A/N – Well, I thought I'd write a nice long chapter for a change! I hope
you enjoy it, and I'll enjoy any reviews you throw my way. Critical
comments welcomed. I know this story has been written over a period of
about 2 years, and due to this I am considering revising the early chapters
as I feel my writing style has developed since then. Any opinions over
this? Anyway, on with the story:
A few more days passed without remark. Both Holmes and I spent the majority of our time in Baker street, often silent, yet it was a comfortable silence and I felt that our friendship was once again on a stable ground. On one morning, nearly a week later, whilst Holmes was arranging an experiment and I was looking through the latest medical journal that the post arrived. Of course, this was no extraordinary event in itself, but as I sorted through the letters I noticed one addressed to my friend, undoubtedly in my sister's hand. I passed him his share of the correspondence with my heart fairly leaping. As he browsed through the letters I tried to immerse myself in my journal, but when I heard him exclaim, I looked over my book.
'Ah!'
'What is it Holmes?' I asked, trying to disguise my apprehension. I saw that my sister's letter was held lightly between his thumb and forefinger, as if it was a dangerous weapon.
'Oh, nothing of importance. Please excuse me for a few minutes.' Holmes walked briskly out of the room and into his bedroom.
I smiled to myself. At the time I had no idea what the letter could contain, but surely, I thought to myself, anything would be better than no correspondence at all. I now have the letter at my disposal, and will lay it out here:
'Dear Sherlock, (she addressed it) I do hope you are well. I have been worrying about you since our last meeting and I would like you to know that you are wholly forgiven for your conduct. I am not easily offended and it is so refreshing for me to meet somebody who fully understands my opinion that I do truly hope we can continue to be friends, for, as Sir Bacon says ' The worst solitude is to be destitute of sincere friendship'. I hope to return to London in a months' time, perhaps to establish a more stable living situation. But in the meantime I do hope we can continue this correspondence. Yours truly, Sophia'
From the regular arrival of these letters I easily deduced that Holmes had finally taken up her offer – after a week of unbearable nightly pacing and an almost permanently foul mood. I do not possess his replies to her letters, and there seems little point in reiterating all of their letters. Suffice to say they bore strong signs of a growing subject, and half-sides of arguments spanning from archaic medieval literature to the state of the French prison system.
A month passed quickly by; Holmes and I were engaged in a few celebrated cases.I had not written to my sister nor received any word from her for the whole month, but on one lethargic Thursday afternoon Mrs Hudson entered our rooms, holding a letter for me. It was a short note from my sister, saying that she expected to arrive in London the following Monday. She had arranged to stay in a hotel for a short time, whilst looking for a job as a typist or secretary. She eventually hoped to find a place to live permanently. I was happy, and a little excited, over the prospect of my sister staying nearby permanently, and not least because I was awaiting with keen interest a development in my two friends' friendship.
Admittedly, over the last few months I had played the role of more of an interfering aunt than a friend, but this can be justified by the love I felt for my sister and friend. I wanted to see both happy, and when I saw an interest such as this developing I could not help myself but feel excited by the prospect of a romance between the two. I do confess myself to being sentimental – Holmes has often criticised me for this trait – and by this time any doubts that I had previously had were laid down and instead I was impatient for the two to meet again.
On the day on my sister's arrival, Holmes was out of town, involved (I assume) in a case. I am still not sure whether this was planned deliberately to avoid my sister, but when I met her at the station she seemed upset that Holmes had not come with me, and asked after him. She soon cheered when I told her of my suspicions that he was involved in an investigation and asked me again to recount to her some of the cases that I had been involved in with Holmes. It became obvious that she was quite enchanted by my friend. I have often noticed that, although my sister is normally a very practical and concise woman, she did have a terribly romantic side to her nature. Perhaps it was the books she read in her near- solitary childhood (save me, she had few friends), but she always displayed a weakness for a romanticised view of life. Anyhow, she certainly plied me for details of political intrigue, betrayal and heroic rescues as we jangled through the streets of London in the Hansom I had hired. I left her at her hotel to settle in, and invited her to lunch at Baker street the following Wednesday. This she accepted with enthusiasm.
The next day Holmes returned from, it later found out, a village in Sussex. He seemed in the best of moods, and I chose that time to tell him of my sister's arrival. To my surprise, he seemed enthusiastic about meeting her again. The rest of the day proceeded in an uneventful fashion, as did the next morning. I dare say the all of the residents of 221b Baker street were anticipating my sister's arrival, not in the least Mrs Hudson, who was delighted at entertaining somebody.
Sophia arrived looking quite radiant. She had on a modest dress that was, if I remember rightly, a light yellow. Her arms were left mostly bare, once she took off the small matching jacket that she had been wearing. Her hair was fixed simply on her head and she wore little make-up. My sister did not often indulge in huge shows of wealth or vanity that many women tended to, and she looked the better for it.
'Sophia, you are looking lovely!' I exclaimed, upon seeing her. She blushed slightly, and replied,
'I have been searching for a job for the whole morning. I thought I should look my best if I want to be hired at all.'
She grimaced slightly at this, and I realised that she was not looking forward to having to occupy herself with such mundane work as typing and keeping dates and appointments. Our father had always supported her before, but her trip to the continent and the arrangements for my brother's funeral had effectively cleared his savings. I knew she had declined any future offers of financial help from him.
At this moment, Holmes walked in. He had been in his rooms for most of the morning. As was normal, his appearance was immaculate and he seemed to move with an elegance that I could only place as being due to a kind of nervous energy. Indeed, his whole body seemed to be tensed and on edge. He sat down opposite us and regarded both me and my sister. His gaze rested on her, and his lips gave a faint twitch. Like me, I am sure he had noticed how beautiful she looked. It was hard not to. After a pause he spoke,
'Sophia. It is such a pleasure to see you again. And thank you for your frankly captivating correspondence over these last few months.'
She gave him a warm smile and I saw Holmes relax a little. At this point, Mrs Hudson came in with a platter of steaming mutton and lunch began in earnest. Everybody congratulated Mrs Hudson on her work and I am sure that, by the time Sophia left, the lunch had been a success for everyone.
A little after that, my friend began to see my sister quite regularly. As a group we would often attend the theatre or dine once a week, but I am sure that Holmes and Sophia saw each other more on their own. Holmes would often return in the night humming snatches of an opera or a melody. Thus began one of my most enjoyable periods whilst living with Holmes. His career was full and so was his social life. He seemed in a formidably good mood during these times, and never once turned to the vices which marked the days of lethargy and restlessness at Baker street.
A few more days passed without remark. Both Holmes and I spent the majority of our time in Baker street, often silent, yet it was a comfortable silence and I felt that our friendship was once again on a stable ground. On one morning, nearly a week later, whilst Holmes was arranging an experiment and I was looking through the latest medical journal that the post arrived. Of course, this was no extraordinary event in itself, but as I sorted through the letters I noticed one addressed to my friend, undoubtedly in my sister's hand. I passed him his share of the correspondence with my heart fairly leaping. As he browsed through the letters I tried to immerse myself in my journal, but when I heard him exclaim, I looked over my book.
'Ah!'
'What is it Holmes?' I asked, trying to disguise my apprehension. I saw that my sister's letter was held lightly between his thumb and forefinger, as if it was a dangerous weapon.
'Oh, nothing of importance. Please excuse me for a few minutes.' Holmes walked briskly out of the room and into his bedroom.
I smiled to myself. At the time I had no idea what the letter could contain, but surely, I thought to myself, anything would be better than no correspondence at all. I now have the letter at my disposal, and will lay it out here:
'Dear Sherlock, (she addressed it) I do hope you are well. I have been worrying about you since our last meeting and I would like you to know that you are wholly forgiven for your conduct. I am not easily offended and it is so refreshing for me to meet somebody who fully understands my opinion that I do truly hope we can continue to be friends, for, as Sir Bacon says ' The worst solitude is to be destitute of sincere friendship'. I hope to return to London in a months' time, perhaps to establish a more stable living situation. But in the meantime I do hope we can continue this correspondence. Yours truly, Sophia'
From the regular arrival of these letters I easily deduced that Holmes had finally taken up her offer – after a week of unbearable nightly pacing and an almost permanently foul mood. I do not possess his replies to her letters, and there seems little point in reiterating all of their letters. Suffice to say they bore strong signs of a growing subject, and half-sides of arguments spanning from archaic medieval literature to the state of the French prison system.
A month passed quickly by; Holmes and I were engaged in a few celebrated cases.I had not written to my sister nor received any word from her for the whole month, but on one lethargic Thursday afternoon Mrs Hudson entered our rooms, holding a letter for me. It was a short note from my sister, saying that she expected to arrive in London the following Monday. She had arranged to stay in a hotel for a short time, whilst looking for a job as a typist or secretary. She eventually hoped to find a place to live permanently. I was happy, and a little excited, over the prospect of my sister staying nearby permanently, and not least because I was awaiting with keen interest a development in my two friends' friendship.
Admittedly, over the last few months I had played the role of more of an interfering aunt than a friend, but this can be justified by the love I felt for my sister and friend. I wanted to see both happy, and when I saw an interest such as this developing I could not help myself but feel excited by the prospect of a romance between the two. I do confess myself to being sentimental – Holmes has often criticised me for this trait – and by this time any doubts that I had previously had were laid down and instead I was impatient for the two to meet again.
On the day on my sister's arrival, Holmes was out of town, involved (I assume) in a case. I am still not sure whether this was planned deliberately to avoid my sister, but when I met her at the station she seemed upset that Holmes had not come with me, and asked after him. She soon cheered when I told her of my suspicions that he was involved in an investigation and asked me again to recount to her some of the cases that I had been involved in with Holmes. It became obvious that she was quite enchanted by my friend. I have often noticed that, although my sister is normally a very practical and concise woman, she did have a terribly romantic side to her nature. Perhaps it was the books she read in her near- solitary childhood (save me, she had few friends), but she always displayed a weakness for a romanticised view of life. Anyhow, she certainly plied me for details of political intrigue, betrayal and heroic rescues as we jangled through the streets of London in the Hansom I had hired. I left her at her hotel to settle in, and invited her to lunch at Baker street the following Wednesday. This she accepted with enthusiasm.
The next day Holmes returned from, it later found out, a village in Sussex. He seemed in the best of moods, and I chose that time to tell him of my sister's arrival. To my surprise, he seemed enthusiastic about meeting her again. The rest of the day proceeded in an uneventful fashion, as did the next morning. I dare say the all of the residents of 221b Baker street were anticipating my sister's arrival, not in the least Mrs Hudson, who was delighted at entertaining somebody.
Sophia arrived looking quite radiant. She had on a modest dress that was, if I remember rightly, a light yellow. Her arms were left mostly bare, once she took off the small matching jacket that she had been wearing. Her hair was fixed simply on her head and she wore little make-up. My sister did not often indulge in huge shows of wealth or vanity that many women tended to, and she looked the better for it.
'Sophia, you are looking lovely!' I exclaimed, upon seeing her. She blushed slightly, and replied,
'I have been searching for a job for the whole morning. I thought I should look my best if I want to be hired at all.'
She grimaced slightly at this, and I realised that she was not looking forward to having to occupy herself with such mundane work as typing and keeping dates and appointments. Our father had always supported her before, but her trip to the continent and the arrangements for my brother's funeral had effectively cleared his savings. I knew she had declined any future offers of financial help from him.
At this moment, Holmes walked in. He had been in his rooms for most of the morning. As was normal, his appearance was immaculate and he seemed to move with an elegance that I could only place as being due to a kind of nervous energy. Indeed, his whole body seemed to be tensed and on edge. He sat down opposite us and regarded both me and my sister. His gaze rested on her, and his lips gave a faint twitch. Like me, I am sure he had noticed how beautiful she looked. It was hard not to. After a pause he spoke,
'Sophia. It is such a pleasure to see you again. And thank you for your frankly captivating correspondence over these last few months.'
She gave him a warm smile and I saw Holmes relax a little. At this point, Mrs Hudson came in with a platter of steaming mutton and lunch began in earnest. Everybody congratulated Mrs Hudson on her work and I am sure that, by the time Sophia left, the lunch had been a success for everyone.
A little after that, my friend began to see my sister quite regularly. As a group we would often attend the theatre or dine once a week, but I am sure that Holmes and Sophia saw each other more on their own. Holmes would often return in the night humming snatches of an opera or a melody. Thus began one of my most enjoyable periods whilst living with Holmes. His career was full and so was his social life. He seemed in a formidably good mood during these times, and never once turned to the vices which marked the days of lethargy and restlessness at Baker street.