25. From mrspencil: a festive meal

A/N: This story follows right on the heels of Ch. 15, where Watson's uncle comes to town.

"Do not trouble yourself, Watson," Holmes assured me briskly as we ascended the steps to the restaurant. "I would not have agreed to come if I were not willing to tolerate a night of social interaction."

As was so often his habit, he had divined at once the first source of my anxiety. Despite what my readers may believe, it was not his behavior that concerned me; Holmes had impeccable manners when he so chose. Yet I had been lamenting that my desire for reassurance had led me to involve my friend in something he would consider an ordeal.

"And as for your own conduct," he said, deftly addressing the second source, "there is even less cause for concern. Surely a man who has faced a hail of Jezzail bullets may withstand a simple festive meal?"

I was not so sure, but I could not help but be touched by his efforts to reassure me. I smiled at him warmly. "Thank you, Holmes."

"Think nothing of it," Holmes said dismissively, and all but propelled me inside.

I saw my uncle at once; physically, he had changed little since the last time we had met. His hair was a little more gray, of course, and there were more lines on his face, but the stern set of his mouth and the imposing physique were exactly as I remembered them.

He stood as the waiter brought us to his table, and we all shook hands.

"Sherlock Holmes," my uncle said as my friend was introduced and we sat down. "Your name, sir, is familiar. Are you also in the medical profession?"

Holmes smiled. "No, unless it is of the little social ills that plague our country. I am a consulting detective. When the police, as they so often do, run into difficulty, they come to me, and when they have laid all the evidence before them, I am generally able to set them straight."

"You seem very certain of your abilities, sir," my uncle said.

"Confidence is necessary to my trade," Holmes replied serenely. "No doubt you also find it useful when managing your shipping concerns."

My uncle nodded and smiled in return. "Indeed I do." He did not ask how Holmes knew of his work; no doubt he assumed that I had told Holmes in advance. Somewhat to my relief, Holmes did not correct this impression.

To my surprise, dinner passed with relative pleasantness. Holmes was most complimentary about my role in his adventures — indeed, far more complimentary than he often was at the time. Moreover, with Holmes to share the burden of conversation, I was not subject to the uncomfortable weight of my uncle's full attention. He did not speak of the tension that had grown heavy between us when I had decided to join the army; perhaps he had chosen this time of good cheer and reconciliation in order to effect our own.

At length, we had made our farewells and were once again on-route to Baker Street. Holmes, perhaps fatigued by the efforts he had made, sat quietly gazing out the window of the cab.

"Thank you, Holmes," I said for the second time that night as we exited the cab.

Once again, he shrugged. "Think nothing of it."

A/N: I wanted to include Mr. Watson inadvertently insulting our Watson's writing by calling it good fiction, but I couldn't make it fit. Sigh.