Chapter 5: An Afternoon Walk (As Narrated by Holmes)
Note from author: I was dissatisfied with the previous version, so I have uploaded an edited one. Again, thanks in advance to anyone who criticizes or provides feedback.
Watson has asked me to write a brief chapter about what happened while I was out on a walk with Vicky. He has an obsession with recording everything. Though I find it a little annoying, I'm going to do it anyway because it's him who's asking.
I am trying to write as someone would in modern times, though I'm a little worried that it will lower the standard of my English. But if it helps me blend in and thus allows me to function and combat crime better, it will be worth it. If I don't give a rat's ass about the earth orbiting the sun because I don't want to clutter up my mind, then I'm not going to care about fancy English or extravagant phases. So for the moment, you will have to put up with Sherlock Holmes writing in twenty-first century prose. I will now experiment with writing in the present tense, something I haven't seen from many authors in my time.
"That went well." Vicky mutters sarcastically. Her lips have gone pale and thin as well, and she keeps glancing at the home across the road. Watson's probably giving Mary a stiff dose of brandy at that moment.
I take some time to observe her first. Her nose and cheekbones make her look dainty, almost doll-like when her eyes are closed. However, when her eyes open, they hold ambition that women of my time would not entertain even in their wildest dreams.
"At least you know we're not gay." I chuckle. That response should make her laugh. I study the buttons on her blouse closely.
"At least I know Mary doesn't want you to be gay." She retorts, and I jerk upright in surprise and annoyance. How am I supposed to prove anything to her? I suddenly have a brainwave, as they call it.
"And how do I know that you don't wish to be a man?" She starts at what seems to be a non sequitur on my part. "What do you mean?"
"You are wearing a man's shirt. From observing the nurses in the hospital, looking at pictures on the Internet, and glancing through some online articles, I found that women still have their buttons reversed. Buttons on the left, holes on the right."
She glances down and laughed. "I just believe that Women can do just as well as Men in anything."
"Or it could be that you admired your Father. Or it could be that you always desired to be a man." I tick the points off my fingers. "Or it could be that Watson and I are just good friends. Sometimes, we have to take each other's word for it, because a statement that cannot be disproved is not necessarily true."
"Guess you're right." She laughs, opening her mouth a little too widely for the women of my time, but I'm not one to focus on such particulars. I honestly don't care if she could open her mouth widely enough to fit a tram. As long as she can think, and isn't one of the scantily-clad, vapid things that are all over the Internet.
"I usually am." I smile roguishly. There. That should make her laugh and keep her off balance.
"Cocky." She shoots me an arch glance, tilting her chin downwards. "Nice personality trait to have."
Not again! I miscalculated. Note to self: Must work more on modern social mannerisms.
"I think that Mary should have cooled off by now." Her eyes widen ever so imperceptibly with panic, and I'm pleased to see that I have finally managed to stop her jokes and odd innuendos. Most men don't observe other men, let alone women, like I do, but I don't care about that, since this is just how I am.
"Maybe we should go for a walk." She suggests hesitantly.
"I thought you said that women could do everything that a man could do?" I raise my eyebrows. "If Watson dares to be in there with her, then shouldn't you show him that you are just as good as him, if not better?"
"I need some fresh air right now." She deflects my argument playfully. I'm not going to fall for that.
"Answer the question." I smile and start walking with her.
"I'm not her husband." She points out. "If I were, I could do that too."
"I'm not her husband, but I'm still brave enough to go in there right now and see how she's doing."
"You're Sherlock Holmes. You're not an ordinary man." She grins.
"Flattery will get you nowhere." I tut. She's proving a very tough nut to crack. "Being a good detective and being socially gifted are mutually exclusive." A green leaf spirals down to brush her face. She wrinkled her nose and jerked away.
"You are socially gifted. And you have known her for years now. I've just met her today, and I'm not exactly a politician."
"Touché." I decide to end it, suddenly tired of her tactless persistence.
"Yay!" She squeals. "I've beaten Sherlock Holmes in a contest of wits!"
"But I have been in far worse situations, where I have calmly faced people who were trying to kill me. Even then, I had to act calmly and intelligently. Haven't you read Watson's notes?" I go for the jugular vein. "And if you ever plan to practice criminal law, you must be brave and self-assured enough to accuse people whom you've never met before in your life, and who might be rapists and murderers. Even in commercial law, you must have some degree of confidence to represent your own clients."
She stops and stands still all of a sudden. "Crap." She grumbles, an expression of mock sorrow on her face. "I knew I couldn't win against you."
"But you just had to try." I shake my head as we turned back and began walking to Watson's home.