Holmes Alone

Sherlock Holmes could not actually recall if he had ever been to a garden centre.

There had, of course, been frequent visits in his professional sleuthing capacity to Orangeries, Conservatories and other forms of hot houses as these were, in his experience, quite popular places to commit murder. He had found the hot, humid atmospheres very stifling and detested that sweaty, clammy feel of his forehead under the rim of his deerstalker and the stream of perspiration through his good quality, multi pocketed and quilted lined frock coat.

It was out of the question for him to consider taking off a few layers whilst at work. Dr Watson joked that more suitable attire would be Bermuda Shorts and a floral open necked shirt. Holmes retorted that Magnum P.I  had done enough to discredit the art of investigation already without him offering any homage to that amateur.

It was just two weeks to Christmas Day.

Mrs Hudson, his housekeeper, was away on a cultural cruise to the Norwegian Fjords partaking in lectures on Hydro-electric power and troll mythology . Her departure from 221B Baker Street had been awkward in the extreme. Holmes was wholly inept at looking after himself. To her credit Mrs Hudson had prepared an extensive dossier of instructions for re-heating the two week supply of her home made lasagne, steak and kidney pies, liver and onions and sturdy accompanying desserts, mainly apple crumble based.

Holmes had studied the information in his usual meticulous way. He had found fault in many of the food offerings in terms of calorific value, level of carbohydrates to proteins and the relative risk of the incubation of salmonella and E-coli amongst the natural ingredients. He was not in a position to suggest a viable alternative menu.

Mrs Hudson,losing it out of understandable frustration, swore at him openly at this further insult, one of many, to her housekeeping skills. She could not however be angry for very long when faced with the pathetic, pale and sickly countenance of her employer.

Reluctantly but in full acceptance she showed Holmes the array of souvenir magnets which held in place on the Frigidaire the leaflets of all the local take-aways and a few promotional vouchers for Waitrose and Tesco Express. He would, she hoped, be able to avoid upsetting the multi-cultural population of central London in the fortnight of her absence.

She was well aware that Holmes would not actually attempt to leave the house for the duration unless his services were requested from Scotland Yard or typically in past commissions a mysterious source.

Her final comment was like a dagger into the cold, indifferent heart of Holmes, "By the way, you will need to get a Christmas Tree".

It was a seasonal job that Mrs Hudson detested. Perhaps Meg Ryan could make the dragging of a six foot pine through a city street a rather comic event but in reality it was pure hell. It was amazing how slim needles on flexible boughs could accumulate so much detritus from the London pavements. She suspected collusion between the tree sellers and the Borough Council and the exchange of monies for such covert street sweeping to avoid paying overtime within an already over-stretched budget.

Holmes had no idea of from where to acquire a Christmas Tree. His intuition told him to go to the source. This would,he mused mean taking the night sleeper train to Scotland, take a post bus into the Highlands, hire the services of a local woodsman and by this operation return triumphantly with a fine example of a fir tree. The logistics pleased his analytical prowess but he was, above all, a bit tight with cash and by his reckoning a tree by this path would put him back a few hundred pounds....and he would have to get changed out of his silk kimono and calfskin slippers and contemplate leaving the house. Impossible.

Dr Watson, when raised by phone, was not much help. " I'm frightfully sorry Holmes. I have a man for that sort of thing". Sherlock had suspected as much over the years and felt a pang of jealousy but above all a sexual orientation based confusion. If anything he was without preference. "Why not wander up to the garden centre, I believe they have a Christmas display on", Watson added before hanging up.

The conventions and etiquette of such an establishment were new territory. He possessed a few reference works on gardening although heavily biased towards the identification of home grown poisons and the toxicology of plants. His knowledge of the latin names of all things floral was extensive but largely useless for practical living. Holmes recalled a book, given to him by Mrs Hudson by some celebrity gardener/ presenter/ erstwhile author and he retrieved this from the shelf in the lavatory.

The cover showed a grinning, rather flabby individual in blazer and cravat, chino's and brogues. So this was the correct attire he presumed, for the pursuit of a garden based activity.

Three hours later, dressed and groomed he spied out through the letter box onto the bustling Baker Street. He was dapper. It was a new look for him but quite interesting. Perhaps he should rethink his image in the New Year, a bit more casual than dour and formal.Frankly, a bit more 21st Century and not retro-1800's.

It took a lot of effort and anquish for him not to extricate his cane walking stick from the elephants foot holder in the hallway. It was habit but out of context with his blazer and slacks.

The bus ride to the stop closest to the trading estate location of the garden centre was uneventful as far as the other passengers were concerned. Holmes, however, was overpowered by the level of apparent criminality that he espied on board the 66 bus. The driver had used a sleight of hand to divert some loose change from a fare into his pocket. Two youths smirked under the influence of the inhalation of solvents. A shady character was paying far too much attention to the resting place of the pension book of an elderly lady across the aisle. Ink stains on the fingers of a nervous book-keeper were an obvious sign of malpractice. The group of students dressed in prison stripes, masks and carrying cloth bags with pound signs on them were just out on a social at the end of term. He discounted them.

The scene at the garden centre baffled and seduced Holmes. A mass of gaily coloured lights assaulted his senses at the entrance and canned sounds of what he recognised as 'Now Christmas' wafted out of the automatic doors. He had to be nimble to avoid collision and, heaven forbid, any physical contact with the throng of shoppers ebbing in and out of the huge emporium. He was bombarded by sights and sounds of a seasonal nature and in a childlike daze he set about his quest.

Mrs Hudson returned to Baker Street from her Scandinavian excursion between Christmas and New Year.

From the top of the street she saw the flash and strobing of neon blue. Back to normal she thought, fully expectant of the Police and that nice Inspector Lestrade in consultation with Mr Holmes.

She nearly dropped her Norwegian fish based delicacies when, squaring up to the house the source of the lights became evident. The whole of the front elevation was bedecked with strings of gawdy coloured lanterns and bright white icicles hung down from the gutter. Tubular strip lights in the shapes of reindeer, a train ,a Bethlehem Star and other indiscernible creatures and objects were attached to the masonry. An inflatable Santa swayed about in the breeze where it was padlocked to the forecout railings.

Was she in fact at the right address or had the copious amounts of locally fermented glogg on board ship distorted her sense of reality?

Upon entering the hallway the overriding theme of an elvish  grotto continued. Greenery festooned the walls and woodwork. Streamers and paper chains zig-zagged between. In every alcove stood a blood red poinsettia or berry laden sprig of holly. A bass thumping came from the drawing room with the distinctive strains of Slade, Roy Wood and The Pogues. Understandably distressed by the scene Mrs Hudson approached the doorway.

She found the great, intuitive and forensically gifted Sherlock Holmes ,resplendent in a felt Santa Hat, stained string vest and holly motif boxer shorts sprawled on the floor amongst discarded bottles of Warninks Advocaat and the foil trays of take-away food of many nationalities.

The room seemed to be considerably smaller than Mrs Hudson recalled leaving it. It was not on account of her recent period on board ship in a cabin but because of the expansive boughs of the largest non-drop Nordmann tree she had ever seen outside of, perhaps, Trafalgar Square. It truly swamped the room and, stale odours and worse of continuous male occupation for a fortnight aside, it's sweet and sickly resin based fragrance gave her the impression of standing in a Norwegian forest once again.

"Velkommen tilbake Mrs H" pronounced Holmes and he fair leapt up as though he had not been party to the company of another human for some considerable time. He was unsteady on his feet , creaky and stiff jointed and she gathered from this that he had indeed spent much of his time prone on the floor in an egg nog infused haze. In his hand he clutched a magnifying glass which was quite normal although it was of a cheap plastic type commonly found in a novelty cracker.

"You are just in time to help me solve the most heinous of crimes Mrs Hudson.", He continued  "How come, in all my years of rational and intellectual thought, my dedication to the solving of crimes and misdemeanours and a constant battle of wits with my arch-nemesis Moriarty I have never found time to really partake in the delights of the Festive Season?".

With that Holmes cornered and manoeuvred Mrs Hudson under a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the chandelier. As his overly moist lips pressed against hers, Mrs H was reminded that there was still a decent sized turkey in the deep freeze and if thoroughly thawed, like her employer, she deduced there could be a good prospect of a very Merry Christmas indeed.