3 PROLOGUE

Prologue

Holmes contemplated the street wistfully, and then he surveyed the room with no more enthusiasm. His eyes fell on the mantle where a small bottle rested next to a leather case.

Watson straightened his paper with a loud snap.

Holmes walked to the mantle and lifted the case. He turned it over in his hands, opened it and revealed the syringe. He tested the resistance of the plunger and inspected it for perishing. Satisfied, he lifted the bottle and returned to perch on the windowsill.

"Oh for God's sake," Watson exclaimed. "Must you?"

Holmes placed the syringe and bottle on the sill next to him, and rolled up his sleeve. The lithe arms beneath showed the innumerable scars of past indulgences.

"Yes, I must."

"Why?"

Holmes contemplated Watson for a moment before he replied.

"The world is stale and without moment. Each actor is without inspiration, and each action contrived, and you my friend are as mediocre and conventional as any of them and have no right to protest."

Watson let the broadsheet droop in his hands.

"If I can do one thing that is truly unexpected will you put that poison aside, at least until tomorrow?"

"Very well," Holmes demurred

Watson stood and walked purposefully over to Holmes. He grasped each side of Holmes head and kissed him, firmly and full on the lips. Without pause he returned to his seat and raised the paper again.

Behind that barrier Watson smiled ruefully. It would take a stronger man than him to let that opportunity pass.

Holmes replaced his equipment on the mantle silently. He returned to contemplating the street. As it grew dark, the street faded to be replaced by a clear reflection of Watson on the inside of the glass.

By far the more interesting view, Holmes conceded.