Not Strictly Sherlock

The Missing Salt Shaker

It was a crisp September evening, in fact, it was unusually cool for this time of year, and I had accepted an invitation from Holmes to meet him for dinner. It had been some time since we had shared a meal together, as my medical practice had picked up to the point that I was engaged six days a week. Although I enjoy the challenges and the rewards that come with my chosen profession, I confess that I greatly missed the excitement of my endeavors with Holmes, and my role as his confidant, assistant, and chronicler. And truth be told, I miss the time spent with him because, despite his prickly and curious nature, he was my friend.

Lost in my thoughts, the sudden appearance of the restaurant doors gave me a start, but it was only momentary, as my brain worked to make sense of the distance I had walked and the rapid disappearance of time. Why does time act like a schoolboy who either drags his feet when walking to the Headmaster's office or else runs from his chores to join his mates in play?

Looking up at the familiar Georgian archway, wooden and glass doors, and the signature checkerboard tile pattern with accompanying chess figures, I smiled and entered Simpson's-On-The-Strand as the anticipation of seeing my friend, as well as enjoying Simpson's marvelous roast, removed any anxiety that came with the trials of a long workday.

I passed off my coat and hat, and was shown to our reserved table, as Holmes was a prisoner of habit, he required the same table whenever we dined at Simpson's. I checked my watch and saw that the time was seven minutes to seven, so I signaled the waiter and ordered a bottle of Claret, thereby improving the minutes I was compelled to wait. Holmes was notorious for his timeliness, as "a minute early is a minute wasted" was one of his mantras. The Claret arrived and was poured, and with a glass in hand, I settled in for a three-minute wait.

"Ah Watson, it is good to see you, and I judge that our evening was well scheduled as you appear to have made a sound acquaintance with that Claret," said Holmes as he walked up to the table.

Holmes slid his chair out and quickly sat down as the waiter poured him a glass of wine.

Picking up his glass, Holmes nodded at the waiter and thanked him, then turning his attention to me, held up his Claret.

"Watson here's to old partnerships."

I reciprocated his gesture and took note that he was in an energetic, chippy mood. He seemed all quick movements and vitality, and even his eyes had that glint that I had only seen when the "game was afoot."

"Excellent vintage Watson, well-chosen."

"Holmes, you seem to be in excellent spirits, as your Doctor, I wish to know what you have been in contact with that has resulted in these symptoms of cheerfulness and vitality."

Holmes gave me a half-smile, snapped his menu closed, raised his hand to the waiter and placing his elbows on the table and his fingers together he announced that he had solved a most complex case that very morning, and was in fine spirits as a result.

"I am intrigued Holmes, please explain the facts of the case and your method in bringing it to a successful conclusion."

Just then the waiter approached, and Holmes took it upon himself to order for us both, which did not require a feat of deduction as we had eaten the same meal here many times in the past.

With our wine glasses charged, Holmes began to explain a most intriguing set of circumstances that were quite unlike any case in which we had previously collaborated. I was spellbound as he laid out his method for the case, step by step, with each deduction becoming more fantastic. It was only when the chef brought the silver trolly up to our table, and the aroma of roasted meat met my senses that the spell was broken. Again, for the second time that evening, I had experienced the compaction of minutes into seconds, as Holmes paused his narration to allow for the carving and serving of the roast.