It was an autumn evening; brisk, but not quite yet biting. Holmes and I strolled away from the slowly dispersing crowd of our fellow concert-goers, between flickering orange pools of lamplight that brought out the angles in Holmes's ascetic features, emphasizing each high curve and long shadow. Around us, the city was never truly silent; there was always someone with some nighttime errand to keep them away from home and hearth, but for all respectable intents and purposes we had the narrow, winding avenues to ourselves.
Holmes's thoughts still seemed to linger in the bright concert hall, as he hummed a snatch of the last piece we had heard, his free arm conducting an invisible orchestra in broad, sweeping motions, even his step was lighter to march roughly in time with the music. Beneath the sleeves of my winter coat, I was keenly aware of his long, thin fingers tapping absently against my arm, unable to remain entirely still, though he made no move to pull free from my loose grasp. The incisive detective had apparently given way to the artful dreamer, lost in a world of harmony and sweetness, yet I could not but wonder if for all of his abstracted maner, he was no less aware of what he was doing than when his keen eyes fixed upon me to bare my very soul and treacherous fluttering heart, my cheeks flushed with the cold winter air. I was always an open book to him - as he had demonstrated on numerable occasions in the few years of our acquaintance, interjecting into my train of thought after nearly an hour spent, to all appearances, lost in reflections of his own - but I feared that I would never be able to decipher his enigmatic nature.
I discreetly drew a little closer to Holmes as the wind picked up. Our shoulders only just brushed together, but my eyes did not leave Holmes's keen features, watching for the slightest flicker. Neither missing a step nor a note, Holmes's eyes flitted over to peer at me from beneath his fine lashes, his grey irises glimmering in the lamplight, brighter than any stars. His thin lips, caught mid-melody, turned upward into a wry, teasing smile.
And then, as quickly as I had drawn his gaze, Holmes's attention coyly turned away, as though he had never been distracted at all. But, for the moment, his musical expounding stopped, leaving us in silence, aside from the distant sounds of the drowsy city. Suddenly self-consciously aware of how intently I had been staring, I too looked away.
However, I could never keep away from him for long. His arm had not left mine and now my fingers tentatively curled a little tighter around it, as though I fancied I could grasp such a mercurial being, even as I knew I could never truly hold him. For the time being, however, he assented to remain and nothing could make me happier. I again hazarded a glance up to meet his glittering eyes, to my surprise fixed not upon the quiet street, but on my own humble person. As I met his gaze, his features lit up as though he were delighting in a private jest that I yearned to share, inviting me if only I could deduce the answer.