Cardinal.
*****
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes, Dr Watson, and even Lestrade I'm afraid aren't mine. I've simply taken to borrowing them for a while from Arthur Conan Doyle. Any other characters thrown in, however, I take full responsibility for.
*****
"They don't even have an inkling, do they?"
"Excuse me? What was that?"
"Look at them all. I suppose in some obscure fashion, one could find it humorous."
"I'm afraid I don't follow."
"I shouldn't worry; neither do they."
Holmes turned back to his window, observing the oblivious individuals who ambled past on their way. I merely gave a silent chuckle and went back to my newspaper. A thought occurred to me and I suddenly looked up and over to my friend by the window,
"Holmes, you really should..."
"I fear your complaint shall have to wait."
"And why is..."
The clattering of footsteps on the stairs answered my question.
Holmes strode over to the door and swung it open to reveal a slightly out of breath Lestrade. He blinked at the form of Sherlock Holmes, ready and waiting for his visit, before moving into the room, holding his hat as he turned back to address us both. However, Holmes was quicker with his question,
"Good evening, and how may I be of assistance?"
I noted the way that Lestrade shuffled slightly from one foot to the other, just as Holmes must have observed.
"Well, it's a slightly...awkward matter."
"Why don't you sit down?" I asked, trying to put the obviously nervous man at ease.
"No. No thank you, I am quite alright."
"Then perhaps if you explained?" Holmes said as he made his way to his chair and eased himself down. Once comfortable he was ready to listen to Lestrade's appeal.
"Of course." Lestrade replied but then stopped. He finally took a breath and began with a rush of words, "If you came across a murder victim, cause of death obvious, the surrounding area clear except for one item tainted with the blood of the said victim, however, that item belonging to a different person, who is known to have been with the victim a few hours before the discovery of his body, what would you make of it?"
Holmes blinked as if confused, and then answered quickly and smoothly,
"I would consider it a very valid indicator as to where to start my inquiries. But surely that is not the dilemma you wish to discuss with me?"
"Well..." he hesitated, "In a way it is. You see...the item in question is a cuff-link, and there is no doubt that it is yours. I have seen you wear it on many occasions. And it has been said by three separate witnesses that you were with the deceased mere hours before he was found."
"And his name?" Holmes asked coolly.
"James Wilkinson."
Holmes eyes pressed shut for a moment, but they flickered open again so swiftly that the significance of the gesture was lost on Lestrade.
"I see."
There was a somewhat awkward silence for a long moment before Holmes spoke again,
"In that case, I shall leave immediately to start my inquiries."
"Actually Holmes," Lestrade hastily intervened before Holmes had even moved from his chair, "I cannot allow that." Holmes frost filled glare hit him and Lestrade gave me a quick glance. However, I can only imagine that my expression was nothing but incredulous, he would not find the support he needed to go on there. He managed to look back evenly at Holmes, "You see, there are some who are saying that the cuff-link and sightings are evidence enough to have you arrested."
Holmes jumped to his feet. "That is absolutely outrageous, man!" Holmes snapped.
"I know, I know," Lestrade attempted to be as placating as possible, "And that is why I have persuaded them to give me some time to follow my own investigations. However, my request was allowed only under the condition that you would remain here. Can you assure me that you will not leave this house?"
"You have my word." Holmes replied quietly. Lestrade nodded. Had it been anyone other than Holmes, Lestrade would not have been as trusting, but it appeared that more had grown between the two than I previously had thought.
"Then if you'll excuse me, I can expect a busy day tomorrow. Good night, Holmes, Watson." Lestrade said with a nod to each of us. However, when he reached the door, he turned back to look a little awkwardly at Holmes. "Even though you did not commit the crime, witnesses have made it clear that you knew the man. I am sorry for your loss." And with that he left, shutting the door behind him and making his own way out.
Holmes collapsed back down into his chair and an unnerving silence ensued. I shifted awkwardly in my chair, opening my mouth to say something, but I almost immediately snapped it shut again. A moment later my mouth opened a second time, but again, words failed me.
I finally pushed myself decisively out of my chair and went and poured us both a drink. I stood in front of Holmes with his glass held out to him, but he made no move to retrieve it.
"Holmes?" I said softly.
He looked up at me and took the glass without a word.
I settled back down into my chair, that is, I got as settled as I could in the situation. The silence dragged on as I sipped at my drink. I finally worked up enough courage, or at least had had enough to drink, to allow me to speak,
"So who was this James Wilkinson?"
"A man who is no concern of yours." Holmes snapped in that sharp tone of his that I had long ago learned to hate. I tried to ignore the fact that the words stung as if I had been physically struck.
"I am sorry, Holmes, I was only..."
"Curious? Interested? Prying?" he said, jumping from his chair and taking a step toward me.
"That is not fair..." I said, rising from my own chair.
"Isn't it? I am sorry, Doctor, but you shall have to find your inane gossip for your scribbling elsewhere."
I moved so I was only inches away from him. It is rare that when someone hurts me in such a way with words that I do not retaliate in some way. However this time, I managed to restrain myself to a reply, I admit, of harsh tones,
"I am sorry Holmes, it appears I have touched onto a sensitive subject, perhaps it was foolish of me to venture on to the subject, after all, you have only just heard of his death. However, anything I have asked I have done so out of concern for your welfare, not for my own incentive, a suggestion I find highly offensive."
"Oh believe me Watson, not nearly as offensive as being accused of murder."
My expression softened then, as I knew that, of course, he was right. I placed my hands on his shoulders in what I hoped was a reassuring fashion and softened my tone,
"I realise that my friend, and I will do whatever is necessary to prove them wrong. We will get to the bottom of all this. I promise."
Holmes glanced at one of my hands on his shoulder with confusion and then back up at me. Our eyes locked and I was aware that he was searching mine for something. He finally laid his hands on mine and gently put them back down to my sides. I remember thinking it an odd action but I didn't say anything. To my astonishment, colour started to appear on his cheeks.
"Thank you." He practically stammered. "Er...Goodnight." And he moved off in an almost clumsy fashion to his room.
I shook my head with concern at his odd behaviour, but at the time, I naively put it down to the day's events.
*****
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes, Dr Watson, and even Lestrade I'm afraid aren't mine. I've simply taken to borrowing them for a while from Arthur Conan Doyle. Any other characters thrown in, however, I take full responsibility for.
*****
"They don't even have an inkling, do they?"
"Excuse me? What was that?"
"Look at them all. I suppose in some obscure fashion, one could find it humorous."
"I'm afraid I don't follow."
"I shouldn't worry; neither do they."
Holmes turned back to his window, observing the oblivious individuals who ambled past on their way. I merely gave a silent chuckle and went back to my newspaper. A thought occurred to me and I suddenly looked up and over to my friend by the window,
"Holmes, you really should..."
"I fear your complaint shall have to wait."
"And why is..."
The clattering of footsteps on the stairs answered my question.
Holmes strode over to the door and swung it open to reveal a slightly out of breath Lestrade. He blinked at the form of Sherlock Holmes, ready and waiting for his visit, before moving into the room, holding his hat as he turned back to address us both. However, Holmes was quicker with his question,
"Good evening, and how may I be of assistance?"
I noted the way that Lestrade shuffled slightly from one foot to the other, just as Holmes must have observed.
"Well, it's a slightly...awkward matter."
"Why don't you sit down?" I asked, trying to put the obviously nervous man at ease.
"No. No thank you, I am quite alright."
"Then perhaps if you explained?" Holmes said as he made his way to his chair and eased himself down. Once comfortable he was ready to listen to Lestrade's appeal.
"Of course." Lestrade replied but then stopped. He finally took a breath and began with a rush of words, "If you came across a murder victim, cause of death obvious, the surrounding area clear except for one item tainted with the blood of the said victim, however, that item belonging to a different person, who is known to have been with the victim a few hours before the discovery of his body, what would you make of it?"
Holmes blinked as if confused, and then answered quickly and smoothly,
"I would consider it a very valid indicator as to where to start my inquiries. But surely that is not the dilemma you wish to discuss with me?"
"Well..." he hesitated, "In a way it is. You see...the item in question is a cuff-link, and there is no doubt that it is yours. I have seen you wear it on many occasions. And it has been said by three separate witnesses that you were with the deceased mere hours before he was found."
"And his name?" Holmes asked coolly.
"James Wilkinson."
Holmes eyes pressed shut for a moment, but they flickered open again so swiftly that the significance of the gesture was lost on Lestrade.
"I see."
There was a somewhat awkward silence for a long moment before Holmes spoke again,
"In that case, I shall leave immediately to start my inquiries."
"Actually Holmes," Lestrade hastily intervened before Holmes had even moved from his chair, "I cannot allow that." Holmes frost filled glare hit him and Lestrade gave me a quick glance. However, I can only imagine that my expression was nothing but incredulous, he would not find the support he needed to go on there. He managed to look back evenly at Holmes, "You see, there are some who are saying that the cuff-link and sightings are evidence enough to have you arrested."
Holmes jumped to his feet. "That is absolutely outrageous, man!" Holmes snapped.
"I know, I know," Lestrade attempted to be as placating as possible, "And that is why I have persuaded them to give me some time to follow my own investigations. However, my request was allowed only under the condition that you would remain here. Can you assure me that you will not leave this house?"
"You have my word." Holmes replied quietly. Lestrade nodded. Had it been anyone other than Holmes, Lestrade would not have been as trusting, but it appeared that more had grown between the two than I previously had thought.
"Then if you'll excuse me, I can expect a busy day tomorrow. Good night, Holmes, Watson." Lestrade said with a nod to each of us. However, when he reached the door, he turned back to look a little awkwardly at Holmes. "Even though you did not commit the crime, witnesses have made it clear that you knew the man. I am sorry for your loss." And with that he left, shutting the door behind him and making his own way out.
Holmes collapsed back down into his chair and an unnerving silence ensued. I shifted awkwardly in my chair, opening my mouth to say something, but I almost immediately snapped it shut again. A moment later my mouth opened a second time, but again, words failed me.
I finally pushed myself decisively out of my chair and went and poured us both a drink. I stood in front of Holmes with his glass held out to him, but he made no move to retrieve it.
"Holmes?" I said softly.
He looked up at me and took the glass without a word.
I settled back down into my chair, that is, I got as settled as I could in the situation. The silence dragged on as I sipped at my drink. I finally worked up enough courage, or at least had had enough to drink, to allow me to speak,
"So who was this James Wilkinson?"
"A man who is no concern of yours." Holmes snapped in that sharp tone of his that I had long ago learned to hate. I tried to ignore the fact that the words stung as if I had been physically struck.
"I am sorry, Holmes, I was only..."
"Curious? Interested? Prying?" he said, jumping from his chair and taking a step toward me.
"That is not fair..." I said, rising from my own chair.
"Isn't it? I am sorry, Doctor, but you shall have to find your inane gossip for your scribbling elsewhere."
I moved so I was only inches away from him. It is rare that when someone hurts me in such a way with words that I do not retaliate in some way. However this time, I managed to restrain myself to a reply, I admit, of harsh tones,
"I am sorry Holmes, it appears I have touched onto a sensitive subject, perhaps it was foolish of me to venture on to the subject, after all, you have only just heard of his death. However, anything I have asked I have done so out of concern for your welfare, not for my own incentive, a suggestion I find highly offensive."
"Oh believe me Watson, not nearly as offensive as being accused of murder."
My expression softened then, as I knew that, of course, he was right. I placed my hands on his shoulders in what I hoped was a reassuring fashion and softened my tone,
"I realise that my friend, and I will do whatever is necessary to prove them wrong. We will get to the bottom of all this. I promise."
Holmes glanced at one of my hands on his shoulder with confusion and then back up at me. Our eyes locked and I was aware that he was searching mine for something. He finally laid his hands on mine and gently put them back down to my sides. I remember thinking it an odd action but I didn't say anything. To my astonishment, colour started to appear on his cheeks.
"Thank you." He practically stammered. "Er...Goodnight." And he moved off in an almost clumsy fashion to his room.
I shook my head with concern at his odd behaviour, but at the time, I naively put it down to the day's events.
