"A Study In Red"

By Dr. John H. Watson

I have often made mention of my friends aversion to national holidays of a sentimental nature. For reasons unknown to me he would often plunge into the blackest of moods upon such occasions. He gave his reasons, them being that criminal activity seemed to lesson around times, but I often wondered if there was not more to it than simply that.

Nevertheless, I soon learned to tread lightly upon Christmas, or Easter and other such days. Fully aware that any wrong word or deed would only depress my friend further.

It was upon my third year living in Baker Street, just two months before my marriage, that I discovered one notable exception to this queer antipathy.

I rose early upon the morning of February the Th as Mary and I had planned to make a day of it. Visit the London Museum, see a show at the Lyceum that night, and perhaps have some dinner afterwards. It was quite a promising schedule.

I dressed quickly and descended to the sitting room fully prepared to meet the very pillar of indignation upon my arrival. I knew all too well how Holmes would scowl at my cheeriness, sniff in mockery and refuse to speak a word until he had recovered from his irritation at the world's happiness several days later.

I supposed he thought that as his biographer I was obliged to suffer with him in his 'repugnance'. A task which I, by no means, intended to do.

Thus I was nearly knocked off my feet when I flung open the door to find my illustrious friend standing just before the fire with a pleasant smile warming his usually cold countenance.

"Good morning, Watson!" He cried suddenly, and took a seat at the well laid table.

Attempting to regather my wits about me, I followed suit and filled my plate with two of the delicious looking buttered scones with which Mrs. Hudson had favoured us.

I noticed at once that Holmes was impeccably dressed as if he intended to go out.

"Are you...leaving, Holmes?"

He poured a steaming cup of coffee for the both of us before responding. "Yes. I thought I'd trot down to the postal office."

"Whatever for?"

"Why, to procure any correspondence we might have, of course. Why else?"

"Isn't the mail usually delivered, Holmes?"

"Oh, I thought I'd save the boy the walk. I'm sure he has numerous other deliveries to make." He downed the last of his coffee and practically leapt for the door, snatching his hat from the rack along the way.

"But Holmes-"

"I'll see you tonight, Watson! Do enjoy your outing with Miss Morstan, won't you?"

And with that he was gone leaving the sitting room door wide open. I considered chasing after him and demanding to know with what new narcotic he had now injected himself, but thought better of it and finished my breakfast instead.

Glancing up at the clock I noted that I should have to take a cab if I was to meet Mary at her home by eleven.

It was indeed a wondrous day. Mary and I spent several hours at the Museum, enjoyed an marvellous performance of The Profligate and dined afterwards at Simpson's where I surprised my fiance with a lovely diamond brooch made in the shape of a rose.

Needless to say she was quite pleased. The gloriousness of my day was only interrupted once or twice by a slight twinge of worry for my friend. I could not imagine what he must be up to. Or what on earth had brought on his sudden change of outlook.

Thus I was filled with a mixture of relief and apprehension upon my return journey home that night. I knew Holmes must must have returned for I could see light through the open window and hear someone moving about. Our dear landlady met me at the door.

"Good evening, Mrs. Hudson."

"Hello doctor. I am certainly glad that you've returned."

I removed my hat and turned back toward her. "Is something wrong?"

It's Mr. Holmes, he making all sorts of racket up there. And I'm sure I caught the scent of of something burning when I walked by the door earlier!"

"Something burning?"

"Yes!"

With a heavy sigh, I patted her arm comfortingly. "I shall go directly up, Mrs. Hudson, don't worry."

"Thank you, doctor." She replied as I started up the stairs. "One of these days he's going to go a bit too far with those chemicals, and there anything left to worry about!"

"I'm sure, Holmes knows what he's doing." I reassured her, though I had precious little confidence in my own words.

I entered our rooms prepared for the worst and was indeed met with the smell of something aflame. But the sight that met my eyes was so extraordinary that it completely drove all thoughts of danger from my mind.

Sherlock Holmes was perched atop a stool before his chemistry table holding a test tube filled with a bluish green liquid in one hand, and a large red piece of paper in the other. He was surrounded by at least one hundred almost identical fragments of paper. They were everywhere! Stuck here and there amid the beakers and crocks, upon the floor, sticking out of Holmes' dressing gown pockets; the place was an utter mess.

I quickly located the source of the burning smell as one of these odd red papers had fallen across the Bunson burner and was rapidly disintegrating.

"Holmes, what on earth-"

"Ah, my good Watson, I did not hear you enter. Kindly help yourself to a cigar on the mantel there, and I shall join you shortly. This experiment cannot wait a moment longer."

I was in no mood for a cigar. "Holmes, what the devil are you doing? You gave poor Mrs. Hudson quite a fright with all of your 'experimenting'."

I strode forward and plucked the remaining fragment of paper away from the burner. I turned to toss it into the fire, but halted abruptly as my eyes caught two words scrawled across the back of it in a delightfully feminine hand.

"...sincerely yours..."

The rest had been burnt to a cinder. "Holmes, what is this?"

"Hmm?"

I moved to glance over his shoulder at the paper in his hands. There was a curious looking drawing of a little fellow with wings in the upper portion of it and below him said...

"By Jove, Holmes, that's a Valentines' card!"

"Excellent observation, Watson."

"Where did you get it?"

"From the postal office."

I stooped and picked several cards up from the floor. "Dear Mr. Holmes, please let me be the first to-"

Holmes seized the first one from my hands and I moved on to the second.

"Dearest Holmes, On this day of all days, I simply must-"

The second was also purloined from my grasp.

Unfolding a large one with purple hearts across the front, I stepped out of my friends immediate reach.

To my most darling Sherlock-"

Holmes leapt from his stool, snatched all the cards from my hands and threw them into the flames before us.

I could not suppress my laughter a moment longer. "You mean..that these cards...were all sent to you?" I sputtered between bouts of hilarity.

Holmes turned back to his experiment and righted his stool. "My, aren't we scintillating today..." He murmured.

I only laughed harder. Perhaps I should've been grateful that he'd not strategically placed the blame for this mess entirely upon me as it was no doubt my publishing of his cases that had brought about such...'adulation.'

As I endeavoured to control my amusement, another thought struck me. What the deuce was he doing with all these cards?

I ventured to ask. "Holmes...what are you doing with all these? I should think that you wouldn've thrown them out at once."

He gave me a sideways glance and resumed his dropping of the odd coloured liquid onto the Valentine card. "Can you not disclose the purpose of my present occupation without my aid?"

"Well, I can clearly see that you're pouring some horrid concoction on a greeting card that some poor dear girl spent at least half a pound of her own money on to send to you. But I cannot possibly imagine why?"

"My dear fellow, it is simplicity in itself." He said as the paper gave off a wisp of smoke and turned a slight shade of pink just before going starkly white. "Ha!"

Holmes held it out to me with a look of triumph lighting his features. "You see Watson, the red dye has entirely dispersed. I've been waiting for seven months to attempt this experiment. For upon this day, I could be quite assured that no matter the number of failed attempts I should have no end of material left of which to make further use."

I must admit to being somewhat aghast at my friends' strange confession. "But Holmes, don't you think you should at least respond in some way?"

He gave me a somewhat puzzled look.

These poor women put money and time into giving you these cards. Are you simply going to sit there and do nothing but saturate them in your malodorous chemicals?"

My pains were rewarded with an exasperated sigh. "My dear Watson, should I convey any rejoinder whatsoever to these brazen, frivolous females, what precisely, do you think, would be their immediate reaction?"

I thought a moment. "I...I would think would be overjoyed."

"Precisely. And their very next action would be to return my correspondence. And as my colour dissipation test is now complete and successful, I have no need of further correspondence of this nature. Thus, you undoubtedly see there is no need to make waste of good paper."

With the contented smile of a child who's been rewarded with a new play thing, Sherlock Holmes recommenced his mutilation of the once lovely Valentines card.

I shook my head, knowing that the entire situation was quite hopeless. Taking the mornings newspaper from the side table I moved to the doorway. "Goodnight, Holmes. Forget I ever said a word about it."

"What was that, old fellow?"

"Nothing, Holmes. Nothing at all."

Horrifically rediculous, ins't it??? hehe I must give most of the credit to a dear, Holmesian friend of mine who gave me the entire idea with a Valentines Day card she made that ran along the same lines.

I apologize for any spelling/grammer errors. I didn't have much time to check over it, as I just wrote it this morning and posted it on my lunch hour. :)

Please let me know what you think! And Happy Valentines' Day y'all!

-VHunter