Holmes was a man for whom political discussion held no interest. He was intensely patriotic but in no way jingoistic, frequently criticising this country and its government. Occupied constantly with ineradicable human faults and evil, he saw politicians as having 'a full-time job in keeping the peace'. Reshaping our society was clearly beyond their limited abilities.
He actively disliked social unfairness and inequality but regarded those as matters for individuals to transcend or battle. Claims that such injustices could be addressed systematically and theoretically – for example, through the ideas of a Mr Marx or the socialists – struck him as implausible and dangerous. The sacrifices required, in diminutions of cultural freedoms and individual liberties, were too great.
Nevertheless, he was acutely aware of the public mood, through his obsessive familiarity with London and its people. No public meeting or riot escaped his notice. Indeed, few such disturbances were even denied his presence, discretely yet minutely observing events. I'm not sure what role he played for his brother Mycroft in this, but that he assisted him, I was in no doubt.
Needless to say, he enthusiastically adopted a range of disguises whilst attending: bespectacled German intellectual; Cambridge undergraduate in flat-cap; robed follower of the Mahdi; begrimed matchgirl; pugnacious dockworker.
Throughout October 1899, Holmes was almost a stranger to Baker Street. When I did see him, it was in the extraordinary attire of an Islamic Jihadist, replete with dazzling robes and murderous daggers. Such figures were more frequently seen on London's streets than might be hoped. Indeed, Holmes once remarked that it would not surprise him to see caravans of Saharan camels, traipsing through Oxford Street towards Hyde Park and then to our lodgings at 221b.
Sitting at the heart of a vast Empire, London played host to many dangerous fanatics, hailing from the disparate British territories on every continent. In particular, events in Egypt and the Sudan focussed our minds on the perils from the Jihadi Islamism taking hold there.
Followers of this creed were interested in only one thing: spreading their religion through mass slaughter. In that sense, it would seem obvious that the only possible reaction was to either avoid them at all costs or – when necessary – fight them ruthlessly and win.
However, this is to neglect the ingrained stupidity of our intellectual classes, in particular our worthless academics, journalists and bourgeois do-gooders. Quite incredibly, such types urged us to tolerate and even encourage calls for mass-murder, since not to do so would be 'disrespecting another culture' and 'failing to sympathise with victims of British imperialism'.
As an old India hand, the naivety of such views appalled me, having seen piles of slaughtered children proving that 'when the Hindoo or Christian sharpens his argument, the Muslim sharpens his sword.'
By some quirk of fate, the area around Edgware Road was a centre for this cult. It was within ear-shot of Baker Street and we'd hear the 'call to prayer’ from its various mosques. Bayswater itself was awash with idlers on housing benefits – from Arabia; Sudan; Egypt; the Levant; Afghanistan; even the Punjab – smoking hookah pipes and impatiently snapping fingers at multiple wives, summoning up tea, young girls, hashish and sweet-meats.
Holmes himself frequented a tea-shop known as Ali's Parlour, where he gave Koranic lessons to the faithful. He of course sneaked in his ribald humour (mocking a faith lacking the slightest trace of it) even convincing an Omdurman tribesman that 72 eager virgins occupied the basement at Whiteley’s department store, waiting patiently to reward his valour in battle. The priapic Jihadi was arrested for dragging shop-girls into an underground drapery depository.
In early November, I returned from an aimless walk to find the two brothers locked in dispute.
'So, a plot has crystalized?' Mycroft whimpered.
'We can expect an attack next week, when Her Majesty opens Parliament. Their intention is to proclaim a full Jihad on British soil.'
Mycroft was clearly dumbfounded. He'd long played the role of 'useful idiot' for the Islamists, in his capacity as a Home Office advisor on community relations. This was his reward.
Holmes had months ago explained to me what those advisory activities actually involved:
'Mycroft meets with “community leaders” and promptly agrees to whatever they demand, out of funk and the misguided belief this proves he is both progressive and enlightened. His reward is to bask in sanctimony and receive praise in the teenage scribblings of one Owen Jones. He's also become a favourite of our dubious Mayor, Mr Sadiq Kahn.’
I had been stunned at Holmes senior's abnegation of duty.
'Incredible! Is he unaware how these Islamists treat confirmed bachelors like himself and Mr Jones? It involves a swift descent from a tall building, headfirst onto the pavement below!'
'Mycroft is an incorrigible sybarite. Provided these self-appointed leaders feed him curry regularly at the Cinnamon Club – and appease his vanity by praising his "enlightened tolerance” – he shows the wilful blindness that all our governing classes do.'
Months later, I could see for myself the result of such decadent complacency. Mycroft sat immobile, unable to muster even the feeblest response to Holmes' warning.
'In short, my dear brother, whilst you and the Government may not be interested in Jihad, it is most definitely interested in you. Might I ask what you intend to do? I remind you we are unflinching in our willingness to fight for England; if only our governing classes – of which you are a flabby exemplar – had shown the same determination!'
Stung into responding, Mycroft snapped furiously:
'This is a matter requiring nuance and sophistication, not intemperate prejudice. I have been in constant discussion with experts in the Foreign Office and the SOAS, who concur with my approach, praising its promotion of diversity and the sound evidence-base from which all policy must originate.'
'And here we are! I see nothing nuanced or sophisticated in beheadings, suicide bombings, grooming of teenage girls and subsequent gang-rapes – though they do provide an unarguable evidence base for the horrors we now face.'
I silently cheered the knock-out blow Holmes delivered. Mycroft collapsed groaning into an armchair, requesting a large port and extra-large pork pie to ease his suffering. In disgust, Holmes and I left him gorging and made our way to Ali's Parlour.
However hopeless the situation, neither of us would surrender to the forces of barbarism without a fight – whatever the risk to our safety.
AGAINST MONOLITHIC 'DIVERSITY' | PAUL SUTTON | Substack