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Chapter Three. A Peculiar Man.
Holmes had found the Inspector to be a very peculiar man, but then he was finding everything here to be most peculiar. It was late on that same night that Holmes was perched on his windowsill gazing out into the warm Italian night and daydreaming. It was not something he had done very much of before but now that he seemed to have an abundance of time on his hands he found his mind frequently drifted between time and place, and what was perhaps most surprising, was that he was quite content to let it do so. His mind tonight was drifting between his brother and the Inspector. His brother had wired to him to suggest that while he was 'on holiday' he may as well make himself useful - which infuriated Holmes because he had very little desire to be useful – especially to his brother. Mycroft had been extremely unforthcoming about what it was he actually wanted done, he had merely listed a number of people to whom Holmes should speak and make himself known and that was that, no other word, no suggestion as to what it was Holmes was allowing himself to be blindly led into. He sighed, the air was cool and he welcomed it after the sticky heat of the day. It had been a hard day, filled with constant thoughts of home and the identity he had left behind.
His mind drifted to Angel, she had greeted him upon his return. Looking as thin and tired as ever, he had smiled at her. He pondered on how his behaviour had begun to change around her, really without his knowing of it, he shuddered to think how like his character he was becoming. He missed Sherlock Holmes and already detested Emile Sigerson, he missed Watson...the thought of his friend made Holmes pause and reflect. He was holding his pipe loosely in his one hand an holding the window sill with his other when he became aware of someone staring at him, looking around, he saw Angel standing in his doorway.
"What are you doing awake?" He asked, moving away from the window sill and moving toward her, "It's almost two in the morning."
She nodded sleepily at him,
"New tenants," She replied, half asleep. she stumbled forwards and Holmes deftly stepped forwards and caught her, seating on the edge of his bed he allowed her to continue, "Arrived late and wanted dinner."
Her English always became stunted when she was tired,
"You should be in bed Angel." Holmes said, trying not to flinch when her head fell to his shoulder, he felt her nod.
"I wondered if papa gave you message."
"What message?"
"From Inspector of police, he called earlier for you but you were walking, papa took message."
"No, I did not receive it."
Holmes ran the stem of his pipe along his lower lip and tried to think, he needed to be rid of this girl.
"Come on." He said, with an air of finality and swept Angel up into his arms. She was too tired to protest and in her half asleep state rather liked being swept up into the arms of the man she had convinced herself she was in love with. Holmes placed her gently on her bed in her arm, by which point she was asleep, he covered her over and smiled at her, as she smiled back at him in her sleep. Closing her door, he sighed, he could not take much more of this. Running as silently as he could down the two flights of stari that led to the kitchen, he stopped just outside to ensure Mario was alone, he could hear no-one and so he entered.
"Mario?" He called out hesitantly, edging his way into the kitchen, the fire was still going and there was a gas lamp flickering on the table. Holmes heard a muffled sound from within and called again.
"Mr. Sigerson?" Mario's voice appeared before he did and Holmes smiled as he tripped over a pile of Angel's washing.
"That girl, in a dream world no?" Mario smiled as he picked up the fallen clothes.
Holmes simply nodded.
"She told me you had a message for me?"
"A message?"
"Yes from the Inspector at the police station."
"No sir, no message, no-one called for you today. Oh, but there is a telegram on the table for you."
Holmes raised an eyebrow and followed Mario's outstretched hand, he picked up the slip of paper and opened it;
BE WARY STOP TROUBLE STOP SEE POLICE ASAP STOP MW DEAD STOP JW DISTRAUGHT STOP DOES THAT CONVINCE YOU? STOP WE NEED TO SPEAK STOP WILL BE IN TOUCH STOP M STOP
Holmes sighed. His thoughts ran to Watson and wanted to scream out in sympathy, but he but his tongue. He was annoyed with Mycroft why did he insist on such cryptic missives?
"Bad news?" Mario asked, having replaced the washing to its rightful place.
"Just news from home. News I would rather not have had, but nothing serious."
Mario smiled,
"She must have been a wonderful woman."
"Hmm? What?" Holmes said, turning the telegram over in his hands.
"The woman you are running away from."
"Er, yes i suppose she was."
Holmes eyes clouded over as he thought about Mary Watson and how much the doctor had loved her, still, there was nothing he could do from here.
"You are a peculiar man Mr. Sigerson."
"Why do you say that?"
"It is the middle of the night and here you are strolling around the house with a look of worry on your face and asking me questions about messages from the police, i don't know why I let you stay here."
Mario was beaming at Holmes who smiled back,
"No Mario neither do I. Well thank you for the telegram. Goodnight."
Taking the stairs two at a time Holmes wondered what trouble had meant, trouble from whom and why had Mario lied to him, or was Angel lying to him? No, he could not think that of the girl. He cursed himself for taking on this damn character, he was becoming as sentimental as Watson. Watson. What he must be going through. Holmes pushed the thought to the back of his mind, he had more important things to worry about. What did Mycroft mean does that convince you? How could Mary Watson's death convince him of anything? He was too tired for this. He lay down in his bed and stared at the ceiling, tomorrow he would go to the police and talk to Angel, one of them was lying to him and he wanted to know why.
