I have seen that look on my Boswell's face before. I know what it means. I had hoped that this lifetime might be different, that he would not be so cruel that he could fall in love and forget me again. How can he do it? How can he just turn and walk away with this woman that he hardly knows hanging on his arm? How can he forget the plans that we have made for today? How can he simply forget all about me? Have I done something wrong?
I try to tell myself that this is not at all like last time. I shall still have John and Briar; I am not going to be all alone at Baker Street this time. All the same, my eyes are prickling slightly and there is a lump forming in my throat. Does Watson not know how I feel? Does he not care? The house is not a home when he is away from it - do I have to tell him as much, for him to know it?
"Hey!" Lestrade waves her hand in front of my face, causing me to blink and sniff as I rub at my eyes. "I was talking to you! ...Are you OK Sherlock?"
I sniff again and nod with a tight smile. I had forgotten that the Yarder was beside me.
She slips her arm about me and then rubs at my back. "What's wrong? Aren't you feeling so good?"
I shrug and try to catch one last glimpse of my selfish traitor of a friend as he walks away and am just in time to see him turn the corner at the end of the corridor.
If that woman hurts him, which women often do, he shall have only himself to blame. Furthermore, if she hurts him she shall have me to answer to! Watson is a good man - the best that I have ever encountered - she had better treat him well for her own sake!
"Holmes? Are you even listening to me?"
"I was thinking."
"Oh. Sorry. What were you thinking about? You looked pretty sad."
"Nothing of import," I respond with a shrug.
The interfering Yarder squeezes my arm. "Like zed it isn't important! I know you Sherlock. You don't just randomly look upset."
She would not understand! "Beth... Please..."
"Come on," she steps inside her office, but only to snatch up her keys. "We can't talk privately here."
"Are we meeting with John? He should be finished soon."
"No. Well, maybe later. We need a talk first. Where'd you like to go?"
I shrug my shoulders with a despondent sniff. "Does it matter?"
"Well, yeah!" she responds with impatience. "It has to be somewhere you can relax, where we won't be interrupted."
I know just the place! "Would Grayson not be somewhat angered?"
"Yeah, really angry. What d'you care? Not suddenly becoming a stickler for the rules, are you?"
Not really. I would prefer not to get her into trouble, all the same. I should try to look after my few remaining friends while I still have them.
"Well, come on then! Where the zed d'you wanna go?"
The quiet beach in Essex, with its dunes, pier and tea shops (and the beach hut of course) seems a perfect location, but I change my mind. It is the place that Watson and I visit together and it would not seem right if I were to show it to Beth Lestrade. I instead direct her to the quiet beach in Sussex near to which I once lived.
"Ah! So that's where you go to be alone, is it?" she smirks at me as we climb inside her car. "Are you gonna be too cold at the coast? It's always cooler away from the city and you look like you're already catching cold."
She is mistaken. All the same, I can see why she might think that. I shrug.
"I shall be all right. I have a coat," I assure her.
"One sneeze from you and we're finding someplace warmer. OK?"
I shrug again. "It is you that I answer to."
"Yeah, well... only officially, these days. We make too good a team to be on anything but equal footing. Zed Sherlock! What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
She growls. "Holmes, I can't be your friend if you shut me out. Come on, what is it? You look... well... Oh, zed! I don't know! You just don't seem yourself. I haven't seen you like this since you were missing Watson."
I close my eyes and conceal a sob.
"You are sick! Zed! Maybe I should take you home."
I clear my throat. "I am not ill Beth. I am... just a little upset."
"OK. Well, we'll go stroll along your beach and talk then. Just tell me if you get too cold or decide you do feel bad after all, OK?"
"Of course."
My final home of my previous lifetime has not changed very much. It is cold though! Lestrade was quite right. She takes my arm and draws close to me as we make our way down to the beach.
"Are you feeling better?"
No. I stop walking and tilt my head back tiredly. How can I tell her what is wrong?
"I'll take that as a no then. Come on Sherlock! Talk to me. I'm not gonna judge you - you know that!"
"You know me too well."
"I like to think I know you well enough by now," she retorts. "Come on! Talk to me. I'm gonna get it all out of you in the end."
I sniff and look away. "You would think me ridiculous."
"Try me," she insists as her hand squeezes my arm.
I turn back to see that she is addressing me with a reassuring smile. She has not judged me harshly up until now; perhaps I should try to trust this Yarder.
"I am worried about Watson," I confess carefully. "This is the third day running that he has gone off with That Woman -"
"That Woman has a name Sherlock. She's called Chelsea."
"Hum! Poor woman," I respond. "I take it that her parents were either fond of buns, flowers or - most likely - of football. I suppose that she should be grateful that they do not support Brixton or Arsenal."
"I hope you aren't going to insult her. Watson wouldn't like that very much."
No, he would not. That would most likely play right into Chelsea's hands!
"So... Why don't you like her? Just because Watson does?"
"I am not jealous!"
She snorts. "Could've fooled me! I know how possessive you can be."
"Protective Beth. The word is protective."
"Whatever."
"I have every reason to want to keep Watson safe," I inform her firmly. "He does not realise how very treacherous women can be."
"Thanks Sherlock."
She would seem to be hurt! Have I said something wrong? "I did not mean to say that all women are. I know that I can trust you - and I do! With my life."
She pats my arm. "But you don't trust women generally."
"No."
"Why not?"
I freeze. I should have realised that that question was coming. "It hardly matters."
"I want to understand," she gives my arm another squeeze. "That's all. I only wanna understand."
I nod and find a place to sit. When we are both seated, Lestrade's thigh pressed close to mine (too close for my taste, but I know that her behaviour is meant to be comforting and reassuring) and her hand resting at my arm, I lower my head into my hands and hide my eyes with my long fingers.
"You can take your time Holmes. It's OK. I'm not gonna rush you."
I give another nod and lift my head to stare out to sea, watching the boats. Most of them are used for pleasure these days, though some of them are clearly working vessels which are out fishing. Slowly, I calm myself and collect my thoughts.
"Did Watson mention, in his journal entries, the poisoner of some little children?"
"There was more than one Sherlock. You and Watson came across a couple when you were working together."
I sniff and shake my head. "This one was only mentioned to Watson - he never encountered her."
"The most beautiful woman you ever met," she nods. "Yeah, I do remember; you mentioned her to try to put Watson off of Mary. You were jealous."
"I was not jealous!"
"You were scared he was gonna go off and get married and you'd never work together again."
There might be a sliver of truth in that. "I was much more afraid that Mary might turn into a completely different woman when he'd married her," I snap. "She might have hurt him and completely broken his spirit! You did not know him when he had just returned from Afghanistan - I did! The poor fellow!" I shake my head sadly and stare down at my hands as I clasp them within my lap. "The poor fellow," I repeat in but a whisper as my memories take over for a moment.
"You mean you were scared that he might get hurt... beyond repair?"
I nod and take a shaky breath. "I have never been so very glad to be wrong! When I saw that the dear chap had actually managed to gain some weight when he visited me soon after his marriage, I knew that he was well and in good, loving care. I could stop worrying then."
"So... That's all it was then? You were scared Watson would get hurt and you wouldn't be able to do a thing about it?"
I nod. "That is it exactly. I do care about him you know! Granted, I missed him terribly, but I have only ever wanted what is best for him when all is said and done."
"Aw! And you say you aren't sweet! That's really sweet."
No it is most certainly not! "Watson is a good man. That is all."
"Watson chose the right match for him last time, so why can't you just trust his judgement? I mean, what makes you think Chelsea might not be good enough for him?"
"It is not Watson that I am unable to trust! Women can be the most inscrutable... the most..." I groan as words fail me. "Fenwick's lady friend - do you remember her?"
She snorts. "I'd say that her being Fenwick's creepy girlfriend just about says it all. Ugh!" she shudders. "I guess it proves that there really is someone for everyone..."
"Never mind that! My point is that she was cold, cruel and calculating; she cared not a jot about the men that she hurt or the lives that she destroyed. She was not averse to making - professing love falsely -"
"Yeah, well, like I said, she was Fenwick's girlfriend. What d'you expect Holmes?"
I expect far too much, obviously.
"It's not just her, is it? What's all this about?" she stares into my face. "Why d'you hate women so much?"
"I do not hate women! I simply..." with a groan I run a cold hand over my face. "That woman... The poisoner - the one that I mentioned before... She and I had been walking out together..."
"What?"
"Courting. We were courting Beth. You see, I blundered. I actually dared to think that somebody could actually love me... And I allowed myself to love her."
"Right OK... Slow down. The poisoner tricked you, she made you think she liked you..."
There is rather more to it than that! I sniff and look away. "There was talk of marriage."
"I'm real sorry Sherlock. But we aren't all like that you know," she smiles at me when I turn to face her. "I'll never treat you like that."
"Well no. Of course not. You and I are friends!"
She squeezes my hand. "Did you ever think about trying again? You know, allowing yourself to love again?"
I shake my head.
"Zed!" my friend growls. "I wish I could've met that... that..." she shakes her head and again squeezes my arm. "She really did hurt you, didn't she?"
I nod with my head bowed. I cannot look her in the eye. "In my era, marriage was very important. An engagement was important... I cannot express it, nor expect you to understand."
"I can try," she takes my hand in hers and gasps. "Your hands're like ice Sherlock! Why didn't you tell me you're getting so cold? I thought you agreed that you would! Did you bring gloves?"
I shake my head and give a shiver. "I am not that cold."
"Sure you aren't."
My hands are freezing due to my current emotional state - I would be just as cold on a hot day. "I am all right! You need not fret."
She sniffs and presses herself closer to me as her hands attempt to warm mine. "I can't help it if I care Sherlock. Like you said already, we're friends."
I nod and permit her to rest her head upon my shoulder. Her behaviour is much too forward for my personal taste, but I have seen many couples holding one another and kissing in a manner that would have been considered crude in my day.
"D'you feel OK?"
"Yes thank you. Do you?"
She pulls away to frown at me. "You don't have to be abrupt Sherlock."
I grimace. "My apologies my dear. I did not mean to behave dismissively."
"It's OK. I know you didn't mean it. But look Holmes, I'm here if you need me. OK?"
I nod and address her with a small smile. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she squeezes my hand and we lapse into companionable silence, each of us watching the waves as they crash upon the shore and the boats beyond.
"For what it's worth, I'll kill Chelsea if she hurts Watson," the Yarder announces at length.
"Hum... You might lose your job if you do."
"Zed! You know exactly what I mean Holmes."
"I do indeed. Your support is appreciated."
She smirks at me. "I should hope so. Actually, I think I'll give her a friendly warning when I see her next. It'll be better coming from me," she shivers and rubs at her arms. "Ready to go back yet?"
"Yes," I stand slowly and Lestrade wraps her arm about me.
"You're really cold! You always move slower and go all tense when you're too cold. Why didn't you say?"
Because I would then have to voice a different discomfort, no doubt caused in part by the chill in the air, and I would rather not. "I am all right."
"Like zed you are. Come on, let's go get a hot drink before we go back."
"Not off a barrow - van - please," I request quickly. If we are going to delay our return journey I should like an opportunity to pay a quick visit.
"Because you're cold, or because the drinks 'off the barrow' aren't as good as the ones you can get in a coffee house or tea shop?"
I resist the urge to stamp my feet. I do not wish to find out whether or not Lestrade can also recognise that tell. "Both."
"Zed! There's no need to bite my head off. What's the matter with you?"
I am feeling worse now that I am standing!
"Oh!" she grimaces and pats my arm. "Why don't you just tell me these things, instead o' suffering in zedding silence?"
Because I am not a man of this century! I could not discuss or casually mention at least half of the things that I have heard bandied about at the Yard.
"Come on, let's go find a tea shop," she slips her arm through mine and addresses me with a tight smile. "You know, you could just say you wanna... I dunno... 'disappear' or something," she adds as we easily fall into step.
I grimace. "You would know what I mean."
She laughs. "I can read your body language well enough anyway, so it doesn't make much difference."
I suppose that she is right. I am sure that I was better at concealing things in my own era - only my Boswell knew when something was amiss with me (and what was wrong) and I had always attributed that to his profession.
We have not been walking for long when we find a little tea shop and step inside. I throw chivalry to the wind and leave Lestrade to buy the hot drinks as I am horribly uncomfortable and doubt that I could stand still long enough.
"Feeling better?" the Yarder asks with a smile when I join her at the little table at which she is sitting.
Much, but does she really wish to know? "Hum," is all that I say in response.
"Are you feeling any warmer?" she clarifies as she pours some tea into a cup for me.
Ah! "Yes thank you. I have warmed my hands nicely." Lestrade does not have to know more than that either.
"Yeah, I bet you had to," she mutters with a sympathetic grimace. "Your hands were freezing!"
I avert my gaze and turn my attention to my steaming tea cup.
"Sorry Holmes. So... Are you going back to New Scotland Yard, or d' you want me to drop you off at Baker Street?"
I am feeling weary - no doubt another reaction to the chill in the air - but I do not wish to go home to an empty house. "I shall look at the cold cases," I decide.
"Don't wanna go home then?"
I shake my head and suppress a shiver as I sip at my tea. It is good, though the steam would appear to be causing my chilled nose to run.
Lestrade frowns when I sniff. "Are you OK?"
"My nose is thawing," I respond in an attempt to explain before giving it a quiet blow into my handkerchief.
She nods and pats my hand. "Just so long as that's all it is. John'll be mad if I let you get sick."
John would blame me, as he knows how stubborn I can be, and she knows that well enough. No, she is worried about me and not the robot's reaction.
"Are you OK Sherlock? You're still very quiet."
I wipe at my running nose and nod. "I am still thinking about Watson. I do not want to watch him get hurt."
"Neither do I," she squeezes my hand. "But sometimes you just have to let the people you care about live their own lives and learn by their own mistakes. Besides, we'll always be around to pick the pieces up if things go wrong and marriage doesn't have to be forever these days. It's not such a big deal."
"It is to Watson."
She sighs. "Yeah. Yes, I know. You can take a guy outta the Victorian era, but I guess you can't get the era outta the guy, huh?"
"Something like that," I address her with a small smile.
She gives my hand another squeeze and then pats it. "I don't wanna see you hurt either. I don't understand Watson! He knows how much you missed him..."
My eyes prickle in response and I hastily raise my handkerchief to my nose and feign a stifled sneeze.
"Are you OK?" she asks with concern.
I raise a finger as I wipe at my weeping eyes. "It was one sneeze, easily stifled; it is not an indication of anything amiss."
Lestrade shakes her head. "Yeah, OK; don't go all defensive about it. I care, OK? Besides, you get just as concerned when I'm sick."
That cannot be denied and I quietly confess that she speaks the truth. "But you live alone - of course I am going to fret! And not without good reason. After all, you tend not to rest when you are unwell."
"Ha! Just listen to the pot calling the kettle black! Who was it that decided, after just four days o' being sick with the 'flu, that he was well enough to get up and go out?"
I grimace at the memory. I had been a very difficult and restless patient and had not helped my recovery at all. I have been told that I was fortunate to have made a complete recovery at all. I could quite easily have weakened my constitution dreadfully.
"My apologies Lestrade."
She shakes her head. "I don't know where you found the energy to be stubborn with, but you really should've let John and I care for you."
"Yes, I know. I..." I lower my gaze to the contents of the cup in my hands. "To be truthful, I do not believe that I was thinking very much about my recovery. I seldom do."
"You were grieving at the time," she reflects with another squeeze of my hand. "I guess it's pretty unfair to expect you to care too much about yourself when you're going through something like that."
This time around, I am unable to conceal the fresh tears without the Yarder seeing them.
"Zed Sherlock!" She pours me a second cup of tea and watches me drink it with quiet concern. "Look, if you feel like that, I think you should go home. Finish your tea and I'll take you back."
We enter an empty house at Baker Street and make our way upstairs to the sitting room. While I light the fire and retrieve some rugs from the airing cupboard, Lestrade (none too politely) excuses herself to the washroom. I do not need to know what she desires or needs to do therein, nor how uncomfortable she is! Have I taught her nothing?
"That's better," the inspector remarks as she takes to the settee. Is she talking about the warmth in the room, now that the fire is lit? I shall assume that she is.
I hand her one of the rugs and curl myself into my chair, huddling beneath a rug of my own with a cold shiver.
"Are you sure you're OK?"
I nod and address her with a small smile. "Do you not think that you should return to work?"
She shrugs. "I'll pull a Quirk 'n' say that I had a family emergency. My grandmother's sick and I was in too much of a state to think clearly enough to tell anyone what was up..."
"You should not lie!"
"Why not? Everybody else lies to their boss."
I frown at her. "I can assure you that I would never do such a thing."
"OK, I'll tell Grayson the truth then - you were upset so I tried to help. Which story do you want me to tell him?"
"I hope that your grandmother makes a swift recovery. What is wrong with her?"
She smiles. "I thought you'd agree."
The Yarder stays with me until John returns from his check-up and then returns to work despite the compudroid's insistence that she should stay for lunch ("It is only twenty minutes past one Lestrade; I am sure that the Yard can spare you for a little longer. You must be starving!"). I see her out, thanking her quietly for her support, and watch her drive away.
The hour is late when Watson remembers where he lives. The fellow has been drinking and swears profusely, dropping his shoes in surprise, when he flicks the light on to find me sitting up and blinking sleepily at him from my makeshift bed upon the settee.
"Holmes! What the deuce are you doing there? Lying in wait for me?"
I yawn rather loudly (I have, after all, just had my sleep disturbed) and sniff. "I assumed that you would be out all night. I have been up until after one o'clock - and what o'clock is it now? It must be approaching dawn!"
"We have been dancing the night away," he informs me with a shrug. "Have you ever heard of the warp step? It is tremendous fun!"
"I still prefer ballroom dancing myself."
"You should try something new now and again Holmes!"
He should say that again while he is sober and listen to himself! "And you should go to bed."
"I am not tired! I have a better constitution than yours when love is my energy."
"You, my dear Watson, are drunk."
"Perhaps I am," he retorts with a bright smile. "But I feel marvellous!"
I groan and rub at my forehead. "You are no doubt going to have a marvellous hangover when the drink wears off. I would recommend some water, followed by sleep."
He dismisses my advice with a wave of his hand and totters away to the washroom without even remembering to close the door behind himself. I do not recall ever seeing my Boswell in such a condition before and I know not whether I am the more concerned or angry. It matters not. I have given the fellow my advice and the rest is up to him. Besides, I am tired. I pull the rugs that cover me closer with a shiver and permit myself to return to slumber. John can tend to him in the morning if he is ill.
