Fic for ladyblank: Unseasonable Spring
Apr. 17th, 2014 02:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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acdholmesfestTitle: Unseasonable Spring
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladyblank
Author:ob_af
Rating: PG
Characters: Holmes/Watson established relationship, OFC, OMC, Mrs Hudson
Warnings: Mildly smutty, blackmail, discussion of period-typical attitudes towards sexuality & gender etc
Summary: Watson writes up one of his favourite unpublished cases
Disclaimer: I own this story, ACD owns the rest, not that he enjoys owning it very much
Seven years since my first meeting with Sherlock Holmes, and four years since our relationship had become an amorous one, spring came in an unwilling fashion to London. Flowers were blooming without thriving, and the sun would shine even as the wind pinked exposed noses and fingertips.
However, I was glad for a change in the weather. The winter had been bitter and in response seemingly every worthy criminal in the country had entered into a state of hibernation. Holmes had struggled.
I will not dwell on what was an unpleasant time for us. I have elsewhere recorded what I consider to be his chief vice, and needless to say Holmes turned to it again during those winter months. Writing this now, when the habit has been dormant for some years, I still find myself miserable recalling it.
Yet I am getting quite too far ahead of myself, and entirely off-topic. I can almost hear Holmes reprimanding me for it. (It transpires that he was reading this over my shoulder and naturally took the opportunity to reprimand me in person, but I have shooed him away now).
So, to the subject of this entry. I wish to write about the case that Alice Fletcher brought to us in the early days of that unseasonable spring, for it remains a case that I recall with great fondness.
We had just returned from one of our regular jaunts around London, which I openly enjoyed and Holmes only pretended to dislike. The air had done us both good, and if I recall correctly Holmes was humming a tune, eyes moving between his violin and the window. It was a welcome sight and I don’t doubt that I smiled fondly at him, every bit as romantic as he accuses me of being.
The bell rang, and I thought nothing of it. Mrs Hudson had been entertaining earlier, and so it was a great surprise to me, to hear movement on our steps. I believe Holmes may have had a premonition, however, as he hastily began clearing some of his more offensive experiments from sight.
‘Well, I’ve heard of spring cleaning, but I must admit I was a skeptic,’ I said. ‘I’ve been asking you to put those ghastly tubes away for weeks, and the moment the sun shines- behold!’
‘You should’ve remained a skeptic, Watson,’ Holmes said, throwing a cloth over our kitchen table with a flourish. ‘It isn’t spring that moves me.’
‘Then what?’
‘A client!’
I know it isn’t possible for him to have timed it, but it was very impressive nonetheless, for the moment he announced our client so she appeared, as if summoned by him. Furthermore, I don’t doubt that Holmes knew he seemed impressive, and revelled in it.
‘Miss Alice Fletcher to see you, gentlemen,’ Mrs Hudson said, giving us both stern looks before retreating.
Miss Fletcher stood framed by the doorway, her eyes moving swiftly over Holmes and myself in the way common to anxious women. Holmes was, in return, observing her with such intensity that had I not known much better, I would’ve assumed he had been struck down with longing for her.
For my part, I could see nothing unusual about Miss Fletcher, or at least nothing to warrant such intense scrutiny. She had light brown hair cut in what I understand to be a short but fashionable style, large blue eyes, and a strong jaw offset by a chin that was dimpled like a cherubs. Her clothes were well-made, her shoes practical and her gloves tipped with fur.
‘I take it that you are Mr Holmes?’
‘Quite correct,’ Holmes said, dropping his stare and extending his hand. ‘A pleasure to be of assistance to you, Miss Fletcher. Please sit, for I can tell there is something on your mind, and I own that I am rather keen to hear it.’
Which was as close as Holmes would come to admitting that he was intrigued by something, and desperate for a case after months of inaction.
All three of us sat, and Miss Fletcher took a deep breath as if steeling herself, whilst Holmes relaxed back into his chair, eyelids lowered, prepared to take in her every word without the distraction of visual stimulus.
‘I must first say that my mother Helen died when I was a child, in a boating accident, and my elder brother and I have been raised entirely by my father, whom we are both close very close to. He always treated us with great respect and affection, determined that we should both receive a proper education. His name is Edward, and he has amassed no small amount of money during his life, having an uncanny knack for investing well. You may have heard of him, Mr Holmes. A kinder man you could find nowhere in London. But- he is now dying. The doctors say that there is no doubt about this, and doubt is quite impossible, as he is physically wasted, though as mentally alert as ever. It will not be more than a few weeks now, a month at best.’
I felt a wave of sympathy for her, and I know it showed on my face. There was something very dignified in the way she restrained the pain in her voice.
‘Ever since my father became ill, which was not so long ago, I have noticed something very strange developing in my brother. His name is Henry, and he is four years my senior, and normally a reserved man. He has always been a kind enough brother towards me, though we were never close, and I know he has no wife or family of his own. However since this news of our father, his attitude towards me has become… inexplicable. What was once perhaps nonchalance is now outright secrecy, and he has become aggressive in ways I cannot understand. He slams doors, shouts frequently, and worst of all fired my maid for some petty misdemeanour, giving her no reference.’
‘But he has not been violent towards you?’ I enquired, prepared to risk annoyance from Holmes at my interruption for the sake of her wellbeing. ‘He has not attacked you?’
‘He has not touched me,’ Miss Fletcher said, hesitating. ‘I fear that he may yet, for he threatens it. I once would’ve thought it impossible, but now I am sure there is nothing he would not do. I thought at first that it might just be his way of expressing his grief, about our father.’
‘The thought did occur to me,’ I said, and Holmes nodded.
‘But that cannot be it,’ Miss Fletcher continued. ‘He has become, as I have said, not merely aggressive but secretive. He is suspicious of everyone known to me. He accuses the doctors of misdiagnosis, and he will not allow anyone to take his coat, nor will he let anybody into his private rooms, even to clean. I cannot guess what is the matter, but I believe his actions and my fathers illness are linked. If you would only find out what he is hiding, Mr. Holmes, and allow me to aid him, it will be within my power soon to reward you handsomely.’
Until I looked over at Holmes, I fully expected him to agree at once and pile Miss Fletcher with questions that would lead him towards the truth of the matter. However one look at his face, and I knew that something was very amiss.
Holmes likes to think himself mysterious, which he can be, and enigmatic, which he often is. To the outsider he must seem to be these two things almost exclusively. Yet to me he is not so impossible to read, though I admit that I have the advantage over most, having seen his face in an intimate variety of contortions. Therefore it was no struggle to see that Holmes was not at all pleased with the story of Miss Fletcher. His lips were compressed into a hard line, and his eyes had the steely glint of anger, as opposed to the brightness of interest. I realised at once that she had been lying, and that the lies were not to his taste.
‘Miss Fletcher, I am not interested in your money, nor in your story, for we must call it a story as it is certainly not the truth.’
‘Mr Holmes, it most certainly is the truth. I can assure you.’
She was an impressive liar, I realised, which had perhaps only worsened the insult as far as Holmes was concerned. Her voice was ringing with emotion and her posture, once straight, had relaxed towards Holmes in an imploring manner.
‘Bits of truth, perhaps,’ Holmes said coldly. ‘I do believe that your father is dying, that your brothers actions are as you describe them. But you have lied shamelessly about everything else. So we will not be taking your case. Unless, of course, you feel that the truth would after all be a better route to take?’
It was only a momentary hesitation, and it was hidden at once by an expression of shocked indifference. She stood, looking down her nose at Holmes, who did not stand to meet her.
‘You insult me,’ she snapped, and left at speed, closing the door behind her with a loud snap. Her boots hit each step with a clack as she descended.
Holmes and I moved as one, rushing towards the window to watch her depart. He seized the inside of my elbow as we pressed ourselves against the glass. The wind was whipping at her hair and she did not look back, her chin turned up in defiance. Once she was lost in the crowd we turned to look at one another, eyebrows raised.
‘Well, that was interesting,’ Holmes said, tugging at my arm in excitement. ‘She will be back, Watson, mark my words. In less than three days. Did her story take you in?’
‘Up until the end, yes,’ I said honnestly. ‘There was some truth in it, after all, and she spoke with great conviction. She reminded me of you, almost, when you don a disguise.'
‘Curious that you should say so,’ Holmes said quietly, turning to draw the curtains. ‘Did you deduce anything else about her that is, shall we say, like me?’
This was such a strange question that I almost feared that the wrong reply would cause offence. I shrugged, locking the door Miss Fletcher had closed so as to buy myself time. Had she seemed like Holmes in any unusual way?
‘You both have very lovely hair,’ I offered, ‘but apart from that I cannot think of anything very alike.’
‘No matter,’ Holmes said. ‘I will continue you train you, daunting task though it will be.’
There was no heat in his voice and I smiled. He was now spread out like butter upon the lounge, and with the door and curtains closed, I was free to straddle his hips and forwards to press our lips together. The kiss was languid, teasing, and it was a struggle to brake from it.
‘Tell me, then, what you deduced, and we shall see if I can work out how you deduced it.’
‘She is naturally left handed,’ Holmes said, tilting his head to the side so I could better kiss his exposed neck.
‘She moved naturally with her left hand, but then corrected herself with the right,’ I suggested. ‘Or the elbow of her dress worn down on the left side, from writing.’
‘Good,’ Holmes said, eyes closed. ‘Very good. She is practical with her money, clever in a way a man might be. She spends it well, but not often, with great care and good taste. Not... frivolous.’
‘Hmmmm…’
I tugged on Holmes ear lobe with my teeth, and at once his hands were on my shoulders, pressing me harder into him. Overly sensitive, I might have called him, though truly I relish how much power my touch has over him.
‘Shoes. You deduced that from her shoes. Though I must add that I have known plenty of women who have managed money with greater skill than their husbands, Holmes. You mustn’t generalise.’
‘Save the lecture. Tell me... how you deduced it.’
He sounded pleasingly breathless, and I pressed my leg between both of his, rocking against him and finding him hardening already.
‘Her shoes were expensive. Good quality leather, pleasing to look at. But they weren’t very new. She buys her shoes knowing that they are good quality, knowing that they will last several seasons. She won’t buy new heels every time hers fall out of fashion. She walks often, I would assume. Very practical of her.’
Holmes nodded, both his long feet wrapped around one of my ankles. His hands slithered downwards to cup my rear. I kissed the join of his neck and shoulders, then bit gently, holding his slightly salted skin between my teeth.
‘I can deduce something else as well,’ I said, lowering my voice wickedly. ‘I deduce that this arouses you.’
‘You don’t say!’ Holmes exclaimed, sarcastic despite his breathlessness. ‘Whatever could have lead you to think such a thing-’
‘I wasn’t just talking about this,’ I said, rolling my hips against him to make my point. ‘No. You like hearing me deduce. When I use your methods, when I impress you, you want me. Listening to me now, that arouses you more than anything else I’m doing.’
‘Oh?’ Holmes encouraged, eyes wide and dark.
‘Oh yes.’ I slid a hand between us and cupped his groin, making him buck against me. ‘The evidence is clear. Even if I get something horribly wrong, you continue to ‘train’ me, knowing how sweet it is for you when I get it right.’
‘Watson, you’ve outdone yourself,’ Holmes panted, spreading his legs further for me and moving his hands so as better to undo my buttons. ‘Can you- could you deduce what I have in mind for us, now?’
‘I can. And I shall explain it all to you step by step, so that you fully understand how clever I am. You shall be my appreciative audience, yes?’
‘Yes, yes, without doubt,’ Holmes said, face flushing.
‘Good. My genius would be wasted, otherwise.’
And I proceeded to prove my genius to a very appreciative audience of one.
~
The next day I wondered aloud if it would be better to have a watch set on Miss Fletcher, in case her brother attempted some violence before she returned. Holmes assured me that I needn’t fear for her.
‘His actions, if I am reading them right, are intended to intimidate her to the extent that he might not need to raise a hand against her. Fear is a potent enough weapon to make violence unnecessary.’
‘You don’t fill me with confidence on her behalf,’ I replied bluntly.
‘Tut tut. She will return before you know it, and long before any violence comes to pass.’
He puffed on his cigarette, leaning against the window so as to better examine the populace of London as it passed by below us. I had given him my promised lecture regarding his assumptions towards women the night before, and I wondered if he was pondering it now as he looked into the shifting crowd.
Eventually he turned away from the window and came to stand by me instead, looking down his curved nose with an expression that was both thoughtful and rather sad.
‘What worries you, Holmes?’
He sighed rather dramatically, throwing a swift glance towards our door (closed, but not locked) before sitting on the floor and relaxing against my legs.
‘I fear I must retract some earlier sentiments of mine, Watson.’
‘Hm? How so?’
‘I believe I have previously expressed frustration with the world at large for failing to observe as I do, for failing to reason logically and deduce the obvious from the environment. I take it all back. In some matters, I would rather the masses remain blind as beetles.’
This was, I realised, a pensive mood, which was a distant cousin to his black moods. Cautiously, I let my fingers run through his hair. He leant into the touch.
‘How so?’ I asked, when he failed to elaborate. ‘Why would you see humanity blinded so?’
‘If everyone could deduce as much about a person merely by looking as I can, the world would be very dangerous and unhappy for us, Watson.’
‘You mean-?’
‘I looked out on the street just now and saw a man who is, without doubt, enamoured of his own sex. He passes unseen by everyone but me. But if all of Scotland Yard were like me…’
I had caught the drift of his thoughts very well, and I found them alarming and morbid, though true enough in reality. What comfort could I offer him? Though I pressed my hand soothingly against his skull, I knew my silence was inadequate.
‘There’s no point worrying about such a thing happening,’ I reminded him. ‘As you are so fond of saying, even the Yards best are inferior to you at your worst.’
He sighed, leaning his face against my leg, and I let my fingers trace the edge of his delicate ear.
We sat like that for a long time, both of us lost within our own thoughts and unwilling to brake the silence. The weak springtime sun leaked in, catching the dust as it fell towards the floor and making it shine.
Eventually I spoke, my voice low and slightly husky from disuse. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t much I can say for us, Holmes. We are as safe as we can be, and I love you. And I do have hope, no matter how mad it might seem, that the future will be better. That the world will do better.’
I felt him smile against my leg and a weight lifted from my chest.
‘My dear Watson,’ he sighed. ‘My one fixed point.’
~
A day away from Miss Fletcher's prophesied return it became obvious to me that Holmes was anxious about the encounter. He said nothing to me about it, though I knew him well enough to see it nonetheless. In an effort to distract himself, he returned to the experiments which he had hidden away previously.
This meant, for me, a return to foul smells, inexplicable explanations of said smells, and the procuring of various muds, textiles and animal hairs.
Despite the fact that I didn’t want Miss Fletcher to come to any harm, I did find myself rather longing for her to arrive. It was just warm enough to keep the windows open during the day, but even so we suffered, and Mrs. Hudson glared at Holmes as she set down supper.
‘I fear I rather upset Mrs Hudson,’ he said idly, as she stormed out. ‘She must know I don’t do it just to annoy her.’
‘Even so, you do,’ I pointed out. ‘She cares for you, but that same care doesn’t extend to your experiments.’
He huffed to himself, shovelling supper into his mouth without pausing to enjoy it properly. I raised an eyebrow at this, as I find his eating habits worrying at the best of times, and a sudden intake of food was undoubtedly a signal of something to come.
‘I’m preparing for tomorrow,’ he said, following my train of thought with ease. ‘The case may take a few days, and I will certainly want my strength up.’
‘Well then, you should eat during the case, instead of stuffing yourself beforehand.’
Holmes gave me an amused expression which indicated that I was fighting for a cause long lost. I smiled despite my exasperation, and he grinned like a boy who knows his charm outweighs his misdemeanour.
We retired early that night, another indicator that Holmes was preparing. Thanks to his foul experiments, we had no fear of being interrupted. I fell asleep with his slim arm tossed across my chest, his heart beating loudly enough to reverberate inside my head.
~
Next morning I gave up trying to read the paper early, as there was no point in pretending that I was oblivious to the tension radiating from Holmes, and no point in pretending I didn’t share it.
He sat with his eyes closed, his fingers occasionally drumming aggressively against his knees. I paced, stopping to peer out the window, or to pick up a book only to set it aside again.
His experiments were again cleared aside and placed under a sheet, in order to preserve an air of professionalism as opposed to an air of unhygienic madness. I decided that whatever the outcome of the case, he would have to conclude his studies elsewhere.
It was midday before I spotted Miss Fletcher on the street, walking towards 221B with her head bowed. She seemed smaller than I recalled her.
‘Holmes,’ I whispered, though there was no reason to whisper. ‘She is coming.’
He bounded out of his chair, coming to join me at the window. ‘Well spotted. Now, before she arrives, I must ask you to try and keep any noises of shock or surprise to yourself.’
‘I’ll make a note of it. Anything else?’
‘Only to trust me.’
Holmes squeezed my hand rather tightly, then went to stand beside the fireplace, his head bowed. I was too excited to be curious or even suspicious. Something about his attitude towards the case had infected me.
In a matter of minutes Mrs Hudson was showing her up the stairs, and Holmes opened the door before she could knock, with a smooth, ‘Thank you, Mrs Hudson. Miss Fletcher, we’ve been expecting you, do come in.’
Her face was pale, and she twisted her gloved hands together as she stood looking us both over. I found that her eyes lingered on me.
‘Is Doctor Watson entirely to be trusted?’
‘Doctor Watson is my intimate friend and partner. Anything you say to me can be said to him, I assure you. There is nothing to fear.’
‘There is everything to fear!’ she hissed, then slapped her hand over her mouth as if ashamed. We watched in silence as she took four deep, soothing breaths, visibly calming herself. I was alarmed, and glanced at Holmes, whose face was unhelpfully blank.
‘Sit, have a drink,’ I said. ‘Calm yourself before you talk.’
She allowed herself to be lead gently by the hand. I placed her in my chair and gave her some small amount of brandy, which she drank with a small, grateful smile. Her hands were still not steady, but her gaze when she fixed it upon Holmes was unwavering.
‘Mr Holmes… I have come back, as I think you expected me to, because there is nobody else I can turn to. But before I tell you the truth I must ask for your total discretion, and I think also, for your mercy. If I have read you wrong then it is not only my life that is ruined, but the life of the person I love most dearly in the world.’
I took to the lounge and Holmes to his customary seat. His eyes, which had on her last visit regarded her coldly, were now as warm and inviting as he knew how to make them. Taking strength from this, Miss Fletcher began to speak.
‘My father is dying, Mr Holmes, and my brother has been acting exactly as I described. But I was not honest with you. When my father dies, my brother and I are both to inherit a large sum of money. I was intending to use this money to purchase a house in the country, somewhere safe for me to live with the person I love. The woman I love.’
For a moment it seemed to me that the air had gone from the room. I made no noise, however, and moments later I found myself reaching for Miss Fletcher's hand and gripping it tightly. She looked at me with blue, frightened eyes and I found that I understood her completely. Holmes let out a long, satisfied sigh.
‘You might have saved us time by telling us the truth when I gave you the chance,’ he said. ‘It was not easy to deduce, but I knew it nonetheless.’
I poured Miss Fletcher another glass of brandy as Holmes spoke, and she drank it in one go, the colour slowly returning to her face.
‘A lifetime of secrecy is hard to cast aside, to a stranger, to a man, to someone associated with the police.’
‘I do not work with or for the police,’ Holmes said sternly. ‘They consult me, and that is all. It is a common misconception. You have nothing to fear from us.’
Her eyes moved from Holmes to myself again, and this time I caught something sly in the way she raised her eyebrows. I flushed, but Holmes laughed, delighted by her boldness.
‘You are a quick study, Miss Fletcher! You read us correctly.’
‘I did wonder,’ she confessed, now slightly pink in the cheeks. ‘I did think, but I wasn’t sure… I’ve never talked about this before. Forgive me, if I am being rude.’
‘You are not,’ Holmes assured her, ‘though you would think from the hue of Watsons cheeks that you’d done something far more scandalous than speak the truth.’
I threw Holmes a furious look and he beamed innocently at me, before returning to Miss Fletcher and assuming an air of seriousness that swiftly brought us all back to the matter at hand.
‘Your brother discovered the truth,’ he said simply, and she nodded.
‘Her name is Mary Daleson. Normally I burn our letters. I had kept the more recent ones, however, as we had spoken in detail of money, location, furniture… details I wanted to remember. He found them. He will expose our dying father to the truth of my nature- even on his deathbed- unless I comply with him, and pass over to him my half of the allowance. And if I still refuse, he shall simply publish the letters, and allow me to be carted off to an asylum for study. He has been tormenting me ever since, knowing I cannot protest. Burning my books, firing my maid, intimidating me. Even so, he fears loosing his proof. It is my belief that he carries the letters with him everywhere, even sleeps with them by his bed.’
‘It seems likely,’ Holmes agreed, fingertips pressed together. ‘And it is, unfortunately, a fairly effective method. You cannot physically overpower him, he permits nobody near him, and you can hardly set the entire house on fire and hope for the best. You have done well to come to us. It is an interesting challenge after a winter of inaction, and a worthy cause for us.’
She smiled, still clearly feeling the heady rush that comes with speaking openly after so long in silence. I found myself regarding her bravery with awe, even as part of me examined her, trying to discover those small details which had told Holmes the truth. Had I not heard it from her own mouth I might not have believed it.
‘Does Mary have any similar problems?’ I asked. ‘From her family, perhaps?’
‘Mary is, fortunately, the second youngest of eight. Her parents are resigned to difficulty and eccentricity in their children. Her brothers cause much more serious problems.’
‘A lucky situation,’ I said. ‘Do you… I mean, if I might, I just wonder, do you have a picture?’
‘I do,’ she said, and her face lit up in a most charming smile. She pulled a locket from within her bust, and opened it to me. The face within had full lips and curled blonde hair, with eyes that were vividly saucy. I smiled, thinking them well suited.
‘Your brother… Henry Fletcher. Does he have any regular haunts?’ Holmes asked, giving the picture of Mary a swift glance.
‘He works throughout the city, assessing various properties and their assets, so I cannot give you any sure information about his location during working hours. However most weekends find him at his club, the Bronze Stallion I believe.’
‘I know the place,’ Holmes said, and he rubbed his hands together with relish. ‘It is exactly what I was hoping for, and makes our task infinitely easier.’
'You have hope, then?'
'I have very strong hopes,' Holmes smiled. 'I dare say I have certainties. Today is Wednesday. I hope to have good news for you by Monday morning at the latest.'
Miss Fletcher flushed with pleasure, and already she seemed a very different woman from the one who had walked into our rooms not twenty minutes ago. She stood, and Holmes and I did so too.
'I am already greatly indebted to you,' she said. 'Do you really have no interest in my money? Anything I can do for the two of you in return…'
'Money is of no consequence to me,' Holmes assured her. 'You may cover any expenses this case causes us, if it will please you, but otherwise I want nothing but this case.'
Miss Fletcher nodded solemnly and allowed me to walk her to the door. Holmes was already lost in thought, standing by the fire. We both turned to look at him for a moment.
'He is the best in the world, Miss Fletcher,' I said quietly. 'You may have every confidence in him.'
'I do,' she replied. 'And I see that you do too. How long has it been for the two of you?'
'Four years now,' I smiled. 'Very happy years. And yourself?'
'Two, though we have known each other since our schooldays. It's a strange world we live in, Doctor Watson.'
'That it is. But you need not fear it. Holmes shall fix everything for you.'
She nodded, smiled, and vanished into the street, her step as light as if she were floating. Despite my best efforts, I still couldn't discern what had lead Holmes to deduce the truth of her nature. I would have to ask him, and hope that he was in a mood to answer.
'I don't know how you worked it out,' I told him as I returned to him by the fire. 'I've been looking, and I cannot see that she gives anything away.'
Holmes blinked, coming back to himself after deep introspection. He smiled distantly and motioned for me to sit. I did so, briefly admiring the way his hands moved through the air.
'I had two clues, though I fear that they will make you blush rather horribly, as they are far from subtle. You went very red before, when she came clean with us. Normally you don't go so pink in the face unless I'm-'
'Yes, fine, I blushed,' I interrupted. 'And I shall probably blush again. A healthy circulation is nothing to be ashamed of. But how did you know?'
'It hardly matters, Watson. What we need to do now is plan our campaign against her ghastly brother.'
'Be that as it may,' I insisted, 'I don't think I will be able to rest until I know how you spotted this.'
Holmes sighed, and leaned forwards to place his hands upon my knees. His eyes, however, remained upon my face, with subdued amusement.
'A man might wear trousers cut to emphasise, say, the length of his legs or the roundness of his derriere, yes? It seems that Miss Fletcher was doing something similar. Her gloves were extremely expensive, Watson, tailored to fit her exactly. Her nails, though I doubt you noticed, were cared for with excruciating detail. Softened around the edges, kept clean, kept short. Those were my greatest clues, though there were others. Her eyes did not linger on you in the way I have seen many female clients eyes linger, which was telling. There is a boldness about her, also, which I found interesting to observe. Does this satisfy you?'
The blush Holmes had predicted had come to pass in force- I could feel my face burning. I decided it would be best if I said as little in reply to his implications as possible, least I fail to meet Miss Fletcher's eyes next time I saw her.
'Consider me satisfied, you awful fellow. Now. What is our plan?'
Holmes squeezed my knees hard, and flashed me a grin that was terrible to behold.
~
The next few days were busy ones for the two of us, and for a number of Irregulars, whom Holmes roped into our schemes as well.
A long winter of unhappiness had given Holmes an almost alarming energy now, and his determination to see the case come to a successful end was infectious. He did, as I had feared, refuse food and sleep, though how he managed such a feat when we were both so busy and by the end of the day so tired is beyond me.
We walked to the Brass Stallion, following the route that Henry Fletcher would take every weekend. The Thames seemed to be the focus of his interest, for Mr Fletcher would have to pass over it on the way to his club. More than once I had to scold Holmes as he dangled himself over the water.
I know he also sent a telegraph to the Yard, though what it contained was kept from me by Holmes, a frustrating but not wholly uncommon occurrence. It was clear to me that his plan was an elaborate one, and as I fully expected to be included in it I waited patiently for him to reveal everything. Probably, I guessed, in some dramatic fashion. Years before, Holmes had gotten himself in trouble through refusing to explain his plans to me far enough in advance. We had learned from that incident. And so, I waited.
Midday Thursday found me reading the paper as Holmes paced, lost in thought. Eventually he came to a conclusion, an obvious enough deduction on my part as he emitted a small 'Ah!' of satisfaction and turned to me with an apologetic smile.
I lowered my paper and he took it from my hands, leaning to kiss me. For a few moments we did nothing but kiss, and I forgot all about the case as he sucked on my lower lip.
'I'm afraid I must interrupt,' Holmes murmured, pulling away. 'I have been close-lipped, but now I believe everything is nearly ready, and it is time for us to go over the plan together.'
'I am all ears.'
'We have a number of things to accomplish when we take on Henry Fletcher. We must remove the letters from his person and destroy them. We must do so in a way that does not implicate Miss Fletcher. Even without solid proof he may seek to discredit her, and so we must guard ourselves against that as well. Rumours can be as harmful as proofs when a woman's reputation is at stake.'
'And how are we going to manage all this?'
'By working together. And by throwing Mr Henry Fletcher into the Thames.'
~
Saturday found me standing by the Thames, chilled to the bone and restless. I knew my part perfectly, and I did not doubt Holmes or the Irregulars. Yet fear bubbled in my chest, for the consequences of failure would be awful indeed.
The tide was coming in, slowly covering the stinking mud. All about me were the sounds of work and leisure. A boat was being painted, a woman was singing, children charged knee-deep through the sludge in search of treasures. These small domestic details kept me sane, and I chose to focus on them instead of the biting wind, or the distant clouds. I was dressed warmly, but even so, I did not relish my job.
I kept one hand in my pocket, wrapped around the papers Holmes had given me that morning. With my other hand, I smoked, glad to have something to keep my me from blatant fidgeting.
It would be any moment now. And the sooner it was over with the better. I smoked the last of my cigarette forced it into the mud with the heel of my boot. One of the children threw a handful of slime at the freshly painted boat.
'Oi! You brats, ge' over 'ere, I'm gonna to flay you-'
A man's loud bellow echoed off the water and the shouting stopped abruptly. Mr Fletcher was suspended in the air for a moment, mouth open wide, and then crashed into the water with tremendous force.
I threw off my jacket and waded in at once. The water was freezing and I swore quietly. I kept my eyes fixed on the frothing bubbles his entry had left behind, waiting for his head to brake the surface. Holmes had estimated the depth of the water via the height of the bridge in conjunction with the tide, to ensure a safe landing for him.
Knee-deep, and then hip deep. I was slipping on weed and slime but moving doggedly forward. Ahead of me, Mr Fletcher's wet head broke the surface, and he gasped loudly for air.
'Over here!' I shouted. 'Swim this way, man! I'm a doctor!'
He obeyed without hesitation, splashing his way towards me in a graceless but effective manner. His face was pale, and he had his sisters blue eyes. Once he was within grabbing distance I took him by the elbows and hauled him up, supporting his weight. Though slim, his soaked clothes weighed him down considerably.
'There w-was a fight,' he babbled, 'I was p-passing a tramp on the s-s-street when the children s-started fighting. I'm f-freezing.'
'Don't talk,' I advised him. 'You have had a great shock.'
We staggered together towards the shore. The man who had been painting the boat hurrying towards us. I waved him away, shouting, 'I'm a doctor! Do you have any brandy? A blanket? He's freezing.'
He turned and rushed towards the boat. The children parted to give him room, their eyes wide and interested. I deposited Mr Fletcher on the ground somewhat harder than I had intended to and he grunted, the mud splattering. I tore off his jacket and wrapped my own around his shoulders.
'Warm your fingers by blowing on them,' I instructed him, 'and keep your knees close to your body. Preserve your heat. Brandy?'
'Brandy!' The boatman staggered towards us, waving the bottle proudly. I moved aside, letting him bring the bottle to Mr Fletcher's lips. His face was pale, and his eyes closed.
I slid my hand into my jacket, which was draped around his shoulders still, and slid out the dry papers. He was still drinking, and nobody was watching me. I pulled his wet jacket close, and slid out the wet mush that was all that remained of Alice Fletcher's incriminating letters. I replaced them with the dry papers Holmes had entrusted me with, and tossed the mush over my shoulder. Now my jacket was empty, and his contained exactly what Holmes wanted it to contain.
'Do you feel better?' I asked. 'It was a nasty fall.'
'Not so nasty. Damned lucky, actually. Had the tide been too much higher or lower…'
I nodded, pressing the back of my hand against his forehead to check his temperature. 'You are still too cold for my liking. Is there somewhere close you could go, somewhere with a fire?'
'My club,' he coughed. 'It is warm, and I was going there anyway. They have fine brandy and keep fires in the private rooms.'
'I will get you a cab,' I said, pulling him to his feet. 'You ought not stay outside in this chill.'
'No cab will take me,' he laughed, shivering.
'We shall see,' I said darkly, hoping to convey a personality of such force that cabs would stop merely at the sight of me. In truth, Holmes had paid a cab double for the dubious pleasure of his company.
I returned his jacket to him, and took my sadly damp one back. Despite the fact that I loathed to touch him when I thought of Miss Fletcher sitting in our rooms, white with fear, I kept his arm around me as we walked towards the road.
'I'm sure I'm greatly in your debt,' he said, as I waved over the cab. 'Doctor…?'
'Jonas Smith,' I lied easily. 'Go and be warm. It's all in a days work for me.'
He climbed into the cab, and vanished. I watched him go with a feeling of immense satisfaction. On the opposite side of the street, one of the Irregulars nodded at me before sneaking off into a side alley. I turned, and offered my arm to Holmes, who linked it up with his easily.
'I take it that from the dampness of your jacket that our plan has done well?'
'Very well, though I am desperately keen to be in front of a fire. You may not have noticed, but my legs are soaked.'
'It's a good look,' Holmes said, voice low. 'The fabric clings to you in a most flattering way.'
'Holmes! Not here. Tell me how it went for you, on the bridge.'
'It was easy enough,' Holmes said carelessly. 'I make an impeccable tramp, having given them an in-depth study some years ago. Billy was in charge of the boys. I pointed out Mr Fletcher to him. Then some trifle, a common enough sounding fight. Theft, a few accusations about my general hygiene. Their dispute backed him into a corner and a punch missed. It was hardly enough to bruise his face, just enough to throw him off balance. It was great fun, Watson, though I deeply regret your having to wade into the Thames. It's freezing.'
'I can think of a few ways for you to make it up to me,' I said, and gave Holmes a swift look. 'For a start, you could tell me what was in the letter I just deposited into Mr Fletcher's jacket.'
'The details of his involvement in that sordid Soho scandal, which as you recall made headlines three years ago. You remember the case? Fraud, attempted murder, a messy business… I contacted Gregson for information about our Thames diver. It seems that Henry Fletcher was a suspect but that nothing could be proved. I have given him a letter filled with the exact details of his crimes, and if I read his character correctly, he will be driven from the country out of fear within the month. He is a coward, Watson, and would rather change his name and flee persecution than attempt to ruin his sister without proofs.'
Amazed, and slightly annoyed that he should have kept such good news to himself, I squeezed his arm with my own in unashamed delight. He smiled over at me, a quick grin that warmed me as much as any fire. I could see that he relished surprising me, not only for my own sake but to satisfy his feeling of suspense and drama.
Holmes hailed a cab, and after promising to pay a sovereign in recompense for my wet clothes, we were headed back towards Baker Street.
~
'It was really very elegant,' Holmes said to me, as he sat with my feet in his lap, warming my toes in front of the fire. I smiled fondly at him, keenly pleased to see him so animated. He did not often allow himself to revel in his cases, not being a prideful man, but he was blatantly satisfied with his first case in months and I was in a mood to humour him.
'But you must admit that if he hadn't been conveniently involved in a scandal, it may have been much harder for you to scare him off so completely.'
'Perhaps,' Holmes said, unwilling to admit it. 'But why worry about that, of all things? He is an awful man, and awful men inevitably have awful secrets. All we needed was the right one.'
I tried to imagine it, from the perspective of Henry Fletcher. He realises he can blackmail his sister, with the result of a small fortune. He has all the proof he will need, he keeps it close. Tossed by chance into the Thames, when he next checks his pocket, he finds not proof against his sister, but proof against himself! Would he suspect me? Would he think himself mad?
'I can see you pondering the situation,' Homes said, tugging at my big toe. 'Don't. I would bet any sum of money on earth that right now he is planning his voyage to the States, with the intent of hiding himself from every Englishman- and woman- for the rest of his days.'
'I'm sure you are right,' I said. 'I can't bring myself to worry now, anyway. I feel too peaceful.'
The fire was drying my trousers and jacket, so I sat before Holmes wearing nothing but my shirtsleeves. Though Holmes was dutifully warming my foot, I had already caught his eyes wandering more than once, and I could feel a post-case tension rising up between us.
'You look peaceful,' Holmes agreed. 'You never describe yourself in your stories, Watson. The readers of The Strand are cruelly deprived.'
'But I describe you!'
'Pah!' Holmes shook his head, and ran both his thumbs up the arch of my foot, cutting off many of my more rational thoughts. I closed my eyes, letting my head rest against the back of my chair.
'I still feel rather awful about making you brave the Thames,' Holmes said softly. 'I really think I ought to make it up to you, dear fellow.'
'You have something in mind?' I asked, though I knew what he wanted.
'I do…' Holmes pressed his lips against the inside curve on my knee, shifting my leg with his eloquent hands, but allowing my foot to remain comfortably in his lap. 'I think I have just the thing.'
'Well, don't let me interfere with your methods. I do feel I'm owed an apology.'
He was kissing up the inside of my thigh. I sighed, settling further back into my chair. The heat of the fire made my exposed skin prickle comfortably. Holmes lifted my legs so that they hung over his shoulders, and proceeded to apologise most eloquently.
~
We saw Miss Fletcher again Monday morning. She looked as if she had hardly slept, and the moment Mrs. Hudson's steps had faded she turned to Holmes, lips parted in wordless enquiry.
'What did you do? He is a changed man!'
Holmes gave her the entire truth in a frank manner which impressed me, and which Miss Fletcher absorbed with composure. She seemed unsurprised to discover her brothers previous wrong-doings, and not the least shocked by the lengths Holmes and I had gone to in order to aid her.
'I suppose we must all stick together,' she laughed shyly. 'I am going to see Mary once I'm finished here, to tell her the whole story. It's only a pity we can't thank you better.'
'Yes, a great pity,' Holmes drawled, and I gave him a very gentle, reprimanding smack on the arm. 'This must have been a difficult time for you, Miss Fletcher. You will be glad to see an end to it.'
'Indeed I will,' she agreed, sighing. 'Henry says he will not wait for father to die, that he is going to Illinois immediately, and shall not return. He seems pale, and afraid of me. Father is bewildered, upset… but it is better than him knowing the truth. It may yet be that I come to inherit my brothers share of the allowance.'
'And you think you will be quite safe in the country?' I asked, curious. 'You don't fear the scrutiny of an enclosed community…?'
'No, we shall be fairly isolated, though I expect some of Alice's sisters will stay with us from time to time. With my income, and her writing, we shall be able to live quite comfortably, and without fear. We are not the most… sociable of women.'
'And the sooner you stop talking to us, the sooner you will be free to enjoy her company,' Holmes said. 'We are not offended- it is clear you are longing to tell her the whole story. Go to her. And enjoy your country abode!'
Go she did, with more kind words to both of us. She promised to write and inform us of her progress, which she has, and I am pleased to report that she and Mary live together with great happiness, free of suspicion. Of her brother, we have heard nothing of him since he boarded his boat to America. Holmes thinks him vanished forever, and I am inclined to agree with him.
It gave me more hope than ever that there might be a future for those of us prosecuted for our love. I found myself imaging myself and Holmes as cantankerous old men, gnarled fingers entwined. I said nothing to Holmes of these dreams of mine, supposing he would scoff at my irrepressibly romantic inclinations.
There is very little to add now, apart from the fact that it was a few months after the case (when I assumed Holmes had, in his way, forgotten all about it) that he said something that touched my greatly.
As was typical, he had been playing his violin after dinner, and I had been listening, when he stopped quite without warning and turned to consider me with a most serious expression.
'Holmes?'
'Watson, I have been giving my eventual retirement some serious thought, these past few months. If we were suitably careful, I think nothing would please me more than for the two of us to retire together someday.'
I stood, sliding my arm around his waist and kissing him full on the lips.
'Where would we go?'
'The coast, Watson. We could… keep bees.'
I kissed him again, adding aggressively humming hives to my picture of an idyllic retirement. The image was ridiculous, and oddly enticing. I smiled into the kiss, then broke away to laugh.
'Watson? If I have mistaken-'
'No mistake, Holmes, none at all.' I kissed the tip of his nose, still smiling. 'I'm laughing because I'm looking forward to it. Because I'm happy.'
'Oh.' Holmes smiled one of his rare, full smiles. 'Oh. You know, I am too?'
'I should think so,' I said approvingly. 'Though we shan't rush towards the future. The present has its charms too…'
Holmes hummed in agreement, his lips smiling into mine, which seems as good a place as any to end this sentimental narrative of mine.
After all, if I spend all day writing of the past without checking on him in the present then Holmes is bound to forget to drink something, and faint away into one of his hives.
~End
Recipient:
ladyblankAuthor:
ob_afRating: PG
Characters: Holmes/Watson established relationship, OFC, OMC, Mrs Hudson
Warnings: Mildly smutty, blackmail, discussion of period-typical attitudes towards sexuality & gender etc
Summary: Watson writes up one of his favourite unpublished cases
Disclaimer: I own this story, ACD owns the rest, not that he enjoys owning it very much
Seven years since my first meeting with Sherlock Holmes, and four years since our relationship had become an amorous one, spring came in an unwilling fashion to London. Flowers were blooming without thriving, and the sun would shine even as the wind pinked exposed noses and fingertips.
However, I was glad for a change in the weather. The winter had been bitter and in response seemingly every worthy criminal in the country had entered into a state of hibernation. Holmes had struggled.
I will not dwell on what was an unpleasant time for us. I have elsewhere recorded what I consider to be his chief vice, and needless to say Holmes turned to it again during those winter months. Writing this now, when the habit has been dormant for some years, I still find myself miserable recalling it.
Yet I am getting quite too far ahead of myself, and entirely off-topic. I can almost hear Holmes reprimanding me for it. (It transpires that he was reading this over my shoulder and naturally took the opportunity to reprimand me in person, but I have shooed him away now).
So, to the subject of this entry. I wish to write about the case that Alice Fletcher brought to us in the early days of that unseasonable spring, for it remains a case that I recall with great fondness.
We had just returned from one of our regular jaunts around London, which I openly enjoyed and Holmes only pretended to dislike. The air had done us both good, and if I recall correctly Holmes was humming a tune, eyes moving between his violin and the window. It was a welcome sight and I don’t doubt that I smiled fondly at him, every bit as romantic as he accuses me of being.
The bell rang, and I thought nothing of it. Mrs Hudson had been entertaining earlier, and so it was a great surprise to me, to hear movement on our steps. I believe Holmes may have had a premonition, however, as he hastily began clearing some of his more offensive experiments from sight.
‘Well, I’ve heard of spring cleaning, but I must admit I was a skeptic,’ I said. ‘I’ve been asking you to put those ghastly tubes away for weeks, and the moment the sun shines- behold!’
‘You should’ve remained a skeptic, Watson,’ Holmes said, throwing a cloth over our kitchen table with a flourish. ‘It isn’t spring that moves me.’
‘Then what?’
‘A client!’
I know it isn’t possible for him to have timed it, but it was very impressive nonetheless, for the moment he announced our client so she appeared, as if summoned by him. Furthermore, I don’t doubt that Holmes knew he seemed impressive, and revelled in it.
‘Miss Alice Fletcher to see you, gentlemen,’ Mrs Hudson said, giving us both stern looks before retreating.
Miss Fletcher stood framed by the doorway, her eyes moving swiftly over Holmes and myself in the way common to anxious women. Holmes was, in return, observing her with such intensity that had I not known much better, I would’ve assumed he had been struck down with longing for her.
For my part, I could see nothing unusual about Miss Fletcher, or at least nothing to warrant such intense scrutiny. She had light brown hair cut in what I understand to be a short but fashionable style, large blue eyes, and a strong jaw offset by a chin that was dimpled like a cherubs. Her clothes were well-made, her shoes practical and her gloves tipped with fur.
‘I take it that you are Mr Holmes?’
‘Quite correct,’ Holmes said, dropping his stare and extending his hand. ‘A pleasure to be of assistance to you, Miss Fletcher. Please sit, for I can tell there is something on your mind, and I own that I am rather keen to hear it.’
Which was as close as Holmes would come to admitting that he was intrigued by something, and desperate for a case after months of inaction.
All three of us sat, and Miss Fletcher took a deep breath as if steeling herself, whilst Holmes relaxed back into his chair, eyelids lowered, prepared to take in her every word without the distraction of visual stimulus.
‘I must first say that my mother Helen died when I was a child, in a boating accident, and my elder brother and I have been raised entirely by my father, whom we are both close very close to. He always treated us with great respect and affection, determined that we should both receive a proper education. His name is Edward, and he has amassed no small amount of money during his life, having an uncanny knack for investing well. You may have heard of him, Mr Holmes. A kinder man you could find nowhere in London. But- he is now dying. The doctors say that there is no doubt about this, and doubt is quite impossible, as he is physically wasted, though as mentally alert as ever. It will not be more than a few weeks now, a month at best.’
I felt a wave of sympathy for her, and I know it showed on my face. There was something very dignified in the way she restrained the pain in her voice.
‘Ever since my father became ill, which was not so long ago, I have noticed something very strange developing in my brother. His name is Henry, and he is four years my senior, and normally a reserved man. He has always been a kind enough brother towards me, though we were never close, and I know he has no wife or family of his own. However since this news of our father, his attitude towards me has become… inexplicable. What was once perhaps nonchalance is now outright secrecy, and he has become aggressive in ways I cannot understand. He slams doors, shouts frequently, and worst of all fired my maid for some petty misdemeanour, giving her no reference.’
‘But he has not been violent towards you?’ I enquired, prepared to risk annoyance from Holmes at my interruption for the sake of her wellbeing. ‘He has not attacked you?’
‘He has not touched me,’ Miss Fletcher said, hesitating. ‘I fear that he may yet, for he threatens it. I once would’ve thought it impossible, but now I am sure there is nothing he would not do. I thought at first that it might just be his way of expressing his grief, about our father.’
‘The thought did occur to me,’ I said, and Holmes nodded.
‘But that cannot be it,’ Miss Fletcher continued. ‘He has become, as I have said, not merely aggressive but secretive. He is suspicious of everyone known to me. He accuses the doctors of misdiagnosis, and he will not allow anyone to take his coat, nor will he let anybody into his private rooms, even to clean. I cannot guess what is the matter, but I believe his actions and my fathers illness are linked. If you would only find out what he is hiding, Mr. Holmes, and allow me to aid him, it will be within my power soon to reward you handsomely.’
Until I looked over at Holmes, I fully expected him to agree at once and pile Miss Fletcher with questions that would lead him towards the truth of the matter. However one look at his face, and I knew that something was very amiss.
Holmes likes to think himself mysterious, which he can be, and enigmatic, which he often is. To the outsider he must seem to be these two things almost exclusively. Yet to me he is not so impossible to read, though I admit that I have the advantage over most, having seen his face in an intimate variety of contortions. Therefore it was no struggle to see that Holmes was not at all pleased with the story of Miss Fletcher. His lips were compressed into a hard line, and his eyes had the steely glint of anger, as opposed to the brightness of interest. I realised at once that she had been lying, and that the lies were not to his taste.
‘Miss Fletcher, I am not interested in your money, nor in your story, for we must call it a story as it is certainly not the truth.’
‘Mr Holmes, it most certainly is the truth. I can assure you.’
She was an impressive liar, I realised, which had perhaps only worsened the insult as far as Holmes was concerned. Her voice was ringing with emotion and her posture, once straight, had relaxed towards Holmes in an imploring manner.
‘Bits of truth, perhaps,’ Holmes said coldly. ‘I do believe that your father is dying, that your brothers actions are as you describe them. But you have lied shamelessly about everything else. So we will not be taking your case. Unless, of course, you feel that the truth would after all be a better route to take?’
It was only a momentary hesitation, and it was hidden at once by an expression of shocked indifference. She stood, looking down her nose at Holmes, who did not stand to meet her.
‘You insult me,’ she snapped, and left at speed, closing the door behind her with a loud snap. Her boots hit each step with a clack as she descended.
Holmes and I moved as one, rushing towards the window to watch her depart. He seized the inside of my elbow as we pressed ourselves against the glass. The wind was whipping at her hair and she did not look back, her chin turned up in defiance. Once she was lost in the crowd we turned to look at one another, eyebrows raised.
‘Well, that was interesting,’ Holmes said, tugging at my arm in excitement. ‘She will be back, Watson, mark my words. In less than three days. Did her story take you in?’
‘Up until the end, yes,’ I said honnestly. ‘There was some truth in it, after all, and she spoke with great conviction. She reminded me of you, almost, when you don a disguise.'
‘Curious that you should say so,’ Holmes said quietly, turning to draw the curtains. ‘Did you deduce anything else about her that is, shall we say, like me?’
This was such a strange question that I almost feared that the wrong reply would cause offence. I shrugged, locking the door Miss Fletcher had closed so as to buy myself time. Had she seemed like Holmes in any unusual way?
‘You both have very lovely hair,’ I offered, ‘but apart from that I cannot think of anything very alike.’
‘No matter,’ Holmes said. ‘I will continue you train you, daunting task though it will be.’
There was no heat in his voice and I smiled. He was now spread out like butter upon the lounge, and with the door and curtains closed, I was free to straddle his hips and forwards to press our lips together. The kiss was languid, teasing, and it was a struggle to brake from it.
‘Tell me, then, what you deduced, and we shall see if I can work out how you deduced it.’
‘She is naturally left handed,’ Holmes said, tilting his head to the side so I could better kiss his exposed neck.
‘She moved naturally with her left hand, but then corrected herself with the right,’ I suggested. ‘Or the elbow of her dress worn down on the left side, from writing.’
‘Good,’ Holmes said, eyes closed. ‘Very good. She is practical with her money, clever in a way a man might be. She spends it well, but not often, with great care and good taste. Not... frivolous.’
‘Hmmmm…’
I tugged on Holmes ear lobe with my teeth, and at once his hands were on my shoulders, pressing me harder into him. Overly sensitive, I might have called him, though truly I relish how much power my touch has over him.
‘Shoes. You deduced that from her shoes. Though I must add that I have known plenty of women who have managed money with greater skill than their husbands, Holmes. You mustn’t generalise.’
‘Save the lecture. Tell me... how you deduced it.’
He sounded pleasingly breathless, and I pressed my leg between both of his, rocking against him and finding him hardening already.
‘Her shoes were expensive. Good quality leather, pleasing to look at. But they weren’t very new. She buys her shoes knowing that they are good quality, knowing that they will last several seasons. She won’t buy new heels every time hers fall out of fashion. She walks often, I would assume. Very practical of her.’
Holmes nodded, both his long feet wrapped around one of my ankles. His hands slithered downwards to cup my rear. I kissed the join of his neck and shoulders, then bit gently, holding his slightly salted skin between my teeth.
‘I can deduce something else as well,’ I said, lowering my voice wickedly. ‘I deduce that this arouses you.’
‘You don’t say!’ Holmes exclaimed, sarcastic despite his breathlessness. ‘Whatever could have lead you to think such a thing-’
‘I wasn’t just talking about this,’ I said, rolling my hips against him to make my point. ‘No. You like hearing me deduce. When I use your methods, when I impress you, you want me. Listening to me now, that arouses you more than anything else I’m doing.’
‘Oh?’ Holmes encouraged, eyes wide and dark.
‘Oh yes.’ I slid a hand between us and cupped his groin, making him buck against me. ‘The evidence is clear. Even if I get something horribly wrong, you continue to ‘train’ me, knowing how sweet it is for you when I get it right.’
‘Watson, you’ve outdone yourself,’ Holmes panted, spreading his legs further for me and moving his hands so as better to undo my buttons. ‘Can you- could you deduce what I have in mind for us, now?’
‘I can. And I shall explain it all to you step by step, so that you fully understand how clever I am. You shall be my appreciative audience, yes?’
‘Yes, yes, without doubt,’ Holmes said, face flushing.
‘Good. My genius would be wasted, otherwise.’
And I proceeded to prove my genius to a very appreciative audience of one.
~
The next day I wondered aloud if it would be better to have a watch set on Miss Fletcher, in case her brother attempted some violence before she returned. Holmes assured me that I needn’t fear for her.
‘His actions, if I am reading them right, are intended to intimidate her to the extent that he might not need to raise a hand against her. Fear is a potent enough weapon to make violence unnecessary.’
‘You don’t fill me with confidence on her behalf,’ I replied bluntly.
‘Tut tut. She will return before you know it, and long before any violence comes to pass.’
He puffed on his cigarette, leaning against the window so as to better examine the populace of London as it passed by below us. I had given him my promised lecture regarding his assumptions towards women the night before, and I wondered if he was pondering it now as he looked into the shifting crowd.
Eventually he turned away from the window and came to stand by me instead, looking down his curved nose with an expression that was both thoughtful and rather sad.
‘What worries you, Holmes?’
He sighed rather dramatically, throwing a swift glance towards our door (closed, but not locked) before sitting on the floor and relaxing against my legs.
‘I fear I must retract some earlier sentiments of mine, Watson.’
‘Hm? How so?’
‘I believe I have previously expressed frustration with the world at large for failing to observe as I do, for failing to reason logically and deduce the obvious from the environment. I take it all back. In some matters, I would rather the masses remain blind as beetles.’
This was, I realised, a pensive mood, which was a distant cousin to his black moods. Cautiously, I let my fingers run through his hair. He leant into the touch.
‘How so?’ I asked, when he failed to elaborate. ‘Why would you see humanity blinded so?’
‘If everyone could deduce as much about a person merely by looking as I can, the world would be very dangerous and unhappy for us, Watson.’
‘You mean-?’
‘I looked out on the street just now and saw a man who is, without doubt, enamoured of his own sex. He passes unseen by everyone but me. But if all of Scotland Yard were like me…’
I had caught the drift of his thoughts very well, and I found them alarming and morbid, though true enough in reality. What comfort could I offer him? Though I pressed my hand soothingly against his skull, I knew my silence was inadequate.
‘There’s no point worrying about such a thing happening,’ I reminded him. ‘As you are so fond of saying, even the Yards best are inferior to you at your worst.’
He sighed, leaning his face against my leg, and I let my fingers trace the edge of his delicate ear.
We sat like that for a long time, both of us lost within our own thoughts and unwilling to brake the silence. The weak springtime sun leaked in, catching the dust as it fell towards the floor and making it shine.
Eventually I spoke, my voice low and slightly husky from disuse. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t much I can say for us, Holmes. We are as safe as we can be, and I love you. And I do have hope, no matter how mad it might seem, that the future will be better. That the world will do better.’
I felt him smile against my leg and a weight lifted from my chest.
‘My dear Watson,’ he sighed. ‘My one fixed point.’
~
A day away from Miss Fletcher's prophesied return it became obvious to me that Holmes was anxious about the encounter. He said nothing to me about it, though I knew him well enough to see it nonetheless. In an effort to distract himself, he returned to the experiments which he had hidden away previously.
This meant, for me, a return to foul smells, inexplicable explanations of said smells, and the procuring of various muds, textiles and animal hairs.
Despite the fact that I didn’t want Miss Fletcher to come to any harm, I did find myself rather longing for her to arrive. It was just warm enough to keep the windows open during the day, but even so we suffered, and Mrs. Hudson glared at Holmes as she set down supper.
‘I fear I rather upset Mrs Hudson,’ he said idly, as she stormed out. ‘She must know I don’t do it just to annoy her.’
‘Even so, you do,’ I pointed out. ‘She cares for you, but that same care doesn’t extend to your experiments.’
He huffed to himself, shovelling supper into his mouth without pausing to enjoy it properly. I raised an eyebrow at this, as I find his eating habits worrying at the best of times, and a sudden intake of food was undoubtedly a signal of something to come.
‘I’m preparing for tomorrow,’ he said, following my train of thought with ease. ‘The case may take a few days, and I will certainly want my strength up.’
‘Well then, you should eat during the case, instead of stuffing yourself beforehand.’
Holmes gave me an amused expression which indicated that I was fighting for a cause long lost. I smiled despite my exasperation, and he grinned like a boy who knows his charm outweighs his misdemeanour.
We retired early that night, another indicator that Holmes was preparing. Thanks to his foul experiments, we had no fear of being interrupted. I fell asleep with his slim arm tossed across my chest, his heart beating loudly enough to reverberate inside my head.
~
Next morning I gave up trying to read the paper early, as there was no point in pretending that I was oblivious to the tension radiating from Holmes, and no point in pretending I didn’t share it.
He sat with his eyes closed, his fingers occasionally drumming aggressively against his knees. I paced, stopping to peer out the window, or to pick up a book only to set it aside again.
His experiments were again cleared aside and placed under a sheet, in order to preserve an air of professionalism as opposed to an air of unhygienic madness. I decided that whatever the outcome of the case, he would have to conclude his studies elsewhere.
It was midday before I spotted Miss Fletcher on the street, walking towards 221B with her head bowed. She seemed smaller than I recalled her.
‘Holmes,’ I whispered, though there was no reason to whisper. ‘She is coming.’
He bounded out of his chair, coming to join me at the window. ‘Well spotted. Now, before she arrives, I must ask you to try and keep any noises of shock or surprise to yourself.’
‘I’ll make a note of it. Anything else?’
‘Only to trust me.’
Holmes squeezed my hand rather tightly, then went to stand beside the fireplace, his head bowed. I was too excited to be curious or even suspicious. Something about his attitude towards the case had infected me.
In a matter of minutes Mrs Hudson was showing her up the stairs, and Holmes opened the door before she could knock, with a smooth, ‘Thank you, Mrs Hudson. Miss Fletcher, we’ve been expecting you, do come in.’
Her face was pale, and she twisted her gloved hands together as she stood looking us both over. I found that her eyes lingered on me.
‘Is Doctor Watson entirely to be trusted?’
‘Doctor Watson is my intimate friend and partner. Anything you say to me can be said to him, I assure you. There is nothing to fear.’
‘There is everything to fear!’ she hissed, then slapped her hand over her mouth as if ashamed. We watched in silence as she took four deep, soothing breaths, visibly calming herself. I was alarmed, and glanced at Holmes, whose face was unhelpfully blank.
‘Sit, have a drink,’ I said. ‘Calm yourself before you talk.’
She allowed herself to be lead gently by the hand. I placed her in my chair and gave her some small amount of brandy, which she drank with a small, grateful smile. Her hands were still not steady, but her gaze when she fixed it upon Holmes was unwavering.
‘Mr Holmes… I have come back, as I think you expected me to, because there is nobody else I can turn to. But before I tell you the truth I must ask for your total discretion, and I think also, for your mercy. If I have read you wrong then it is not only my life that is ruined, but the life of the person I love most dearly in the world.’
I took to the lounge and Holmes to his customary seat. His eyes, which had on her last visit regarded her coldly, were now as warm and inviting as he knew how to make them. Taking strength from this, Miss Fletcher began to speak.
‘My father is dying, Mr Holmes, and my brother has been acting exactly as I described. But I was not honest with you. When my father dies, my brother and I are both to inherit a large sum of money. I was intending to use this money to purchase a house in the country, somewhere safe for me to live with the person I love. The woman I love.’
For a moment it seemed to me that the air had gone from the room. I made no noise, however, and moments later I found myself reaching for Miss Fletcher's hand and gripping it tightly. She looked at me with blue, frightened eyes and I found that I understood her completely. Holmes let out a long, satisfied sigh.
‘You might have saved us time by telling us the truth when I gave you the chance,’ he said. ‘It was not easy to deduce, but I knew it nonetheless.’
I poured Miss Fletcher another glass of brandy as Holmes spoke, and she drank it in one go, the colour slowly returning to her face.
‘A lifetime of secrecy is hard to cast aside, to a stranger, to a man, to someone associated with the police.’
‘I do not work with or for the police,’ Holmes said sternly. ‘They consult me, and that is all. It is a common misconception. You have nothing to fear from us.’
Her eyes moved from Holmes to myself again, and this time I caught something sly in the way she raised her eyebrows. I flushed, but Holmes laughed, delighted by her boldness.
‘You are a quick study, Miss Fletcher! You read us correctly.’
‘I did wonder,’ she confessed, now slightly pink in the cheeks. ‘I did think, but I wasn’t sure… I’ve never talked about this before. Forgive me, if I am being rude.’
‘You are not,’ Holmes assured her, ‘though you would think from the hue of Watsons cheeks that you’d done something far more scandalous than speak the truth.’
I threw Holmes a furious look and he beamed innocently at me, before returning to Miss Fletcher and assuming an air of seriousness that swiftly brought us all back to the matter at hand.
‘Your brother discovered the truth,’ he said simply, and she nodded.
‘Her name is Mary Daleson. Normally I burn our letters. I had kept the more recent ones, however, as we had spoken in detail of money, location, furniture… details I wanted to remember. He found them. He will expose our dying father to the truth of my nature- even on his deathbed- unless I comply with him, and pass over to him my half of the allowance. And if I still refuse, he shall simply publish the letters, and allow me to be carted off to an asylum for study. He has been tormenting me ever since, knowing I cannot protest. Burning my books, firing my maid, intimidating me. Even so, he fears loosing his proof. It is my belief that he carries the letters with him everywhere, even sleeps with them by his bed.’
‘It seems likely,’ Holmes agreed, fingertips pressed together. ‘And it is, unfortunately, a fairly effective method. You cannot physically overpower him, he permits nobody near him, and you can hardly set the entire house on fire and hope for the best. You have done well to come to us. It is an interesting challenge after a winter of inaction, and a worthy cause for us.’
She smiled, still clearly feeling the heady rush that comes with speaking openly after so long in silence. I found myself regarding her bravery with awe, even as part of me examined her, trying to discover those small details which had told Holmes the truth. Had I not heard it from her own mouth I might not have believed it.
‘Does Mary have any similar problems?’ I asked. ‘From her family, perhaps?’
‘Mary is, fortunately, the second youngest of eight. Her parents are resigned to difficulty and eccentricity in their children. Her brothers cause much more serious problems.’
‘A lucky situation,’ I said. ‘Do you… I mean, if I might, I just wonder, do you have a picture?’
‘I do,’ she said, and her face lit up in a most charming smile. She pulled a locket from within her bust, and opened it to me. The face within had full lips and curled blonde hair, with eyes that were vividly saucy. I smiled, thinking them well suited.
‘Your brother… Henry Fletcher. Does he have any regular haunts?’ Holmes asked, giving the picture of Mary a swift glance.
‘He works throughout the city, assessing various properties and their assets, so I cannot give you any sure information about his location during working hours. However most weekends find him at his club, the Bronze Stallion I believe.’
‘I know the place,’ Holmes said, and he rubbed his hands together with relish. ‘It is exactly what I was hoping for, and makes our task infinitely easier.’
'You have hope, then?'
'I have very strong hopes,' Holmes smiled. 'I dare say I have certainties. Today is Wednesday. I hope to have good news for you by Monday morning at the latest.'
Miss Fletcher flushed with pleasure, and already she seemed a very different woman from the one who had walked into our rooms not twenty minutes ago. She stood, and Holmes and I did so too.
'I am already greatly indebted to you,' she said. 'Do you really have no interest in my money? Anything I can do for the two of you in return…'
'Money is of no consequence to me,' Holmes assured her. 'You may cover any expenses this case causes us, if it will please you, but otherwise I want nothing but this case.'
Miss Fletcher nodded solemnly and allowed me to walk her to the door. Holmes was already lost in thought, standing by the fire. We both turned to look at him for a moment.
'He is the best in the world, Miss Fletcher,' I said quietly. 'You may have every confidence in him.'
'I do,' she replied. 'And I see that you do too. How long has it been for the two of you?'
'Four years now,' I smiled. 'Very happy years. And yourself?'
'Two, though we have known each other since our schooldays. It's a strange world we live in, Doctor Watson.'
'That it is. But you need not fear it. Holmes shall fix everything for you.'
She nodded, smiled, and vanished into the street, her step as light as if she were floating. Despite my best efforts, I still couldn't discern what had lead Holmes to deduce the truth of her nature. I would have to ask him, and hope that he was in a mood to answer.
'I don't know how you worked it out,' I told him as I returned to him by the fire. 'I've been looking, and I cannot see that she gives anything away.'
Holmes blinked, coming back to himself after deep introspection. He smiled distantly and motioned for me to sit. I did so, briefly admiring the way his hands moved through the air.
'I had two clues, though I fear that they will make you blush rather horribly, as they are far from subtle. You went very red before, when she came clean with us. Normally you don't go so pink in the face unless I'm-'
'Yes, fine, I blushed,' I interrupted. 'And I shall probably blush again. A healthy circulation is nothing to be ashamed of. But how did you know?'
'It hardly matters, Watson. What we need to do now is plan our campaign against her ghastly brother.'
'Be that as it may,' I insisted, 'I don't think I will be able to rest until I know how you spotted this.'
Holmes sighed, and leaned forwards to place his hands upon my knees. His eyes, however, remained upon my face, with subdued amusement.
'A man might wear trousers cut to emphasise, say, the length of his legs or the roundness of his derriere, yes? It seems that Miss Fletcher was doing something similar. Her gloves were extremely expensive, Watson, tailored to fit her exactly. Her nails, though I doubt you noticed, were cared for with excruciating detail. Softened around the edges, kept clean, kept short. Those were my greatest clues, though there were others. Her eyes did not linger on you in the way I have seen many female clients eyes linger, which was telling. There is a boldness about her, also, which I found interesting to observe. Does this satisfy you?'
The blush Holmes had predicted had come to pass in force- I could feel my face burning. I decided it would be best if I said as little in reply to his implications as possible, least I fail to meet Miss Fletcher's eyes next time I saw her.
'Consider me satisfied, you awful fellow. Now. What is our plan?'
Holmes squeezed my knees hard, and flashed me a grin that was terrible to behold.
~
The next few days were busy ones for the two of us, and for a number of Irregulars, whom Holmes roped into our schemes as well.
A long winter of unhappiness had given Holmes an almost alarming energy now, and his determination to see the case come to a successful end was infectious. He did, as I had feared, refuse food and sleep, though how he managed such a feat when we were both so busy and by the end of the day so tired is beyond me.
We walked to the Brass Stallion, following the route that Henry Fletcher would take every weekend. The Thames seemed to be the focus of his interest, for Mr Fletcher would have to pass over it on the way to his club. More than once I had to scold Holmes as he dangled himself over the water.
I know he also sent a telegraph to the Yard, though what it contained was kept from me by Holmes, a frustrating but not wholly uncommon occurrence. It was clear to me that his plan was an elaborate one, and as I fully expected to be included in it I waited patiently for him to reveal everything. Probably, I guessed, in some dramatic fashion. Years before, Holmes had gotten himself in trouble through refusing to explain his plans to me far enough in advance. We had learned from that incident. And so, I waited.
Midday Thursday found me reading the paper as Holmes paced, lost in thought. Eventually he came to a conclusion, an obvious enough deduction on my part as he emitted a small 'Ah!' of satisfaction and turned to me with an apologetic smile.
I lowered my paper and he took it from my hands, leaning to kiss me. For a few moments we did nothing but kiss, and I forgot all about the case as he sucked on my lower lip.
'I'm afraid I must interrupt,' Holmes murmured, pulling away. 'I have been close-lipped, but now I believe everything is nearly ready, and it is time for us to go over the plan together.'
'I am all ears.'
'We have a number of things to accomplish when we take on Henry Fletcher. We must remove the letters from his person and destroy them. We must do so in a way that does not implicate Miss Fletcher. Even without solid proof he may seek to discredit her, and so we must guard ourselves against that as well. Rumours can be as harmful as proofs when a woman's reputation is at stake.'
'And how are we going to manage all this?'
'By working together. And by throwing Mr Henry Fletcher into the Thames.'
~
Saturday found me standing by the Thames, chilled to the bone and restless. I knew my part perfectly, and I did not doubt Holmes or the Irregulars. Yet fear bubbled in my chest, for the consequences of failure would be awful indeed.
The tide was coming in, slowly covering the stinking mud. All about me were the sounds of work and leisure. A boat was being painted, a woman was singing, children charged knee-deep through the sludge in search of treasures. These small domestic details kept me sane, and I chose to focus on them instead of the biting wind, or the distant clouds. I was dressed warmly, but even so, I did not relish my job.
I kept one hand in my pocket, wrapped around the papers Holmes had given me that morning. With my other hand, I smoked, glad to have something to keep my me from blatant fidgeting.
It would be any moment now. And the sooner it was over with the better. I smoked the last of my cigarette forced it into the mud with the heel of my boot. One of the children threw a handful of slime at the freshly painted boat.
'Oi! You brats, ge' over 'ere, I'm gonna to flay you-'
A man's loud bellow echoed off the water and the shouting stopped abruptly. Mr Fletcher was suspended in the air for a moment, mouth open wide, and then crashed into the water with tremendous force.
I threw off my jacket and waded in at once. The water was freezing and I swore quietly. I kept my eyes fixed on the frothing bubbles his entry had left behind, waiting for his head to brake the surface. Holmes had estimated the depth of the water via the height of the bridge in conjunction with the tide, to ensure a safe landing for him.
Knee-deep, and then hip deep. I was slipping on weed and slime but moving doggedly forward. Ahead of me, Mr Fletcher's wet head broke the surface, and he gasped loudly for air.
'Over here!' I shouted. 'Swim this way, man! I'm a doctor!'
He obeyed without hesitation, splashing his way towards me in a graceless but effective manner. His face was pale, and he had his sisters blue eyes. Once he was within grabbing distance I took him by the elbows and hauled him up, supporting his weight. Though slim, his soaked clothes weighed him down considerably.
'There w-was a fight,' he babbled, 'I was p-passing a tramp on the s-s-street when the children s-started fighting. I'm f-freezing.'
'Don't talk,' I advised him. 'You have had a great shock.'
We staggered together towards the shore. The man who had been painting the boat hurrying towards us. I waved him away, shouting, 'I'm a doctor! Do you have any brandy? A blanket? He's freezing.'
He turned and rushed towards the boat. The children parted to give him room, their eyes wide and interested. I deposited Mr Fletcher on the ground somewhat harder than I had intended to and he grunted, the mud splattering. I tore off his jacket and wrapped my own around his shoulders.
'Warm your fingers by blowing on them,' I instructed him, 'and keep your knees close to your body. Preserve your heat. Brandy?'
'Brandy!' The boatman staggered towards us, waving the bottle proudly. I moved aside, letting him bring the bottle to Mr Fletcher's lips. His face was pale, and his eyes closed.
I slid my hand into my jacket, which was draped around his shoulders still, and slid out the dry papers. He was still drinking, and nobody was watching me. I pulled his wet jacket close, and slid out the wet mush that was all that remained of Alice Fletcher's incriminating letters. I replaced them with the dry papers Holmes had entrusted me with, and tossed the mush over my shoulder. Now my jacket was empty, and his contained exactly what Holmes wanted it to contain.
'Do you feel better?' I asked. 'It was a nasty fall.'
'Not so nasty. Damned lucky, actually. Had the tide been too much higher or lower…'
I nodded, pressing the back of my hand against his forehead to check his temperature. 'You are still too cold for my liking. Is there somewhere close you could go, somewhere with a fire?'
'My club,' he coughed. 'It is warm, and I was going there anyway. They have fine brandy and keep fires in the private rooms.'
'I will get you a cab,' I said, pulling him to his feet. 'You ought not stay outside in this chill.'
'No cab will take me,' he laughed, shivering.
'We shall see,' I said darkly, hoping to convey a personality of such force that cabs would stop merely at the sight of me. In truth, Holmes had paid a cab double for the dubious pleasure of his company.
I returned his jacket to him, and took my sadly damp one back. Despite the fact that I loathed to touch him when I thought of Miss Fletcher sitting in our rooms, white with fear, I kept his arm around me as we walked towards the road.
'I'm sure I'm greatly in your debt,' he said, as I waved over the cab. 'Doctor…?'
'Jonas Smith,' I lied easily. 'Go and be warm. It's all in a days work for me.'
He climbed into the cab, and vanished. I watched him go with a feeling of immense satisfaction. On the opposite side of the street, one of the Irregulars nodded at me before sneaking off into a side alley. I turned, and offered my arm to Holmes, who linked it up with his easily.
'I take it that from the dampness of your jacket that our plan has done well?'
'Very well, though I am desperately keen to be in front of a fire. You may not have noticed, but my legs are soaked.'
'It's a good look,' Holmes said, voice low. 'The fabric clings to you in a most flattering way.'
'Holmes! Not here. Tell me how it went for you, on the bridge.'
'It was easy enough,' Holmes said carelessly. 'I make an impeccable tramp, having given them an in-depth study some years ago. Billy was in charge of the boys. I pointed out Mr Fletcher to him. Then some trifle, a common enough sounding fight. Theft, a few accusations about my general hygiene. Their dispute backed him into a corner and a punch missed. It was hardly enough to bruise his face, just enough to throw him off balance. It was great fun, Watson, though I deeply regret your having to wade into the Thames. It's freezing.'
'I can think of a few ways for you to make it up to me,' I said, and gave Holmes a swift look. 'For a start, you could tell me what was in the letter I just deposited into Mr Fletcher's jacket.'
'The details of his involvement in that sordid Soho scandal, which as you recall made headlines three years ago. You remember the case? Fraud, attempted murder, a messy business… I contacted Gregson for information about our Thames diver. It seems that Henry Fletcher was a suspect but that nothing could be proved. I have given him a letter filled with the exact details of his crimes, and if I read his character correctly, he will be driven from the country out of fear within the month. He is a coward, Watson, and would rather change his name and flee persecution than attempt to ruin his sister without proofs.'
Amazed, and slightly annoyed that he should have kept such good news to himself, I squeezed his arm with my own in unashamed delight. He smiled over at me, a quick grin that warmed me as much as any fire. I could see that he relished surprising me, not only for my own sake but to satisfy his feeling of suspense and drama.
Holmes hailed a cab, and after promising to pay a sovereign in recompense for my wet clothes, we were headed back towards Baker Street.
~
'It was really very elegant,' Holmes said to me, as he sat with my feet in his lap, warming my toes in front of the fire. I smiled fondly at him, keenly pleased to see him so animated. He did not often allow himself to revel in his cases, not being a prideful man, but he was blatantly satisfied with his first case in months and I was in a mood to humour him.
'But you must admit that if he hadn't been conveniently involved in a scandal, it may have been much harder for you to scare him off so completely.'
'Perhaps,' Holmes said, unwilling to admit it. 'But why worry about that, of all things? He is an awful man, and awful men inevitably have awful secrets. All we needed was the right one.'
I tried to imagine it, from the perspective of Henry Fletcher. He realises he can blackmail his sister, with the result of a small fortune. He has all the proof he will need, he keeps it close. Tossed by chance into the Thames, when he next checks his pocket, he finds not proof against his sister, but proof against himself! Would he suspect me? Would he think himself mad?
'I can see you pondering the situation,' Homes said, tugging at my big toe. 'Don't. I would bet any sum of money on earth that right now he is planning his voyage to the States, with the intent of hiding himself from every Englishman- and woman- for the rest of his days.'
'I'm sure you are right,' I said. 'I can't bring myself to worry now, anyway. I feel too peaceful.'
The fire was drying my trousers and jacket, so I sat before Holmes wearing nothing but my shirtsleeves. Though Holmes was dutifully warming my foot, I had already caught his eyes wandering more than once, and I could feel a post-case tension rising up between us.
'You look peaceful,' Holmes agreed. 'You never describe yourself in your stories, Watson. The readers of The Strand are cruelly deprived.'
'But I describe you!'
'Pah!' Holmes shook his head, and ran both his thumbs up the arch of my foot, cutting off many of my more rational thoughts. I closed my eyes, letting my head rest against the back of my chair.
'I still feel rather awful about making you brave the Thames,' Holmes said softly. 'I really think I ought to make it up to you, dear fellow.'
'You have something in mind?' I asked, though I knew what he wanted.
'I do…' Holmes pressed his lips against the inside curve on my knee, shifting my leg with his eloquent hands, but allowing my foot to remain comfortably in his lap. 'I think I have just the thing.'
'Well, don't let me interfere with your methods. I do feel I'm owed an apology.'
He was kissing up the inside of my thigh. I sighed, settling further back into my chair. The heat of the fire made my exposed skin prickle comfortably. Holmes lifted my legs so that they hung over his shoulders, and proceeded to apologise most eloquently.
~
We saw Miss Fletcher again Monday morning. She looked as if she had hardly slept, and the moment Mrs. Hudson's steps had faded she turned to Holmes, lips parted in wordless enquiry.
'What did you do? He is a changed man!'
Holmes gave her the entire truth in a frank manner which impressed me, and which Miss Fletcher absorbed with composure. She seemed unsurprised to discover her brothers previous wrong-doings, and not the least shocked by the lengths Holmes and I had gone to in order to aid her.
'I suppose we must all stick together,' she laughed shyly. 'I am going to see Mary once I'm finished here, to tell her the whole story. It's only a pity we can't thank you better.'
'Yes, a great pity,' Holmes drawled, and I gave him a very gentle, reprimanding smack on the arm. 'This must have been a difficult time for you, Miss Fletcher. You will be glad to see an end to it.'
'Indeed I will,' she agreed, sighing. 'Henry says he will not wait for father to die, that he is going to Illinois immediately, and shall not return. He seems pale, and afraid of me. Father is bewildered, upset… but it is better than him knowing the truth. It may yet be that I come to inherit my brothers share of the allowance.'
'And you think you will be quite safe in the country?' I asked, curious. 'You don't fear the scrutiny of an enclosed community…?'
'No, we shall be fairly isolated, though I expect some of Alice's sisters will stay with us from time to time. With my income, and her writing, we shall be able to live quite comfortably, and without fear. We are not the most… sociable of women.'
'And the sooner you stop talking to us, the sooner you will be free to enjoy her company,' Holmes said. 'We are not offended- it is clear you are longing to tell her the whole story. Go to her. And enjoy your country abode!'
Go she did, with more kind words to both of us. She promised to write and inform us of her progress, which she has, and I am pleased to report that she and Mary live together with great happiness, free of suspicion. Of her brother, we have heard nothing of him since he boarded his boat to America. Holmes thinks him vanished forever, and I am inclined to agree with him.
It gave me more hope than ever that there might be a future for those of us prosecuted for our love. I found myself imaging myself and Holmes as cantankerous old men, gnarled fingers entwined. I said nothing to Holmes of these dreams of mine, supposing he would scoff at my irrepressibly romantic inclinations.
There is very little to add now, apart from the fact that it was a few months after the case (when I assumed Holmes had, in his way, forgotten all about it) that he said something that touched my greatly.
As was typical, he had been playing his violin after dinner, and I had been listening, when he stopped quite without warning and turned to consider me with a most serious expression.
'Holmes?'
'Watson, I have been giving my eventual retirement some serious thought, these past few months. If we were suitably careful, I think nothing would please me more than for the two of us to retire together someday.'
I stood, sliding my arm around his waist and kissing him full on the lips.
'Where would we go?'
'The coast, Watson. We could… keep bees.'
I kissed him again, adding aggressively humming hives to my picture of an idyllic retirement. The image was ridiculous, and oddly enticing. I smiled into the kiss, then broke away to laugh.
'Watson? If I have mistaken-'
'No mistake, Holmes, none at all.' I kissed the tip of his nose, still smiling. 'I'm laughing because I'm looking forward to it. Because I'm happy.'
'Oh.' Holmes smiled one of his rare, full smiles. 'Oh. You know, I am too?'
'I should think so,' I said approvingly. 'Though we shan't rush towards the future. The present has its charms too…'
Holmes hummed in agreement, his lips smiling into mine, which seems as good a place as any to end this sentimental narrative of mine.
After all, if I spend all day writing of the past without checking on him in the present then Holmes is bound to forget to drink something, and faint away into one of his hives.
~End
