I took my waistcoat from the back of the chair and put it on, checking my reflection in the mirror behind the dresser. Holmes was sprawled on the couch behind me, watching silently as I got ready for a visit with Mary.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Holmes' sharp voice interrupted my thoughts. I stopped fussing with my collar, and frowned at his reflection in the mirror.
"Of course! Why shouldn't I, Holmes?" I snapped back. "Give me one valid reason why I shouldn't."
He shrugged, nonchalant. He puffed silently on his pipe for a moment, and I turned back to my own reflection. My busy fingers nervously fretted with the buttons and coat lapels as my mind wandered. What if Holmes was right? What business did I have visiting Miss Mary and Miss Cecil? It was alright when I went to update them on the latest news on the case. I had an excuse then, but now it was just social awkward for me to visit a young unmarried lady.
"For starters, you and I have another case to start on. Remember Mrs. Beckingham, my dear chap?" Holmes suddenly said.
My anxious fingers froze in midair, not expecting him to actually take on the challenge I left him with. "WHAT?
"And as we analyze your situation further, we also find that you are on the brink of certain disaster that you may wish to avoid." Holmes continued, unperturbed by my outburst.
I whirled around, suddenly annoyed. "Am I a new novelty for you?"
Holmes looked up, amused. "Yes, I guess you could say so. Your current state of being is certainly quite interesting, and quite unlike you."
"Do explain further, my dear Holmes. I can't wait to hear more of your analysis." I grumbled.
"Your right cuff is buttoned wrong, and it looks like there is mud on the toe of your left shoe. This pair must have been the ones you wore yesterday, coming back from Northumberland Avenue, where the distinct reddish-brown mud comes from. This proves your mind is elsewhere, for you have missed obvious details even when you have been so fervent in your grooming." Holmes made a point of emphasizing his words with a sweep of his hand and pointed at me with his pipe every so often. "As we know you are a doctor, we may assume you may be heading out to meet a patient, but since it is early Sunday morning, business is usually not conducted at this time. Also, we see you're not wearing your stethoscope, and you obviously don't have your doctor's briefcase with you. So it's defiantly not business you're heading off to. And what's this?" Holmes lazily gestured to the bouquet of flowers I left on the table. "Ranunculus, tulips, and camellias. A strange mix of flowers, certainly. To the casual observer this choice of flowers shows the proprietor is a strange gardener, but there is more meaning to the flowers than just the colors, am I right, dear friend?"
I ignored him, and turned to the window instead. Holmes, either not seeing or acknowledging my annoyance, went on with his rambling.
"As we take a deeper look at the choice of flowers, we see they are all symbols of love or admiration. Certainly a lady would appreciate a gift of flowers, especially with such a message inside."
"Holmes, where did you learn all this? Since when did you take an interest in flowers?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the road outside.
"There is everything in the world for man to explore." Was his terse answer. As I turned away from the window, I heard him mutter, "Now the mystery of what you were doing on Northumberland Avenue is solved. Only the corner flower shop there sells these kinds of tulips."
"Holmes, don't you have anything better to do?" I grimaced. "I must go soon. As soon as the hansom arrives, I will be going. I trust that you will be fine here, alone?"
"Of course I'll be fine, Watson. But the bigger question is, will you be fine?" Holmes put out his pipe and emptied the ashes carefully in a small box on the mantle place. He straightened up and looked at me with a mildly concerned look on his face.
"Don't be daft." I shot back.
"Daft? I'm just warning you of what's ahead, my friend. You see, even the mightiest men can be destroyed by sentimental emotions."
"I don't know what you're talking about." I responded.
"You might not now, but you will later." Holmes shook his head in pity. "Seems like you intend to find out the hard way. Carry on." He sat down again in his armchair, flipping though The Times.
Letting Holmes' words brew in my mind, I turned again to the window. Musing over the words didn't help my nerves. I was just visiting Miss Mary, wasn't I? This certainly wasn't a crime. I wasn't going to harm her in any way, and she, as far as I know, has no intent of injuring me. So what was Holmes worrying about? Besides, there was no way he has had any experience in the matter. His concern is for naught. I brushed away Holmes' words as the hansom arrived at the front door. Quickly turning around to grab the bouquet, I saw Holmes silently observing me. I nodded to him, then left. There was something about his expression that haunted me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. As I went on my way to Miss Mary's house, I realized what it was. There was a mix of pity in that look, and even some sadness. Regret. There was regret in those usually apathetic eyes. I shook my head, berating myself for such foolish thoughts. It was none of my business to pry into his life. Finally arriving at the house, I stepped out of the hansom and onto the busy road. A faint aroma of camellias followed me as I reached the stoop. And when I was ushered into the house, I was greeted by gentle smiles and warm salutations. My heart filled with love for this one woman I was blessed enough to meet, and I thanked God for making me such a fortunate man, but Holmes' words repeated ominously in my head.
Even the mightiest men can be destroyed by sentimental emotions….