Dawson Ruins My Solitude

I had kept my vow for only a month before I met the puppy. I had no intention of allowing Toby's large eyes or playful nature to affect me in any manner, but training a dog to assist me in working cases seemed rather judicious. Despite my best intentions, I grew slightly fond of him, even though I certainly never showed any blatant signs of affection.

Years later, a rather chubby gentleman and a young Scottish girl found their way to my door. I thought nothing of it at the time; it was merely another case. However, the investigation led to Ratigan's final undoing.

Even after extensive research involving the English language, words fail me when I attempt to describe Dawson. Although not clever, he was rather sensible, as if our thought patterns were made to complement each other. Furthermore, he had acquired social skills that I simply had no time to perfect. I began to suspect he could prove most helpful on cases, as soon as he learned a bit more about how to perform undercover work successfully. Besides, he was a medical practitioner. His profession would no doubt prove useful, for many victims of crimes are somewhat less than perfectly hale.

The more I considered the idea, the more I began to accept it. Did not Mr. Holmes himself have a physician as a partner? Surely that was a sign! There was no longer any doubt in my mind that Dawson had to stay. Perhaps he was a bit of an embarrassment at times, but he did have ways of rousing me from depression, even if against my will.

It was too perfect not to be destiny. He had no place to stay, and I had no partner. I was also getting the strangest feeling that perhaps, over the course of time, we might become true friends. It had been so long since I'd formed any sort of friendship with anyone that I was beginning to wonder if it was time I tried again.

After the case, the Flavershams said goodbye. Dawson put on his hat, saying it was time he also was on his way.

"But…um…but I thought…" I struggled to find the right words.

He remarked that the case was over, and perhaps it was best if he found his own living quarters.

"Don't go!" I wished to argue. "You must stay! I lost Ratigan's friendship and Prescott's partnership! I cannot allow you to depart!"

While I was trying to form these ideas into words, a visitor knocked on the door. Dawson answered, assuring the young lady that she'd come to precisely the right place for help.

Seizing the opportunity, I placed an arm on his shoulders. "Allow me to introduce my most trusted associate, Dr. Dawson, with whom I do all my cases! Isn't that right, Doctor?"

He was trapped. A true gentleman will not prove another to be a liar in the presence of a lady. Whether he relished or abhorred the idea, Dr. David Q. Dawson was now my partner.

I suppose he liked it well enough. He took up residence at Baker Street nearly two years ago, and he has yet to suggest any intentions of finding another place to live. Although we do exasperate each other to no end at times, I rather enjoy his company.

The evening Leighton paid us a visit, we had been reminiscing about previous cases. Leighton's concern for Mansfield, his partner, reminded me of what had happened to Prescott, my potential partner years ago, and what I had once feared would happen to Dawson. As memories often do, these reminders led to insomnia.

Big Ben tolled thrice before I finally fell asleep.