After a few hundred centuries in Valinor, Olorin ran out of pipeweed. Shortly after, he decided he'd had quite enough of rest and eternal bliss—he'd never thought he would miss being pestered with questions by small people, but it seemed he did—and he betook himself back to Middle Earth, where he soon found a decent position as resident mysterious old wizard to one Uthr Pendragon, who had tolerable pipeweed and a penchant for disguises. When he got sick of the questions, he contrived to have himself shut up in a rock and took a nap; in those days there was always a demand for mysterious old wizards and he had no trouble finding work when he came out.
This arrangement worked well for quite awhile, but then the age of rationalism came along and the demand for resident wizards (which had fallen in the days of Elizabeth—but the quality of pipeweed improved significantly at the same time, so he'd not troubled about it) absolutely plummeted to the point where he had to completely overhaul his appearance (he'd always enjoyed disguises, though the hawk nose tended to persist) and go in for mundane crime-solving—boring at times, but the mouse-colored dressing gown was close enough to familiar, the pipeweed was more plentiful than ever before, and Watson was absolutely superb at asking questions.
Many Are My Names
After a few hundred centuries in Valinor, Olorin ran out of pipeweed. Shortly after, he decided he'd had quite enough of rest and eternal bliss—he'd never thought he would miss being pestered with questions by small people, but it seemed he did—and he betook himself back to Middle Earth, where he soon found a decent position as resident mysterious old wizard to one Uthr Pendragon, who had tolerable pipeweed and a penchant for disguises. When he got sick of the questions, he contrived to have himself shut up in a rock and took a nap; in those days there was always a demand for mysterious old wizards and he had no trouble finding work when he came out.
This arrangement worked well for quite awhile, but then the age of rationalism came along and the demand for resident wizards (which had fallen in the days of Elizabeth—but the quality of pipeweed improved significantly at the same time, so he'd not troubled about it) absolutely plummeted to the point where he had to completely overhaul his appearance (he'd always enjoyed disguises, though the hawk nose tended to persist) and go in for mundane crime-solving—boring at times, but the mouse-colored dressing gown was close enough to familiar, the pipeweed was more plentiful than ever before, and Watson was absolutely superb at asking questions.