My Dear Watson

By Rick Bramhall

This is the story of Dr. John Watson's daughter to re-establish the reputation of her father to his glory days as Sherlock Holmes' sidekick. It begins as a murder mystery, evolves into a brief history of psychoanalysis in London in the early 1930s, and then spirals completely out of control into a work of science-fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rick Bramhall
• Release date: May 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463895757

Rick Bramhall

I was born in 1952 and grew up Hawthorne, California. Served in the US Air Force from 1975-79. My longest gig was working in Medical Information at the Loma Linda VA from 1979-89. Got my BA from Cal State San Bernardino in 1989. Taught 8th Grade Language Arts 1990-94. Volunteered at the Santa Rosa Plateau Ecological Reserve from about 1997-2004. I moved to San Diego in 2009 to be nearer family. In 2019 I moved to Yuma AZ, as rent became too high in SD. In 2021, my place in Yuma burned down and I moved to Tucson to be nearer my childhood friend, Carl Harrison. I'm currently involved as a community activist.

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My Dear Watson

by Rick Bramhall

Copyright 2019 by Rick Bramhall

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead (other than historical figures) is purely coincidental and completely unintended by the author. Historical figures include Dr. Sigmund Freud, Melanie Klein, Dr. Joan Rivierre, Dr. Karen Horney and Dr. Ernest Jones. I have tried to describe these figures in an accurate manner, although specific actions and words are entirely imaginary, hopefully in keeping with their characters. Dr. Nenad Sestan is a real person and has successfully kept a pig's brain alive in 2019. I'm sure we can all expect great things from him in the future.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One: The Meeting

Chapter Two: The Crime

Chapter Three: The Doctors

Chapter Four: Observations

Chapter Five: The Observer Observed

Chapter Six: Goodbyes

Chapter Seven: My Brief Life of Crime

Chapter Eight: A Death and a Cocktail

Chapter Nine: Into the We

Chapter Ten: To the Sun

Chapter Eleven: Coda

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About the Author

Chapter One

The Meeting

Although Holmes and I had kept up a steady correspondence since he'd retired and moved to Sussex, I had not seen him in several years. As a result it was purely logical that I should be a little nervous. My daughter, who was accompanying me on the trip, tried her best to assure me that my anxiety was anything but logical.

It doesn't matter that your limp has gotten much worse, said she, and he certainly won't care that you've put on a bit more flesh.

It's not that, My Dear, I answered. It's more that since we have gone our separate ways, we have naturally become something more like strangers to each other. He has his bees and I have my opthalmology practice, and neither of us has the slightest interest in the other's business.

Nonsense, Father, she replied in that prim manner of hers that brooked no opposition, you two have a lifetime of shared experiences to reminisce upon. Besides, she added, you have me to talk about.

She had a point there. Although I of course had kept Holmes apprised of the birth of my daughter and the basic facts of her growth in the ten years since then, I had not been as completely honest with my friend as I had routinely done when we were roommates. I had persuaded myself that what I had left out was merely trivialities, small details of her young life that I was sure Sherlock Holmes would have no interest in.

For example, I saw no reason to tell him that by the time she was one year old she insisted that the only bedtime stories she cared to hear about were my stories of him. And while I faithfully reported that she was top of her form ever since she started school, I did not mention that several times her teachers had recommended that she skip ahead into forms beyond her chronological years. After all, she and I had agreed that it would not be a good idea.

Dear Papa, she would remind me each time, I remember your stories of that one year you were advanced ahead and how much you were picked on for being smaller and more innocent than your new classmates.

I still internally wince at that memory. As usual, my daughter had a good point. Although she was mature beyond her years and had a lack of innocence that continually flabbergasted both my wife and me, she was only of average height for her age. Perhaps we spoiled our only child a bit but I would do anything to protect her.

Also, in my letters and in his replies, we referred to my daughter by her given, Christian name: Samantha. However, approximately two years ago, Samantha decided that she preferred to be addressed as My Dear. My wife and I humor her, as did her teachers since they respected her as a top-notch student. Her peers however, were often persuaded only after a very unladylike-like display of fisticuffs.

How could I explain this to my old friend? I haven't been able to even begin an explanation by paper and pen. So I brought my daughter, My Dear Watson nee Samantha Watson, along so she could give her own explanation in person.

I was also worried that we wouldn't catch Holmes at home. But my daughter has Holmes' fondness for train schedules and we arrived at the nearest station just about 11:30 in the morning, which would leave us a half hour to catch my friend at home during dinner, which he now religiously ate at noon, exactly. My Dear was also rather excessively attuned to the daily weather throughout England and assured me that the dirt lane to our destination would be completely dry, as it hadn't rained in this part of the country in the past two weeks.

We were shown into the modest kitchen where Holmes daily dined just as he was sitting down to eat. A hearty bowl of soup made fresh from his own vegetable garden, bread and a mild cheese were offered to us and we accepted. My daughter, though, was rather tardy in making it through her meal, as she somewhat stared at my old friend through the repast.

I knew he was just as keenly studying her. However, he was able to pull it off much more surreptitiously than she. I could tell that her open staring didn't bother him, although I thought it quite impolite and shot her several disapproving glances. There was a twinkle in his eyes and the slightest curve to his lips that told me he found the incident amusing.

As the remains of the meal were removed by a neighbor woman who cooked and cleaned for him, apples from his small orchard were offered us. I tried to observe my own daughter in the manner in which Holmes had daily drilled me on for all the years we had lived together. Before me I saw a rather average-looking lass who looked her age. She had medium brown eyes and medium brown hair. She had on one of the frocks she normally wore to school. She had freckles, probably the result of spending as much time out of doors as possible. Other than that, I could not reconcile her appearance with what I knew about her personality and daily habits. There was the wooden box, but she had tactfully left that in the hallway and I was sure Holmes had not seen it.

I gather, began Holmes, that your father has told you of my methods and habit of drawing conclusions about newly introduced people based on nothing more than their appearance.

Yes, My Dear replied, and I'm dying to hear your appraisal of me.

Ah, but ladies and welcome guests first, my dear.

I reflexively jumped at hearing him calling her that. It took a moment's reflection for me to realize that he had not somehow guessed her name. My Dear didn't bat an eyelash.

She nodded. That seems fair, she decided. But please keep in mind that I am at a disadvantage here. While you saw me walk into the room and then be seated, I have only seen you in your chair.

The audacity of the girl, I thought. Of course she was at a disadvantage. Holmes had many years of experience meeting a wide range of individuals.

I can see that you have gained an inch about the waist, My Dear began, although you still look in remarkably good shape for your years. You must have gotten up quite early this morning. You have walked quite a distance, over a variety of terrain. I hope you don't mind me worrying about you taking the risk of climbing down a steep cliff side. After all, you are not as young as you used to be and I'd be a lot less worried if you wore your spectacles while undertaking such a jaunt.

Holmes' eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Is that all? he