Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

  Alicia, when she returned from her holiday, was naturally upset at the loss of her pet, but soon settled back into her work routine and shortly afterwards the pair found they were expecting their first child.   Gideon was ecstatic.   He took the greatest care of his wife throughout the pregnancy and willingly agreed to his father-in-law’s suggestion that the girl should return once again to their country estate, where the baby would be born.   Gideon and William visited as often as they could.’ Holmes glanced across at his friend, who was listening intently to the tale. ‘As a doctor, you might not have agreed with keeping the girl in the middle of the jungle, but it seems she thrived. And her father had studied medicine for a while, so it was felt that he could cope. However, it was during one of William’s visits that the tragedy happened.’   Holmes stopped, staring for a while into the flames of the fire, but after a few minutes he shrugged, leaned forward ...

  Holmes eyed his friend warily.   ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will tell you the story. It was told to me by a very close friend, whom I shall call Gideon.’ Holmes leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in thought before he began.             ‘Gideon had been brought up in Sumatra, where his father was a missionary.   However, the eldest son, Gideon’s brother, David, died of Dengue fever, as later did his mother and a younger sister. Another child died in a fire and eventually the father went mad with grief.   Gideon was the only member of the family left. He returned to England to study medicine in London, which is where I met him. He put his life in Sumatra behind him and, in fact, never mentioned it for many years.’             ‘But surely he must have talked about his childhood? Or where he grew up?’ Watson asked. ‘Didn’t you ask?’  ...

He knew that he must keep very still while he waited. He was crouched into an uncomfortable position to say the least of the matter and tried to maintain a good viewpoint of the illicit activities that were sure to unfold. He was ice cold from head to toe. In moments like this he tried to recall the scorching heat of India to warm his bones. Now he was back, returned to London and his curious profession of Private Detective which he found to be both intriguing and frustrating. He loathed and secretly admired Arthur Conan Doyle for creating the character of Sherlock Holmes. He was teased mercilessly by the delinquent youths outside his rooms who shouted, “Oi Sherlock!” at him on a daily basis, but admired Sherlock’s powers of deduction and his scientific techniques which he sometimes adopted to help with his cases. Of course, he also did not have the benefit of having a Dr Watson to assist him.  He was a man who was sorely alone both in his professional and private life....