TIN MAN DETECTIVE
"A heart is not judged by how much you love: but by how much you are loved by others."
-Frank Morgan, The Wizard of Oz
There was a popular story circulating about during our earlier days, where one of the characters, a man made of metal, had no heart. That story was always a particular one with me. You see, it wasn't that the Tin Man couldn't love; he wasn't really heartless. He just needed a combination of the brains, courage, and a friend to show him how to love. In my mind this made sense, but I never really understood why until a tragedy occurred and the full importance of the story overwhelmed me and made me respect and, yes, even love, the greatest man I have ever known, all the more.
It was a time after my wife's death and Holmes' retirement when I returned to live with him and we were summoned back to town immediately. Mrs. Hudson, good soul, was dying. She not only had requested my medical analysis as a second opinion, but she had specially requested to see us (Holmes in particular).
There was nothing that I, or anyone, could do for her though. It would not be long before she was gone, and she seemed sense that. Thus the reason for the hasty summons. However, she rallied her strength and saw both of us one at a time. She saw Holmes first, and for two hours they talked together.
I came out of Mrs. Hudson's sick room for the last time.
"Good woman, Holmes." I said pulling Holmes' thoughts away from his private reverie. "She was, in every way, a decent, respectable person." I sat down, weary from the days events, in the chair beside where Holmes was already lounging.
"That's very true, old fellow." Holmes agreed with a sigh and proceeded to search his pockets for his pipe and matches. Anyone but I might have thought his actions at such a moment to be indifferent and somewhat callous. However, I could clearly see the faint traces of emotion behind his eyes and manner that he would normally have carefully hidden. "A very gracious and generous landlady." Holmes continued after a moment. He lit his pipe and settled once again into his chair as he fell back into thought.
I laughed weakly at his words. Generous, he had said. Given what Mrs. Hudson had just revealed to me, Holmes was a fine one to be speaking about generosity. Mrs. Hudson had just told me, while it was true that Holmes did initially need someone to share rooms with him and split the rent, that after he began to enjoy a considerable amount of fame that he insisted on paying the entire rent himself. He kept it a secret from me saying that it was to me that he owed such recognition (despite his sometimes harsh critique of my writings), and he instructed Mrs. Hudson to set aside my portion in a separate place and to take his in full payment for rent. The good soul would do his bidding as eagerly as any of the Irregulars. And since Holmes had never seen fit to tell me any of this, Mrs. Hudson felt she needed to just now. She also gave back to me my accumulated portion of rent. It was a considerable amount too. Needless to say, I was speechless; not only from Mrs. Hudson's willing compliance in the conspiracy but also from Holmes' profound gesture all those years.
Mrs. Hudson had certainly been more long-suffering with the most difficult tenant in the land, however, she did so because she cared for him a great deal more so than others (and Mrs. Hudson was not one normally given to playing favorites, but he certainly was hers). And in time, Holmes came to reciprocate that respect. And to the very last, Mrs. Hudson spoke of Holmes with only the warmest affection.
And to her memory I add this final note: of my...our friend, I can only say this; of all the souls we have met in our lifetimes, his was the most...human.
(Yes, that final note was a Star Trek III reference but it seemed to fit. As always I welcome any questions, comments, critiques, and any ideas. Thanks. Hope you enjoyed it)