Thirty-two years ago in the late period of autumn of 1893 in Paris, France, a man shared a table with a lady in a restaurant. They did not know each other before, until the woman decided to start a conversation with the man.
"It's cold tonight, don't you think, sir?" the lady said.
"I agree, winter must be coming soon." The man replied.
"I see that you aren't French."
"I'm a Norwegian."
The conversation drifted to other topics.
-0-
Five days later, the man was strolling in the streets of Paris.
"Hello," a lady's voice addressed him.
"Oh, it's you." He smiled then they walked together.
Paris seemed to be too small for them. They would meet each other frequently by accident. Fate seemed to deliberately cross their paths as their sympathy towards each other blossomed into love.
One morning, the man woke up with the woman beside him. Something obviously happened between them last night.
"This is wrong." The man told himself.
He stood up and put on his clothes. He paced the hotel room up and down.
"This is wrong, totally wrong." He whispered to himself.
The woman was awakened by his footsteps.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Everything, Martha, everything's wrong." He lit a cigarette.
She stood up and dressed.
"Why?" she asked again.
"This is not supposed to happen." He replied.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you think you really know me, Martha Jones?"
"Of course, I trust you."
The man sighed and looked at the ceiling. Guilt seeped in him when he heard the words 'I trust you'. He sat on the bed and buried his face in his hands.
"I mustn't have lied to you in the first place, Martha. My nationality and my real name is not what I told you." The man said.
"Then, who are you?" Martha asked, hurt.
"I am English, like you."
"And your name is?"
"Sherlock Holmes." he closed his eyes and bit his lips. The name he uttered was the lash of a whip to him.
Martha gasped. "But you're. You're…" she stammered.
"Dead, I know, that's what Watson told everyone. He does not know that I'm alive."
He paused, and then added. "Martha, will you marry me?"
She sat beside him and said, "I wouldn't be the reason for your ruined reputation."
"But, Martha."
"No one will know, I promise."
"What do you want me to do, forget about what happened last night?" He hung his head. "Forget about you?"
"I'm sorry, but that's I want you to do." She held his face in her hands. "Though it's not a must that you forget me."
That afternoon, Sherlock Holmes decided to leave for England.
Author's note: I'm trying my best to catch up with the timeframe.