Holmes was gone when the smell of bacon woke me the next morning, and I pulled myself upright, grinning slightly when I realized I had slept through Mrs. Hudson bringing breakfast. Several hours of sleep had left me feeling much better, and I ate quickly, deciding to try to write again. Even something on paper would give me a starting point I could edit later.
The paper remained mockingly blank, however, and I grew increasingly frustrated. I knew what I wanted to write, but the words refused to come. Time passed slowly, the sun creeping higher in the sky as I tried and failed to write more than a copied summary of the facts. The sitting room door clicked quietly shut two hours before midday, and Holmes leaned over my shoulder a moment later. I sighed, setting my unused pen in its place.
"No, Holmes. You cannot steal my manuscript. Not even you can read a blank sheet."
He undoubtedly rolled his eyes at me, but I did not bother to look up. His presence receded as he started sifting through the mail he had grabbed from the entry, and I put my papers away. I would try again later, perhaps after another nap, I thought with a stifled yawn.
"Doyle sent you another message," Holmes' voice broke into my thoughts. He paused, and I glanced back to see him holding it up to the light. "He probably wants to know when you will send another case."
"Probably," I agreed, ignoring the note he dropped to the desk next to me. That made the third one this week. I would have to stop by Doyle's office if he kept this up. More requests would not grant me the words to write even if they could change Holmes' mind.
"Watson." The rest of the mail carelessly landed on his own desk as he waved me to his room, and I followed, deciding I had missed him carrying bags upstairs. He had mentioned needing more disguise materials last week, and he would want to make sure I knew how to use them.
Instead of the assortment of putty, makeup, and costumes spread over the bed—and possibly leaking into the bedcovers—that I expected, however, all I found was a stack of papers.
"Holmes?" I asked, glancing up.
A smile twitched his mouth, and he shoved the papers into my hands.
"Why are you giving me this?" I flipped pages, skimming as I went. "You know I already have notes for the Baskerville case."
He shifted in place but made no reply.
"Holmes?"
"Maybe another perspective will help," he finally answered.
It might, though I would not have thought he would care about that. He focused on the most unexpected things.
"Than—"
"I think your readers would like this one."
I shut my mouth, glancing between him and the papers as I tried to decide if I had heard him correctly.
"You…think I should publish this one first?" I finally hazarded. I could do that, and that would give me tangible hope that I could eventually publish again, even if not for several more years.
"It can do no harm, now," he answered, obviously enjoying my surprise.
Now?!
"Doyle can be rather persistent," he continued at my silent question. "The only way to make him stop is to give him what he wants."
I made no effort to stop my slowly spreading grin. This must have been why he had been so fixated on my manuscript for the last day. He had been planning on telling me to publish this one.
"How many chapters do you think it will be?" he asked before I could find the words to thank him.
I thought through my notes. "Fourteen," I finally answered, still grinning. "Maybe fifteen or sixteen. Holmes—"
He waved me off, leading the way back toward the sitting room, and I set his notes on my desk as he stationed himself in front of the chemistry table.
"Why this one?"
He kept his back to me but answered. "That one had several points of interest, and it was long enough ago that I doubt anyone can tie your story to the true events."
My grin could not get any wider, but amusement mixed with pleasure as I realized what he was not saying. He had enjoyed that case, and that was one of our few cases that was long enough to serialize. I dared to hope this meant he would let me publish some others when this was done, but I did not ask. He would tell me soon enough.
Skimming the pages suggested various wordings I could use in my account, and I compared his notes to mine as I grabbed a fresh sheet of paper. The words finally flowed with an ease that brought a sense of relief, and I settled deeper into my chair, the scratching of my pen joining the clinking of his chemistry equipment. It had been a long week without the ability to write.
I could not kill my lingering smile as I filled page after page, and I know Holmes noticed. Like with so many other things, however, he made no comment. He knew how much I enjoyed writing.
I simply wondered if I would ever truly know his thoughts on my scribbling.
And that finishes this one :D Hope you enjoyed!
Thanks to MCH1987, Guest, and Dr who for your reviews last chapter.