@gilgamushroom is a hundred million percent correct, and not exaggerating in any way. XD I absolutely love CHAS. Such a good story.
(Though...perhaps I'm faltering in my Sherlockian memory, but I thought the goatee was in "His Last Bow" when he had to be in disguise as the Irish-American Altamont [named after Arthur Conan Doyle's father, by the way—Charles Altamont Doyle]. Was he wearing a goatee in CHAS as well? o.O)
My deepest desire is for a Sherlock Holmes adaption with a Scottish Watson because one line in a Study in Scarlet mentions that he doesn't have any family in England and I used it as a thin excuse to incorporate Scottish Watson™ into my world view
With nearly 50% of the vote, Charles Augustus Milverton is hereby named the most evil character in the original Sherlock Holmes canon! Huge thanks to everyone who voted, I hope you enjoyed it
Don’t apologize, dear Watson, you and your Holmes needed a vacation after Final Problem. Let’s see what happened this time!
Oh well, there’s a murder, Watson has an encounter with a man dressed as a bookseller and then...
yep, he fainted. HOLMES IS ALIVE, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? I CAN’T fault Watson for fainting! I think i would have fainted too... or punched Holmes. I do believe Watson preferred to kiss him and hug him as tight as possible. What can i say? Watson, dear doctor, your Husband doesn’t deserve you. You’re too good for this world.
Watson. (read this Watson like that Jeremy Brett’s breathy ‘watson’ when Holmes is very much impressed) You’re truly too good for this world. He’s WORRYING FOR HOLMES. FIRST THING FIRST. I love this man.
(Holmes, little service communication, know that your husband WILL take care of you now. He will never let you go again. He will manage to make you eat and rest properly. Know this. With you or against your will. You will be taken care of.)
And of course. Watson is always in for an Adventure. With his Holmes.
His face is lined with deep furrows now
but his fingers are still long and cold and strong
when he cares for his bees
and his grey eyes are still full of tenderness
when he looks upon me
Some stories I will never write down
Some only mine and his
He calls me over to his beehives every now and then
My own name a caress from his lips