Following Holmes

by JohnBradford

Holmes suspiciously leaves 221b for an appointment late one night, he won't answer any of Watson's questions. He is wearing a stronger perfume than usual, and is acting cagier than normal. Watson decides to follow, not knowing where in London he might end up, or what will be involved. His thoughts float to opium dens, prostitution, or perhaps just the Diogenes Club. To Be Continued

I had spent most of the afternoon reading calmly by the fire, sighing deeply and sipping at my cognac as the wood crackled in the grate. Holmes had been silent for most of the day, I worried he was about to start back at his 7 percent solution again. His door slapped open, and out he hurried into the center of the room. His eyes darted frenetically to the clock on the mantle; it was 10 o'clock at night. He leaned over me suddenly to reach for his pipe that was resting on the table to my left, I could smell the musky smell of perfume, it usually was not so strong on him. I raised my eyebrows at this observation, he caught me with an irritated look in his eye, and I resolved myself to concentrate on my book. He was glancing about the room now and I suspected was about to make his way to the door, I could contain myself no longer.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Out" He said. "Well I could guess as much." He didn't respond to this.

"Do you have a case?" still no response. I knew better than to ask if I could accompany him, he was being unnaturally cagey. "I'll be back shortly, why don't you just enjoy your book, or entertain yourself with one of your stories." He said this last bit scathingly. I gave him a frown. "Look, no need to wait up." His tone had turned more sympathetic, it had lost its previous cruelty. He turned sharply on his heel, slamming the door to our quarters. I leaned deeply into the leather chair and sighed again, thinking. What could Holmes have been doing with such a perfumed smell, he seemed more nervous than usual as well, and I had no reason to believe that he had a case on. A whim struck me. I would follow him? Could I? I didn't see why not, I was well practiced at doing such things, as capable as him. Besides, Holmes had seemed agitated and absent minded, perhaps he would be less likely to notice me if I were to slip up. By this time, I was sure he was down the stairs and out the front door, I dared not to look out of the window yet, lest he was to glance upward, as was his wont. I reassured myself as I bundled up into my coat, that I would be doing a good thing in following him, he would never know, and after all, if he was on a case and ran into trouble I would be there, pistol in hand, ready to help him out.