A few days passed and I saw nothing of Holmes. Instead, I calmed myself by
taking leisurely walks around the city parks. It was the end of summer,
teetering on the precipice of autumn. I had found that this weather was the
most congenial for my wounded leg, which often began aching when I walked
for too long. I often found myself on benches, relaxing and observing the
people around me.
It was during one of these reveries that I spotted Holmes. I did not see him immediately, for he was sporting a pair of mutton-chop sideburns that added years to his face and seemed to have applied wrinkles around his eyes and forehead. I would not have recognised him at all if I had not caught sight of those piercing grey eyes. He stared right at me for one short second, then raised his finger quickly to his mouth and continued off out of the park.
I mused on this as I walked back home, and came to the conclusion that he must be involved in a case; there was no other explanation for his appearance. It still seemed slightly strange – who would Holmes have been tracking in broad daylight in St. James' park? There were many ladies and gentlemen strolling in the muted heat, but, as far as I could see, no traces of the criminal class that Holmes was normally involved with. My questions did not have to wait for long though, as Holmes was waiting for me back in Baker street.
He seemed to have completely forgotten the scene of three days ago, and was at total ease in the living room when I entered.
'Ah, Watson! Splendid to see you!'
He was still wearing the mutton-chops, although some of the wrinkles seemed to have disappeared. I wasn't sure how to reply to him, but decided the questions regarding my sister, which I had been contemplating for the past days, were too important too be left unsaid.
'Holmes, do you not remember why you left three days ago? I have been worrying about you since, and now, now you turn up here, acting as though nothing has happened!'
I confess that here my emotions took the better of me, and I abruptly sat down in the chair Holmes had pulled out for me. He regarded me with an amused twinkle in those sardonic eyes.
'Of course I remember what happened, friend Watson,' His face became more serious as he continued. 'I have immersed myself completely in a case that came my way; A trifling matter, no features for you to romanticise, but still presenting some pretty problems. I emerged from it, refreshed and completely sure over how to treat this matter with your, ah, your sister.'
'And how do you intend to treat it? She is not some abstruse problem! She is an intelligent human being and deserves to be -'
Holmes cut me off here, saying 'You have not let me finish. If anyone fully appreciates your sister's intelligence, despite all prejudices thrown against her and her sex...' He stopped for a moment here, perhaps aware of the irony in what he was saying, a confirmed misogynist. 'well, it would be me. I have experienced the pleasure of talking to her, of seeing that wholly self-honed mind. But despite your sister's many positive traits, I am afraid I have disgraced myself and cannot continue any kind of correspondence or friendship with her.'
He said all of this in such a matter-of-fact tone that I would have been outraged, had I not seen the glint of real emotion in his eyes. I felt for my friend; his heart and his proud brain seemed in battle with each other. There was no doubt in my mind that he loved my sister, and that he would make a devoted husband to her, no matter what his own flaws were.
That evening I wrote to my sister. Holmes had retired early, so I wrote at my leisure;
'Dearest Sophia,
I hope this finds you well. I will not hide my intentions from you in this letter; I am writing on behalf of my good friend Holmes. Firstly, I believe he is truly sorry for his poor conduct on the last night of your stay. Ah, if only you knew the reasons! Please do not hold it against him; despite his often eccentric behaviour, I know he regards you with the utmost respect and fondness. Could he be forgiven? I have not recognised him since you have left, and, speaking from a medical view, his health is not benefiting from it. I would appreciate it very much if you wrote to him. With love, John'
Even as I wrote I knew it was close to blackmail. Holmes' health seemed to be as resilient as ever, but I knew it would do him good to talk to my sister again, even if he refused to see her.
It was during one of these reveries that I spotted Holmes. I did not see him immediately, for he was sporting a pair of mutton-chop sideburns that added years to his face and seemed to have applied wrinkles around his eyes and forehead. I would not have recognised him at all if I had not caught sight of those piercing grey eyes. He stared right at me for one short second, then raised his finger quickly to his mouth and continued off out of the park.
I mused on this as I walked back home, and came to the conclusion that he must be involved in a case; there was no other explanation for his appearance. It still seemed slightly strange – who would Holmes have been tracking in broad daylight in St. James' park? There were many ladies and gentlemen strolling in the muted heat, but, as far as I could see, no traces of the criminal class that Holmes was normally involved with. My questions did not have to wait for long though, as Holmes was waiting for me back in Baker street.
He seemed to have completely forgotten the scene of three days ago, and was at total ease in the living room when I entered.
'Ah, Watson! Splendid to see you!'
He was still wearing the mutton-chops, although some of the wrinkles seemed to have disappeared. I wasn't sure how to reply to him, but decided the questions regarding my sister, which I had been contemplating for the past days, were too important too be left unsaid.
'Holmes, do you not remember why you left three days ago? I have been worrying about you since, and now, now you turn up here, acting as though nothing has happened!'
I confess that here my emotions took the better of me, and I abruptly sat down in the chair Holmes had pulled out for me. He regarded me with an amused twinkle in those sardonic eyes.
'Of course I remember what happened, friend Watson,' His face became more serious as he continued. 'I have immersed myself completely in a case that came my way; A trifling matter, no features for you to romanticise, but still presenting some pretty problems. I emerged from it, refreshed and completely sure over how to treat this matter with your, ah, your sister.'
'And how do you intend to treat it? She is not some abstruse problem! She is an intelligent human being and deserves to be -'
Holmes cut me off here, saying 'You have not let me finish. If anyone fully appreciates your sister's intelligence, despite all prejudices thrown against her and her sex...' He stopped for a moment here, perhaps aware of the irony in what he was saying, a confirmed misogynist. 'well, it would be me. I have experienced the pleasure of talking to her, of seeing that wholly self-honed mind. But despite your sister's many positive traits, I am afraid I have disgraced myself and cannot continue any kind of correspondence or friendship with her.'
He said all of this in such a matter-of-fact tone that I would have been outraged, had I not seen the glint of real emotion in his eyes. I felt for my friend; his heart and his proud brain seemed in battle with each other. There was no doubt in my mind that he loved my sister, and that he would make a devoted husband to her, no matter what his own flaws were.
That evening I wrote to my sister. Holmes had retired early, so I wrote at my leisure;
'Dearest Sophia,
I hope this finds you well. I will not hide my intentions from you in this letter; I am writing on behalf of my good friend Holmes. Firstly, I believe he is truly sorry for his poor conduct on the last night of your stay. Ah, if only you knew the reasons! Please do not hold it against him; despite his often eccentric behaviour, I know he regards you with the utmost respect and fondness. Could he be forgiven? I have not recognised him since you have left, and, speaking from a medical view, his health is not benefiting from it. I would appreciate it very much if you wrote to him. With love, John'
Even as I wrote I knew it was close to blackmail. Holmes' health seemed to be as resilient as ever, but I knew it would do him good to talk to my sister again, even if he refused to see her.