9 A SCARLET MAN (PARTS 1&2 of 7)

1) Another set of Vices

"I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another sets of vices when I'm well, but those are the principal ones at present." ( Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet).

My mind had a habit, of late, of dwelling on my first meeting with Holmes. With effort I could remember all that was said between us all those years ago. I was in the position now of a reversal in my affairs that pivoted upon my married years with Mary, but began with my first encounter with the enigmatic Holmes, returned of late, from the dead.

I had fallen into an easy domesticity with Holmes. Returning to our warm rooms I would find him poring over some file or bloody scrap of evidence. In his own time he would pause and explain the matter of the day to me. I in turn would be expected to praise his work much as I had Mary's cooking, or other domestic accomplishments. I would ensure that he took some steps to protect his health, having lost him once already.

Death is any doctor's enemy, but I felt his victories more deeply than most. It was for that reason that I set aside my regular practice quite easily, and was quite settled in my role, of old.

This night Holmes was perfecting his appearance, which in context could only be seen as a disguise. Holmes tied a perfect Windsor knot and surveyed it dejectedly. He wore a new suit in a dashing shade of aged ivory, with a shirt of the palest pearly gray. The whole ensemble suggested an aesthete of superior taste and means. The silk cravat however, was scarlet. It lent him a rakish air and suggested to me a scene I had not frequented in many years.

Holmes' face and hair were undisguised but this outfit framed them in a radically different light. Holmes had just turned forty, eschewing any celebration with genuine horror rather than the coy protestations other men might make. But in this light and attire he seemed a handsome bon vivant, a young man.

Holmes grimaced with discomfort. "I have never resented appearing foolish, bizarre or hideous, but I must admit to resenting a case that requires me to augment what few visual charms I possess."

I couldn't help but smile at Holmes' discomfort. It seemed to me that the great detective was merely doing away with his habitual concealment. He usually favored somber and conventional attire, chosen subtly in my opinion, to detract from his sharp edged attractiveness. In his younger days this may have lent him extra seniority and thus authority. Later it was merely a comfortable blind.

"A case then, rather than an assignation," I ventured archly.

"Gregson has some murders he is mis-investigating. Affluent gentlemen, some disarray of dress, dumped in the river. Otherwise there is no pattern in their age, occupation or matrimonial state ... and then there is the curious fact that though they are dead there is not a mark on them...."

"...But?" I prompted cooperatively.

"A man who knows the river currents can easily determine at what place the bodies were originally dumped. That, with the detritus of their pockets and the odd rumor suggested they all contributed to the West End's more degenerate clientele - that is the key factor."

I felt myself become still and disapproving... "You can't be intending to play the stalking horse for a murderer?"

"Just so," said Holmes with snide satisfaction. "Not a scene I have much direct experience with, but they must see a fair number of debuts even by men in their later years."

"Putting aside that you are intending to face a vicious murderer alone, there must be some risk to your reputation in this charade."

Holmes shrugged. "Perhaps it will prevent my acquaintances with regaling me with the virtues of their spinster family members."

I hid my expression behind the sporting pages. I knew that Holmes would quickly discover that not only do many ladies have a strange fascination with homosexual gentlemen, but that male bachelors are much more forward suitors. This did not turn my mind from the inadvisability of his plans for long.

"I still think it is a reckless plan, but I will settle for knowing where you intend to go. So that I know where to search for the body if you don't return." I continued to scan the local cricket scores with a detached air, none of my favorite teams seemed to be performing well. "Some idea of when you might return would also be a mercy."

Holmes eyes lacked any particular sympathy, but he was disposed to being co-operative.

"I will try the Bear first," he mused. "I don't think my man is a rent boy, but they may well have noticed him. If that avails naught I will try the better West End locations; the Lily rooms, Dominoes, Feldt's and maybe the Oak." Holmes looked at his selection of hats but found none of them satisfactory. "Don't expect me before dawn."

I stoked the fire in the coldness of Holmes' wake, sending up a vague prayer to the heavens for his safety. I wonder if the only reason Holmes could bear my company was the strange combination of caring without quarrelling that I had adopted in the convalescence of our first acquaintance shortly after my return from India. It may well have made me a satisfactory companion for such a difficult man, but it was hard on my heart in moments like these. I fear I could never survive losing Holmes again.

2) A Knotty Problem

"You must study him, then," Stamford said, as he bade me good-bye. "You'll find him a knotty problem though problem though. I'll wager he learns more about you than you do about him." (Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet)

My relationship with Holmes prior to my marriage had been a peculiar combination of Gordian knot and Damoclean sword. It tangled in on itself on the basis of our mutual and ingrained misunderstandings. Though I admired them, I never really understood Holmes' methods; never believed the cold-bloodedness that he evinced. Well, if it was feigned it was more or less consistently feigned for over a decade, which amounted to the same thing, but it was amazing the sustenance I gained from his fleeting concern after I had risked my life or saved his. At the same time Holmes seemed to have never noticed some fairly fundamental aspects of my character. That had been the sword, my fear that it would disgust him. I almost miss it now; it was the last refuge of my cowardice.

I came down to the sitting room as the sun breached the horizon, thinking of the mixed results of our long and mutual observations, and equally encompassing blindness'. I was relieved to find Holmes dozing on the sofa. He roused as I entered.

"It's a young man's game," Holmes commented dryly with a voice parched by too many cigarettes.

"Any luck?" I required mildly.

He looked at me sharply as if suspecting a second meaning. "I have a description of a likely suspect. I was right, the rent boys notice a man who targets the wealthy. Merely a matter of competition... but I'm not sure. This character doesn't seem to have much luck with the targets of his attention, it is all just circumstance," he mused.

Holmes pushed himself carefully to a sitting position, and groaned. "I should have given it up hours ago. Alcohol is never an aid to acute observation."

I knew Holmes rarely drank to excess, but no doubt he had been bought a few drinks. Even when one is soliciting only information, it is impolite to refuse.

"You have no idea," Holmes muttered. "What those people get up to."

He went to his bed, closing the door with a grateful finality. I smiled to reminisce on the wild nights I had spent in those clubs after Holmes had gone early to his bed. This finally confirmed that Holmes had never suspected. For such a case he would be mercenary in using my native knowledge, if he knew of it, and regardless he would never have said that. Holmes' attitude suggested that should he learn the truth it would be of the greatest disinterest to him, as it was. As, unfortunately it was.

I did not like to contemplate how far Holmes would go for his answers. His body was the merest convenience to him and his heart merely an inconvenience, but I really could believe that he... That was just the prompting of my own ignoble imagination, surely? But how much of what I thought I knew about him was merely a fancy? Hopefully it was less than the amount that he never even bothered to notice about me.