A/N - Well, I haven't continued this for over a year now, and only recently
remembered it. I'm a little embarrassed over parts of it, but I thought I
would continue the story as I'd like to see if my writing style has matured
at all. Please review and tell me what you think.
Another few days passed, and, to my dismay, my sister's visit was drawing to a close. We had spent the rest of our time strolling around the great city; I showed her some of the more renowned museums. Although she seemed interested, she was distant from me during those days. Her eyes often seemed to be fixed on a far-off object and a small smile played on her lips for no apparent reason. Neither of us had seen much of Holmes during that time; Lestrade had been calling on him continuously and when I asked if he was occupied with a case he brushed off my curiosity saying that Lestrade's problems could hardly be merited with the terms 'cases'.
So it was that I found my sister and I alone on the last day of her visit. Before dinner, which we had agreed to take at Simpson's again, she returned to her hotel to dress and I returned to Baker street. Holmes was there alone and seemed unoccupied. I had decided that I would invite him to dinner that night, as he and Sophia had seemed to enjoy one-another's company. He was smoking, his chair facing the wall. I approached him with a slight sense of anxiety; his tense posture seemed to suggest one of his bad moods had taken him.
"Good afternoon Holmes."
He hardly seemed aware of my presence.
"I don't know if you're aware of it, but tonight is my sister's last night here. I thought you might care to join us for a farewell meal?"
He remained silent, still facing the wall.
"Holmes?" I inquired in an exasperated tone. Upon receiving no response I walked to my room, exasperated by the man.
Just before I walked through the doorway however, he replied, "Watson - sorry, yes, I'd be delighted to come tonight. When and where?"
After I had told him, he sprung out of his chair, thanked me, threw on his coat and left the rooms. I was left, wondering what went on in my friend's mind.
I met Sophia at her hotel at seven. We caught a hansom to Simpson's and upon alighting, looking into the window, I saw the figure of Holmes, sitting alone at a table. Across his countenance was such an expression of melancholy I looked down again, embarrassed at seeing such emotion on my friend's usually stony face.
But when we entered the restaurant, Holmes smiled and motioned for us to join him. He seemed, again, full of nervous energy, and the conversation skittered across many topics, finally alighting on my sister's plans. We had talked of them before and she had vaguely mentioned visiting father again, possibly for a longer time. Father's home was in Hertfordshire, in a small town where he was magistrate. I was slightly surprised at this, as there was not much for a young lady to do in that part of the world.
"Are you sure you do not want to stay longer in London?" I asked, "If the hotel is too costly you could always stay in Baker street; I'm sure Mrs Hudson would be delighted, and the spare bedroom is fine." But she shook this off, saying "No John, I do not want to be a burden on you. Although I may return to London and maybe find employment as a secretary or typist, I've heard there is substantial pay for them."
I noticed that whilst this discussion had been going on, Holmes had become quiet, his usually so closely-guarded features not able to disguise the melancholy expression of before. Quite suddenly, he stood up. "I am so sorry, but I have just remembered something of the utmost importance. I bid you a good journey for tomorrow, and I hope you can forgive me this rudeness, but I really must go." He walked quickly to the door.
"Really, Holmes! Can it not wait until tomorrow?" I called after him, but he had already donned his coat and was stepping out of the doorway.
Sophia looked shaken. "I hope I have not insulted him." She said worriedly, "That would be the last thing I would want to do." I tried to comfort her, telling her of Holmes' eccentric behaviour and tendency to rush off without warning. "I'm sure it was something to do with a case" I told her. But despite this Sophia was still looking upset by the time we parted. She had told me not to see her off the next morning as she was leaving from Euston station, which was just across from her hotel. I had grudgingly agreed, promising to write.
I returned to Baker street and was surprised to find Holmes there. It seemed that he had thrown himself into some experiment, but when I came in he turned around, an apologetic look on his face. But before he could say anything I began admonishing him.
"You should be ashamed of yourself Holmes. Sophia didn't deserve that, I'm sure you-
" I know, Watson! Do you think I am proud of the way I behaved?" He turned to glare at me, and then stalked to his armchair, grabbing his pipe from the fireplace.
"Then why, Holmes? I don't understand. But for whatever reason I think you should apologise to my sister. I'm sure you can catch her before she leaves tomorrow!"
Holmes winced. "No. I cannot see her again."
"Is she that bad? For a while I thought you liked her, you certainly seemed to enjoy her company before. Has she offended you? Or is your rudeness completely undeserved?"
He turned to me, his voice tight and cold. "Your sister has not offended me, quite the contrary. Yet I still cannot see her again, not even to apologize."
"I don't understand Holmes."
"Can't you see Watson. I love you sister. I've tried to suppress this, but I have been attracted to her from the first time I saw her."
I gaped stupidly, lost for words.
"Now you know, I think I will go to bed."
Holmes rose, his face contorted with a mixture of emotions. He seemed angry, upset and mortified. He walked with dignity to his door, where he turned, gave me one last awful look and then left me alone with this shocking news.
Please review!
Another few days passed, and, to my dismay, my sister's visit was drawing to a close. We had spent the rest of our time strolling around the great city; I showed her some of the more renowned museums. Although she seemed interested, she was distant from me during those days. Her eyes often seemed to be fixed on a far-off object and a small smile played on her lips for no apparent reason. Neither of us had seen much of Holmes during that time; Lestrade had been calling on him continuously and when I asked if he was occupied with a case he brushed off my curiosity saying that Lestrade's problems could hardly be merited with the terms 'cases'.
So it was that I found my sister and I alone on the last day of her visit. Before dinner, which we had agreed to take at Simpson's again, she returned to her hotel to dress and I returned to Baker street. Holmes was there alone and seemed unoccupied. I had decided that I would invite him to dinner that night, as he and Sophia had seemed to enjoy one-another's company. He was smoking, his chair facing the wall. I approached him with a slight sense of anxiety; his tense posture seemed to suggest one of his bad moods had taken him.
"Good afternoon Holmes."
He hardly seemed aware of my presence.
"I don't know if you're aware of it, but tonight is my sister's last night here. I thought you might care to join us for a farewell meal?"
He remained silent, still facing the wall.
"Holmes?" I inquired in an exasperated tone. Upon receiving no response I walked to my room, exasperated by the man.
Just before I walked through the doorway however, he replied, "Watson - sorry, yes, I'd be delighted to come tonight. When and where?"
After I had told him, he sprung out of his chair, thanked me, threw on his coat and left the rooms. I was left, wondering what went on in my friend's mind.
I met Sophia at her hotel at seven. We caught a hansom to Simpson's and upon alighting, looking into the window, I saw the figure of Holmes, sitting alone at a table. Across his countenance was such an expression of melancholy I looked down again, embarrassed at seeing such emotion on my friend's usually stony face.
But when we entered the restaurant, Holmes smiled and motioned for us to join him. He seemed, again, full of nervous energy, and the conversation skittered across many topics, finally alighting on my sister's plans. We had talked of them before and she had vaguely mentioned visiting father again, possibly for a longer time. Father's home was in Hertfordshire, in a small town where he was magistrate. I was slightly surprised at this, as there was not much for a young lady to do in that part of the world.
"Are you sure you do not want to stay longer in London?" I asked, "If the hotel is too costly you could always stay in Baker street; I'm sure Mrs Hudson would be delighted, and the spare bedroom is fine." But she shook this off, saying "No John, I do not want to be a burden on you. Although I may return to London and maybe find employment as a secretary or typist, I've heard there is substantial pay for them."
I noticed that whilst this discussion had been going on, Holmes had become quiet, his usually so closely-guarded features not able to disguise the melancholy expression of before. Quite suddenly, he stood up. "I am so sorry, but I have just remembered something of the utmost importance. I bid you a good journey for tomorrow, and I hope you can forgive me this rudeness, but I really must go." He walked quickly to the door.
"Really, Holmes! Can it not wait until tomorrow?" I called after him, but he had already donned his coat and was stepping out of the doorway.
Sophia looked shaken. "I hope I have not insulted him." She said worriedly, "That would be the last thing I would want to do." I tried to comfort her, telling her of Holmes' eccentric behaviour and tendency to rush off without warning. "I'm sure it was something to do with a case" I told her. But despite this Sophia was still looking upset by the time we parted. She had told me not to see her off the next morning as she was leaving from Euston station, which was just across from her hotel. I had grudgingly agreed, promising to write.
I returned to Baker street and was surprised to find Holmes there. It seemed that he had thrown himself into some experiment, but when I came in he turned around, an apologetic look on his face. But before he could say anything I began admonishing him.
"You should be ashamed of yourself Holmes. Sophia didn't deserve that, I'm sure you-
" I know, Watson! Do you think I am proud of the way I behaved?" He turned to glare at me, and then stalked to his armchair, grabbing his pipe from the fireplace.
"Then why, Holmes? I don't understand. But for whatever reason I think you should apologise to my sister. I'm sure you can catch her before she leaves tomorrow!"
Holmes winced. "No. I cannot see her again."
"Is she that bad? For a while I thought you liked her, you certainly seemed to enjoy her company before. Has she offended you? Or is your rudeness completely undeserved?"
He turned to me, his voice tight and cold. "Your sister has not offended me, quite the contrary. Yet I still cannot see her again, not even to apologize."
"I don't understand Holmes."
"Can't you see Watson. I love you sister. I've tried to suppress this, but I have been attracted to her from the first time I saw her."
I gaped stupidly, lost for words.
"Now you know, I think I will go to bed."
Holmes rose, his face contorted with a mixture of emotions. He seemed angry, upset and mortified. He walked with dignity to his door, where he turned, gave me one last awful look and then left me alone with this shocking news.
Please review!