Your observations are par to none. Your blood sings with a pedigree above all else and it makes you proud-
Hubris is your greatest enemy and my, how the mighty have fallen. You do not allow yourself this much. Not again. James Watson is the brightest mind of Scotland Yard and perhaps very well in the whole of his Majesty's Britannia but you, you're a man whose been fractured beneath the skin and the next time you bend you will break.
That is why you admire Helen so much. Because where your heart has fractures there is a scar across her's, and it still beats inside that fragile ribcage like some kind of defiant bird. Helen always has a fluttering pulse to you, you think. You feel it every time you take her wrist or when your hands brush when you peer over the conjoint work space. She hesitates just a little and in the corner of her lips you can see a smile. It is only there a moment but you stop every time and just look at her for a long moment before pouring yourself back into your work.
You think you'd like to see it again. Years pass. Nikola runs across the sea, to the Americas and Nigel...well, Nigel just likes to keep his nose out of trouble. He's a good man and is always there when you call. They try not to call often. Last time James knocked on his door he was met with a very perturbed man and the cautionary laugh of paid company. The majority of the time it really is just Helen and yourself. You look back and realize that James Watson almost a decade ago would have rather thrown himself off a bridge than be in the well-nigh proximity of a woman. Helen is not any woman, though, and it only takes ten years and a broken heart for you to realize this.
You know her habits, they are mapped out like a tattoo in your oh-so-evolved mind. How she likes her tea (2 spoons of loose sugar and just enough cream to turn it nut brown when she's entertaining company, otherwise 1 spoon of sugar and nothing else), and when it rains you count on finding her near a window looking out. She is below ground at dusk, a personal chore making sure your guests your...abnormals are content. You know her and you think that she doesn't know until one day the sky is cloudy and you find yourself alone in your office looking at a map of Mozambique. It's small failures that make you feel like a lost child and it's precautionary you know, but you can't help but walk quickly down the corridors listening, looking for her.
Only then to find her at the front door speaking very quietly with a young man. She looks suprised to see you clutching small slips of paper to her chest. "Who was that?"
"I asked the young man to fetch me two tickets. I know how much you like the Opera and..." You blame the light for the sudden pink of her cheeks, the light and your own wishing. "It is Thursday, James. Second Thursday of June?" The smile falls at your obvious disconnect with her train of thought. "I thought you were going to be a little longer...I wanted to wrap it."
You're frozen as she presses the paper into your hands and raises on her toes to kiss your cheek. This time yours is the flutter, she rests down and smiles again. "Even the great James Watson can take a rest on his birthday."
And right then you realized. You are the mind for detail, for intricacy but it Helen that really sees the whole picture.