a new novel in the Holmes-verse… coming 2022?
He warned them, back in ’39. He could see what was coming, had to get out before the war-fever and the paranoia drove him insane. No one likes a Cassandra.
He travelled in Canada for a time, explored the new world – he’s even travelled to the Reichenbach Falls, high in the Fraser Mountains, not to be confused with the ones in Switzerland in the story, where his namesake took the fall. He read it as a boy… his mother was a fan, he gathers. That’s why she named him…
“Sherlock!” His friend and one-time travelling companion in the states Bob Johnson, US army, wakes him as their train pulls into Canterbury. Having arrived too late for the D-day landings they’ve been billeted here – “will you look at that. Just like in the stories. Man, look at the cathedral…”
“Actually the pilgrims never reach Canterbury in the stories, since Chaucer had the poor courtesy to die before he ever finished writing them… Oh nevermind.” Young Holmes wants to tell the cowboy, but stays quiet. Then instead: “New year’s day. And not much evidence of any festive cheer around.”
“Why not? We’re winning, aren’t we?”
“All I want is a cup of tea.”
“Tea?? What’s the English obsession with it?”
“It’s a habit, like marijuana.”
At Liverpool street station the WREN who processed them looked on them disdainfully, as though their volunteer service was little more than a gesture at this late stage in a war fought without them. “You’re going to Kent,” she said, “they need people to dig bodies out of the ruins there…”