Treasure Under The Plane Tree  

It's 1903, and the destruction of 221B Baker Street is imminent.  

Sherlock Holmes is about to move out to Sussex for his retirement. Dr. Watson has run off for his latest attempt at marital bliss. And the one mind with the knowledge and ability to finish 221B Baker Street once and for all sets about scheming to do just that. The plot is hatched, the date is set, and events are set in motion that will change that hallowed flat forever.  

Rude tables are constructed around the single plane tree in the backyard. Then, in the hour just past the dawn of the next day, the schemer's hirelings begin to fill those tables with all-too familiar objects. All that remains is for the architect of 221B's ruin to give the sign for the beginning of the end. And she does.  

"Yard Sale Today," the sign reads, and Mrs. Hudson settles in to pile up the farthings, pennies, and shillings.  

Eventually the Nazis will bomb number 221 Baker Street, bringing the whole place to the ground. The war machine of the Third Reich, however, will still fail to match the damage that single landlady did the day of her yard sale. If Professor Moriarty had truly been the criminal genius he is touted to be, he'd have gotten Mrs. Hudson on his side from the start.  

Why was this single event the comerstone of the destruction of 221B Baker Street? How could a common, everyday occurrence like a yard sale bring an era of greatness to a close, once and for all?  

Because that's the day the trappings we've come to associate with Sherlock   Holmes, the icons, the stuff that made it 221B Baker Street, were scattered to the four winds. The detective took some things with him for his Sussex retirement, but we all know what a great opportunity to clean house a move offers. Sherlock Holmes, being among the least sentimental of men, was sure to divest himself of a large pile of odds and ends when the time came. And who better to do his dirty work for him than Mrs. Hudson?  

The whole thought of that final Baker Street yard sale was brought to mind this week by the January issue of Baker Street West 1. A lively and charming publication, Baker Street West 1 (Published 3 times a year, $9.00 to subscribe, write Jerry Kegley, 110 South El Nido, #41, Pasadena, CA 91107) had taken "Building Baker Street" as a theme for their current issue, featuring articles on recreations of 221B Baker Street by Sherlockians all over the country. Life-size replicas rebuilt in the den or spare room, doll house size recreations, and my favorite ... a how-to for constructing Holmes's rooms with "Playmobile" toys.  

So many people trying to pull together facsimiles of what was once collected in that one famed location. Looking for bull's-eye lanterns, tantaluses, butter dishes, Persian slippers, and the rest, every one of these collectors harbors secret hopes that their latest acquisition might be the 221B butter dish or bull's-eye. Some will even tell you that, yes, theirs is the one true holy object. Asked to provide a provenance, they might come up with a pretty good story, but asked to come up with a provenance for their provenance...  

Well, things would have been a lot simpler if Mrs. Hudson would have passed out certificates of authenticity at that original yard sale. But certificates or no, can you imagine stepping out of your time machine (complete with spacious cargo area) and into the midst of the landlady's sale?  

A certain amount of what you might find there was undoubtedly Watson's. The doctor's here-again, gone-again presence at Baker Street probably left quite a bit of attic-filler in his wake. A box of extra copies of Beeton's Christmas Annual. Belongings left over from past wives. His old army uniform, perhaps a billiard cue or two, those darned Clark Russell books. Did Watson buy new equipment every time he started up the medical practice in earnest? An old stethoscope, scalpel, or syringe might be found there as well.  

Good old Watson is a pretty easy study when it comes to picking out the yard sale merchandise. Holmes is a little tougher. Given his diverse tastes and limited sentimentalities, you just can't be sure what he'd toss out during the final cleaning out of Baker Street. Would a medal like the French Legion of Honour wind up on the sale table? If not that particular one, surely certain other displays of gratitude from his clients showed up there. What of all his costumes and disguise paraphernalia? Not necessary in Sussex, even if Laurie King would have you believing otherwise. Pipes are always a hot yard sale item, and the move surely would have been a time to clean out that collection.  

Were there truly three separate dressing gowns, rather than the one that kept fading as Christopher Morley theorized? If so, surely one of them would find its way to the sale. An old deerstalker cap? Holmes didn't know it would someday be his trademark. He easily could have been getting rid of one. Pocket lenses, a half-destroyed wax bust, all manner of wonders, all scattered by Mrs. Hudson's yard sale. Scattered, but not destroyed.  

The bearskin rug, the wom-out basket chair, the bent and re-bent fireplace poker ... the mind begins to boggle while the mouth begins to salivate. Forget the Maltese Falcon, here is the stuff dreams are made of. Still out there. Waiting.

Good luck.

(Printed in Plugs & Dottles, February 1996)