What Providence Brought Together
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas. Their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
KS: Halloa, and welcome to chapter nine! I'm sorry it took so long to update, but I wanted to focus on On the Streets of Paris until I got it finished.
I'm not so sure about this chapter, but some people I asked (thank you, KCS and bcbdrums) said it was all right, so here it is. It's not hardly as good as the past chapters, but it should still be somewhat interesting. ...I hope.
Anyway, enjoy!
It was one o'clock one day when I returned to Baker-Street from running some small errands, and when I entered my new lodgings I noted once again the absence of my little bull-pup. But, I felt no regret at having given him to Stamford. He was a good lad, and deserved a good dog, and he would undoubtedly be able to take care of him far better than a war-injured soldier such as myself would be able to.
Besides, I could not possibly have kept him with the little pup's animosity towards my new fellow-lodger.
I went up the steps to the sitting-room, quite ready to rest my tired leg. Upon entering I was aware of Sherlock Holmes's presence by the smell of a recently smoked pipe that filled the room, and as I walked in farther I saw him lying on the sofa. He was quite motionless, and his usually keen grey eyes were dulled and stared vacantly at the ceiling. My medical instincts were aroused instantly.
"Holmes…?"
No answer, no movement.
"Holmes!" I called again, moving closer.
His eyes moved slowly and settled upon me at last.
"Oh, Watson," said he. "You're back earlier than I expected."
"Is there something wrong, Holmes…?" I asked, concerned.
"No, nothing's wrong," he replied. His grey eyes searched me over, his brow furrowing lightly. "I'm just a little…down. I'll be right soon enough, don't worry about me."
I watched him for a minute, my eyes narrowing slightly as I scrutinised his pale countenance. I had seen such lack-lustre expressions before, but where? It reminded me of... No. That couldn't possibly be it. Sherlock Holmes was not the sort of man to take a drug for recreation—the temperance and cleanliness of his whole life forbade such a notion! I quickly brushed it from my mind.
I made my way farther into the sitting room, towards my desk, but when I went to set the books I had just purchased upon it I realised that it was already rather covered with several small bundles of papers. I looked over at Holmes questioningly.
"Are these yours?" I asked.
Holmes looked at me again with dreamy, languid eyes, craning his neck to see what I was referring to.
"Oh, yes. Most of them are, at least."
"But why are they on my desk?"
"Because there is no more room on my desk, I'm afraid."
I looked, and surely enough what he said was true. His desk had already accumulated many more papers: some were loose and some bundled with red tape, and a few were even pinned together with his letter-opener.
"Where are they all coming from…?" I asked.
Holmes stretched out slightly, putting one arm behind his head, and seemed to think for a moment.
"I find that occasionally I acquire some notes and documents from my business, and I am ashamed to say that I am just a bit too lazy to put them away properly. Those you have in your hand need to be sent to Mr. Lestrade to-day, actually…"
I glanced only slightly at the papers, not wanting to intrude, and looked about the room for a more suitable place to put them.
"Have you no where else that you can keep them?" I inquired.
Holmes looked around, searching likewise for another location for his papers.
"I suppose you may just put them onto that book on my desk. I shall have to take them later… If my untidiness bothers you, Doctor, I shall endeavour to put away my documents."
"No, I suppose it's all right," said I, setting the papers aside in the directed area. "I've seen worse, believe me," I added with a smile.
Holmes returned my smile with one of his own.
"Excellent," he said.
Just then, there was a knock on our sitting-room door.
"Enter," said Holmes.
The door opened to admit Mr. Lestrade, who nodded in greeting as he saw me, and turned to my new friend.
"The new lodgings are certainly an improvement on Montague Street, Mr. Holmes," said he, shutting the door behind him. "Your landlady just offered cake with my tea."
Holmes smiled; I noted that he looked much more lucid than he had several minutes before.
"Ah, Mr. Lestrade. You've saved me a trip," said he. "Dr. Watson has some papers for you."
I handed the red-tape-bound papers that Holmes had talked about just moments before to the sallow-faced man, who muttered his thanks.
"Doctor—" Holmes began, but I interrupted with a smile.
"I know, Holmes. I shall be in my room," I said, and I went upstairs.
Though he was strange and highly irregular, I was quickly growing used to my singular friend. With his masterful nature, intelligence, and constant air of mystery, how could I not allow him a little peculiarity every now and then?
KS: Don't forget to review! Please, make suggestions for this chapter, it needs them very, very badly...XDD
