19 The Art of Seduction and Disillusionment (3/3)

Holmes was out very late some nights later, and having been out for several continuous days I cannot say I was expecting him. Lestrade had laid out a case of mysterious disappearances around a village just outside of London; gypsies were being blamed and the inspector had no way to locate them or identify the individuals who were responsible. Holmes had been immediately intrigued and was gone by morning. It was as well to become used to Holmes being more committed to his career than any other part of his life, to the extent that his life had other parts, well that was yet to come.

I waited, brooded, and began my slow progress from wasted invalid to an at least sufficiently padded man, impeded only by a distinct lack of sleep whilst Holmes remained incommunicado. I sat in bed staring up at the ceiling where the light from a single candle flickered eerily. Holmes appeared in the room quite silently – I looked up and he was there, his sharp face under-lit demonically.

"You looked tired," he said, tossing his overcoat upon the floor.

"You don't," I said. Which was true, he was bright and wide-eyed, although my suspicion about his use of illicit chemicals was, on this occasion, unfounded.

"A triumph," he exclaimed. "Even without coin or acclaim, it is a wonderful thing. A wonderful thing to be right when everyone else, is wrong."

It was the only time I heard him say it quite so plainly, though I do not doubt that he continued to feel that way. He laughed and sat down beside me.

"Gypsies indeed," he said. "Fascinating people, completely innocent of course, well, of that crime. There a few others they gave me some good pointers on." He flourished his hands dramatically.

Knowing him safe, I was tired now, even if Holmes was not.

"I am pleased," I said. "You can tell me all about it in the morning." I had yet to learn that any matter Holmes involved himself it was worth losing a little sleep to hear about immediately.

Holmes watched me, and pouted, to the extent a grown man can be said to exhibit that expression. "You look well," he said. "A few days without me and my troublesome clients has done you the world of good, besides… there are a great many skills I have yet to learn."

"You should find a teacher, then," I said coolly.

He was riding his confidence from closing the case, and I was rather surprised at my own resistance. It seems that Holmes had not foreseen this obstacle either…

"Ah, but where should I look?" he replied, looking straight at me, a challenge that was badly calculated on his part.

I realized my difficulty, that with his mood and my weariness, I was too much at a disadvantage, and Holmes too formidable. Holmes, I realized grimly, was simply too much for me, he had that quality within him which set him apart from most other men, and this before I had even seen him actually working upon a case.

And I, my own modest ambitions in any realm showed little sign of recovery even as my health returned. I had watched Holmes as an old man in the park might watch the passing girls, even for a man otherwise inclined he was worth watching… yet I quailed at the possibility of reciprocation.

Holmes frowned in consternation but did not press his point. He left the room with a look of mild consideration upon his expressive features -- I was soon to find that Sherlock Holmes is not so easily dissuaded from any plan, professional or personal, and that was a fact I both did, and did not, come to regret.

#

Watson pauses in under the great arch. Holmes watches him scan the pews, in little doubt as to what he seeks. The look they share is steeped in ambiguity. Holmes sees Watson look at him long and carefully. Watson smiles and beckons but Holmes waves him away. The music begins to play wiping clean any last chances either had.

Holmes from his rear pew can hardly see Watson once he has walked to the front of the church. Only two flower girls precede the bride. She drifts in upon a cascade of ivory silk with her brunette hair piled high to accentuate her pale neck. Truly a paragon of womanly virtues, Holmes scowls

'What profit it a man…' he thinks, perhaps too aptly as Watson says the words that put him – as an honorable man – beyond all reach.