Chapter 8

Author's Notes: Thanks to my reviewers. Haley, I know what the canon says he did, but I wanted to know what you think he did. For example, Holmes goes to Tibet: Why? Surely, it's not just to visit the Dalai Lama! I hardly think he's a Buddhist... (I have my own views as to Holmes's religion, but they will be revealed in time.)

Sailor-fussion, I hope I didn't offend you, it's sometimes hard to sound kind in short anonymous reviews...

This chapter once again owes much to the indefatiguable researches of Italian Sherlockians, who have done all the leg work for me. All the place names I mention are real (or at least were real in 1891).

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Even in the shifting shadows of the carriage, Holmes could see her eyes glistening. She was engaged in an informal tour of Florence, having instructed the driver to circle around the centre of the ancient city. It truly was amarvel, he thought, as he gazed at the imposing brick facades of the Renaissance palazzos. The spring sunlight was clear, with none of the swirling yellow fog that choked the vistas of his native London. At every turn were landmarks whose histories he had read in books long ago. He now regretted that they were in the closed black landau – his visage was so altered by the beard he had grown during his wanderings and subsequent illness that he was unlikely to be recognised. It was some relief, then, that the carriage stopped and they alighted at last onto the legendary streets.

The carriage waited at the kerb as he took his first steps. He was no longer weak, but was still unsure, the memory of the pains, tremors, and nausea that had racked his body still fresh. Blinking, he noticed a mischievous smile on the face of his companion. She nodded toward the store in front of which they stood, and as he followed her gaze, he saw the name: "Operti."

"I thought you might like to replenish your stores," she beamed and produced from her purse the now-empty pouch of pipe-tobacco he had carried with him across the Alps. "It is a filthy habit," she said, "But I hope it will keep you from your other vice."

"My mind recoils at inactivity," he protested again.

"If you are not careful, you may find yourself facing permanent inactivity, Mr. Holmes!" She lifted her eyebrows to emphasise her point, and waved him into the store, smiling her smile of secret sadness.

Inside, a hundred aromas of delicate tobaccos seduced his senses. He looked back, but Miss Bassano had retreated across the street into another shop.

He spent the better part of an hour examining the stock, conversing with the shopkeeper, Corsellini, in mixed Italian, French, and English. Having purchased some fine South American tobacco with what he noted as dwindling funds, he stepped back outside into the Via Panzani. He lingered for a few moments, observing the traffic and passerby. He saw Miss (No, Mrs) Bassano approaching, and walked a few steps to meet her. She carried several letters in her gloved hand, one of which she offered to him.

"It is from your brother," she explained.

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Mr Sherlock Holmes

Care of Miss Bassano

The Villa Il Tatti

Florence

21st May, 1891

Dear brother,

It would appear that even your efforts to apprehend the Moriarty gang can stop the foolish and unorganised efforts of hired thugs. One such ruffian attempted to force his way into my offices at Whitehall yesterday. He was, of course, arrested, but I cannot believe that this will be an isolated incident. Your identity must be secured. A colleague, Mr Smith, is in Florence at this moment. Miss Bassano can take you to meet him at the Gabbinetto Scientifico-Letterario. The proprietor, Giovan Pietro Vieusseux, will expect you.

I have enclosed a cheque for 500 pounds, which should pay for some of your expenses. Mr Smith will give you further information.

Please give my regards to your fair companion.

I remain as ever,

M.H.

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He silently handed Mycroft's missive to her as they sat down on a bench in a nearby piazza. Reading it, she paled, then flushed. Biting her lower lip, she returned the letter, but sat quietly, her concentrated gaze looking past the children playing near the fountain ahead of them. At length, she shrugged off her private thoughts and turned back toward him.

"I suppose we'd better go see Uncle."