Chapter IV
The Unofficial Motto
One day, in the midst of tidying my room, I took out my rather battered old tin despatch-box which I had used during the Afghan campaign and found my old pocket book. It was somewhat the worse for wear and I considered that I really ought to be rid of it, but when I opened it, to my surprise I found the old Afghan coin, or so I was told it was, that I had purchased as a souvenir shortly before I was wounded. On my subsequent return to England and during the long months of my convalescence I had had no wish to be reminded of the Afghan campaign and so the coin had been put away and promptly forgotten - until now.
A rather curious-looking coin with an equally odd pattern of letters on it, it was gold and somewhat discoloured and I thought that, cleaned, it would be quite attractive. But what to do with it?
Well I could always wear it on my watch chain, I thought. And then I wondered if perhaps Holmes would like it to wear on his watch chain. He had for some time been wearing the sovereign that Irene Adler had given him, but would he like to wear something that I gave him? I wondered, for it would be a most personal gift, a token of my love for him. For the time being I decided to ponder the matter.
My mind was made up a week later when I glanced at the calendar and realised that in a week's time it would be two years since we began our loving intimacy. Resolved to give it to him, I took it to a jeweller to have it professionally cleaned and when I got it back its gold surface glinted brightly in the sunlight, winking at me. I only hoped that Holmes would appreciate it.
The day of our anniversary dawned and we were heavily involved in a tedious case of jewel robbery which involved us and several of the Irregulars keeping watch for several hours a day over a rather decrepit manufactory in Stepney. Half an hour after midnight we had managed to catch our man and he had been hauled away by a delighted Inspector Bradstreet so that it was not until after one o'clock in the a.m. that we were able to make our weary way back to Baker Street and a hot bath and bed, both of us far too tired to do anything more than fall asleep. I decided I would give Holmes his present on the morrow.
The following afternoon on my way home from my surgery I purchased a small but exquisite red rose and brought it back to my room by hiding it in my bag. I managed to attach it to my gift, which I had wrapped carefully in tissue paper and resolved to give it to him after our evening meal.
After Mrs. Hudson had cleared away the dishes I excused myself and went to my room to get my gift. When I brought it down to the sitting room he was standing, brandy in hand, by the fireplace and I held my small gift behind my back as I walked toward him.
His gaze was somewhat calculating. "Watson, what are you hiding there?" he asked curiously, indicating the hand I held behind me.
Tongue-tied as I was, I could not answer and merely held out my small gift to him.
His large eyes softened as he gazed from me to my gift. "Oh, my dear Watson, what is this?"
"For you," I managed to stammer as he placed his brandy on the mantelpiece and accepted my gift.
His eyes glowed like a small boy at Christmas as he took the rose and inhaled its lovely fragrance with relish before placing it in the button-hole of his frock-coat and proceeded to unwrap his gift. When he opened the box and the coin was revealed he stared at it in surprised delight.
"Afghan I see, and quite old. I would venture to say... 13th century." He then went on to describe in detail what the indecipherable - to me - hieroglyphics meant. "My dear chap, this coin is a rare one indeed. You do realise that it dates back to the days of the great Mongol leader, Genghis Khan. Why this is fascinating!"
Of course, being a medical man with no particular interest in coins, except for how many I had in my pocket, I had realised no such thing but was delighted to discover that the coin might be more valuable that I had believed.
It was typical of Holmes's analytical mind that he would closely examine such an object for traces of its history and he quickly took it over to his microscope to scrutinise it properly, adding more details to his previous description including facts about previous owners. I shook my head and smiled at his enthusiasm; only Sherlock Holmes would choose to examine a gift in such minute detail.
"Watson, this is simply marvellous! Where did you get it?"
"I bought it from a young beggar in Kandahar."
"Poor fool must not have realised its worth. Why do you not wear it yourself?"
"To tell the truth I had forgotten I still had it, and I thought perhaps..." I trailed off uncertainly.
Holmes ceased gazing through the microscope and turned to face me. "You thought...?"
"I... I wondered if... if you would like it," I stammered.
"Oh, my dear, dear Watson!" His voice was soft with emotion as he rose to take me in his arms and kiss me most affectionately, thanking me profusely for my gift.
"I shall wear it on my watch chain!" he declared enthusiastically. However, at that moment he appeared perplexed. "But it is not my birthday!"
"No," I agreed, smiling at him as his deductive faculties went to work once more.
"And it is certainly not Christmas." I watched him keenly as he puzzled over it. "Therefore it must be an anniversary," he decided. "Now let me see. It is not the anniversary of the day we met, so therefore..." he snapped his fingers, "it must be the anniversary of the day we became lovers!"
"Not quite."
His face fell. "Not quite? I was sure..." He expression became one of triumph. "It was yesterday!"
Nodding, I smiled at him, praying that he would not mock me for my sentimental gesture.
"Oh, my dear, dear Watson! So romantic!" he mused. "A gift from your heart," he murmured.
"You own my heart," I whispered.
"I shall treasure it, my dear," he murmured, and at that moment I knew that he was referring to much more than the old coin.
He hugged me and we kissed again and I was eagerly anticipating later when we could retire to my bedroom and enjoy each other's company to the full, as it were, when, much to my dismay I heard the doorbell downstairs and moments later Inspector Lestrade came bounding up the stairs.
Holmes thrust the coin into his pocket and greeted Lestrade with false enthusiasm.
"Sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, but we've had a report of a very strange burglary not three blocks from here in Regent Street. The home of a Mr. Joshua Lightfoot was broken into not an hour ago, but you'll never guess what they took!"
Holmes eyes lit up. "Tell me!"
"Well, it appears that the only thing missing - well, that is they can't seem to locate it - is a rather thick leather-bound volume on the history of the crusades."
"Mm..." Holmes paced up and down once. "This has intriguing possibilities."
"Quite novel I should think," I concurred.
"Oh, very droll, Watson!" Holmes commented.
Lestrade gave a brief chuckle. "I thought you'd think so. I have a four-wheeler waiting."
"Excellent! Watson?"
As Lestrade headed off downstairs I shouldered my way into my great-coat. Holmes put on his gloves and coat, but then, much to my surprise, he turned and gave me a quick kiss.
"For luck!" he explained.
This blatantly sentimental gesture on his part quite amazed me. "Mystery first, love later?" I suggested.
"Indeed, my dear! An excellent motto for our firm!" he declared, promptly bounding off down the stairs, leaving me to follow in his wake, astonished and delighted by his sentimental nature. And he called me romantic!
From that day onward it became a tradition with us that whenever we set off on a new case we would share a kiss for luck and ‘mystery first, love later' became the unofficial motto of our firm.
* * *
One evening some three weeks later, the Adventure of the Lost Crusades, as I came to entitle it, having been satisfactorily concluded, Inspector Lestrade stopped by to tell us the news from the Yard.
We were sitting by the fire chatting amiably over brandy and cigars when I noticed that he was gazing at the Afghan coin now dangling from Holmes's watch chain. I glanced at it and noticed, as Lestrade had, that it was catching the light and glinting brightly.
"A new lucky charm, Mr. Holmes?" he inquired.
"Merely a token of gratitude, Lestrade."
"Yes," I said. "From a satisfied client."
Holmes glanced at me and I winked at him. "Do you like it?" he asked Lestrade.
"Well, it certainly catches the eye. What is it?" Lestrade asked.
"Oh, an old Tibetan coin," Holmes remarked in an offhanded manner.
For a moment I wondered why Holmes had chosen to refer to my gift as a Tibetan coin, but then I realised that Lestrade knew that I had been in Afghanistan and might therefore associate the gift with myself. Besides, the man would be highly unlikely to know the difference between an old Afghan coin and a Tibetan one.
"Oh! What was the occasion?" Lestrade inquired innocently.
Glancing at Holmes, I indicated that I was willing to follow his lead for he was more adept at making up spur-of-the-moment stories than I was, though I could, and had on occasion, made up a passable tale.
"Oh, a perfectly trivial matter," Holmes replied casually, shifting a little in his chair and stretching his long legs. "A man came to me and asked me to find his son who had been missing since two nights previously from a soirée at the nearby manor house."
"I gather you found the lad."
"Indeed, and a more spineless weasel I have never come across! He had been caught in flagrante with the daughter of the lord of the manor house. The lord exacted revenge by tying him to a tree, horse-whipping him and then had his gamekeeper toss the snivelling wretch into a rather steep ditch five miles away."
"Good Lord!" Lestrade exclaimed.
"Hmph! We found the pathetic lad in a piteous state, naked as the day he was born and still with a very bad case of morning head trying woefully to climb up the steep and muddy sides of the ditch."
Lestrade laughed heartily. "That must have been quite a sight!"
"Indeed it was," I laughed, "and not a very edifying one either!"
"And the father was no doubt very grateful for his son's safe return?"
"Oh, indeed, and he gave me this coin from his collection as a token of his gratitude." He played with the coin, holding it between his long fingers and smiling at me as he did so.
Later, after Lestrade had departed we both laughed about the ludicrous, spur-of-the-moment tale.
"But it worked!" Holmes proclaimed slyly. "You see how easily people are deceived by a perfectly fictitious tale if you tell it sincerely?"
Shaking my head, I smiled fondly at him. "Now all we have to do is remember the silly story for the next time someone asks about your Tibetan coin."
"Hm, you may have a point. Perhaps you should write it up in order that we do not forget it."
As matters turned out, it was fortunate that I did for, of necessity, over the years it became an oft-repeated, though perfectly fictional, tale of our adventures. Lucky for us we both knew it by heart.
Speaking of hearts, the following year Holmes gave me a tiny gold key for my watch chain, saying that I held the key to his heart. Another year he gave me a single red rose with a note telling he loved me. Other memorable presents we gave each other over the years included various items of night-wear and underwear. One year I decided he badly needed a replacement for his old threadbare purple dressing gown and, since purple was one of his favourite colours - hence his reluctance to part with the old one - I got him a new one in a rich, dark purple satin that hung lightly on his tall, spare frame and seemed to catch sparks in his changeable eyes. And, of course, dinner and the theatre were de rigueur for anniversaries, even if frequently thwarted by our work.
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