It has been many months since Sherlock Holmes has returned from his three year abscense, during which time the whole of England, myself included, believed him to be dead. Even now, I find myself grow ecstatic with joy to know that my dearest friend is alive and well and very much the same man I have known for many years.
And yet he is not quite the same. I cannot point out what the difference is, but as I sit here watching him interact with our latest client, it occurs to me that he is somehow changed. But what is it? He is as brilliant as ever. His wit has not been diminished in the least. There is still that irritation at those whose intelligence is slower than his own. There is still that masterful manner about his words and actions.
His laughter interrupts my thoughts. Our client has apparently said something that amused him.
He laughs more.
That is the difference, I suddenly realize. He laughs more. There was a time when it was quite rare to hear him laugh, and when he did, it was often in a scornful or mocking manner, such as those instances when he would laugh about some staple of our society that he considered ridiculous or ironic.
But this is different. His laughter is pure, as though he takes amusement at life's ironies instead of scorning them. As I reflect on the past few months, many instances of such pure laughter arise in my memory. It occurs to me that he seems to enjoy life more. His bouts of black depression are becoming less frequent, as though he has settled some battle within his heart and come to the conclusion that life is worth living even at those times when his mind is unoccupied.
In essence, I suppose, he has grown up. He is not the pompous young man I met some 13 years ago. He no longer quarrels with me over foolish points on which we disagree, nor does he act like a petulant child when things do not go as he wanted them to. I confess that there were many times during the early days of our friendship in which I felt like an inexperienced mother dealing with the tantrums of a spoiled child.
I doubt Holmes would appreciate that analogy very much.
I give a start as I hear a chuckle behind me. I glance up. Our client has left, and Holmes is standing over my shoulder, reading my musings. He grins at me, then retires to his favorite armchair to muse over his latest case.
I guess anyone can change.