#His Last Bow

[detectivejay]

I began writing this post before and lost my draft when I went to check how far along “Letters from Watson” is, so here it is without preamble. Lesson learned. 😆 (It appears to be up to The Hound of the Baskervilles at the time of this post.)

If you chose some combination of the short story collections and novels, I’d love to hear which ones in the comments and tags!

Please reblog for a larger sample size. :)

[dathen]

“If it takes me all my life I shall get level with you!”

“The old sweet song,” said Holmes. “How often have I heard it in days gone by. It was a favorite ditty of the late lamented Professor Moriarty. Colonel Sebastian Moran has also been known to warble it. And yet I live and keep bees upon the South Downs.”

once more, with feeling: THIS BITCH—

[sarnie-for-varney]

Watson looking after his husband yet again:

[vernajarrett]

I watched "The Adventure of the Devil's Foot" the other night and, although I hadn't seen it in long time, it hit me with its usual force.

Everything about it is wonderful and I don't want to dribble on about it (as I well might if I don't control myself), but I cannot help the following:

I will NEVER recover from Holmes' exclamation of "John!" and his grateful grasp at Watson. It is incredibly moving. I appreciate that the utterance is not canon, but it is quite close to the feeling in the story.

This series really is the pinnacle of Sherlock Holmes interpretation. Simply superb.

[devoursjohnlock]

By the Book | A Sherlock Holmes publication timeline

Note: Numbered lists indicate the writing and magazine publication order, which were usually the same (exceptions noted). Timelines indicate the book order or the story order in each collection. Until His Last Bow, stories were usually (not always) spaced one month apart. There was usually (not always) a lag time of about one month between UK and US publication. Stories were not always published in the UK first. Book covers represent the first hardcover editions. Red titles indicate a story was positioned later in a collection relative to its writing order, blue titles earlier.

[wayti-blog]

Education never ends, Watson. It is a series of lessons, with the greatest for the last.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes, His Last Bow

[ineffabletwaddle13]

Holmes tapping his fingers on things such as a book, his lip, his tummy, a piece of paper, a picture frame, his thigh, plus tapping his pipe on a map.

Holmes in the books by Arthur Conan Doyle also taps his fingers on things a lot:

The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington plans: “He sat lost in thought, tapping his fingers on the table”... “ tapping the furniture”

The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax: “his long, nervous fingers tapping upon the arms of his chair"

His last bow: “Holmes, tapping the valise”

The Adventure of the Empty House: “More than once he fidgeted with his feet and tapped rapidly with his fingers upon the wall”

A Study In Scarlet: “He gnawed his lip, drummed his fingers upon the table, and showed every other symptom of acute impatience”

The Problem of Thor Bridge: “in his nervous restlessness, he could not sit still, but paced the carriage or drummed with his long, sensitive fingers upon the cushions beside him”

[221b-johnlocked-1895]

I was rewatching "The Devil's Foot" from Granada Holmes and I thought something. Since I've never read anything about it, I decided to write it here.

Holmes decided to let Sterndale return to Africa, despite the fact that he had killed a man.

(For those who don't know or don't remember, Sterndale killed Mortimer Treggenis, because he killed his sister Brenda Treggenis, with whom Sterndale was in a romantic relationship)

Holmes himself says that he didn't get him arrested because he would have done the same. In fact, later in the story he says: “I have never loved, Watson, but if I did and if the woman I loved had met such an end, I might act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done. Who knows?"

Well, we know, thanks to what Holmes himself said in "The Adventure Of The Three Garridebs": "If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive.".

I think that it's quite clear that the "woman" in question, or better, the person who Holmes loves, is Watson.

[beekeeperspicnic]

What a nice day to reconceptualise my entire game

Last night I reblogged this lovely post from @inkonice-main talking about Holmes and Watson's relationship as a great love story (whether romantic or platonic), and it's been clanging around in my brain ever since.

Just in case you stumbled across this post randomly, I'm currently making a cosy mystery Sherlock Holmes game set in Sussex, which has Holmes trying to put together a picnic for Watson. My plan is to write them in a close platonic friendship or queerplatonic partnership because that interpretation means a lot to me, but to keep it shipper friendly and leave the possibility open that they are a romantic couple.

The problem I've been toying over for the entire six months of development so far is WHY Holmes has decided to drop everything and make this ultimate picnic for Watson. What's his motivation, dah-ling?

And I've cycled through a few ideas:

He doesn't need a reason, elaborate theatre is how he shows affection. Perhaps true, but that doesn't give much of an emotional base for the game.

It's all sparked off by Watson writing and publishing the Creeping Man, the story with all the "The relations between us in those latter days were peculiar" content. But it never quite flowed for me. If Watson is happy with Holmes in Sussex, why is he writing so discontentedly? It also felt like telling-not-showing for players.

I thought perhaps it could be spurred on by Holmes having a nightmare where he's back on a case everything goes wrong. He realises that both he and Watson are in the twilight of their lives and if he doesn't tell Watson plainly how he feels, he may lose the chance. This is closer to working for me, but I think a dream being a character's primary motivation is silly and lazy, and this anxiety Holmes has doesn't seem reflected in the fact that they're living together happily. To the player it's obvious Watson already knows Holmes loves him, so there's no tension.

Then I read that post, and it all clicked. Because let's look at the Canon: it is a love story, but like most love stories of glorious intensity, things have not always run smoothly.

Holmes has withheld truths. He pretended to be dead for years. He constantly toys with his health and causes Watson pain and anxiety. All the paths Watson laid out for his life have been disrupted by his adoration of this brilliant but challenging man. Years of living together at this frantic, breakneck, head-over-heels pace seem to have taken their toll: Holmes suddenly wants to retreat from the world and take up his beekeeping, and Watson remarries and doesn't follow him, as he needs to live his own life. By His Last Bow, it seems they haven't seen each other for years.

"We heard of you as living the life of a hermit among your bees and your books in a small farm upon the South Downs," says Watson, suggesting he's never visited. But they reconnect, and thankfully the spark between them is still there. War is looming on the horizon, and both fear it may take their lives - "Stand with me here upon the terrace, for it may be the last quiet talk that we shall ever have," says Holmes.

That's where we leave them, looking out over a moonlit sea waiting for the dawn, exchanging words that they fear will be parting ones.

But the reader is left with the hope that perhaps they won't be parted again this time. War can't separate these two, surely? Nothing can.

So. That's where the picnic comes in, as a last coda in this great love story.

The War is over. Holmes and Watson have reunited. Perhaps Watson visits Holmes more often now, widowed once again. And Holmes realises that what both of them need now is to be together.

Except how does he say that, as someone who does not share his innermost thoughts easily?

The picnic represents the one chance that Holmes feels he has to say, I've treated you badly. I've made mistakes. But we can get through them, because we love each other. Let's not be parted ever again. Come and stay with me here.

The picnic isn't just a picnic.

It's a proposal.

So like, no pressure, players. :P

EDIT:

Just to clarify because I think my wording confused some folks - My plan is still to write them in a close platonic friendship or queerplatonic partnership and to keep it shipper friendly and leave the possibility open that they are a romantic couple.

The change is just that in my original storyline Watson had been living with Holmes for years, and now I'm playing with the idea of exploring the picnic being the moment when they commit to living together for the rest of their lives.

[mariana-oconnor]

His Last Bow

Hey Tumblr,

I have 0 idea what happens in this story. Kind of hoping it's a bit like Curtain, the last Poirot story, because that's a bop. Well, it's very depressing, but I love the solution. Although I also really hope it isn't, because then Agatha Christie would have copied that and I really don't want that to be the case.

I also really want ACD to have done something insanely over the top and decisive to make it really clear that this time there would be no retconning. Like... idk, the world being invaded by aliens. Sherlock Holmes stealing the crown jewels and being executed for treason. Mycroft turning out to have been a double agent all along and destroying the entire British Empire.

I'm no longer feverish, although my lungs are still trying to propel themselves out of my body in a way that keeps leaving me a little asphyxiated, so that's fun. But no jellyfishifters this time I expect. Or sea turtles... Yeah, Idk either.

It was nine o'clock at night upon the second of August—the most terrible August in the history of the world.

Oh Watson, you sweet summer child. I bet I've seen worse Augusts. Even if Holmes does die in this one.

The sun had long set, but one blood-red gash like an open wound lay low in the distant west.

London... is now... a hellmouth?

Are we not in London? Is that the city from a distance. Where are we? Why is the sky split open? What is going on?

The two famous Germans stood beside the stone parapet of the garden walk...

The only two famous Germans. Ever. You know... those two.

Oh, so we're actually in the 'Sherlock is a spy' period. Weirdly I assumed that that was only going to be referenced. But no, we're actually going there.

So the red line is... the war front?

One of these was his present companion, Baron Von Herling, the chief secretary of the legation, whose huge 100-horse-power Benz car was blocking the country lane as it waited to waft its owner back to London.

Is the Baron compensating for something? Maybe.

But we're not in London and we're not near the war front, so... what is that red slash in the sky. Is it London?

This is probably not the mystery I am meant to be trying to solve. I should pay more attention to the espionage and less to the environs.

“They are not very hard to deceive,” he remarked. “A more docile, simple folk could not be imagined.”

Someone has not been down the pub when the home team is playing. Hoo boy. Docile is not a word I would use...

"One's first impression is that they are entirely soft. Then one comes suddenly upon something very hard, and you know that you have reached the limit and must adapt yourself to the fact."

That is, indeed, what she said.

“Meaning British prejudice in all its queer manifestations."

Oh boy. I don't think you mean what I'd mean by those words, but yet you have still brought upon me a great sense of national shame and wincing.

"I was invited to a week-end gathering at the country house of a cabinet minister. The conversation was amazingly indiscreet.”

Given the general level of OpSec shown by government workers, bankers, and just... everyone within these stories, I cannot say that this surprises me. I'm disappointed, but not surprised. The majority of government people we have met have been entire and total imbeciles in the matter of privacy, data protection and general best practices regarding secrecy.

“No, no, don't call it a pose. A pose is an artificial thing. This is quite natural. I am a born sportsman. I enjoy it.”

Ugh, I hate this guy.

“And all the time this quiet country house of yours is the centre of half the mischief in England, and the sporting squire the most astute secret-service man in Europe. Genius, my dear Von Bork—genius!”

I will say, they're commenting on other people not being discreet, and here they are just laying out everything without even a hint of subtlety. Using people's names. confirming their identities, confirming their true purposes. Unless this, in itself, is a subterfuge... They're not at a party, at least, I suppose.

“You flatter me, Baron. But certainly I may claim my four years in this country have not been unproductive. I've never shown you my little store. Would you mind stepping in for a moment?”

This all feels very Cask of Amontillado, don't you think?

Is Van Bork Sherlock?

He then closed the door behind the bulky form which followed him and carefully adjusted the heavy curtain over the latticed window. Only when all these precautions had been taken and tested did he turn his sunburned aquiline face to his guest.

Oh. My. God. Did someone just use basic security protocols to prevent someone from listening or looking in on them? Be still my beating heart. I might faint.

I am so confused about who is speaking right now. I need more dialogue tags. I have lost track. These two have merged into one very confused spy with multiple personalities. Or maybe just two heads. I don't know.

“Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty in some way got the alarm and every code has been changed."

If that wasn't Sherlock or Mycroft, then I don't know who it was because every time the Admiralty has been in these stories they have been incompetent to the point of deliberate treason.

Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs. — —Altamont.

Is Altamont Holmes?

“You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. In our code everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals.”

I take back that gif from earlier. Don't tell people the code words. Good grief, man! You've just compromised all of those phrases. I get that you're providing exposition for the audience, but still. STILL.

"I assure you that our most pan-Germanic Junker is a sucking dove in his feelings towards England as compared with a real bitter Irish-American.”

Fair.

...at a touch from the Baron's chauffeur the great car shivered and chuckled.

Is the car alive? I don't like this description.

“Those are the lights of Harwich, I suppose,” said the secretary, pulling on his dust coat.

THANK YOU!

It's Harwich... No hellmouth, just Harwich. Mystery solved.

"The heavens, too, may not be quite so peaceful if all that the good Zeppelin promises us comes true."

Oh, you mean the bustle in the hedgerow? No... don't be alarmed about that. It's just a spring clean for the May Queen. Or if you're talking about the piper, he's just leading us to reason. It's really nothing to be worried about.

...beside it, seated at a table, was a dear old ruddy-faced woman in a country cap. She was bending over her knitting and stopping occasionally to stroke a large black cat upon a stool beside her. “That is Martha, the only servant I have left.” The secretary chuckled. “She might almost personify Britannia,” said he, “with her complete self-absorption and general air of comfortable somnolence."

Is Martha Holmes?

Honestly, that makes a lot of sense.

Or Holmes could be the kitty cat.

It was a new experience to him, the silence and darkness of his widespread house, for his family and household had been a large one. It was a relief to him, however, to think that they were all in safety and that, but for that one old woman who had lingered in the kitchen, he had the whole place to himself.

DANCE PARTY TIME

“You can give me the glad hand to-night, mister,” he cried. “I'm bringing home the bacon at last.”“The signals?”“Same as I said in my cable. Every last one of them, semaphore, lamp code, Marconi—a copy, mind you, not the original."

No. No. No.

This is not how you do a treasonous handover of government secrets. I don't care how empty you think the goddamned house is. You don't say the actual thing. YOU USE THE CODEWORDS. THIS IS WHY YOU HAVE CODES. YOU UTTER NUMPTIES!

Fuck you both. You're morons. What even is this? This isn't espionage. This is slapstick.

Good lord.

I... I despair.

I guess if you're this good at it, then it's no wonder that even the bloody Admiralty managed to get a clue.

Mycroft's probably been feeding you information for years, you muppets.

It's the incompetence that gets to me, it really is. If you're going to be moustache twirling evil German spies then at least have the self-respect and decency to be good at it.

This is pathetic.

The Irish-American had entered the study and stretched his long limbs from the armchair. He was a tall, gaunt man of sixty, with clear-cut features and a small goatee beard which gave him a general resemblance to the caricatures of Uncle Sam. A half-smoked, sodden cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, and as he sat down he struck a match and relit it.

Oh yeah, this is Holmes, isn't it?

You couldn't even pretend to be good at being a traitor?

“So it's not quite as simple as you thought. It was four years ago that I had it made, and what do you think I chose for the word and figures?”

O

h

m

y

g

o

d

Tell me you're not about to do what I think you're about to do.

Please.

Tell me you have one braincell in your tiny head. PLEASE. You cannot be this dumb. YOU CANNOT BE!

“Well, I chose August for the word, and 1914 for the figures, and here we are.”

And you're being dumb by trying to show off how smart you are. That's the worst kind.

“How could they have got on to Steiner?” he muttered. “That's the worst blow yet.”

You literally just told a man your safe combination. I don't know what to tell you, my dude. Maybe you're just bad at this.

Then he sat dazing for a moment in silent amazement at a small blue book which lay before him. Across the cover was printed in golden letters Practical Handbook of Bee Culture. Only for one instant did the master spy glare at this strangely irrelevant inscription. The next he was gripped at the back of his neck by a grasp of iron, and a chloroformed sponge was held in front of his writhing face.

“Another glass, Watson!” said Mr. Sherlock Holmes as he extended the bottle of Imperial Tokay. The thickset chauffeur, who had seated himself by the table, pushed forward his glass with some eagerness.

Didn't call the chauffeur being Watson. Discounted him as Holmes for being too thickset. I guess since it's indicated Watson might have written this one I should have thought about Watson as well. Genuinely didn't think he'd be in this one, though.

"There is no one in the house except old Martha, who has played her part to admiration."

So Martha was working for Holmes this whole time. I think she wins the prize for being the best spy in the story.

"I shall no doubt reappear at Claridge's to-morrow as I was before this American stunt—I beg your pardon, Watson, my well of English seems to be permanently defiled—before this American job came my way.”

Oh no! Holmes used the word 'stunt' how scandalously unEnglish of him!

"The fact is, Watson, that this gentleman upon the sofa was a bit too good for our people."

Guess the Admiralty is worse than even I gave them credit for.

The last remark was addressed to Von Bork himself, who after much gasping and blinking had lain quietly listening to Holmes's statement. He broke out now into a furious stream of German invective, his face convulsed with passion.

No... no... Holmes. You're not monologuing in front of the enemy prisoner. Don't do that. I believed in you.

"And yet I live and keep bees upon the South Downs.”

...don't tell him where you live...

I give up.

“And most of that information came through you,” he cried. “What is it worth? What have I done? It is my ruin forever!” “It is certainly a little untrustworthy,” said Holmes. “It will require some checking and you have little time to check it. Your admiral may find the new guns rather larger than he expects, and the cruisers perhaps a trifle faster.”

god fucking dammit

Why are you telling him about the misinformation? The misinformation is meant to misinform. That's why it's called misinformation. You're undoing half of the work you did.

I... guys... guys, I just can't.

“My dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you would probably enlarge the two limited titles of our village inns by giving us ‘The Dangling Prussian’ as a signpost. The Englishman is a patient creature, but at present his temper is a little inflamed, and it would be as well not to try him too far."

Did he just threaten Van Bork with hanging. By referencing a possible pub name? A+ threat, but yikes.

The two friends chatted in intimate converse for a few minutes, recalling once again the days of the past, while their prisoner vainly wriggled to undo the bonds that held him.

They just... they just left him alone.

And went and had a chat.

I don't even know why I thought they'd drive him away immediately. Why would they?

"I have a check for five hundred pounds which should be cashed early, for the drawer is quite capable of stopping it if he can.”

Such a weird line to end this on. OK then Holmes. Go cash your cheque.

And that was the last of the short stories... It didn't quite have the same poignancy as Curtain. But it certainly gave me a lot to talk about.

This has been a really fun year and I've loved writing these up - and spending far too long finding gifs and sometimes making my own memes when I couldn't find the precise thing I needed to say.

If you've read all of these, I have no idea why, but Hi! 2023 was certainly a year, wasn't it? Thanks to all of you. It's been really fun reading comments and learning things when people added to the notes to answer questions I'd asked.

I hear we're doing the novels next year. I have definitely actually read all of those. But I do get them all mixed up, and I will have forgotten a lot of them. I think I also signed up for another substack, but right now I can't even remember which one. That'll be a fun surprise.

Hope you all had a good, or at least not terrible, 2023. And I hope we all have a better 2024.

Happy (almost) New Year!

[warrenwaskilledbyadeer]

We have achieved a new low

Conan Doyle set Wisteria Lodge IN THE GAP IN WHICH HOLMES IS PRESUMED DEAD

[dathen]

Then he sat dazing for a moment in silent amazement at a small blue book which lay before him. Across the cover was printed in golden letters Practical Handbook of Bee Culture.

If you’re going to drag Sherlock Holmes out of retirement he WILL be implementing his special interest into everything.

[teaspoonnebula]

[thefisherqueen]

But you, Watson”—he stopped his work and took his old friend by the shoulders—“I've hardly seen you in the light yet. How have the years used you? You look the same blithe boy as ever.” “I feel twenty years younger, Holmes. I have seldom felt so happy as when I got your wire asking me to meet you at Harwich with the car. But you, Holmes—you have changed very little—save for that horrible goatee.”

Gods, these two are still pining for each other so badly. This has the same vibes as the moment in a romcom before the kiss occurs

[47gaslamps]

Absolutely deathless conclusion.