I made arrangements to resume my practice of medicine as the winter closed in. Perhaps it was partly due to the fact I reached my 40th year that first week of December… a most unwelcome reminder that my life would stagnate if I did not take action now.

I told Holmes of my decision, which would result in my vacating our present lodgings within the next few weeks. His face was unassumingly calm but from years of experience I knew it caused him pain that he would never admit to.

"Forgive me, Holmes. But believe me when I say that this signals no weakening of our friendship. It is simply a law of nature… things can never remain exactly the same. We are no longer young- at least, I do not feel young- and carefree. Even if it were so… it could never return to the way it was before Mary died…"

I endeavoured to control myself and look out the window. Perhaps I was a pitiful creature of emotion after all.

Holmes placed his hand on my shoulder. His sinewy grip had always a way of comforting me.

"You needn't have explained, old fellow. I saw it coming. And in no small way I comprehend your feelings too… For some time now I have felt it as well..as harsh and bitter as that wind that blows outside… and just as elusive to explain."

He looked out the window.. his gray eyes reflecting the dull gray background of outside.

"…That is one more oddity I may add to my study of human nature.. our longing for constancy. Somehow as we age we begin to long for it more… as though having a fixed point in our lives would comfort us."

He looked back at me after this soliloquy and smiled faintly.

"So, what corner of London will you be honouring with your presence?"

"A practice near South Kensington, as the junior partner of a Dr. Matthew Dassing. Dr. Jeremy Snow, whom I met when Miss Eastman was injured, kindly recommended me to him. He is an elderly gentleman with a profitable practice… the arrangement seemed agreeable in view of the fact that my current finances are not enough to start a practice of my own. And, as you know, it is close enough to where I would be able to come should you ever need my assistance."

"Of course…" he said, grasping my hand firmly. "God go with you, my dear fellow!"

The words continued to echo in my ears as I moved my belongings to my new lodgings.

Several weeks' time proved my decision had been for the best. Work stimulated me and refreshed me, both physically and mentally.

I frequented Baker Street often, however. However many friends and acquaintances I would accumulate it was only at Baker Street where I felt completely welcome. There was no air of pretension, no face contorted into the gesture of a smile, acting pleased to see me every time I walked in. Rather it was quite simple. I came and went freely. If Holmes was glad to see me he indicated so.. and if he was not he indicated that too.

So, 221B frequently became a welcome haven and resting place on the weekends.

Consequentially, I saw much of Rebecca Eastman. She looked better than ever before, as though the bitterly cold weather agreed with her. By some sort of unspoken mutual agreement we seemed to have done away with our awkwardness and embarrassment, resuming friendly conversation.

One snowy Saturday afternoon I happened to see her on the street. We greeted and she inquired about the success of my practice.

"Busy, of course… but highly fulfilling." I smiled. "And your position? How do you fare with my friend?"

"My position is quite to my liking. As to Mr. Holmes, he treats me with due respect and mostly leaves me alone to my work."

I smiled again. "Many young ladies would find it exasperating to have such an uncommunicative employer."

She shrugged. "I am sure no harm is intended. It his simply in his nature to be uncommunicative- perhaps he could not change it even if he wanted to."

"I do not think it as simple as that, Miss Eastman. As you know I have shared lodgings with Mr. Holmes for many years and still he is an enigma to me, a man of conflict and inconsistency."

"How so?" Her brown eyes seemed to light up with interest.

"There are too many instances to enumerate… I can only give a general description. For instance, I have known him to be coldly dispassionate in many cases,and in others simply burning with indignation. He proclaims an aversion to works of art and /or philosophy, yet often I have known him to be visibly moved by a symphony or on occasion a natural object. And, most notably, while he professes a philosophy that calls for an abhorrence of all emotion, he has shown me the most real and genuine regard that any man could show for a friend."

I stopped… perhaps I had said too much. Rebecca, however, still seemed intensely interested.

"Surely, John, the very fact that these inconsistencies exist indicate that his character is not completely devoid of emotion… of love?"

She looked down at the ground quickly, rather embarrassed.

So that was how things stood. It had honestly never occurred to me. Yet now it made perfect sense.

I will not say how or why, but somehow this unwitting revelation of Rebecca's made me feel considerably better, soothing whatever hurt was left from her rejection of my proposal. Perhaps it was the fact that it cleared up many of my questions about her sometimes unusual behaviour. And then, it was not entirely disagreeable of me to think of Holmes and Rebecca as a couple, though it was extremely improbable it would ever come to that.

I turned to Rebecca.

"You could very well be correct in that, Miss Eastman… I cannot say for certain. I only know that whatever emotion he is capable of burns far stronger than the average man… it is not in his nature to commit himself to anything with half a heart, as so many men do."

I came again a week afterward. Rebecca sat at the writing desk, working while Holmes sat in his armchair, plucking his violin absently. I had been reading a newspaper quietly for some time.

Holmes stood up suddenly and broke the silence with his abrupt voice.

"You can play this, can you not, Miss Eastman?" He thrust a copy of a Mendelssohn violin sonata with piano accompaniment in front of her.

"Yes.. I can." She said simply and slightly bewildered.

"Be so good as to accompany me now." And he directed her to the small piano in the corner.

She did as instructed, unused to such an action from him but nonetheless playing admirably and with great skill.

Holmes did likewise in his usually unconventional fashion, his eyes half closed, fiddling wildly at times and at others exaggerating the sweet, pulsating tones.

It was a treat watching the two play… Rebecca's hands skillfully worked themselves across the keys, keeping up and matching Holmes whimsical tempo as his long arm flailed away on the strings.

At the end of the first movement I applauded enthusiastically.

Holmes shook his head with what seemed to be disappointment. Rebecca looked at him concernedly.

"There is much lacking in your playing, Miss Eastman. It is entirely devoid of expression."

Rebecca sat up, her face flushed and her jaw stiffening slightly. I sympathised with her anger. What right or cause had Holmes to so heavily criticise her meticulous playing?

"Would you care to elaborate, Mr. Holmes?" She said coldly.

"Oh, you play with much obvious practice and training it is true. No doubt you think you are playing with actual expression.."

"Other musicians, of much greater skill than I, seem to have thought so too, Mr. Holmes."

"Therein lies the problem! You, like so many others rely on what they, the elite, the infallible gods of musical skill tell you is expressive, than you endeavour to imitate it exactly. I suppose that they told you that you must articulate this passage thus?" He pointed to a line with his bow and began to play it, emphasizing the proper dynamics.

"They did…and I think it is safe to say that they would regard your playing as completely unconventional, with utterly no regard for the written music as Mendohlsohn intended it. Music is governed by laws like everything else. To change the laws of articulation is to change how the composer intended the piece to sound."

Holmes shook his head. "And that… is the very reason why I confine myself to playing in the comfort of these walls, Miss Eastman. Of course any musician must realize music is governed by laws and reason. That is the very reason why it is beautiful. But it is nothing if one does not add individual expression...then you are merely in the place of a machine, a performing monkey who has learned his trade well. Music, like everything else has a purpose behind it...The composer creates it with a specific idea and then it is the performers responsibility to bring his own talent and beauty to that idea, just as different actors bring variety to one character."

"Are you actually suggesting, Mr. Holmes, that one must employ the use of feeling and emotion to a piece of music?" said Rebecca. It was a simple query, but a valid one. Eagerly I waited for his answer.

"I think you are perhaps mistaken in your notions of my views, Miss Eastman." He said with a quick, sharp glance at me. "To deny the existence of feeling is absurd. I merely hold that emotion is ridiculous,abhorrent, and even destructive unless it is governed by the firm hand of reason."

Rebecca smiled faintly and lowered her head. "I have no defence or evidence against that, Mr. Holmes."

I reclined slightly in my armchair, amusedly viewing the pair as they sparred.

I remembered Rebecca's words to me earlier that week. Was it possible? I thought, looking at Holmes as he put away his violin.

Well, I had no conclusive evidence that it was impossible, and according to Holmes himself, one should not overlook that which is only improbable, no matter how highly improbable it may seem.