When John arrived at Salisbury, he found a hostel in an ancient Tudor house which would have been frequented by students and tourist during the busy seasons, tonight he was the only guest. He was given a key to the front door and the mistress of the house was willing to put his holdall in a locked cupboard, the door of which was teetering on worn hinges. On the High Street John stopped for a bacon sarnie and cuppa before shopping; but was disappointed to find the shops at Maltings were either the same as those he could visit on Marylebone Road or twee specialty boutiques geared to tourists.
Then John spotted a fellow Afghan vet outside Reeve the Baker using the skills of deduction Sherlock had instilled in him, as well as his own ability to spot a military man by his upright posture and bearing.
John and David Plaskett - of the 88th Postal and Courier Regiment - struck up an immediate accord and after trading a few war stories, David escorted John round to the outdoor markets locals frequented.
While many of the goods displayed were distinctly interesting - John could imagine the inferences Sherlock might have found in old Jasperware, antique sledges and worn tapestry chairs regarding their former owners - none of the items seemed intriguing enough for John's brilliant, exhilarating, exasperating, flatmate.
John exchanged phone numbers with David, writing the ex-soldier's down in a small notebook - now that his mobile was safe with Lestrade - and stopped at a chip shop for supper. He spied a flyer pinned to a notice board promoting a free holiday concert at the Cathedral and attended this before returning to the hostel to sleep.
The first floor was divided, with the men's side on the right. The ancient house had a floor which warped at almost 40 degrees and the headboard of the single bed s had its feet cut off to accommodate the angle. John felt disoriented, as if on the deck of an old sailing ship and could not read his novel. As he lay quite still, thinking about Sherlock's gift, John determined that if he were to succeed in his quest, he had to narrow his choices to a category.
John considering the interests of Sherlock Holmes, running the gamut from men's designer fashion to obscure poisons and drifted off with digitalis rather than sugarplums dancing through his head. When he woke at the crack of dawn, it was with this revelation; when in need, find a consultant.
Dressing quickly, John slid his payment for the room under the door of the hostel owner's bedroom and jogged to the railway station to buy a ticket for the first train to Oxford.
***
John had never visited the University town before, but the scenes that greeted him, narrow cobbled streets and medieval towers of blond coloured stone were familiar from frequent viewings of Inspector Morse.
He hiked up Hythe Bridge Street toward the Ashmolean Museum where the Lead Curator of Eastern Art, a Mr. Wong, had assisted Sherlock during a case involving forgeries of ancient Japanese Ukiyo-e prints. This gentleman had extended an invitation to tour the museum, and Sherlock had been enthusiastic at the time - John had listened raptly to Sherlock's stories of living in Tokyo after leaving university - but the detective had been too busy to follow up.
As luck would have it, Kevin Wong was at the museum early on a Saturday and willing to meet John. Mr. Wong proved to be a young Asian man in his early-thirties, slender and golden-skinned with dark brown hair in a stylish shag cut. His clothes were casual and when he reached out to take John's hand, the doctor noticed a sandalwood mala bracelet on his right wrist.
"Dr. Watson, this is such a pleasure. I'm sorry that Mr. Holmes is not with you. We had so many interesting conversations."
"I'm sorry to trouble you, and the name's John."
"It's not any trouble, the Ashmolean owes a great debt to you and your partner. Call me Kevin or Kev, my friends do. Have you visited us before?"
"No, I've never been to Oxford. I thought that the museum would be smaller, somehow."
The curator's face opened with a large smile. "We expanded in 2009, adding two new floors, including a Japanese tea house."
Kevin took John's bag, handing it to the guard at the security desk for safekeeping. The curator then led the doctor through the galleries, working their way upward through the museum.
"Can I ask a question? Sherlock mentioned to me that your surname is Chinese, but your specialty is Japanese art."
Kev smiled, having been asked this question numerous times. "My family is full Chinese, but I was born and grew up in Oxford. I've certainly an interest and through knowledge of my Chinese heritage, but the culture of Japan appeals to me as well."
"Oh, I get that," John replied. "I'm part Scots, but you can't get me into a kilt."
"From what I've heard, Scots clan tartans are a Victorian invention," Kev said, and both men laughed as they entered the exhibit that Mr. Wong had recently devised, a display of brilliant woodcut prints of Kabuki actors. John regaled Kev with a story - heavily edited - of meeting a living treasure, Japan's leading onnagata, on a case.
There were more of the Ashmolean's great treasures to view as they continued the tour, such as the Messiah Stradivarius.
John astonished his guide by remarking, "Sherlock has one that looks just like it!"
When informed that the antique violin had never been played, John had a sudden inspiration, but the curator visibly shuddered at the idea of allowing anyone to 'try out' the Messiah.
"Bugger," John sighed. At Kev's expression of surprise, he explained, "the reason I came up this weekend was to find a Christmas present for Sherlock. He likes all things Japanese, so I took the chance that you might have some suggestions."
"I can imagine someone like Mr. Holmes would be difficult to buy for."
"You have no idea," John said with a sigh.
"We have beautiful things in our gift shop."
"I'm certain you do, but he's not really a gift-shop type of person." John thought on Sherlock's bespoke clothing, antique books and esoteric decorations and slid his hands into his trouser pockets, allowing his shoulders to slump in resignation.
Discovering the doctor had only eaten a few sausage rolls on the train for breakfast, Kev suggested that they visit the museum's Dining Room on the rooftop, where both men ordered from the festive set menu and discussed John's dilemma.
"Say you narrow your search to something Japanese," Kev said as he sampled the braised lamb shank, "... that still encompasses pottery, textiles, paintings and weapons."
"Weapons?" John asked, his curiosity piqued.
Kev nodded. "A mate of mine has a shop over his dojo - the martial arts school where I train - Gareth carries some antiques, which include Japanese katana, swords, you know."
John chuckled. "The idea of Sherlock with a sword is rather frightening. It's not that he can't fight, he's an expert fencer."
"There are other things than swords, menpo, which are helmets," Kevin flicked the fingers of his left hand as he recited, "... naginata, shuriken."
"Throwing stars?" John glanced up, with a gleam of interest. "That might just be something that might appeal to Sherlock, with the added attraction they would stick in the walls rather than go through them."
Kevin's eyebrows rose at this remark. "Shuriken can resemble small daggers, nails, even hairpins, but they aren't just for show. You wouldn't want to get hit with one of these in the neck!"
After lunch Kevin collected John's holdall from the security desk and the men walked to the staff car park. Kev took a moment to show off his restored green Morris Minor two-seater. John's holdall was dropped in the boot and they were off.
Gareth Hobbs, who waited at the door of his dojo - in a converted cinema - was not much taller than John but much broader in build. His hair was long and dark, pulled back into a topknot, and he wore the Gi uniform of a Ju-Jitsu Master.
"Dr. Watson, you look just like the pictures on your website!" The proprietor slapped John on his shoulder in a good-natured way, the doctor was only grateful it was his right side and resisted rubbing out the sting with the flat of his palm.
As Gareth led the way through the wide vaulted space, students in silver and black Gi practiced their kata on polished wooden floors. A set of stairs at the back lead up to a small but impressive shop with deep red painted walls hung with vertical banners silkscreened with Japanese clan designs.
John and Kev were not the only customers. The doctor noticed a lean older man with a patrician nose and stooped shoulders standing beside the shop register. Never out of habit as the assistant to the World's Only Consulting Detective, John took in the following details at a glance, the gentleman was dressed in a red button up cardigan which was well worn and well-loved, indicated by careful mending along the hem and elbows. His hair was short and he wore a neatly trimmed beard and moustache.
On the counter before the gentleman was a canvas bag holding various items and John deduced he might be a fellow antiques dealer.
Gareth guided John and Kev to a set of display cases before excusing himself to confer with the dealer. John peered into the case to see a row of metal ovals and circles, shaped with flowers and cranes, bamboo and tigers. John thought aloud that they appeared too beautiful to be thrown around. Kev laughed, informing the doctor that the round pieces of metal were in fact tsuba, or sword guards, not a type of shuriken.
"The soul of a warrior resides in his sword, so the finest swords are not only deadly, but works of art. If you cannot purchase a katana, the antique guards still highly collectible."
John moved from the case to study vases and lacquered boxes on shelves; the suits of armour were out of the question, John's attention was captured by a coat displayed in a box frame on the wall, painted with a design featuring a human skull. Kev informed him this was a fireman's coat from ancient Edo and John whistled at the amount of zero's on the label below.
"I don't suppose there's anything else here with a skull? Sherlock likes them."
"Oh, of course! Siger!" Kev knocked the side of his head in a pantomime of frustration.
John was taken aback for a moment before he recalled that anyone who followed his blog would know the name of the skull that took pride of place on their mantelpiece at 221B Baker Street.
"Let's ask Gareth."
But the shop's owner shook his head. "That fireman's coat is all I have right now. I'd go as far as knocking off a hundred pound on the price."
"Sorry, still a thousand out of my range."
"I could put you on a list when something comes up," Gareth offered.
"Thanks for that," John replied, "but I need something this weekend."
The older man in the cardigan now turned toward the doctor.
"Skulls, do you say? Does it have to be Japanese? I do have a particular memento mori in my inventory."
"Bart, are you pinching my customers?" Yet Gareth smiled as he rolled up a felt cloth on the counter.
"A memento-what?" John asked.
"Memento-mori," The dealer reached out to shake John's hand, introducing himself as Charles Bartholomew, or Bart as he preferred to be called, former Librarian for Jesus College and a specialist in Victorian antiques since his retirement.
"From the Latin, translated as 'remember you will die.' There was quite a fad during Medieval Europe for funerary art depicting dancing skeletons and skulls, revived during Victoria's reign after the death of Prince Albert as the Queen remained in mourning."
Reaching into his canvas bag, Bart pulled out a leather drawstring pouch and opened it to reveal an ivory-coloured pocket watch. The face of the watch was decorated with circles denoting each hour, each circle delicately hand-painted with Arabic numerals in gold. A smaller dial at the bottom displayed seconds. There was no glass cover to the watch, so the painting showed a bit of wear.
"Most memento mori are timepieces, an apt reminder of mortality," Bart explained. "This watch was possibly made Germany before the First World War, alas, there is no maker's mark. However, it is rare for such a watch of this age to retain its original chain and key."
And here was the skull Bart had mentioned, a carving the size of John's thumbnail depending from the chain. In his thoughts John named it 'Little Siger'. Without being prompted, the dealer placed the watch and chain directly into John's hands and the doctor was surprised to find its surface warm to the touch. On the back was an inscription.
"Sine Pari."
"That is Latin for 'Without Equal'" Bart explained with a shrug which indicated to John that the dealer thought the watch might be more valuable without it. "It's unusual. Inscriptions would usually say 'tempus fugit' which means time is fleeting or some other variant on the theme."
John thought the inscription fit his flatmate perfectly.
"Does it work?" Kev asked, leaning over John's shoulder.
"It's still functional." Bart lifted the chain and used the key to wind it. "I would advise that this be kept as a showpiece, not an item for everyday use."
"You're interested in selling it?" John asked as he was about to lift the watch to his ear, but this proved unnecessary as the clicking of the gears inside were quite audible.
"I am in the process of reducing my collections. As a young man I was quite the hoarder, now I find pleasure in paring myself down to the essentials. This watch was an interesting find, but I'm not particularly attached to it."
John found himself nodding as he gently rubbed the back of the watch casing absently with his thumb, sensing a faint grain in its texture.
"Is the watch enameled?" Kev asked.
"I believe so," the older gentleman replied.
But John realized the material of the watch was familiar to an army doctor who lived with a Consulting Detective and his more grisly experiments.
He was holding an antique pocket watch made entirely of bone.
As to what type of bone, John had no idea. Would Sherlock be eager to investigate? John licked his lips.
"Now, before you make up your mind," Bart was saying, "open up the back. Just there at that small indent."
John used the edge of his fingernail to pry up the back of the watch. Inside he spied what he supposed were typical watch works, spinning cogs and wheels, yet the only part of the interior that was metal was one coil of dull gold, all of the other tiny mechanisms were made of the same material as the watch.
"Interesting, isn't it?" said Bart rubbing his hands together.
"It is, that," John admitted, hoping that the tone of his voice was one of mild interest and not the breathless excitement he was feeling.
I've found Sherlock's Perfect Present.
"What are you asking for it?" John tried to calculate what was left of his cash reserves and wished for a moment that Sherlock were here to help him negotiate, his flatmate had often told him he lacked a proper 'poker face'.
The dealer folded his hands before him as he stated, quickly, "Three hundred and fifty pound."
Before John could make a counter-offer Kevin spoke up."Two hundred fifty."
John's mouth dropped open.
Gareth, who walked out past the counter, responded with, "Three hundred!"
"Wait!" John said, just at the time that Bart stated,
"Let the gentlemen have a word!"
"Do you know who this is for?" Kevin said, gesturing to the watch in John's hand. "Sherlock Holmes!"
While John appreciated the compliment, he was certain this information would not help his cause and this proven when Bart said,
"Then I'm thinking he could pay as much as three fifty!"
John stepped forward in an attempt to control the negotations. "Mr. Bartholomew, I'm interested in purchasing this watch, but I've only got so much cash on hand."
The older man stroked his beard with the tips of his fingers.
"You could put down some as an installment.."
"But it's a Christmas present!" Kevin said.
"Three hundred, cash seems a fair price to me." Gareth chimed in. "With a bit coming to me as commission, as this is my shop, in case anyone has forgotten."
John sighed, knowing Sherlock would have wanted him to barter further. He turned toward Mr. Bartholmew.
"I probably shouldn't admit this, but I wanted to find my best friend the perfect present, and this is made for him. If three hundred is acceptable to you and to Mr. Hobbs, you have a deal."
The three gentlemen stared at the doctor, and then at each other.
Gareth put his hands in the pockets of his Gi. "Seeing it's Christmas, I could forget about the commission."
Mr.Bartholmew nodded. "I'd be willing to take two seventy five."
John could only laugh. "Gareth, you deserve a commission and Bart, I certainly wouldn't want you to feel you'd taken less for the watch than it's worth. Three hundred is fine."
The older man rubbed his hands together, his eyes sparkling with pleasure as he placed the watch back in its leather pouch.
"Inside you'll find the receipt for the watch from the shop where I purchased it back in '76 in Niece. This is the item's provenance or record of ownership, which makes it more valuable."
"In my profession we call that a 'chain of evidence.'” John smiled as he pulled out his wallet.
"If you'd be willing to mention the shop in your blog, Dr. Watson," Gareth suggested,"I’d be grateful."
But Kev went back to a set of shelves to select a pair of lacquer boxes.
"I want to donate something to the cause! John, pick one of these."
John selected the box with a design of koi fish, waiting beside the counter as Gareth placed the pouch with the watch inside the lacquer box, wrapping everything neatly in white and blue printed paper and placing it in a plastic carrier bag.
"Thanks, Kev," John said. "It’s been wonderful to meet you and I wouldn't have found this," he held up the bag, "... without your help."
The young man grinned. "I feel like I've just walked into one of your stories, Dr. Watson. What do you say we all go round the corner for a pint and celebrate?"
John nodded, in a buoyant good mood, happy to spend time with his new friends in Oxford before heading back to London and Sherlock Holmes.
***
TBC
Part Two Wherein Sherlock and John exchange presents
http://karadin.livejournal.com/3436806.html
Part Three Sherlock must solve a problem - Posting New Year Week
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Date: 2011-12-25 05:14 pm (UTC)