Undoing
Holmes
The wilderness is vast, but there is evidence to suggest that our prospects are near. I have always prided myself in my ability to draw out those important trifles and to realize those commonplace occurrences imperative to the execution of justice. I do not regard the death of Mikhail the Druse a subtlety and, yet, fear that this investigation is proving far more difficult than I had originally imagined. To my credit, a good deal of my difficulty is resulted from our Arab escorts. Russell and I are having quite a time dodging cartography expeditions and proving ourselves to these men who can see nothing but our blue eyes. Russell has had more than her fair share of abuse; I find it most discouraging that she has not yet spoken out against such oppression. Such a suppression of emotion will surely culminate into some sort of violence involving knives or fists. Ah, Russell... yes, our guides best watch themselves closely.
Russell, safe and vulnerable in the moonlight, sleeps beside me now as our circumstances do not yet allow for additional tents. I am struck by the contrast between the quietude of this individual and the fiery liveliness that is her nature. She is so like me, Russell is. My passion has since been dampened by time and its corresponding experience; Russell is fresh, testing the depths of her mind, churning through the philosophies of men, and stomping on new grounds. It is regretful that such energy be spent on theology; conjecture based upon conjecture is no basis for a degree. But, alas, she sleeps in peace and satisfaction. I, on the other hand, lie awake and write the words of an insomniac by candlelight. This "case", if I can call it such with so little divulged information, is not troubling me. I do not have enough data to seek a conclusion. It would be a waste of time and energy. I keep odd hours, it is true, but I highly doubt that a night's rest would be unbeneficial. No, Russell intrigues me. It is Russell who keeps me awake. This girl, this - I must face it – woman, has changed me.
I have always been an independent creature. Even with Watson, dear old chap, I was never truly dependent. I was never affected. And, yet, with Russell, I fear undoing. Ah... how hypocritical; I sound more dramatic than Watson could ever dream me to be. No, I would not be "undone", I suppose. But... I think I might be affected. And, Lord knows, the mind should not be affected by the heart. I must stop gazing upon her raven hair, the slightly surprised look upon her face, and the space between us. I must disenchant myself before admiration and interest grow into...
By God, she is but a girl, no matter what she insists both verbally and non-verbally.
I must sleep and hope that it is without dreams... affecting dreams... undoing dreams...
Russell
I cannot imagine what the deuce is so important to Holmes that he must stay awake after a day's worth of traveling with a half-healed back. It sounds as if he is writing and I have never known the man to do such a thing in the four years that I have been with him. Perhaps he is writing a note of some sort or working through his thoughts on paper. I do wonder, though, since I feel his eyes upon me. No, what a stupid thought! His mind is on the case. How could I imagine differently? Well, there is no need to disturb him. I would not want to affect his thought process and throw him off. There is no need to undo him simply because I am curious.