10 A SCARLET MAN (PARTS 3&4 of 7)

3) Interest in Him

"...My interest in him and my curiosity as to his aims in life gradually deepened and increased. His very person and appearance were such so as to strike the attention of the most casual observer." ( Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet).

I went about my business that day with a preoccupied air. I was acting as a locum for an old acquaintance. Yet another strange reversal in my life, as there had been a time when he did that duty for me. His practice was routine, but busy. It occupied my mind throughout the day and left my emotions disturbed and unaddressed.

They were revisited on finding Holmes preparing to hit the town again. He had a new overcoat in burgundy velvet, trimmed in satin tape. It was an attractive object but of dubious use against the cold.

"I dare say it would be prudent to wait for full dark before venturing out in this," Holmes muttered. He raised his arms, "Too extravagant?" he inquired sarcastically.

I had been invited, so I looked. The tailoring flattered Holmes' thin frame, transforming his leanness into lines of serpentine grace. The ivory suit complimented his pallor and the extravagant coat complimented both prettily. If the goal was to attract a man the outfit succeeded entirely, as did the man.

"No," Watson demurred. "I shouldn't think so. Assuming the gentleman is impressed by tasteful extravagance."

"Ah ha," Holmes proclaimed. "Exactly what I was going for. I have to impress a young gentleman within a fairly short time frame, if I am to have the information I need about my target. I thought, well, I must attract his attention and hold it. Tasteful extravagance." Holmes gave a delighted laugh. "Perfect."

"...And once you have it?"

"Given your reaction to my poor efforts with Agatha, I don't really think you want to hear my observations about the finer points of the seduction of men. Something that is, I assure you, a much easier task."

Holmes laughed again, more coldly, as he assumed his gloves and stepped into the outer darkness.

He was right. My unaugmented imagination was already more than I could wish.

How like Holmes to approach an expression of love as a tool of detection. How like me to care.

4) Some Definite End

"Surely no man would work so hard or attain such precise information unless he had some definite end in view."( Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet).

My broken sleeping patterns collapsed into complete insomnia under the tumult of emotions. Key among them was fear for Holmes, but many morbid thoughts exploited the opportunity. The tension, however, sharpened my senses wonderfully. I heard the very slight sound of Holmes stumbling on the stair.

I found him at the basin in his room running a sponge over his face.

"I have extracted a promise of marriage from dear little Agatha without resorting to the kind of intimacy this investigation seems to require," he said petulantly. "For which I suppose I can only thank the natural reticence of the female race."

"You don't think you are taking this a bit far," Watson sighed.

"Well, I have my information; name, haunts and home address. It didn't cost me anything more than a little time. It is amazing," Holmes continued. "How easy it is to rearrange a man's ethical priorities with the merely physical."

I fancied I could hear some disgust in his voice that was not directed outward.

Holmes sat on the edge of his bed. It did not take a skilled observer to note his shirt, half-undone and missing a button, his general dishevelment. He lay back on the bed. He looked strained and tired, and was obviously drunk again.

"You know Watson," he said. "I begin to appreciate a young lady's position. I had to employ a few evasions I have seen in them, under close pursuit."

"Well at least it is over now," I said. It was my best consolation but soon dashed.

"What makes you say that?"

"You have his name and address."

"...But still no surety of his guilt. No, this is just to allow me closer look without giving myself away. Then I'll find some evidence that even Gregson could fumble a conviction from."

"You go too far Holmes, and risk too much." I said it not expecting success, but not caring, either, to hide my concern.

"Risk what?" He replied scornfully. "I can more than look after myself."

I shrugged. Holmes was not by common standards stupid, but he had his moments.

There was a long silence as I leaned against his doorway fighting my own knowledge that Holmes though logical, could never be reasoned with. Holmes raised himself up on his elbows.

"I appreciate your concern," he said with finality. "But what I do is my concern, and your prejudices are yours."

I withdrew in angry silence. By the time I made my room that mood was much undermined by the image of Holmes' damp face and tousled hair, the sliver of white skin on his chest. The thought of another man's hands on Holmes made my physically ill. The thought of him being touched even by the eyes of a callous murderer... I could hardly allow it.