Allison Cameron (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
as_damaged) wrote2012-04-19 10:18 pm
as_damaged) wrote2012-04-19 10:18 pm
Entry tags:
☤ received aboard the R.M.S. Gargantuan
[Pressed into Ms. Cameron's hands just before she boarded her lifeboat by Dr. Watson, [nothaunted] with the request that she mail it to his publisher, this letter chronicles the last adventure of Sherlock Holmes.]
My dear Readers:
To my Publisher:
It is with sorrow that I
For all my words, I am finding it difficult to pen this letter. I dearly wish, for reasons that will become clear, that circumstances were such that I did not have to write it. However, I cannot bring myself to face my own death without making record of the final days of Sherlock Holmes. I would spend my last hours in regret if I did not complete this tale to the best of my ability. Due to the limited amount of time, however, I fear I will have to omit certain details to ensure that this letter makes it into the hands of someone who will be able to bring it to its final destination.
Three days ago, Sherlock and I received a visitor whose origins I unfortunately cannot speak of, for I have been sworn to secrecy on the subject of his identity. Though I would usually record what I remember of him after the case is solved, I have not been released from this oath. Our visitor appeared just after breakfast. Neither Sherlock nor I were expecting any callers that morning, so it came as a surprise to us when Mrs. Hudson appeared, with her this visitor. The man’s manner was frank and blunt. He had come to our residence with the sole purpose of bestowing this mystery upon Sherlock and sending him after the perpetrator. He stayed no longer then fifteen minutes at most; just long enough to swear us to secrecy, explain his predicament, and leave. No sooner had he left then Sherlock was on the case, sweeping out of our sitting room with his usual enthusiasm. As much as I wished to accompany him, he instead insisted that I spend the day at Baker Street and await his return. Return he did, later that evening, triumphantly holding up two slips of paper in his hand. When he presented them to me, I was shocked to find them to be tickets for entrance aboard the RMS Gargantuan! He was mute on the subject of how he acquired them; instead he revealed that we would not be passengers aboard the great steamer, but that we would be undercover as waiters in the First-Class Dining Room. I admit that I was disappointed, however, the idea became much more palatable when Sherlock explained how it would allow for our investigation to run far more smoothly than if we were passengers ourselves. If we were masquerading as waiters, we could freely move about the ship and its various rooms, listening in on conversations and gathering evidence without garnering suspicion. So it was with gleeful anticipation that I retired to my room that evening.
The next morning we boarded the steamer without a single problem. Whoever it was that Sherlock had gotten the tickets from, they had been quite thorough. We had even been given a cabin to ourselves as restaurant staff, which would surely help with the ease of solving the case. If to have no other function, it would certainly serve us both as a safe place to store possibly sensitive information. We scarcely had time to place our luggage (one bag apiece for Sherlock and I) in our cabin before we were swept away, handed our uniforms, and ushered to the kitchen for a briefing from the head cook. We were then released to change and prepare ourselves for the evening meal. I was quite surprised at how well the uniform fit me once I had tried it on. My combined lack of height and my soldier’s build are certainly not that of the average man, as my tailor well knows. However, this uniform fit as though it was made for me. I couldn’t help but cast a suspicious glance at my friend. The look he sent me in return confirmed my thoughts: Sherlock had the uniform made for me. It seemed impossible in such a short time, but he had done it. First a position aboard the maiden voyage of the Gargantuan, then a perfectly fitted uniform in barely a day’s turnaround; was there no end to what he could accomplish in the face of a case?
Despite our original purpose, I found that I had scarcely a moment to think of our investigation. I must admit that I found a growing admiration for the restaurant staff on the Gargantuan; their jobs are far more difficult than I could have ever imagined. Though most of the passengers I served were pleasant, I did observe a few treating some of the other waiters with far less courtesy. After falling under some of that harshness myself, I vowed never to treat any waiter with such indignity again. I was exhausted by the time we were released from duty. No sooner had I gotten back to our cabin and changed out of my uniform, however, before Sherlock was dragging me off into the network of passageways that made up the Gargantuan, on the trail of our criminal. As we made our way through the ship, I couldn’t help but be in awe of her. She is truly the grandest ship I have ever set eyes on, and at the time I could not only see why they said she was unsinkable, but believed it whole-heartedly. Everything about her was grand and shining, in perfect working order. We spent hours on the trail of the criminal, gathering information that led us to identifying one of his informants. Having deemed that enough for one day, we made our way back to our cabin, at which point I am not ashamed to admit that I fell asleep almost instantly.
We were awakened early the next morning with barely enough time to change into our uniforms and eat breakfast before it was time to serve the morning meal in the First Class Dining Room. I was very grateful for the cup of coffee I had chosen as a morning beverage rather than my regular tea; I found the extra boost in energy necessary to stay awake. I was still a bit tired from last night’s excursion through the ship. I also found myself envying the passengers who had the luxury of sleeping as late as they wished. I reminded myself that this would only last the length of the voyage to New York; then I would be able to take a return voyage to Baker Street and sleep as late as I desired. The thought heartened me as the day continued. I kept a keen eye out for the criminal’s informer throughout my duties, but did not spot him until much later in the day when I was attending to the Smoke Room. I had been moved there from my place in the Dining Room once dinner had finished in order to assist in bring drinks from the bar to the First Class patrons. I found myself assisting the very gentleman we were tracking, and I made sure to pay close attention on his words and movements. Naturally, Sherlock had been correct. By masquerading as part of the staff, I was paid absolutely no mind by the man or any of his associates, and was able to spend a good amount of time listening to their conversation without difficulty. Unfortunately I found them to be of no consequence, containing not a single whisper of the criminal we were after. Never the less, I reported my findings to Sherlock. As I repeated to my friend what I had heard, he seemed to draw into himself. I recognized it as a sign that he was settling in to think, and, once finished with my report, I left him to it. I was exhausted from the day’s work, and was eager to rest for the evening. He would rouse me if need be; it is something he has done before, after all, and once my uniform was pressed and hung, I took gratefully to bed.
The next morning found me alone in the cabin. It seemed that Sherlock had disappeared in pursuit of this case without me, yet I felt far too tired to take any offense. Instead I dressed and made my way once more to the Dining Room where I was put to work after being given breakfast with the rest of the staff. They are a jolly and kind lot despite how hard they work, and I found myself drawn into conversation and laughter with them time and again. I was not given a reprieve from my duties until dinner, at which time I was told that I was being given the meal and the rest of the evening off, and that I should make the best of it. I had not yet seen Sherlock that day, so I was surprised to find him back in our cabin the moment I returned, ready to whisk me off into the depths of the ship to continue our investigation. I quickly changed out of my uniform before following him. I attempted to inquire of him what he had learned that day, but my friend was so focused that I could not get a truly straight answer out of him. I resolved that I would question him further at a later time, perhaps when he wasn’t quite so thoroughly preoccupied with his work. We returned to our cabin at around half-past eleven in order for Sherlock to retrieve his violin. He insisted that it was how he was going to catch the attention of the criminal, and also suggested that I bring along an item of interest as well; something that I could pretend to be engaged in while secretly keeping an eye open for the man we were chasing. I selected a book that I had been reading, as well as several sheets of paper, my fountain pen, and an envelope. I thought it best for me to record what had already transpired lest I forget. I could easily store what I had already written in the envelope to ensure that none of the pages were lost.
Just as we were leaving our cabin, the entire ship gave a small jolt, and there was a sound of metal colliding with something rather immoveable. I was thrown a bit, and wound up with my hand upon the wall of the hallway to steady myself. I wondered aloud what the sound and the jolt had been, though I received no answer from Sherlock. He was already halfway down the hall, ever focused on the case, and I ran to catch up with him. I followed him for about a quarter of an hour while he searched out the perfect spot for his playing. Finally he settled on an area on-deck, outside despite the freezing temperatures, and opened his violin case. I myself searched around for something I could settle in to in order to write, and managed to procure one of the wicker chairs on the deck.
We had been there no more than half an hour, Sherlock having finished tuning his instrument to the cold air and I no more than half a chapter further in my book, when one of the kitchen staff, the young female cashier, came out onto the deck, wearing her lifebelt and looking quite panicked. I was immediately concerned and rose to go to her, to inquire what had her in such a state and why she was wearing her lifebelt. She reported to me in a frightened tone that the ship was sinking, and that the captain had ordered the passengers to put on their lifebelts and come up to the deck. I couldn’t believe it. The Gargantuan, sinking? Such a thing didn’t seem fathomable. At my look of disbelief, she continued. They were locking the staff in their cabins, now, to prevent them from fleeing to the lifeboats. She herself had barely escaped. The very thought chilled me, and I turned to look back at Sherlock, perhaps in order to seek some reassurance that what she was saying couldn’t be true. His look set ice to my veins. He had stopped playing, his bow lowered to his side, watching the young woman and I with a piercing gaze. I felt dread gather in my heart; that was not the look of dismissal that I had hoped to find on his face, but rather that something he had already known had been confirmed. After what felt like an eternity, he raised his bow again to the strings of his instrument, and began to play. I turned to speak with the young woman again, but she had already gone. I felt trapped between the compulsion to go after her, to try and get more information, or staying with my friend. Reason won out over panic, and I turned and went back to the wicker chair, lowering myself into it just as more of the first class passengers, all in their lifebelts, were lead out onto the deck.
It has been another half an hour since that time. A couple of the lifeboats have left so far, and it seems that, though they were cynical at first, several of the passengers have begun to realize the gravity of the situation. The panic starting to rise up in the air is almost palpable, and I fear it will result in a riot soon. The order was rightly given that women and children will board the lifeboats first. It is here that I will admit that I have no more delusions. For the past half-hour I have wrestled with the fact that this steamship, the “unsinkable” Gargantuan, is sinking. She is going down into the Atlantic, and we do not nearly have enough lifeboats to contain all of her passengers, much less the crew. In any case, it is imperative that the women and children are rescued first, and Sherlock and I are of neither. I can only hold out hope that the distress signals that were sent out surely will bring another boat along, but I admit that I find myself less hopeful by the moment.
Sherlock continues to play, still hoping to draw out our criminal. He has always been a talented man of both mind and spirit, and even on this cold night, perhaps especially on this cold night, I find the sound of his violin playing near me a comfort. Sitting in this chair, if I close my eyes, it almost reminds me of Baker Street; of a comfortable chair and a warm fire, of the room being lit by both the moon outside and the low candlelight, of the sound of dear Mrs. Hudson puttering around downstairs, locking up for the night. My heart aches to think of her; how she will lose both of us so suddenly with the sinking of this ship. I remember her distress when we thought Sherlock dead, and it pains me to acknowledge the hurt that we will cause her by both of us passing at once. I only hope that she will remember us fondly as we will think of her.
I would like to take a moment now to thank you, my dear Readers, for your unerring kindness and good reception of these stories of our adventures. It has been my distinct pleasure to take up the pen to record them, and I hope that they have given you a glimpse of both the genius and the heart of my dear friend, as well as inspired in you the same admiration and respect for him that I have. By that token, I must also thank my publisher, for without his assistance, these stories would never have made their way to you. Then the world would never know of Sherlock Holmes, and it saddens me to think of it.
Lastly, to the man himself: though he may never fully know it, I could not have wished for a truer friend than Sherlock. Though his outward interactions with many usually only show his impatience and temper, he is a good and honest man; one that I have always deeply admired and respected though he does, on the occasion, drive me absolutely mad. I am grateful to have been able to spend several of my years with him in the pursuit of justice and honored that he would consider me with enough regard to hold such a position as his Boswell. Even now, as we wait for the inevitable, he looks for the criminal, still in pursuit of a case. Ah, he’s even annoyed that I am writing instead of keeping an eye open for the man, turning my chair with his foot so that I have a better view of our informant. Tireless is my friend when searching for answers, and I feel a warm affection for him for it, though it is tinged with exasperation. I can only hope that this account will reach my publisher, so that your final image of Sherlock will be the same as mine: standing proudly on the deck of a sinking ship in pursuit of a case and of justice, playing the violin into the night air, his attention as sharp and as keen as ever, empowered by a brilliant mind and, though it less shown and even less acknowledged, a good heart.
With this, I bid you a final farewell. So ends the adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.
nothaunted] with the request that she mail it to his publisher, this letter chronicles the last adventure of Sherlock Holmes.]For all my words, I am finding it difficult to pen this letter. I dearly wish, for reasons that will become clear, that circumstances were such that I did not have to write it. However, I cannot bring myself to face my own death without making record of the final days of Sherlock Holmes. I would spend my last hours in regret if I did not complete this tale to the best of my ability. Due to the limited amount of time, however, I fear I will have to omit certain details to ensure that this letter makes it into the hands of someone who will be able to bring it to its final destination.
Three days ago, Sherlock and I received a visitor whose origins I unfortunately cannot speak of, for I have been sworn to secrecy on the subject of his identity. Though I would usually record what I remember of him after the case is solved, I have not been released from this oath. Our visitor appeared just after breakfast. Neither Sherlock nor I were expecting any callers that morning, so it came as a surprise to us when Mrs. Hudson appeared, with her this visitor. The man’s manner was frank and blunt. He had come to our residence with the sole purpose of bestowing this mystery upon Sherlock and sending him after the perpetrator. He stayed no longer then fifteen minutes at most; just long enough to swear us to secrecy, explain his predicament, and leave. No sooner had he left then Sherlock was on the case, sweeping out of our sitting room with his usual enthusiasm. As much as I wished to accompany him, he instead insisted that I spend the day at Baker Street and await his return. Return he did, later that evening, triumphantly holding up two slips of paper in his hand. When he presented them to me, I was shocked to find them to be tickets for entrance aboard the RMS Gargantuan! He was mute on the subject of how he acquired them; instead he revealed that we would not be passengers aboard the great steamer, but that we would be undercover as waiters in the First-Class Dining Room. I admit that I was disappointed, however, the idea became much more palatable when Sherlock explained how it would allow for our investigation to run far more smoothly than if we were passengers ourselves. If we were masquerading as waiters, we could freely move about the ship and its various rooms, listening in on conversations and gathering evidence without garnering suspicion. So it was with gleeful anticipation that I retired to my room that evening.
The next morning we boarded the steamer without a single problem. Whoever it was that Sherlock had gotten the tickets from, they had been quite thorough. We had even been given a cabin to ourselves as restaurant staff, which would surely help with the ease of solving the case. If to have no other function, it would certainly serve us both as a safe place to store possibly sensitive information. We scarcely had time to place our luggage (one bag apiece for Sherlock and I) in our cabin before we were swept away, handed our uniforms, and ushered to the kitchen for a briefing from the head cook. We were then released to change and prepare ourselves for the evening meal. I was quite surprised at how well the uniform fit me once I had tried it on. My combined lack of height and my soldier’s build are certainly not that of the average man, as my tailor well knows. However, this uniform fit as though it was made for me. I couldn’t help but cast a suspicious glance at my friend. The look he sent me in return confirmed my thoughts: Sherlock had the uniform made for me. It seemed impossible in such a short time, but he had done it. First a position aboard the maiden voyage of the Gargantuan, then a perfectly fitted uniform in barely a day’s turnaround; was there no end to what he could accomplish in the face of a case?
Despite our original purpose, I found that I had scarcely a moment to think of our investigation. I must admit that I found a growing admiration for the restaurant staff on the Gargantuan; their jobs are far more difficult than I could have ever imagined. Though most of the passengers I served were pleasant, I did observe a few treating some of the other waiters with far less courtesy. After falling under some of that harshness myself, I vowed never to treat any waiter with such indignity again. I was exhausted by the time we were released from duty. No sooner had I gotten back to our cabin and changed out of my uniform, however, before Sherlock was dragging me off into the network of passageways that made up the Gargantuan, on the trail of our criminal. As we made our way through the ship, I couldn’t help but be in awe of her. She is truly the grandest ship I have ever set eyes on, and at the time I could not only see why they said she was unsinkable, but believed it whole-heartedly. Everything about her was grand and shining, in perfect working order. We spent hours on the trail of the criminal, gathering information that led us to identifying one of his informants. Having deemed that enough for one day, we made our way back to our cabin, at which point I am not ashamed to admit that I fell asleep almost instantly.
We were awakened early the next morning with barely enough time to change into our uniforms and eat breakfast before it was time to serve the morning meal in the First Class Dining Room. I was very grateful for the cup of coffee I had chosen as a morning beverage rather than my regular tea; I found the extra boost in energy necessary to stay awake. I was still a bit tired from last night’s excursion through the ship. I also found myself envying the passengers who had the luxury of sleeping as late as they wished. I reminded myself that this would only last the length of the voyage to New York; then I would be able to take a return voyage to Baker Street and sleep as late as I desired. The thought heartened me as the day continued. I kept a keen eye out for the criminal’s informer throughout my duties, but did not spot him until much later in the day when I was attending to the Smoke Room. I had been moved there from my place in the Dining Room once dinner had finished in order to assist in bring drinks from the bar to the First Class patrons. I found myself assisting the very gentleman we were tracking, and I made sure to pay close attention on his words and movements. Naturally, Sherlock had been correct. By masquerading as part of the staff, I was paid absolutely no mind by the man or any of his associates, and was able to spend a good amount of time listening to their conversation without difficulty. Unfortunately I found them to be of no consequence, containing not a single whisper of the criminal we were after. Never the less, I reported my findings to Sherlock. As I repeated to my friend what I had heard, he seemed to draw into himself. I recognized it as a sign that he was settling in to think, and, once finished with my report, I left him to it. I was exhausted from the day’s work, and was eager to rest for the evening. He would rouse me if need be; it is something he has done before, after all, and once my uniform was pressed and hung, I took gratefully to bed.
The next morning found me alone in the cabin. It seemed that Sherlock had disappeared in pursuit of this case without me, yet I felt far too tired to take any offense. Instead I dressed and made my way once more to the Dining Room where I was put to work after being given breakfast with the rest of the staff. They are a jolly and kind lot despite how hard they work, and I found myself drawn into conversation and laughter with them time and again. I was not given a reprieve from my duties until dinner, at which time I was told that I was being given the meal and the rest of the evening off, and that I should make the best of it. I had not yet seen Sherlock that day, so I was surprised to find him back in our cabin the moment I returned, ready to whisk me off into the depths of the ship to continue our investigation. I quickly changed out of my uniform before following him. I attempted to inquire of him what he had learned that day, but my friend was so focused that I could not get a truly straight answer out of him. I resolved that I would question him further at a later time, perhaps when he wasn’t quite so thoroughly preoccupied with his work. We returned to our cabin at around half-past eleven in order for Sherlock to retrieve his violin. He insisted that it was how he was going to catch the attention of the criminal, and also suggested that I bring along an item of interest as well; something that I could pretend to be engaged in while secretly keeping an eye open for the man we were chasing. I selected a book that I had been reading, as well as several sheets of paper, my fountain pen, and an envelope. I thought it best for me to record what had already transpired lest I forget. I could easily store what I had already written in the envelope to ensure that none of the pages were lost.
Just as we were leaving our cabin, the entire ship gave a small jolt, and there was a sound of metal colliding with something rather immoveable. I was thrown a bit, and wound up with my hand upon the wall of the hallway to steady myself. I wondered aloud what the sound and the jolt had been, though I received no answer from Sherlock. He was already halfway down the hall, ever focused on the case, and I ran to catch up with him. I followed him for about a quarter of an hour while he searched out the perfect spot for his playing. Finally he settled on an area on-deck, outside despite the freezing temperatures, and opened his violin case. I myself searched around for something I could settle in to in order to write, and managed to procure one of the wicker chairs on the deck.
We had been there no more than half an hour, Sherlock having finished tuning his instrument to the cold air and I no more than half a chapter further in my book, when one of the kitchen staff, the young female cashier, came out onto the deck, wearing her lifebelt and looking quite panicked. I was immediately concerned and rose to go to her, to inquire what had her in such a state and why she was wearing her lifebelt. She reported to me in a frightened tone that the ship was sinking, and that the captain had ordered the passengers to put on their lifebelts and come up to the deck. I couldn’t believe it. The Gargantuan, sinking? Such a thing didn’t seem fathomable. At my look of disbelief, she continued. They were locking the staff in their cabins, now, to prevent them from fleeing to the lifeboats. She herself had barely escaped. The very thought chilled me, and I turned to look back at Sherlock, perhaps in order to seek some reassurance that what she was saying couldn’t be true. His look set ice to my veins. He had stopped playing, his bow lowered to his side, watching the young woman and I with a piercing gaze. I felt dread gather in my heart; that was not the look of dismissal that I had hoped to find on his face, but rather that something he had already known had been confirmed. After what felt like an eternity, he raised his bow again to the strings of his instrument, and began to play. I turned to speak with the young woman again, but she had already gone. I felt trapped between the compulsion to go after her, to try and get more information, or staying with my friend. Reason won out over panic, and I turned and went back to the wicker chair, lowering myself into it just as more of the first class passengers, all in their lifebelts, were lead out onto the deck.
It has been another half an hour since that time. A couple of the lifeboats have left so far, and it seems that, though they were cynical at first, several of the passengers have begun to realize the gravity of the situation. The panic starting to rise up in the air is almost palpable, and I fear it will result in a riot soon. The order was rightly given that women and children will board the lifeboats first. It is here that I will admit that I have no more delusions. For the past half-hour I have wrestled with the fact that this steamship, the “unsinkable” Gargantuan, is sinking. She is going down into the Atlantic, and we do not nearly have enough lifeboats to contain all of her passengers, much less the crew. In any case, it is imperative that the women and children are rescued first, and Sherlock and I are of neither. I can only hold out hope that the distress signals that were sent out surely will bring another boat along, but I admit that I find myself less hopeful by the moment.
Sherlock continues to play, still hoping to draw out our criminal. He has always been a talented man of both mind and spirit, and even on this cold night, perhaps especially on this cold night, I find the sound of his violin playing near me a comfort. Sitting in this chair, if I close my eyes, it almost reminds me of Baker Street; of a comfortable chair and a warm fire, of the room being lit by both the moon outside and the low candlelight, of the sound of dear Mrs. Hudson puttering around downstairs, locking up for the night. My heart aches to think of her; how she will lose both of us so suddenly with the sinking of this ship. I remember her distress when we thought Sherlock dead, and it pains me to acknowledge the hurt that we will cause her by both of us passing at once. I only hope that she will remember us fondly as we will think of her.
I would like to take a moment now to thank you, my dear Readers, for your unerring kindness and good reception of these stories of our adventures. It has been my distinct pleasure to take up the pen to record them, and I hope that they have given you a glimpse of both the genius and the heart of my dear friend, as well as inspired in you the same admiration and respect for him that I have. By that token, I must also thank my publisher, for without his assistance, these stories would never have made their way to you. Then the world would never know of Sherlock Holmes, and it saddens me to think of it.
Lastly, to the man himself: though he may never fully know it, I could not have wished for a truer friend than Sherlock. Though his outward interactions with many usually only show his impatience and temper, he is a good and honest man; one that I have always deeply admired and respected though he does, on the occasion, drive me absolutely mad. I am grateful to have been able to spend several of my years with him in the pursuit of justice and honored that he would consider me with enough regard to hold such a position as his Boswell. Even now, as we wait for the inevitable, he looks for the criminal, still in pursuit of a case. Ah, he’s even annoyed that I am writing instead of keeping an eye open for the man, turning my chair with his foot so that I have a better view of our informant. Tireless is my friend when searching for answers, and I feel a warm affection for him for it, though it is tinged with exasperation. I can only hope that this account will reach my publisher, so that your final image of Sherlock will be the same as mine: standing proudly on the deck of a sinking ship in pursuit of a case and of justice, playing the violin into the night air, his attention as sharp and as keen as ever, empowered by a brilliant mind and, though it less shown and even less acknowledged, a good heart.
With this, I bid you a final farewell. So ends the adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.