Watson gave Mrs. Hudson a gentle hug and she pulled away.
"I know what you're doing. You're not coming back for dinner, are
you?"
He gave her comely face a gentle smile and a sweep of his
deep brown eyes, his mutton chops bouncing slightly as he grinned. "You
read me like a book, dear Mrs. Hudson."
"No, I read you like a scoundrel. When will you stop
running off on those fool's errands for the Prince?"
His smile tightened. "They are not fool's errands."
"They most certainly are." She replied, her voice
becoming shriller and angry.
A shadow fell across them.
"I will see to him, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said as
he stepped onto the porch, slipping on his deerstalker hat and adjusting his
cape so that it fell back over his shoulders, so he could reach his pockets
more easily. He finished comporting himself, then turned to Watson. "I
would like to have a talk with the Prince."
"Sherlock, stay out of this." Watson warned.
"This is between Mrs. Hudson and I."
"It certainly is not!" She warned, wagging a
finger at him.
"I hate it when you wag the finger."
"Get used to it, Watson. It's what a good woman does
when her man has been led astray." Sherlock explains, the hint of a smirk
on his lips.
Watson is about to explode for a second, then he lets it go.
"Very well. Come then. But it will be boring and tedious."
"I thrive on boring and tedious." Sherlock
responded, a wink at Mrs. Hudson as he did so.
She laughed, then gave Watson a light peck on his cheek.
"Go with your friend. At least I know someone with good sense will be
watching over you."
She turned her back to the both of them, closed the front
door and they could hear her shoe clapping on the hardwood steps as she went
upstairs to pick up, as was her wont in the early hours of t he morning.
Sherlock put a hand lightly on Watson's arm. "So. Where
shall we begin?"
=======================================================
Sherlock and Watson climbed out of the T-Cab, or Tesla Cab
as they were sometimes called, and straightened their clothes as they faced
Marlon Castle, the current residence of Prince Edwards, a distant relative of
Queen Mary of Scots, and quite well off, but a bit on the eccentric side. They
stood at the end of a large drive paved with red cobble stones and hedged with
fine shrubs, shorn to resemble hearts and spades, like those of a deck of
cards. Red flowers poked their faces from green beds of moss at the feet of the
shrubs.
The tall gates, which were mounted on ancient hinges
imported from the Scots Lands, hailed from a period where Kings had magic and
ruled by the might of their dragons and Elves had not yet fled their world to a
parallel one, safe from the expanding immorality of humanity.
Sherlock smiled at that thought, because humanity preyed
ever day for the help of angels, and yet had driven living ones from their
lands by their greed, avarice and lust for power. He noticed that the mighty
walls that precluded the public from seeing the castle more clearly appeared to
be more clean than usual, and he suspected some magic in that, but gave it no
second thought as he turned back to look at the two Royal Guards, courtesy of
the Queen, who stood at the entrance, blocking their path.
"Please tell His Highness, Prince McMurphy, that I am
come to meet with him for our appointment." Watson declared.
One of the Royal Guards nodded, then stepped inside.
A few minutes later after some small talk and the viewing of
small flocks of blackbirds flitting from one sunflower shaped basket garden of
flowers to another that spread across the lawns of the castle, a very, very
tall man stepped outside, his ruddy face beaming with pleasure.
"Ah, my good Doctor, so good to see you again. And
Mister Holmes. You honor me with your presence. Come in. Come in."
They gave him a polite nod and followed him inside. His
footsteps were quick and lively, almost as if he were half floating as he
guided them through the labyrinth of corridors and walkways until they reached
the rear of the castle and embarked cross a miniature drawbridge over a moat
below which were all manner of dimpled fish swimming about, their tiny mouths
clutching at the air above and spots of bread that the Prince had been throwing
them and which he immediately sought the silver plate of, which he had left on
a highly polished marble table set near the moat.
He clutched a shred of bread, an d began breaking it up and
tossing it into the moat, causing the tiny creatures there to become frenzied
with movement and motion as the crumbs struck the thin layer of water meeting
air.
"You see, Watson, how dearly they respond to the
smallest of kind gestures."
He turned to face Watson, but his eyes were on Sherlock.
"Small acts of kindness can steer creatures into any direction we
desire."
"And you believe to any requisite end?" Sherlock
asked.
"Astute observation, Mister Holmes. Exactly."
He turned back to his friends of the moat and broke more
bread and tossed it. "When I was but a lad in my father's castle in the
Mount Marres of the Scotland Sea, I learned a very great secret. One that I
stumbled upon, but one which has followed me on light footsteps all these years
since."
"Which is?" Sherlock asked politely.
The Prince turned to him and fixed Sherlock with a stare
that made Watson wince, but stirred Sherlock not in the least. "That men
always have a motive for everything they do. Even the kindest of things."
With that he turned away from the moat and began walking
towards a smaller castle in the rear, which was made of brick and wood, and
gave more the appearance of a fairy tale home, than the castle it was, though
it stood a good three stories in height and had ramparts and weapons mounts on
its roof.
They entered the smaller castle and the Prince guided them
into a smaller room where all manner of magical equipment was gathered on large
wooden desks and lengthy tables. In some smaller glass containers were odd
looking substances, of which Watson knew at once were similar to Harry's
magical works, but some of which were unknown to him and gave off a variance of
energy that he couldn't put a finger on. At their right stood a remarkably
detailed wooden statue of the Prince.
"I have a case for you, Sherlock."
Watson started to clear his throat. "Don't worry,
Watson, it won't affect our work."
"I'm listening." Sherlock replied, his face
immovable.
"I wish you to resolve a mystery for me."
"I will do my best. But if it involves magic..."
"It does. But I suspect a man of your caliber of mind
will find this too titillating to avoid inspecting with the e scrutiny of your
giant intellect."
"The clarity of my thoughts are far too
exaggerated." Sherlock interrupted.
"Perhaps."
The Prince began loosening the tunic about his chest, then
thrust it aside. Watson gave him a startled look. "There is more to me
than meets the eye, dear Watson."
The Princess unlaced his undershirt, thrust it open and both
Sherlock and Watson stared in shock and amazement at what was revealed. There
in the center of the Prince's chest was a wooden door, much as you might find
on a Cuckoo Clock. The Prince fidgeted with the tiny doorknob a moment, then
opened it to reveal a wooden heart.
"Dear God in Heaven." Watson exclaimed.
"How does one undo what was foolishly done in one's
youth?" The Prince demanded of Sherlock.
Sherlock stepped closer to examine the interior of the
chamber revealed. "May I?"
"Be my guest."
Sherlock took out his magnifying glass and examined the
interior of the Prince's chest, his heart cavity and the wooden heart that
pumped there for a long time, not breathing or saying a word. Finally, he
carefully shut the door to the chamber, then stepped back as the Prince began
composing his shirt and tunic again to a more normal state.
"Well?"
Sherlock looked at the Prince. "First. You say this
happened when you were a child?"
"Yes. The age of ten. I had the ill gotten humor of a
jaded and spoiled brat and offended a Druid Warlock."
"And?"
"He turned my heart to wood."
"I see. And you believe this why?"
"Because I have lived with this in secret for all these
years, telling no one, not even my poor father. You see this is why I have not
married to this point in time. My father is nearing death and I fear I will not
be leaving him an heir."
"Second. If you could remove this wooden heart, then
what?"
"I would marry the Duchess of Bramberry, for whom my
affections are well known."
"Three. I assume you are willing to pay my customary
fee?"
"I will triple
it."
"Sherlock!" Watson protested, finally finding his
voice again after what he had seen.
"Good."
Sherlock turned to Watson. "Shoot the man in his
heart."
The Prince and Watson both paled.
"Do it!"
The Prince paled even further. Watson shook his head.
Sherlock took out his own weapon before either man could
make a move and shot the Prince directly in his wooden heart. The Prince fell
backwards onto the floor and lay there unmoving.
Several moments later the statue of the Prince shook
violently and shards of wood splintered off, then fell to the floor. A stark
naked Prince stood there, clapping his hands. "Well done, Holmes. Well
done!"
Watson turned in shock. "But..."
"You see, Watson." Sherlock explained.
"Warlock magic requires a duplicate of the original to be made before any
curse can be bonded to the cursed. Of wood. Once the duplicate is destroyed.
The original resumes its own life once more."
The Prince nodded.
Sherlock smiled at the Prince. "I shall expect my fee
on the morrow. Good day, your Highness."
Watson turned to watch as Sherlock left the room, whistling
a merry tune he had picked up from Harry several days ago.
The Prince coughed.
Watson turned around and again realized that the Prince was
naked.
"I'll get some clothing for you at once, your
Highness."
Watson rushed from the room to the laughter of the Prince.
For Watson had seen something else that was a result of the curse. The Prince
would never have a child; for his most private part had remained wooden.
==========================================================
Sherlock and Watson sat near the
fireplace, sipping tea when Mrs. Hudson came in and sat beside Watson.
"I told you there was something peculiar about that
man." She said with a shudder.
"I always wrote it off to his Scottish heritage."
Watson replied with a laugh. "Not to his more...ah..wooden nature."
"Speaking of which, Holmes, however did you come so
quickly to the conclusion that the Prince was a golem of wood."
"Elementary, dear Watson. Had you noticed when he was
feeding his fish that his right foot was in the water?"
"Yes. But he's a peculiar man as my dear Mrs. Hudson
just spoke. Why should that bother me?"
"Then you didn't notice that right ankle, which was
revealed, was beginning to change color as the water soaked into him."
"Ah." Watson exclaimed merrily.
The sound of a knock from the front door.
Mrs. Hudson went to answer it and returned several moments
later with a package. "For you, Sherlock."
"Put it on the side table." He requested.
She did so. "Aren't you curious what it is?"
"Not really. Just a memento, is all."
Sherlock smiled.
Neither Watson or Mrs. Hudson noticed that the small box was
wet at the bottom and quivered just slightly. But Sherlock did. His eyes
narrowed for a moment, then his face brightened and his eyes turned to his good
friends.
"I suggest we dine out this eve."
"A jolly good idea, Holmes." Watson responded,
rising. "I shall begin dressing immediately."
"And I." Mrs. Watson replied, heading for her
apartment downstairs.
Sherlock waited for everyone to leave the room, then he took
the box and opened it. Inside was a wooden heart with his fee on top of it. A
small note was attached. He read it.
"Your fee and a small token of my thanks for your
collection. Sincerely, the Prince."
Sherlock took his fee and slipped it into his coat, then the
heart and tossed it onto the fire, where it began to smoke for a moment, then
burst into flames.
Doctor Watson stepped out, straightening his tie and shirt
collar. "What's that smell?"
"The past, dear Watson. The past."
