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Holmes and The Old Army Friend Ch. 01

By: farfromcd



It was one of those unbearably hot London days where the heat brings no pleasure but merely becomes a stifling blanket that lies over the great city, making people restless and short-tempered. My friend Sherlock Holmes would have been pacing the room eagerly awaiting news of criminal activity as he always referred to it as a 'murderous heat', making tempers flare and passions run hot. But Holmes was not in Baker Street that day, and had not been for over a week as he was on the continent, retained by one of the great houses of Europe over the matter of some missing gems. News of his voyage had leaked to the newspapers and caused some ripple of excitement but his destination and employer had remained a secret and even I was not sure, although I suspected it was one of the Baltic states.

For my own part I was sat in the sitting room of 221b staring at the wall in a bad mood. I had finished reading the day's newspapers to no great entertainment and after the passing of my beloved wife some years earlier, and with my friend overseas, I was alone and left to my own devices, which were failing me greatly. Even Mrs Hudson was absent, her sister having fallen ill in the country and requiring nursing. So there I sat, in the room, cursing the heat and my lack of diversions. Even my patients seemed to be in a conspiracy of good health to remove any danger of active employment.

My mood was not helped by the fact that I was unable to open the large windows to allow a little air to circulate as the empty house across the street was, at last, being renovated, albeit slowly, but while there was but a single workman, he seemed able to generate enough dust and cheerful whistling for a whole gang of men so I remained trapped behind glass prison walls.

It was because the windows were sealed thus that I did not hear the approach of my visitor before the loud rapping of his cane on the front door and the less than hurried footsteps of my temporary bell boy as he ambled to answer the door. I was astonished when, after the lackadaisical bell boy had led the visitor up the stairs, a face from my short and ill-fated Army career appeared at the door.

'John Watson? It is you isn't it?' said the man with his hand outstretched.

'David Drummond, as I live and breathe,' I replied, enthusiastically shaking his hand, 'the last I heard you were still in India!'

'You are somewhat behind the times old friend, I have been out of the service for a good four years now and I've been working my way back to London. I've seen your name in the newspapers attached to this Sherlock Holmes character and thought I'd look up my old barracks friend.'

'I'm glad you did old man, I'm rattling around the rooms today with nothing to do. What do you say to lunch at my club, on my account, and you can tell me what you've been up to since I was ticketed home.'

'Capital idea old chap,' he replied and I offered him a seat and a cigarette while I changed for lunch then we left the boiler-house that was Baker Street for the Turkish Bath like surroundings of the luncheon room at my club.

During a pleasant, if warm, afternoon I learned that David had left the Army in India and decided to see some of the world on his way back to London. He kept me entertained with many a tale of his adventures, getting into scrapes on at least three continents while gathering the money together for the next leg of his journey. I suggested that we move on to a concert that evening but he told me that he was moving his lodgings as he had acquired rooms in a house after staying at an hotel on first arriving in London and that he had some papers to sign that afternoon but that he would call on me at Baker Street the next day if I was still at a loose end. I agreed and we parted company with another enthusiastic handshake.

The next day the heat seemed yet more stifling and this, infuriatingly, seemed to make the accursed workman across Baker Street even chirpier so I was very glad when my friend Drummond arrived and offered to repay my generosity of the previous day by taking me to his club for lunch. I remarked that he had lost little time in acquiring a club membership on arrival in London but he explained with a curious wink that, while little known and very exclusive, his club had connections in many of the great cities of the world and that it was during a very entertaining few weeks in Berlin that he acquired the friends that introduced him to his membership. He promised that the full story would make an excellent commentary to our lunch although, with a conspiratorial glance I did not yet appreciate, he commented that I may not wish to hear it.

As I hailed a passing cab I replied that I couldn't think why I wouldn't wish to hear a story so enticingly advertised but Drummond would be no further drawn on the subject and conversation soon passed to some of my exploits with Holmes. If Drummond was to astonish me later with his adventures I was determined that I should score some points first. I did notice, on getting into the cab, that Drummond had given the cabbie an address rather than the name of the club, which leant credence to his claims of exclusivity for the establishment so I was intrigued when the cab pulled up outside a plain townhouse in a part of the city away from all the main clubs. There was no brass plaque or doorman on the steps and the other townhouses in the street seemed to be domestic dwellings.

'Is this the right place Drummond?' I asked, alighting.

'Oh yes old chap, like I said, its an exclusive place and it doesn't like to advertise its presence, might attract the wrong crowd,' he said, leading me up the steps to the front door, 'but, let me welcome you to the Anthemusa Club.'

With this he opened the front door and showed me into a large and plushly decorated hall. There was a single table in the middle of the room, on which sat a small handbell, and three closed doors led further into the building.

'Now, John, the Anthemusa is a somewhat idiosyncratic place and there are a couple of club rules that you will have to follow . . . '

'I'm no stranger to idiosycrasies,' I replied with an intrigued laugh, 'and as for odd clubs, I have dined with Sherlock's brother Mycroft at the Diogenes!'

'Oh, I think you'll find us far more entertaining than those silent statues,' laughed Drummond, 'and the lunches here are more than worth the odd strange directive.'

With that he rang the small bell and placed it back on the table. Within two minutes a liveried footman appeared through the nearest door.

'Hello Sir, good to see you again. Here for your luncheon reservation? Excellent. The door to the cloakroom is open sir, will you instruct your friend or would you like me to run through things?'

'We'll be fine Jackson, thank you, my friend is an applicant so I will show him the ropes, as it were.'

'Very well Sir.' And with that, Jackson bowed slightly and left through the door he arrived from.

'An applicant?' I asked, confused.

'Oh, I took the liberty of putting your name in the register last evening,' Drummond said, motioning me towards one of the other doors, 'I gained a little standing in the Berlin club and so I have a some weight around here and, as I am sure you will wish to apply once you've experienced lunch, I've called in a couple of favours.'

Drummond held the door so I entered first and found myself in an ornately appointed cloakroom, with a table in the middle of the room for our coats, hats and canes. Once we were divested of our outside wear Drummond retrieved two felt bags from a side table.

'Here's the thing old chap, the members of the Anthemusa are very protective of our anonymity so everyone wears two things, a mask and a number, oh don't look so oddly at me Watson, here's the mask, see it's only like that which you would wear to a masked ball or the like.'

He pulled a mask from one of the sacks. It was a simple eye-mask, oval in shape with two eye-holes and a slight moulding where it sat over the bridge of the nose. It was covered in dark blue velvet and hemmed with matching ribbon. He also retrieved a lapel badge, rather like an enclosure pass at a racecourse but expensively made and bearing the number 14 in a plain style. He put on the mask and hung the badge from his buttonhole then handed me the other bag. As I pulled out an identical mask and a badge bearing the number 112 Drummond continued.

'The rules are that we address each other only by our numbers or some non-specific title such as Sir, even if you know who you are addressing, so I will not call you Watson once we enter the club proper and you should not call me Drummond. The numbers are the only identification allowed in the club and they are mainly for allowing the staff to make sure the correct accounts are charged. I understand that it seems a little odd, even for someone who has lunched at the Diogenes, but it works for our club and its well worth the effort. That's right, the masks are quite comfortable aren't they, you'll forget you've got it on soon enough. Now, get the badge on and we'll go in, it's nearly time for lunch and you'll want to be there from the start.'

Drummond's eyes blazed with anticipation as he finished his entreaty so I fed the silk loop of the badge through my buttonhole and then followed him through the door which led to a second entrance hall containing several doors ('other cloakrooms' Drummond explained) and a curving staircase to the first floor. Our footsteps making no sound on the thick crimson carpet, we ascended.

The carpet continued on the landing at the top of the stairs. A set of double doors stood closed before us. Alcoves either side of the doors contained marble statues of nudes which bordered slightly on the lascivious but I did not have time to study them in any detail as Drummond placed a hand on each door handle and then, pausing slightly to look back at me with a grin, he opened both doors and we entered the club proper. It was a large room, set out as a dining room with tables set with a mixture of two and four places. Some of the tables already had members sat at them, all masked and wearing the numbered badges, and the heady smell of various tobaccos hung in the air. I noticed that the room was windowless, or at least, any windows were hidden behind the heavy red drapery that hung on the walls. The room was lit with gas lamps, giving the impression of it being evening even though we had just recently stepped in from the brightness of midday outside. It was warm and stuffy and the lighting, the smoke and the heavy surroundings made one feel light headed.

A liveried footman, also masked, was waiting inside the door. He noted the number on Drummond's lapel and led us to a table across the room, a table that I noticed, for the first time, was set up near a curtained stage. As we sat I shot Drummond an enquiring glance but he merely smiled back enigmatically and handed me the menu card.

'Its beef today old chap, our chef was trained in Paris and has no equal in London so I will get us a bottle of red from the cellar. I've had a case down there that I brought back from Berlin waiting for the right occasion; I shall instruct the Sommelier to break it open for us.' 

He signalled to someone over my shoulder as I cast a glance at the menu card. There would be a fish starter then the beef. Despite the heat I was starting to feel hungry. I felt someone at my shoulder and turned my head expecting to see the Sommelier. I was astounded to find, not six inches from my elbow, a young lady, completely naked but for a face mask. As she faced Drummond, awaiting his order, her dark pubic hair, neatly trimmed, almost brushed my hand as it rested near the edge of the table.

'Your wine instructions Monsieur?' she asked Drummond, in an attractively French accented voice.

'Break open my case marked Berlin 14 and bring us the best red in there for the beef, I'll trust your choice.'

'Very good Monsieur.' She bobbed a short curtsey and turned sharply, her shapely buttocks actually brushing the table cloth gently by my hand, which I had not moved, and left to retrieve our wine.

'Drummonnd, I . . . ' I gasped both for air and words.

'Numbers dear boy, numbers remember, but I suppose I should have warned you,' he admonished me gently with a beaming smile. 'Told you the rules were worth it though didn't I? Marie is an astonishing Sommelier, the equal of any in London outside the very best hotels perhaps, but she's also damned beautiful eh?'

'I . . . I . . .' I remained dumbfounded.

As my mind tried to make sense of the situation a bell sounded somewhere outside the room and the general hubbub of conversation in the room suddenly fell to almost silence. A few members hustled into the room from outside and sat quickly at their tables. The sound of a harp filled the room and the curtains started to pull back from in front of the stage. There was a painted backdrop of a Mediterranean scene, with mountains and a lake, and in the middle of the stage was a brass bath. An easel at the side of the stage held a theatrical card bearing the legend 'The Bathing of Aphrodite' in a curly script.

'Oh, you'll like this one old boy, it's a classic.' Drummond laughed at his own joke, oblivious to the admonishing glances that were shot his way, while I continued to stare with my mouth open at the stage. 

As I sat, transfixed, a young woman wearing a toga walked slowly onto the stage. A murmur of excitement rippled through the audience. She walked up to the brass bath and passed her hand through non-existent water, miming testing the temperature then reached behind her neck, unfastened her toga and let it fall to floor so that she stood naked on the stage. She was staggeringly beautiful; her nipples stood erect on large firm breasts and her pubic hair had been completely shaved. Three more girls entered the stage. There were all naked and carrying small jars with cloths covering them. 'Aphrodite' stepped into the bath and the three handmaidens approached and started to pour oil over her from the jars. Using the cloths they started to spread the oil over Aphrodite's naked form. They soon dispensed with the cloths however and started to rub the oil in with their hands. Two of them concentrated on her large breasts, massaging them firmly, her large nipples jutting out and glistening under the oil. The third girl was working her way up her legs, massaging the oil into her calves, then her thighs, the girl's thumbs working deep into Aphrodite's inner thigh muscles. For her part Aphrodite started to writhe under the attention of the hand-maidens, her chest heaving and her head flung back, her sensuous mouth wantonly open as she panted with an almost animal lust. As the third hand-maiden finally moved between her legs and started to massage her outer vaginal lips Aphrodite gripped the side of the bath and her knuckles went white. 

One of the other hand-maidens stood up, leaving one hand kneading her breast, and bent her head to Aphrodite's face. They kissed deeply, occasionally parting slightly so that we could see their tongues darting back and forth exploring each other.  Aphrodite's convulsions became more rapid and her heavy breathing became moans of pleasure, muffled by her maiden's mouth. As she neared her climax the rapt and silent room watched as the lower hand-maiden bent between her thighs and buried her face into her now engorged vagina, her head moving wantonly, betraying the work of her tongue on the glistening and writhing woman and eliciting a guttural cry of release as a visible shudder wracked Aphrodite before she slumped, spent, into the bath.  As the curtains closed over the scene there were a few seconds of awed silence in the room then enthusiastic applause, led in no small part by my companion Drummond.

My shock at witnessing such a display at such close quarters was profound but I found myself caught up by the applause and joining in although when I looked across at my friend he laughed at my shocked expression.

'Fantastic eh, old chap? That's what I call a floor show! And so civilised for here's Marie with our wine.'

Indeed, I turned to find the naked sommelier at my elbow again, this time with a fine bottle of German red wine which she proceeded to expertly pour into our glasses. At the commencement of the stage show, and unaware of what was to occur, I had pushed my chair back to afford myself a better view. I noticed that Marie's eyes kept returning now to my lap and I suddenly realised that the effect that the performance had had on me was now evident for the Sommelier to see. I quickly grabbed my napkin and spread it on my lap. This only made the tenting of my trousers even more apparent and Marie stifled a small, and incredibly alluring, laugh before I huddled myself under the table with some difficulty and she left. Drummond did not bother to conceal his amusement.

'Don't worry old chap, it's nothing they are not used to. Have a drink, settle your nerves.'

I took a large gulp of the wine, which was excellent and full-bodied. It was a welcome relief in the face of the over-bearing heat of the room, due in no small part to the astounding stage show that we had been witness to. Drummond passed me a cigar, then held out a match from which I lit it and I settled back into the chair, cigar in one hand and the large glass of excellent wine in the other. Drummond made small talk about more of his adventures on his way back from India. After a few minutes the bell sounded again and the curtains drew back once more. The backdrop had changed to an African scene; wide savannah and a large red sun setting behind distant mountains. A Negress walked out on to the stage, naked but for a theatrical headdress and carrying a native drum. She sat down, cross legged, her knees wantonly wide then pulled the drum in close to her lap. She started a slow rhythm on the drum using her hands and with no little amount of skill, making various sounds with the one instrument depending on how and where she struck the skin.

Drummond reached over and topped up my wine glass with a conspiratorial smile, he was evidently looking forward to this display. Another Negress entered, also carrying a drum, and sat at the other side of the stage and took up the rhythm with equal skill. The rhythm evolved, slowly increasing in tempo with more deep thumping sounds. A line of four dancers entered, all naked and with richly dark brown skin, adorned with headdresses and coloured ribbons tied at their elbows and knees. They danced in a native style into a circle in the centre of the stage and proceeded to rotate, moving in time to the intoxicating rhythm.

The tempo increased and the drum beats became louder and the dancer's movements became more frantic. Their headdresses and ribbons whipped about them, their breasts bounced provocatively and their buttocks shook swiftly from side to side as they moved their hips wildly. They ducked down by bending at the knee, forcing their thighs apart and revealed snatched glimpses of their shaved vaginas. And still the tempo increased, the heavy drumming vibrating the air, the movements of the dancers shaking the floor and the heavy eroticism of their movements seeming to increase the already oppressive atmosphere in the room. As I watched the swirling dancers and listened to the pounding drums I felt a sudden rush of heat through my body. My mind was filled with images of heaving breasts, pulsating buttocks and exotic vaginas, my senses overcome with the mingled aromas of female perspiration and arousal, heady wine and cigar smoke. My hand moved to my neck to loosen my tie and my collar. I became aware of my vision blurring at its periphery and still the dancers gyrated and the drums increased their tempo, pounding into my head. I was vaguely aware of Drummond's voice but it sounded distant and muffled by the blanket of heat that I felt enfolded in. I heard the smashing of glass and realised that I was no longer holding my wine. My head suddenly felt too heavy for my neck and my chin sagged towards my chest. I jerked it back upright, as once more my world consisted of lascivious visions of breasts and buttocks and flesh then another wave of heat rose in me, my mouth suddenly dried, my head swam and my vision went completely black. As I passed from consciousness the last thing I heard was the thud of my head on the table and the resultant tinkle of the cutlery then all was dark and still.

Holmes and The Old Army Friend Ch. 02



Blessed cold engulfed my forehead followed by pain as cold pressure was applied to my, apparently bruised, cheekbone. I opened my eyes and was baffled into confusion as my dark and wanton surroundings disappeared, as if instantaneously, to be replaced by a harshly lit but thankfully airy atmosphere. Any more of my surroundings I could not discern, my vision was blurry, my eyes watering heavily. I realised I was lying down and tried to sit, gentle pressure from the coldness on my forehead prevented me.

'Slowly Sir, slowly, you passed out with the heat. Just lie still for a moment and let me cool you down.' A soft voice, with a French accent, came from beside me. It was Marie. 'Your friend has just gone to arrange transport home for you, rest, rest.'

She wiped my face with the blissfully cold cloth. I tried to speak to thank her but my mouth had gone dry and I felt nauseous. I took a deep breath and let myself slip back into slumber while she continued her most welcome ministrations. Before I knew it however, a gentle hand on my shoulder was bringing me round again.

'Sir, Sir, your friend has returned to take to you home, do you think you can sit up now?'

I opened my eyes to find that my vision was stilled blurred. I could see enough to know that Marie was bent over me, still naked as her breasts were brushing my upper arm as she looked into my eyes. I tried to sit up but I felt weak and started to sag down again. Marie quickly moved to support me, pressing her body against mine as she did so. I still felt dizzy but managed to sit and with Marie's help, I swung my legs over the side of the table on which I had been lying. Marie gently pushed my knees apart and moved to stand between my legs, her naked hips pressing against the inside of my thighs.

'We will make you look a little more presentable to travel home Sir, I think.' She said, straightening my jacket and tie, and though leaving my collar unfastened, tucking it into my shirt in such a way as to make me look less untidy. As she did this her hips moved against my thighs and her perfume filled my nostrils. She moved in closer to run her hands around the back of my collar and her breasts pushed against my chest and her public hair brushed the fly buttons of my trousers. Despite still feeling disorientated and a little queasy I felt myself become aroused again. Marie took longer than necessary to smooth down the back of my collar and pushed her crotch against my stiffening member.

'I hope you will return when you are feeling better Sir, we will make a special fuss of you to make up for this unfortunate introduction.' And with this she took a few steps back and the unfocused image of Drummond came into view.

'Ah, you're looking a little better old chap. Well, not a lot better if I'm honest but at least you're upright . . . in more ways than one!'

He guffawed, which my head did not appreciate, and I was too befuddled to acknowledge his crude attempt at humour at my expense. It was all I could do to remain upright as I felt like the table and the room were moving around under me.

'Now come on, let's get you back to Baker Street to sleep off this bug you've obviously caught. The club have said we can use their carriage and they've even laid on a couple of nursemaids to look after us on the journey.'

Two young women who, if my glassy eyes could be trusted, may have been two of Aphrodite's hand maidens appeared, wearing full length hooded cape coats that looked altogether too heavy for the summer heat. They took station, one at each of my arms and gently helped me to stand then, with Drummond in the lead we slowly left the room and made our way, along a whitewashed stone corridor to what must have been the rear courtyard of the club where a fully enclosed four wheeler carriage was waiting. Drummond opened the door and stepped up inside then turned to offer me his hand up. My two nursemaids helped as best they could but a sudden lurch of dizziness caught me and I had to step back off the step putting my left hand out as I did. I caught the front of one of their capes and it pulled open to reveal that the girl was completely naked beneath, but for shoes. The shock nearly made me swoon again but Drummond had reached out and grabbed me and he pulled me quickly back up and into the carriage laughing. He dumped me heavily down onto the plushly upholstered seats and the two girls followed us in. As Drummond closed the door behind them they unfastened their capes and dropped them to the floor then sat naked, one on the seat next to me and the other opposite me, next to Drummond.

The enclosed cabin was hot and dark and this caused me to slip in and out of consciousness again. The nurse next to me took my head in her hands and gently lowered it into her lap, smoothing my hair and whispering gently to me. I fought unconsciousness, trying to keep my eyes open and my senses working. I could smell her intimate scent and realised that I could feel her pubic hair on my face. I felt comfortable and comforted yet started to feel the familiar tightening of my trousers again, a feeling that was heightened when, through the half dark and my blurry vision I saw the girl opposite me slide from the seat and deftly remove Drummond's sizeable penis from his trousers and start to minister to him with her mouth. The rest of the journey passed in a surreal fog of comfort, arousal and the erotic display occurring not a foot in front of my face. From Drummond's coarse commentary it was evident that the girl was a skilled practitioner of her art and the increased musky odour and moistening of my cheek suggested that my own nurse maid was finding the episode arousing also. 

After a few minutes Drummond put both of his hands on the back of the young woman's head and started to clutch at her hair, entwining his hands and finally pulling her head onto his member causing her to gag and cough, but it was obvious that Drummond had reached climax and, despite her obvious difficulties, he was going to give her no option but to take his ejaculate in her mouth and make her swallow it. When he had finished he released her head and she sat back on her heels, gasping for air, but did not admonish him in any way, merely wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and taking her place back on the seat next to him. Drummond, with some difficulty, refastened his trousers around his still half-swollen penis and then, patting her on the knee, gave the girl a condescending compliment.

Very soon after there were two sharp raps on the roof from the driver and my nursemaid gently encouraged my to sit up again, which I did with some difficultly, wedging myself into the corner of the carriage seat then the two girls retrieved their capes from the floor and with some difficulty redressed themselves, pulling up the hoods.

'Nearly home old chap, you'll feel better in your own surroundings I'm sure, sleep off this bug of yours.' Drummond said, leaning forward and starting to go through my pockets, 'Where do you keep your key?'

I weakly indicated my waistcoat pocket with my hand and Drummond retrieved it as the carriage came to a halt, rocking on its springs. Drummond opened the door and a painful assault of daylight and the cacophony of London threatened to overload my senses once again. Drummond exited the carriage quickly, leaving the two girls to help me up onto my unsteady legs and out into Baker Street. I looked towards the familiar door through vision blurred by a blinding headache and saw that Drummond already had it open and was stood inside motioning us in. My two supporters made an admirable job of getting me across the pavement and up the steps and I was soon in the blessed shadow of the hall.

'Let's get you upstairs and into that comfortable looking chaise-lounge in your sitting room old man.' Said Drummond but again he led the way up the stairs leaving the girls and I to make our own, considerably slower way up the stairs.

When we arrived in the reassuringly familiar sitting room I suddenly felt like nothing on earth was more necessary than for me to get to chaise-lounge, it was my every desire. If I could simply recline there for a while and sleep the world would stop spinning around me and I would feel less like vomiting was in my immediate future. Once the girls had manoeuvred me, with some difficulty around the clutter of Holmes' possessions, to within a few paces of its heavenly upholstery, I flung myself down on it.

'Careful dear' said the girl who had provided her lap as a pillow for me in the carriage and came over to loosen my collar and place a cushion behind my head.

'A shot of brandy will perk you up old chap, where do you keep it.' Said Drummond, his manner and tone seeming to make no allowance for my condition, as he started to rummage around the place looking for brandy.

My dutiful nursemaid unfastened my boots, removing them and then lifting my feet up on to the chaise. She found a thin blanket over the back of Holmes chair, probably left from a night of unsleeping deduction on the part of my friend and lowered it gently over my legs then stroked my hair again before standing up and retreating from view.

'Must be a rare old life sharing the fellow's adventures,' said Drummond, taking a drink from a glass tumbler in his hand. He had obviously found the brandy but had decided he required the medication more than me.

For myself, I craved nothing but sleep but Drummond proceeded to walk around the room, talking of Holmes, asking me questions and, apparently absent-mindedly, taking papers off desks and tables and looking through them while enjoying the hospitalities of my drinks cabinet. I passed in and out of sleep, trying to stay awake and answer his questions but having severe difficulty retaining a grip on the reality of my situation. I was aware of myself speaking occasionally but I had no idea what words were coming from me and I became confused as to the number of nursemaids that were in the room. I was sure that only two had accompanied us in the carriage but at times I was sure I could see three of them in the room. My attentive nurse had left for a time but had returned with a cold flannel and a drink of water for me yet her companion seemed at times to be standing, uninterestedly regarding some of the pictures on the wall, sometimes opening her cloak to reveal her nakedness beneath to combat the heat and at other times conversing with Drummond and taking volumes of Holmes' notes from the shelves and then again sometimes all of these at the same time. 

My world became yet more confused when the infernal whistling of the workman from the house across the road suddenly broke into my consciousness and added another layer of confusion. My mind conjured him to be in the room, remonstrating with the girls, who fled, much to my dismay as my nurse dropped the cold flannel from my head as she left. The workman made a grab for one of the girls, catching the hem of her cloak but Drummond intervened and as she struggled free of it I realised that she was fully clothed beneath it. The workman dropped the cloak and made another grab for the woman but Drummond struck him from behind and the woman made her escape. Drummond fell on the workman from behind but the workman appeared to strike him with an elbow then reached sideways and grabbed the poker from the fireside and turned on Drummond, holding the poker in a fencing pose, pointing at Drummond's face. I tried to get up to help my friend but it was beyond my faculties. I was therefore heartened to notice that Drummond pulled a pistol from his jacket and levelled it at the workman's chest. The workman seemed to freeze for a second then with a deft swish of the poker struck the pistol from the Drummond's hand but something caused the pistol to fire and the loud report echoed round the room and I finally passed out again.

I awoke in my own bed between clean crisp sheets, the window opened but the blind down allowing me a shaded breeze. My head felt clearer and I opened my eyes without feeling nauseous or dizzy. I was surprised to hear the comforting lilt of Mrs Hudson's voice reassure me that everything was now alright and would I like a drink of water. The cool water was nectar to my parched mouth and I started to gulp it down.

'Slowly there Watson, take it easily, it will take a while for the narcotics to come fully out of your system.'

It was the unmistakeable voice of my friend Sherlock Holmes and I sat up quickly, looking in his direction. The rapid movement caused a sudden dizziness to overcome me but before falling back to the pillow I saw the workman where I expected to see Holmes. The workman walked over to the side of the bed and bent over and I was temporarily worried, having seen him attack Drummond but as he came closer I soon realised that it was indeed Holmes, clad in one of his disguises.

'I most apologise for my deception Watson and for placing you in harm's way again, but in my defence I did not realise they would act so quickly on you and the prize that I craved was great. I have been intrigued by a number of high-profile but unreported burglaries and offences committed against some of the highest ranking members of European society and my investigations drew me ever towards the Anthemusa Club. It seems their victims were unwilling to report the crimes as they would occur when they were being, ahem, entertained by the clubs more unusual distractions and because of the secrecy of the club the connections were not made.'

'Your old friend Drummond seemed very high up in the organisation and when he came to London and I heard that it was because they were getting uncomfortable under my gaze and were putting out enquiries after how much I knew, I thought that if I were out of the picture they may put out an invitation for your membership in an effort to reconnoitre our rooms. I apologise for not realising that they thought my investigations more urgently dealt with and it appears they doped you up with some narcotic or another first time out.'

At that moment Lestrade knocked and entered the room.

'Right Mr Holmes, Drummond is safely on his way to the Yard with four of my best men and I've got to shoot off to the club to look over things after the raid. My men only found some underdressed young ladies and some very embarrassed members of the Upper House, it appears your main quarry got clean away again I'm afraid. Ah, good to see you back with us Doctor Watson, you had me worried there for a moment, very pale you were. I'll leave you all be, you be sure to follow Mrs Hudson's instructions Doctor.'

He doffed his hat to Mrs Hudson and left again.

'Your main quarry?' I enquired of Holmes, 'I thought he said Drummond was in custody.'

'You are coming back to your senses sure enough Watson to pick that up, yes.'

He walked across to a chair and gathered up an expensive looking hooded cape that had been laid across the back and held it reverentially, looking at it with unfocused eyes for a beat before talking again.

'It was her Watson . . . that Woman.'

'Irene Adler, she was here?' The mention of her name seemed to physically affect him and he snapped out of his reverie.

'Yes Watson, she was behind the whole web of the Anthemusa Clubs throughout Europe. She is a formidable and dangerous woman Watson and she has eluded me again. She is already en route to the continent I have no doubt.'

He looked at the cape again and seemed to slip away to the memory of his latest brush with perhaps the only woman that truly held any power over him emotionally. I may have still been under the influence of the narcotic but I would swear that as he left my room to let me rest he lifted the cape to his face and inhaled deeply once with his face in the deep velvet folds. Whether it was the act of a frustrated admirer or a bloodhound putting himself back on the scent I would not like to guess.