AAHHHH I have exactly nine hours to finish that novel I told you about on earlier chapters, at least 30 pages long. I have ten pages so far and I'm only at chapter 2. I'm sure I won't be getting any sleep tonight.
Well, I feel terrible that I haven't updated, mainly cause this chapter has been almost done for two weeks, there were just some small details I haven't had time to revise. (I still don't have any time but I'm stealing some anyways). WOW, just realized it's chapter 20 already! oh my god!
See, I got myself in yet another little adventure, thank you so much Miss Elizabeth! (Note the sarcasm). Now, my beloved literature teacher has had me writing strictly in Spanish for the past month, which is the reason I'm a little dazed to be returning to English. Did I already say I should be writing a novel right now?
Because I just can't keep my mouth shut, let me tell you. She's going to publish a book with many short stories written by her students…
See where I'm going with this? Yes, I'm going to be a published author, I still can't get over it. Especially because the story she chose to publish is called "The Dove". Did you guess? Yes, it's inspired off Holmes' conversation with Mrs. Hudson about Irene flying away.
Now, before you rush to the nearest book store (yeah, sure!), let me tell you (in case you've never read my profile) that I live in Mexico, meaning "The dove" is actually "La Paloma" and it's written in Spanish all the way through. I'll translate it one day and post it here. One day after I finish Glowingly.
Oh god, excessively long author note! So sorry I keep rambling.
Now, you're gonna hate me. I hate myself for making you hate me, but I wouldn't do it if it wasn't absolutely necessary. Just make sure to read all the way through before you prepare the guns.
Sherlock Holmes was very fond of surprises. Especially if these presented themselves in one of his cases. With his unusual talent, the thrill of the epiphany was pretty scarce, therefore making his day to day activities so boring and uninteresting that it literally caused him pain.
Yes, surprises were always welcome.
It wasn't until that chilly morning, March 22nd of 1888, that life threw at him a brand new type of surprise. A surprise he didn't quite like so much, but believing it was a once in a lifetime experience, he faced it with his head held high.
He had no idea of what fate had prepared for him… what she had prepared for him.
Since that day, there was a certain type of surprises that he never again wanted to face. Irene Adler's surprises.
He had an alphabetical and chronological catalogue of her deceits as an avid reminder of what she was capable of doing to him.
As he laid naked under the covers of his bed and staring at the wooden ceiling, he wondered why he ever wasted his time analyzing her methods if he just wasn't going to learn the lesson.
He tried not to think about how… Temperamental? Thoughtless? Imbecile? He had been.
The morning sun came streaming through the windows, the busy street outside tried to remind him that the world kept spinning and that life still went on. He deliberately ignored it, deciding to drown in his sorrow for a little while.
He looked at the emptiness beside him, the cold sheets where her smell remained. He realized that he wasn't going to learn his lesson any time soon.
Around two o'clock, a snickering Mrs. Hudson opened the door to Mary and Watson.
Two year old Cleo was standing on the stair's fifth step as she slowly put her little foot on the lower step, then she proceeded to put her other foot down so she was standing fully on the fourth step.
And as she was doing this, Holmes was crouching down on the previous step, holding his arms out in case she tripped and rolled down the stairs.
Earlier that year, Cleo had taken her first steps… before falling flat on her face.
Holmes had decided she was not to try walking ever again.
"Holmes, of course she has to fall a few times"
"I will not allow it"
"Why don't you just stand beside her, that way you can catch her if she trips"
When he said that, Watson had no idea that Holmes would follow her around all the time for seven months.
Nor that Holmes would be almost having a heart attack when she tried to walk down the stairs all on her own.
"Holmes, enough already. She's two years old, she'll be fine without you" By the time Watson said this, Cleo was stepping down the very last step, successfully reaching the floor. Holmes breathed out a sigh of relief and stood up.
"Cleo!" greeted Watson, kneeling down to her level.
"Wawson!" she answered as she took off running towards her godfather, who caught her in his arms and lifted her up.
"That's a very pretty dress you are wearing, Cleo" complimented Mary as she touched the pearls embroidered all over the exotic fabric of her little baby pink kimono. "It reminds me of the ones Irene used to wear"
To say that the silence that followed was awkward would be an understatement.
Gladstone, who had been busy solving some... biological issues out on the front yard, decided it was a good time to make his presence known.
"Gladstone! Old friend, how nice to see you" said Sherlock as he briefly petted the dog's head. "Please, make yourselves at home. I will check if the tea is ready" with that he quickly disappeared inside the kitchen.
Watson gave Mary a pointed look, close to a glare. But of course Watson would never glare at his wife.
"Did she give it to her?" she whispered, looking down at her shoes.
"I believe so, where else could a dress like that come from?" he whispered too as he watched out for Holmes' return.
"I'm sorry"
"Don't worry, dear. You couldn't have known, I'm sure he understands. Just don't mention her again"
As they made their way to the living room, Mary decided not to ask why.
By that time Cleo had grown to have a headful of chocolate curls -which were always a difficult thing for Holmes look at, with them being so familiar- and they bounced prettily as she chased Gladstone all over the house.
While having tea, Holmes kept stealing glances at the pair, worrying that Gladstone might decide to take a bite of her hair. Or maybe she would trip over the long hem of that silly little dress her mother had picked. Or maybe Gladstone would star licking her face again... he didn't think he would stand it this time.
But much to Holmes' despair, Gladstone was behaving as properly as Watson had promised.
Now, passing on a slightly different subject, Watson had been concerned about Cleo's dress ever since he spotted her. He feared the worst for Irene's kimonos, supposedly safe in the chest at the feet of his old bed. Sometime around the evening he just couldn't stand the expectation anymore.
"Would you excuse me for a moment?" without waiting for an answer, Watson stood up and hurriedly made his way upstairs.
Both Holmes and Mary stared after him, perplexed.
Holmes relaxed back into his chair and putting on a small smile he asked "Well, Mary, When will you and Watson be having one of your own?" apparently trying to start a small conversation.
"We're not in a hurry. Our family will grow when the time is right" her voice was a little tight as she answered. She wasn't comfortable with the subject of not getting pregnant at her late twenties.
"Yes, I understand perfectly" he amended before taking a sip of his tea. "But tell me, dear, how long have you been married? Six years?" Sometimes he wondered what it was about bothering people with their most personal problems that he enjoyed so much. He hadn't found a suitable answer for that yet.
"How long had you known Irene when she knocked on your door pregnant?"
He should have learned from that lovely evening at the Royale that insulting Mary Morsten Watson would always end making a fool out of him.
"She didn't knock" he mumbled, trying not to glare at her for he knew he deserved that.
Holmes had a déjà vu when Cleo tripped over the hem of her silly dress and fell flat on her face. He just pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking that there were too many lessons he wasn't learning lately.
Only after having her godfather tell her she would be alright Cleo stopped crying. Watson told her she should rest for a while, so she went to sit by her father's feet, with Gladstone loyally by her side.
She would pet the dog's head, all too awkwardly and maybe not to pleasingly for him. But Gladstone, like his master, was a gentleman and if he felt any discomfort from the girl's actions he didn't show it
Not long after that, Holmes stood up and without a word went to the kitchen, returning not long after with a plate of water. "I'm sure dear Gladstone must be thirsty after so much running around" he explained, bending down to place the plate beside the dog. "For the old times, my good friend" he whispered, petting Gladstone's head.
That night, the Watsons left 221b Baker Street pretty annoyed, behind them a smirking Holmes admired the picture. A gentleman with an arm protectively wrapped around his wife's shoulders… and a poisoned dog under the other arm.
Another year went by, and it was the day before Cleo's third birthday. Sherlock sat at his desk's chair, mindlessly plucking the strings of his violin.
Midnight came around and found him the same. He heard her voice from the other room, but that night he couldn't find it in himself to go and meet with her.
So he waited, he just wanted her to leave already.
Obviously, the night wasn't going to play out like that, and some part of him knew he wasn't going to get rid of her that easily. Perhaps that was the reason why he could seat there, unfazed by her presence in the building.
It took a little longer than he expected, but eventually his door opened to reveal a smiling Irene Adler, humming absently as she made herself comfortable like it was her own bedroom.
Holmes examined her silently, out of habit. He couldn't believe he was seeing a new wedding band in her finger. "Is that from your new husband?"
"It's from the same one, actually. He gave me a new one after I told him I was robbed, which is sort of true"
"Two years? With the same man?"
"Almost three, Actually" his fingers started plucking faster.
"Did the dress survive this year?" she asked as she went to seat on his bed.
"Yes, the dress is in perfect conditions. However, she outgrew it already"
"Oh, what a shame" she said, slouching her shoulders dramatically. "I would've liked to see her on it"
Holmes plucked even faster as he restrained himself from making a sarcastic remark.
"How did last year's birthday go?"
"Hmm, she walked down the stairs all on her own" he finished the sentence with a long yawn before rubbing his face with his hand.
"I'm sure something more eventful happened"
"That was quite an event. You can't appreciate it because you weren't present"
She couldn't disagree with that. "You don't look so happy to see me" she asked in a small voice.
"That's because I'm not happy to see you"
"I wouldn't go that far. You missed me"
"I always do, you already knew that"
"Oh, and why did you miss me?" a sly smile started to form in her lips.
He sighed tiredly "I'm not in the mood for these games tonight"
"You're never in the mood" she whined flirtatiously, he just fixed her with a glare.
"Miss Adler" he grunted as he stood up from his chair "If you're not willing to let these games aside, then I'll have to ask you to leave"
"You were saying you missed me just a moment ago, why would you want me to leave so soon?"
"I though I wanted your company, but I realize now that I'm too exhausted. Another day, perhaps, when I'm on my element again, I might even return your insinuations"
"Very well, then" she stood up too, and shaking his hand in a busyness-like manner she added "Until next year, it is"
That did it.
He kissed her. Simple as that.
But true to his word, this year he wasn't so happy with her.
In a more than aggressive manner and without pulling his lips away from hers, he ripped the wedding ring off her finger, throwing it over his shoulder without looking back to see where it could have possibly landed. He just didn't care.
Her finger ached as she ran her hands over his back. Her husband had given her a smaller ring to make sure it wouldn't be stolen again. But she hardly noticed the skin layers that had peeled off, she had more important matters at hand. Like unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. After failing two times in a row, she decided to just rip it off his body like he had ripped the ring off her finger.
It was like the old times. They were fighting for control over the other. This time, though, the fighting was purely physical. Irene worried -during half a second- that she'd have to explain where the bite marks on her neck came from, and Sherlock vaguely acknowledged the scratches in his back.
All in all, they had always enjoyed fighting with each other.
Quite the long one, huh?
Don't hate me. We're not really that far from the end.
It might feel like a long time because of my irregular and far spaced updates, but my summer vacation starts June 9th, so hold on till then, please!
Now, I had some major trouble with Gladstone, I mean it with love but… what does he do? He just farts and gets killed by Holmes. I did the best I could but I didn't really have that much to work with. Then again, let me repeat that I say it with all the love existent on earth!}
NEWS FLASH! please, pretty please, I beg you to go to my profile and vote for the word you like the most cause in my head it's a tie.
I know it's weird, but you'll find out next chapter and it would really help me a lot! it's extremely important. (for me at least)