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Overhead one of the tri-balloon blimps coasted noisily, its huge steam driven propellers driving the massive tourist vehicle through the semi-clouded skies. It was so big it could have been a small hill. It made a loud throom-throoming sound because of the huge propellers that churned the air above them.
“One of the older ones,” Watson noted, when Mrs. Hudson cocked an eyebrow. “Always the noisy ones. I’ll be glad when we convert all public vehicles to electric.”
“Our world is getting smaller all the time.”
“Yes, my dear, it is. But something’s never change.”
She leaned into him and snuggled her head against his shoulder.
He squeezed her shoulder. “I just pray that will always be you and...”
She put a finger to his lips. “Don’t say; don’t think it. We are not going that route, John. We steer a loftier course than the narrow path of jealousy and abandonment.”
“Well, not to change the topic, but to change the topic, “Thomas told me the other day that they expect to convert the whole kingdom away from steam within the next twenty years.”
“Why twenty and not tomorrow?”
“The coal industry. They have quite a bit of power in the House of Lords.”
“Why would they want people to keep dying from the lung disease created by coal and oil?”
“Humans are funny that way; they think that death knocks on everyone’s door but their own.”
She laughed.
He gave her an extra squeeze, sighed, and then said, “If it was up to the coal industry, we would have died of lung disease a score years ago from all t heir dratted exhaust fumes. Terrible on the lungs.”
Mrs. Hudson nodded. “I have a close friend whose father died from the black lung.”
Watson sighed again. “One of the more common illnesses I treat these days when I have time. Thank God, Good Queen Mary of Scots has mandated our conversion to clean fuels or I’d be spending more and more time in the hospital and burying my patients.”
She looked at him in surprise. “When do you have time to practice? You and Holmes are always off somewhere these days...”
Watson reacted so swiftly, from his war training in the Chinas when the slightest of motions or movements could mean sudden death. He flung himself and Mrs. Hudson hard to the right, throwing them both down on the sidewalk.
A couple ahead of them cried out in pain as a huge tiger landed on their backs and began tearing at them.
Watson hurriedly took his weapon out. He didn’t usually carry it; but after that horrid image of him in the paper, he wasn’t taking any chances.
He fired again and again.
The screams of terror vanished.
Now, there were only cries of pain.
The man of the couple rolled over. His face was slashed to ribbons just like the image of Watson in the London Times.
Behind Watson and Mrs. Hudson the Stranger stood next to a vendor selling toasted peanuts. He laid down a pound note and walked away, a smile on his face.
“Mmmm,” he noted, eyeing the peanut in his hand. “I’ll have to come here more often; these are excellent.”
