These lads in their current incarnation are the property of the BBC and in their original incarnation, the property of the Estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

A SINGLE LOAF OF RYE

A Sherlock and John - Second Honeymoon Interlude

OoOoO

John waits his turn at the counter. He isn't used to this – one queu leading to the only cash register in the only grocery store in town. But this tiny store in the middle of Switzerland holds the only foodstuffs and other paraphernalia for miles around. So queu he does.

Apparently, it also doubles as a bakery. The tiny couple in front of him fascinates him. The man must be at least 80, if he is a day. Aging, wizened, gray-haired, he still holds himself with grace. John sees the unmistakable signs of advanced rheumatoid arthritis, in the gnarled fingers and the way he walks slowly, as if every step is a torment. But his gray head swivels as he watches his companion step up to the counter. He beams at her with pride and unmistakable affection.

"Here is a woman who is adored," thinks John.

A quick negotiation and the woman behind the register nods, smiles at the elderly couple. She reaches behind her and hands the elderly woman a freshly-baked loaf, with the unmistakable marbling of "Rye? thinks John. She quickly wraps the loaf in brown paper, as he inhales the heavenly aroma of fresh bread. It reminds John that he is hungry and that a certain consulting detective, now standing outside on the sidewalk, patiently waiting, is probably getting a bit peckish too. She rings up their only other purchase, a small bottle of red wine, and places both in a brown paper bag.

The elderly couple, both of them dressed in winter coats and both with knitted scarves around their necks, turn and leave, arm-in-arm. As they walk by John, the woman smiles at him and he smiles back. The man has eyes only for his female companion.

At the door, John watches as the elderly gentleman gently takes the brown bag from her, tucks it under his arm, and then offers his other arm to her. She smiles at him, a bright blinding smile that lights up her entire face. The years seem to drop away at that smile and John wonders what she looked like as a young girl. Together they make their way slowly out of the shop and turn to the left, toward the small hill.

Just a typical elderly couple in a typical little Swiss village doing their shopping. But there was something in the way she held onto his arm, as if she were so very proud of him; something in the way that he turns his head to look into her eyes – as if she is the only woman in the world and utterly, completely beautiful – that catches at John's heart. He can't help smiling.

"Sir? Mein Herr? May I help?"

John turns and places his purchases on the counter. She sees his obvious interest in the couple who has just left and stares after them herself, with a softened gaze.

"They come here every year, on this one date and every year, they buy the same thing: a bottle of cheap French wine and a loaf of bread. Rye bread."

John smiles at her. "This date?" he asks. "Is it their wedding anniversary?"

She shakes her head. "No. It is the anniversary of the day the Americans liberated Dachau."

She rings up his purchases and places them in a small bag for him. Taking his money, she quickly makes change.

"You mean the Nazi death camp?" John says, horrified.

She nods and leans her sturdy elbows on the counter.

"But that's in Germany, isn't it?" John asks.

She nods vigorously. "Yes. They moved here after the war. Have lived here in this village all their lives. He was a prisoner there, at Dachau. You know it was a death camp, a concentration camp, right?"

John nods, feeling ill at the subject, but fascinated too.

"There was a typhus outbreak in early 1945, followed by an evacuation. He was one of the evacuees, although he was not suffering from typhus, one of the lucky ones. I do not know how he escaped. She found him hiding in the shelled-out barn adjoining her family's farm house."

"She discovered him there and although it would have meant her life if she had been caught, she fed him. Her family was all dead except for her younger sister. German soldiers had commandeered everything they had. One week, it was her and her sister's baking week, they came through the village, took all the food, killed her livestock. Her sister died of mistreatment at the soldier's hands. She survived."

"When the soldiers left, she found one loaf of bread, the only bit of food they didn't find. It had somehow slipped behind the stove. She was starving herself, but she took it to him. He insisted they share it, so that is what they did. The two of them – they lived on that one loaf of rye for eight days, before the Americans came a week later. One loaf of rye bread."

John's eyes widen as he considers her words.

"On the day, the Americans came through, she went up into the rafters of the barn and found a small bottle of wine she had hidden there for better days. They shared the bottle of wine. He proposed; she said yes. And they have been together for nearly 66 years now."

John turns to watch the progress of the tiny couple. He turns back to thank her for the story.

She smiles at the blonde man. She likes his gentle manner.

"Enjoy your stay here, sir."

John thanks her again, takes his packages and goes outside to find Sherlock standing on the street, hands in the pockets of his coat, patiently waiting. The detective stares after the elderly couple, slowly making their way up the small hill.

"What do you deduce about that couple, Sherlock?" smiles John, as he takes his husband's arm. They turn in the opposite direction, toward their hotel.

"Not much, John. He is in his 80's, suffers from RA; he most definitely needs the cane. She is a little younger than he, perhaps by four years. At one time, the man was imprisoned in a labor camp, possibly Dachau. And at some time, he had a serial number tattooed into his arm. I caught a glimpse when he took her arm. They have been a couple, married of course, for the better part of 65 – 66 years. They have no children, just each other. She is dying of cancer. He has a serious heart condition. They have been together for so many years, I doubt if one will survive long without the other."

The detective smiles into John Watson Holmes' eyes. "I don't know what was in the bag though."

"Life, Sherlock," said John. "Life, extraordinary courage under dire circumstances; love, kindness; the determination of the human heart. That is what was in that little brown bag. "

The detective raises one eyebrow. "John, that is a story I would like to hear."

John smiles. As they make their way back to their hotel, he begins to talk.

###

For Dad. And thank you.

'sky'