Johnlock January 2025 #20: Affection
Written for prompts posted by @chriscalledmesweetie.
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Inevitably, we hear from Mycroft.
(“He isn’t likely to give over,” Sherlock said. “I do prefer to let him handle this sort of thing. We’ve had some conversations, but he wants to speak to you directly.”
“Right, thanks for dropping me in it.”)
When Anthea (the third or fourth of the title, I forget) ushers me in and deposits me in the nailhead-and-leather barrel chair, there’s a row of folders and envelopes marching across the rink of oakwood desktop. I remember the first time I sat in this office, when I baited him about Sherlock stealing his Action Man. Really I think that even as a kiddy he passed the time with little ledgers and putting webcams in the lav. Prat.
But here I am, summoned thank you very much to an interview with Mr. Holmes (“don’t be late, he has a very busy schedule”) to do with the forthcoming celebrations.
“Doctor Watson,” he says. “A pleasure to see you.”
“Right,” I answer. “What’s it about?”
“You are,” he says, “preparing, wisely or not, to enter into a matrimonial bond with my brother.”
“Yep. Getting married. You’ll be getting an invitation when we firm up the plans.”
“I will arrange the invitations, so soon as you can provide the information. Sample formats will be submitted for your approval.”
Well, I’ve been through this once, and frankly that’s something I’d as soon leave to Mycroft. A remark about digestive biscuits dries up in my throat. “Okay.”
“Matrimony,” he goes on as if I haven’t spoken, “is, as I am sure you appreciate, not only a bond of affection, but a legal and contractual arrangement with multiple ramifications. A pre-nuptial agreement is wise, not merely against the event of eventual disputes, but should one of the parties become incapacitated, be sued for damages, or any number of other less than ideal conditions. A draft document has been prepared for your review.” He pushes one manila folder across the blotter.
“Along the same lines, both parties should have a clear and specific will augmenting those dispositions intrinsic to the rights of marriage. In this folder” – another slide – “is a questionnaire assisting you to provide the necessary information. Most of it has already been filled up, but you will of course indicate any errors or assets not already recorded. There is also a form for the provisions of an advance directive should you be at any time unable to consent to your own medical care. And here” – an envelope closed with one of those string things that winds around a pasteboard disc – “are draft papers of guardianship for Rosamund Mary Watson – or Watson-Holmes, should you prefer – in the event of your daughter temporarily or permanently requiring the care of an alternate custodial adult empowered to make decisions on her behalf. A provisional plan of action to this end is already in place” (it is?) “and the final choice is yours, of course, but I would recommend confirming the joint appointment of myself and Mrs. Martha Hudson – please do not agitate yourself, Doctor Watson, she has been consulted – with our parents as alternates." His eyebrows lift a millimetre. "I understand her introduction to them went well. A flash drive containing digital forms of all these instruments can be found in that envelope.”
There’s a substantial stack in my lap now. “And, on a less sober note, I have here a list of preferred tailors, who have been instructed to send all charges to my account, and here a selection of venues which have all been vetted and contacted, as well as institutions prepared to cater, with sample menus.”
He sets a paper in front of me. I’m expecting some deadly firms that specialise in bland tea sandwiches and damask tablecloths, but the first place on the list is Angelo’s, and the second is Bageecha, the upscale restaurant that also owns Chaudhary’s takeaway. I’ve got to say, a wedding luncheon of biryani or korma with gulab jamun to follow would be a banger. Just got to keep Sherlock out of the vindaloo.
“And” – he shifts, and drops his eyes again, looking as awkward as I’ve ever seen him look – “a personal favour, if I may.”
“I would appreciate it if we might arrange a time for me to meet one on one with young Rosamund, given that she is going to become a member of the family. Sherlock has advised me somewhat, but you as her father will know what might most please her as a gift.”
“You want to bring Rosie a present.”
“I have been remiss in making her acquaintance, and it is clearly time to remedy the omission. I gather young female children enjoy dolls and the like, but I realise that in these times it is unwise to stereotype. I would appreciate whatever information you can give me about her preferred pastimes, foods and narrative diversions. I recall that Sherlock enjoyed being read to as a child, and I assume she does as well.”
“You mean you don’t already know all this?”
“Sherlock and I generally converse only about matters of – business. And there are ethical limits to even my information gathering.”
“Well, isn’t that a bloody shock.” I realise I’m smiling. “I’ll text you some suggestions. Right now she’s keen on Peppa Pig.” The board book she threw up on in the train was a dead loss, so that might be a place to start.
He makes a careful note on a tablet at his elbow.
“I fear I must prepare for a meeting now. Anthea will see you out.” He stands, circles around the desk, and extends his hand. “I wish you every happiness. You have more than deserved it.”
I rise as our hands meet, whereupon, to my absolute and gobsmacked astonishment, he takes a step closer and, still standing as straight as if he were on parade, encircles my shoulders with one stiff arm and lets a count of two seconds pass before drawing back. It’s like being hugged by Pinocchio.
“You are a Holmes now, Doctor. Please accept my personal welcome to the family, and – I know I speak for our parents as well – an earnest of our sincere affections.”
Anthea appears in the doorway, with no sign of having been summoned.
“I will wait for your response.” He nods at the sheaf of papers -- looking a little as if he has gas – and I’d never have expected to say this, but I feel affection for him too, the bastard.
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