18 The Art of Seduction and Disillusionment (2/3)

I was a few days later after I had been apprised of Holmes's profession that the next development occurred. Holmes's ways had become rather frugal, a reflection of his relative inactivity of late. One evening heavy footsteps came pounding up the stairs. The gentleman who barged through the door was white-haired but somewhat short of elderly.

"How dare you!" he bellowed and leaped toward Holmes.

I like to think my basic decency is shown in my instinctual actions, it proved to be a flattering belief in Afghanistan, and in our sitting room on more than one occasion. But I digress. The spirit was willing, Holmes was reaching for some object, and I got between the two of them. The older gentleman sent me flying with a well-placed uppercut that I was in a poor condition to weather. The flesh, you understand, still leaving a little something to be desired.

I landed in an undignified, if largely undamaged, heap in front of the fireplace. I looked up to see Holmes leveling a small but effective looking pistol at my, somewhat subdued, attacker.

"I asked you to find out where my daughter was going, and you act as informer to her suitor."

"I told him to speak with you immediately, and I returned my advance," Holmes replied with a quick glance in my direction. "I suggest, Mr. Huxley, that you leave before my annoyance at your actions overcomes my natural equanimity…"

Surprisingly, Mr. Huxley took that advice.

Holmes came over and crouched beside me, he seemed on the point of making a comment when Mrs. Hudson rushed in and commenced to make about as much fuss as the room could tolerate. I was ensconced on the sofa with tea, a blanket, and promises of a sound meal. This proved to be Mrs. Hudson's solution to most disturbances and I have no complaints on the matter. Holmes retired to his room at some point in the process.

I was quietly pleased that Holmes seemed to have taken my judgments about the couple's level of commitment into consideration. I was thinking the whole Holmes conundrum over when he re-emerged and perched in the edge of the sofa to give me a look that I took at the time to be somewhat mocking, although I later realized it was a rather habitual expression that often reflected that Holmes was somewhat uncertain.

"I do appreciate being given time to reach for my pistol," he said.

"I wish I had been of more use than that," I replied with ill grace.

Holmes tilted his head, considering me. "You are too hard on yourself," he said softly.

He reached his hand out to my cheek where his erstwhile client had left a vivid bruise. He drew it back almost immediately, and I am not sure whether he even touched me at all. I knew what I saw in Holmes, not an invitation, but a tacit interest. He knew what he saw in me, in return, but neither of us was yet ready to acknowledge it. The smallest sliver of doubt was the peg that held the dam in place.

Of the two of us, I was fairly sure I was in more familiar territory. It was also to my advantage that I hardly knew Holmes, and so my regard for him was not yet perilously deep. I reached out and took his hand, which he had lowered to rest elegantly on the upholstery between us. I had gained the impression that he had what are commonly called musician's hands, long fingers and a narrow palm. The pallor of his skin emphasized the effect.

Holmes made no protest... but he jumped to his feet with remarkable swiftness at the sound of a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson ushered in Inspector Lestrade. She gave a look of open disapproval to Lestrade and Holmes, from which my convalescent state apparently exempted me. Lestrade looked at the disarranged furniture and my discolored visage and proceeded to leap to some equally colourful conclusions, no doubt.

"It is urgent business, I am sure that brings you here so late," Holmes said blithely.

Lestrade glanced at me. "Well…" he said.

"Oh, you may speak freely in front of Doctor Watson," Holmes said, not for the last time.

And so I slipped easily into Holmes professional affairs, his personal reserve lasted somewhat longer.

#

It was no great crowd at the church, but it was a jovial group. Holmes slipped into the back row and found himself sitting beside Lestrade. The Inspector's expression was mildly inquisitive. Holmes knew that Lestrade had long supposed an intimate domestic situation between the good doctor and himself, but there were things even that little ferret would not ask about aloud. The curiosity was probably killing him, tenacious investigator that he was.

Holmes recognized surprisingly few of the other guests as they filed in. Not a few of them pointed him out to each other.

"That's him?"

"He's still a bachelor I suppose," one woman said in sotto-voice.

Some of the comments were not sufficiently quiet given how sound carried in the stone chapel. Lestrade sniggered --Holmes leaned back in his seat so that the pillar he sat beside blocked off his view of half the church, and the others would have to swivel around conspicuously to see him.

Holmes lost his hold on indifference and settled for a look of mild disdain as the next most achievable expression, he only prayed that he might match it with his feelings. This event was, after all, no more or less than a direct result of his own actions, the chain of circumstance was indisputable.

"It's as well the bride's not here yet, you'd be stealing her glory," Lestrade said with quiet amusement.

"There are worse fates," Holmes replied.