smallhobbit

I had not seen Holmes for three weeks.  I tried to visit him every week, to spend a couple of hours in his presence.  It was hard, for the illness he had succumbed to on his return from the continent had robbed him of his speech, and he had lost his old sharpness.    The privations on the continent, together with this illness had also taken a toll of his physical strength, and he spent most of his time in his chair, assisted as necessary by a companion who seemed to understand his wishes though he could no longer talk.

I myself had been laid low by a heavy cold, and not wishing to carry further ailments to Holmes I had waited until I was properly recovered before visiting him once more.  Our good friend Inspector (now Chief Inspector) Stanley Hopkins had increased his visits in my absence, so Holmes had not lost out on visitors.

Hopkins had told me his wife had knitted Holmes a blanket, with different coloured squares in memory of several of the cases we had been involved with.  I had been rather sceptical at the idea, but had held my tongue, for the thought was indeed an admirable one.

When I arrived at Holmes’ lodgings that afternoon I was pleased to see the blanket covering his knees, and I made a mental note to ask Hopkins to thank his wife for her gift, which was clearly appreciated.  Then I realised Holmes was plucking at the blanket in the way many invalids do, and my heart sank slightly, for I still thought him above the plight of many.

But then I understood Holmes was not plucking at the blanket, but instead pointing at one of the squares, a bright scarlet one.  And I understood. 

“A Study in Scarlet,” I said.  Holmes nodded and smiled.  My first story, and one which recounted our meeting.

We spent the rest of the afternoon working our way through the squares.  Some were easy to place: another red square was Jabez Wilson and The Red-Headed league; The Blue Carbuncle and The Beryl Coronet likewise were obvious.  There were four violet squares for the Violets we had met over the course of the years.  Others were slightly harder: a greyish-brown square, for instance, for The Hound of the Baskervilles.  Still others took me a while to identify: one with blue, red and white stripes confused me for some time, until I remembered The Six Napoleons.

Holmes was obviously delighted with the blanket and it had enabled me to reminisce about the past with much greater ease than on previous visits, for with the case as a starting point I was able to recollect even events which I had not included in my written stories.  The thanks I would be sending to Mrs Hopkins would not just be on Holmes’ behalf, but also very gratefully on my own.