holmes_minor | Fic: The Limitations of Honey: Gen (Reply)

Title: The Limitations of Honey
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Notes: Ficitious historial incident, Holmes/Watson, friends to friends & more
Summary: Holmes has a secret.
Author's Note: for the monthly prompt

Sherlock Holmes had just informed me, for the first time in our long association, that he had nothing of importance planned for the evening.

“Holmes.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Information gathering.” He turned his attention to the headlines of the day. An almost-smile tugged at his lips. “They finally hanged Old Baron Dawson.” Then he added wearily, “That sugar business is still on.”

“But while London is drinking their tea black, Mrs. Hudson is doing wonders with honey.”

“True,” admitted Holmes. “But honey, despite what the bees believe, does have its limitations.”

“Holmes, if you are doing something dangerous this evening, I would like to accompany you. Or at least be available for proper triage when you return.”

“If it were a question of justice, I’d would not hesitate in taking you into my confidence, my dear man, but this is a personal matter.”

His words pierced me like a blade. Personal matter. He was going to meet someone.

“I shan’t judge, Holmes,” I whispered, inwardly wincing at the plaintive note in my tone.

“That has never been my fear, Watson. I beg no further questions.”

---

The following morning, my friend was in a foul mood. Clearly, his assignation had not been a pleasant one. Or perhaps it hadn’t occurred? His first coherent words, after a litany of single-syllable grunts, confirmed this.

“I must go to the Continent, Watson.”

“Holmes!”

“I must.”

Sherlock Holmes chasing a lover!

“Is it logical, my dear man?”

He shook his head. “No. It isn’t.”

I would not beg his confidence. I would not.

---

I remained in a purgatorial state for two weeks, receiving regular coded telegrams from Holmes advising me of his wellbeing but nothing more.

But when he returned, oh, his face was of a conquering hero.

“Pack a bag, my dear man. Sussex.”

Holmes was maddeningly reticent for the whole journey.

Our destination was a lovely cottage on the southern slope of the downs.

“What is this, Holmes?!” I demanded.

“Ours.”

My eyebrows rose.

“I’ve trespassed enough on your goodwill, Watson. The facts.” He pulled a newspaper clipping from his pocket. It was an advertisement for a sweets confection, Mrs. Minnie Warrender’s Velveteen Violets.

“I am Mrs. Minnie Warrender,” he said.

I stared, then laughed.

He smiled. “I used my knowledge of chemistry for profit instead of problem-solving, but the recent sugar shortage put my business in jeopardy, just when I had almost realised enough profits to complete the purchase of this place. I hope you will join me here when we retire, Watson, and I hope you will forgive my subterfuge. I was looking for sugar amongst the most likely places in the East End. When I learned there was none to be found, I had to go abroad. I was successful. Business resumed. This cottage is ours, if you’ll have me. What say you?”

“I say I don’t know who I adore more, Holmes, the detective, the smuggler, or the baker!” I cried and closed the distance between us.