47 BCE
‘Gaius Arturus, welcome.’
The man hesitated in the darkened doorway.
‘Enter. Despite rumours there are no vengeful spirits here, I’ve not angered the gods. It is impossible to anger something that doesn’t exist.’
Gaius gasped, horrified. He staggered out and ran back down the road.
Soft footsteps entered the dark room, a bowl of fresh berries was clunked onto the table.
‘Who was that?’
A languid hand flapped, barely illuminated by the light from the doorway.
‘Pah, no one. A ghost, Johannes.’
Johannes tutted and fussed, opening up the shuttered window. ‘That better not have been a client. We’re down to our last five sestertii.’
He turned around. ‘Oh for– It’s high noon, put some clothes on. You’re indecent,’ he said, with absolutely no conviction.
An utterly bare Sherlock rolled over on his couch. One bent leg slowly followed the other to expose everything to Johannes.
‘First, that man has lost his prized fighting dog – I’d rather help a murderer.
‘Second, I have a denarius or two squirrelled away, and third,’ Sherlock ran his fingers in an airy light pitter patter from hips to collarbones, ‘my clothes are itchy.’
Johannes drew closer, pulled by an invisible thread.
‘And to think you Romans call us uncivilised.’
Sherlock’s face split into an enormous grin. ‘Then what are you waiting for? Invade me, you barbarian.’
2017
‘We can’t loiter inside a sculpture all day, Sherlock.’
‘…and the drones are often tightly–’
‘There’s a small child tying your shoelaces together.’
‘On the other hand, Anthidium manicatum–’
‘I wonder how many selfies we’ve been in the background of today? We’ll be a hashtag by now. Hashtag DickAndDocInTheHive.’
‘…but when you take into account the humble honeybee–’
‘And when you were ear-to-the-floor, arse-in-the-air this morning? That’ll be on Instagram. ‘Spotted these two in The Hive at Kew Gardens today.’ Heart emoji, magnifying glass, eggplant.’
‘Of course Bombus humilis wouldn’t be seen dead on a–’
‘There’s a chill in the air now. It’s a bit chilly. I’m chilly. Are you chilly?’
‘…and it is odd that no one ever–’
‘The gardens close in an hour, Sherlock. I’ve seen the inside of the loo and the inside of this beehive.’
‘…plus, if you think about it, society would be better off if we took lessons–’
‘I guess you could lie here all day, as we’ve just proven, but that’s not to say we haven’t annoyed everyone, including those five school groups.’
‘…the synergy, John. The downright majesty of a well-formed–’
‘That volunteer has been glaring at us for the last three hours, you know.’
‘…and if, if I believed in reincarnation, which is a ludicrous fairytale, I’d come back as a bumblebee.’
1952
‘The broad had gams as tall as the Hoover Dam.’
‘John. Stop it.’ Sherlock flattened himself against the cold brick wall with a pistol loaded and ready.
‘She was deadly, like a clip joint full of rattlesnakes,’ John drawled from a tight jaw. He tipped the brim of his hat low over his eyes.
‘Really, now?’ Sherlock glanced back. ‘This is a serious investigation.’
‘Her name was trouble. The kind that walked around in stilettos and wasn’t afraid to kick a fella right in the unmentionables. The broad didn’t have a lick of sense but she sure had the spondulix to hire a sleuth.’
‘What’s gotten into you?’ Sherlock took a swift peek around the corner.
‘Lucky for her, the greatest private dick in town was on the job, along with his faithful assistant Doctor Long John.’
‘In town?’
‘The greatest private dick in the world was on the job.’
‘No more detective movies, John. They’re no good. You’ve gone all doolally.’
‘He also had the best privates and the greatest dick.’
Sherlock blinked in confusion for a moment, took a peek around the wall again. ‘That makes no sense but you may proceed, and once we’ve caught this grifter we’re going home. I’ll let you investigate the greatest private dick in the world if you play your cards right, baby.’
1816
‘Don’t call it that, Sherlock, I beg of you.’
‘Come now, John, Old Boney only wants to say how do.’
‘And I shall greet him with good cheer but if you persist with the name Old Boney I shall be warming my bed instead of yours.’
‘Ah, but my Old Boney is much prettier and by all accounts much taller than Old Emperor Boney-parte. See here his rosy complexion?’
‘It’s with thanks to that Old Boney that I returned to England half an invalid.’
‘Awful man. I’ve a mind to go off and give him what for for injuring my own precious John.’
‘You mock me, you rogue.’
‘Not at all, my dear. But here, look.’ Sherlock gripped his Boney and gave it a waggle. ‘You have a chance to punish my Old Boney. He needs a good thrashing and you are the very man to do it.’
John growled and moved like
