Chapter Three: God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
December 26, 1888
The snow came a day too late for Christmas Day, choosing to fall instead as the sun began to set on Boxing Day. The fall was heavy at first, accumulating quickly on the still, quiet, city streets of London as the inhabitants recovered from their Christmas Day cheer, many recuperating in time to begin the second round of celebrations that invariably occurred as they went out to visit friends and relatives on this the second day of the twelve Festival Days of Christmas.
The flakes drifted thickly but slowly down on the negligible breeze, as the Brougham Watson had hired for the evening turned off the Tottenham Court Road onto Alfred Place, an upper middle class residential area of wealthy merchants and bankers who had not quite made the leap to either exceptionally wealthy or high society. It was, however, notable in the minds of both Watson and his silent friend seated opposite for one particular resident. For here lay the home of Mrs. Cecil Forrester and, more particularly, of the governess of her children, Miss Mary Morstan, soon to be Mrs. John Watson, M.D.
Watson leaned out the window eagerly as they turned into the Place, causing Holmes to barely stifle a sigh and a roll of his eyes at the puppyish quality his closest friend always seemed to don whenever his lady love drew near.
"Really, Watson," he chastised. "You look rather like my father's old Labrador with your head protruding from the carriage window like that. All we're shy of is your ears flapping in the wind. Try to contain your enthusiasm, and remember you last saw your lady on Christmas Eve, not Easter Eve," he groused quietly, his white gloved hands holding his silver topped cane in front of him as he sat in his silk top hat and dress clothes beneath his black overcoat and white scarf.
Similarly garbed, Watson drew his head back, and brushed the snowflakes from his own hat to look at his closest friend.
"Holmes, my dear fellow, if you were a different sort of man, I would surely appeal to your sense of romance and of the season. But as doing so is akin to making the same appeal to a calculating machine, I will simply say that I have yet to wish my fiancée a Merry Christmas, and am eager to do so," he replied, talking to him as if he might to a small child, for on this subject at least, Sherlock Holmes proved himself to be ignorant in the extreme.
Holmes huffed slightly the tapping of his cane on the carriage floor indicating a certain level of nervous tension in his demeanour, causing Watson to sniff and look at him closely.
"I do hope you're going to take a happier line with your professor when you see him this evening. I thought you were in a good mood, and eager to meet him," he commented.
"I am..." replied Holmes quickly, "so much so that I would be obliged if you didn't take too long in wishing your fiancée the compliments of the season." He paused with a brief nod towards the window on seeing the figure of Mary Morstan standing in the shadows of the portico of the house as she awaited their arrival.
Glancing at the doctor, Holmes pursed his lips, evaluating his own somewhat excitable behaviour and finding it lacking in courtesy to his friend. "Driver!" he called, tapping the ceiling of the carriage. "Pull in here," he ordered, drawing the carriage up short of the house in order to give them a little more privacy. "Off you go, Watson..." the detective teased, as he pushed the door open with his cane. "Bound away to her."
Giving his colleague an arch look and a swift smile, Watson firmly tapped his top hat down on his head, and stepped swiftly out onto the crisp snow covered path, before walking briskly towards the steps and covered doorway to where his fiancée stood.
"Good evening, Mary," he greeted her with a broad smile, taking off his hat as he reached her and the stone awning, his eyes shining in the lamplight. "You look simply splendid," he noted appreciatively as she stood before him, her long pale blue dress only covered by her long black army overcoat, which indicated her lack of funds, and her coiffured hair covered in a light scarf. "If a trifle cold," he added teasingly, as he leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Are we late?" he asked, staying close to her.
Mary Morstan gave her fiancé a bright and warm smile, as she offered him her hand, squeezing his as soon as he took it. "Not at all, John," she replied with a shake of her blond head. "I suppose my excitement was so great that I couldn't contain myself a minute longer indoors." Her chuckle was light and mirthful, as her gaze took him in. "That and my young charges, though in their early adolescence, would not stop pestering me with questions about my upcoming evening. I must admit, the quiet fall of the snow was rather welcome."
"Did you have a good Christmas with the Forresters?" he queried, before dropping his own eyes a little. "I must confess to thinking of you often yesterday."
Her thumb stroked his softly, while her quiet but pleased smile widened on her face. "It was pleasant, and the girls were very pleased with their presents. Though most certainly very merry, I must confess to having a feeling of incompleteness..."
With a nod, Watson gaze rose back up to meet hers. "Most definitely...I look forward to a time when our Christmases will always be spent together and in our own home," he agreed softly, before, pausing only to take a quick glance around, grasped her gently by the shoulders and moved her back into the shadows for privacy. Lowering his head, he kissed her softly, his arms slipping around her, and holding her until they broke. "Merry Christmas, Mary," he whispered softly into her lips.
"Merry Christmas, John," she murmured with a contented sigh, her gloved fingers stroking his back softly, and her blue eyes shining with affection and perhaps a little more.
"Now!" he said briskly, taking a reluctant step away from her and slipping her arm around his. "I promised Holmes I wouldn't dally with you too long. He is eager to get to the Foundation Party...if you can believe it." An amused grin formed on his face, as he started to walk with her.
Her eyebrows rose up in swift amazement. "He...is? Why?" she inquired, rather baffled at the concept of her fiancé's generally socially reclusive roommate actually seeking out a large gathering of people for recreation.
"A-ha!" he exclaimed, his eyes twinkling deviously. "I told you about our receiving the invitation from Miss Thurlow to the Thurlow Foundation Christmas Party and his immediate negative reaction?" he asked her with a chuckle.
She nodded slowly with a sigh. "Indeed...what changed his mind? Not Helen, I should think..."
"No indeed," Watson agreed with a nod. "All though it was Miss Thurlow who pressed me to see if he would come. I believe she still carries some slight worry over how things lay between them the last time they parted and wishes to make amends. But, no matter how I pressed him, he was not for turning. Until...I happened to catch sight of Miss Thurlow's guest list for the Foundation Party that last time you and I lunched with her just before Christmas." A rather smug smile washed over his features. "And whose name should I spy near the top, but the name of one Professor Otto Emmerich."
Mary gazed up at him in confusion. "Who is Professor Otto Emmerich?"
"Professor Otto Emmerich, my dear, is one of Holmes's particular heroes," he explained. "Though he may mean nothing to you or, until I knew Holmes, to me either. Emmerich is an International Prize winner for Chemistry...which, as you know, is one of Holmes's passions. The Herr Professor has pioneered a groundbreaking unit in Heidelberg University for the advanced study of forensic biochemistry. Holmes is wildly interested in it, and when I told him that Arthur Thurlow, Miss Thurlow's late father, had, before his death, secured the prominent scientist as their expert on ascertaining which scientific endeavours worthy of grants, and would be present at the party...well, never did you see such a rapid change in his deportment!" There was a brief pause, before he added, "Well, for Holmes at any rate."
She bit her lip, barely containing her smile as they approached the carriage. "I see...well...I hope all involved have a pleasant evening indeed."
"All going well," he agreed. "Miss Thurlow should feel better, Holmes will get to meet with his hero...only Professor Emmerich may not know what awaits him." Another chuckle escaped him, as he opened the door and extended his hand to her to help her in.
Mary's eyes, dancing with amusement in response, met his, before she stepped into the carriage and seated herself opposite the tall detective. "Good evening, Mr. Holmes," she greeted him. "How fare you this fine evening?"
"Well enough, Miss Morstan, thank you." Holmes tipped his hat to her, and inclined his head in salutation. "You are keeping well, I trust?" he asked, as Watson climbed in and took his seat alongside his fiancée, before closing the door.
"Yes, quite well," she replied with a smile and incline of her head.
"Driver, Upper Brook Street, in Mayfair, please!" Watson called up to their chauffeur, and a moment later the Brougham took off again, gliding smoothly along the snow covered streets. "All going well, we should be there in about fifteen minutes or so," the doctor estimated, looking at his friend and fiancée both with a smile. "About five minutes past the hour...fashionably late!"
"I wonder what the Grufstreds are like," he pondered, slipping Mary's arm around his. "He's the Vice President of the Foundation, isn't that what Miss Thurlow said? Randolf Grufstred?" he asked his fiancée.
She nodded in assent, before replying, "Yes, he's a founding partner at the solicitor's Grufstred & Banes. Martha is his wife and they have four boys and a girl. Helen says they are a most genial couple."
"Yes, and with a healthy family!" Watson agreed, smiling at the woman he loved, who returned the gesture, as she wondered for a moment what their family would be like. Indeed, she had high hopes for a healthy, full one herself.
Holmes glanced over at Mary, and noted the couple's mutual smile, deducing quickly where their minds were both drifting to. However, while he was privately happy that Watson had found a trustworthy woman to once again love and share his life with him, his tolerance levels for public displays and expressions of such affection remained decidedly low, and he quite happily and expediently changed the subject. "I understand, Miss Morstan, that you have made Miss Thurlow's acquaintance quite frequently of late?"
Pulling her eyes away from her fiancé's, she turned back to the third member of the party. "Yes, indeed. We met through John at one of their work luncheons, and found we had quite a bit in common. She's a very charming and astute woman," she replied, adding the last part for the detective's benefit, so as to put a kind word in his ear about her new friend, whom she knew was still concerned that she had offended him in some way.
"Undoubtedly so," Holmes responded with a light shrug. "Characteristics that will no doubt serve her well thrust as she is not only back into high society, but also into the world of businessmen. All though she has a worthy champion in your fiancée," he concluding, quirking a half smile at Watson.
The young woman smiled in return, as she squeezed the doctor's hand. "Quite. No woman could have a better advocate or advisor," she agreed.
Watson flushed slightly and coughed. "I merely gave Miss Thurlow a helping hand and a few names of my acquaintance. I have done nothing any other gentleman wouldn't do for a lady in trouble. You both make entirely too much of it."
Mary just continued to gaze at him adoringly, her fingers entwining with his own, while Holmes looked at them again and with a tiny shake of his head, and unable to find a subject that would not bring them back to such doe eyed looks, promptly turned his own eyes out to the city streets.
"That's as maybe, Watson," he said, "but Miss Thurlow for all her astuteness and undoubted resilience will need considerable help from all quarters, as we have already seen there are plenty of other 'gentlemen' out there quite willing to fleece her, her own Mother's family included. The more Watsons she can find the better."
Watson looked over at him, mindful of Helen Thurlow's concerns regarding his friend. "A Holmes or two probably wouldn't go amiss either," he ventured.
Holmes sighed quietly. "There is only one of me, as you are quite often relieved and quick to point out, Watson," he pointed out, smiling quietly to himself. "And I doubt very much after the outcome of the last time I was operating on her behalf that she would require my aid again." He glanced over at the older man with a shake of his head. "No, better off with a man like you, I think."
Mary frowned ever so slightly, only knowing that, like she herself, a case had brought Helen into their lives, but not knowing the particulars, it made it hard to reassure the dear friend of her fiancé. Sighing inwardly, she pushed back her innate curiosity, and gave Holmes a supportive smile. "I am sure she would be pleased for any assistance you could offer, should she require it."
"Watson is far better suited to the role then I..." he insisted, continuing to stare out the window. "I am more black knight then white."
Glancing back to Watson, Mary nodded quietly, not knowing the other man well enough to truly take on his assumptions, as the doctor wrapped her hand in both of his. "You have championed more people then I would ever dream to Holmes, and at far greater risk," he pointed out.
"Perhaps, but my reasons are far less altruistic then yours, Watson." His hazel eyes sparkled just a little as he flashed his colleague a smile. "I do it for the love it, for the mystery and the knowledge...just as I go to this party tonight. Not for social purposes but for experience and knowledge." The gleam of anticipation in his eyes was highlighted clearly in the passing street light.
The carriage sped on, and passed through Grosvenor Square to just beyond, moving towards Brook Street and what was in fact the grand twin four storey homes of Mr. and Mrs. Randolf Grufstred and their children. Having purchased their neighbour's home, the Grufrstreds had, with the help of one of the talented young architects the Thurlow Foundation, converted the two large homes into a near palatial residence.
A residence which was currently glowing with light and busy with the arrival of guests, as other carriages and cabs pulled in ahead and invitees streamed up to the doorway which was perpetually open. Once inside, the footmen, who were taking their invitations and their coats, directed them towards the two wide sweeps of polished granite stairs that led to the richly carpeted stage landing where the butler would announce them to the waiting assembly, the Grufstreds, and to the Lady President of the Foundation on whose behalf they were hosting this party due to her home's distance from London and state of mourning.
Disembarking from the carriage in turn, the trio made their way to the snowy steps, where they entered the large wide foyer warmly lit and tastefully decorated in red and gold trimmed green garlands for the season. And on divesting themselves of their outerwear, passed the downstairs study and drawing rooms and made for the curved staircase upon the initial landing of which their hosts stood greeting their guests in turn.
Once announced, the bulk of the other attendees departed into the ballroom beyond but many stood above on the top landing some four steps beyond their hosts by the balcony, greeting each other and awaiting the arrival of mutual friends.
"Dr. John Watson, Miss Mary Morstan, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes," the butler boomed, reading from his newly delivered invitations. A great number of people lingering above stopped to turn and stare at the new arrivals, their eyes going to the noted figure of Holmes who pointedly ignored their stares, and, revealed as he was in his white tie and tails, merely straightened his cuffs in the most serene of fashions as they made their way to their hosts.
Helen turned almost instantly towards the stairs on hearing the familiar names, her smile evident on her face as her eyes met the doctor's and then his fiancée's; however, when they came to rest on her advisor's colleague they widened just a little in shock. For walking up the stairs was one of the most handsome and dashing men she had ever seen, his calm assurance and lack of reaction to the talk his very name produced behind her only adding to the mystique about him. Realising she was staring, she turned back to her companions, smoothing down the new slightly beaded black mourning dress she wore, while fighting the flush of embarrassment that was striving to show on her cheeks.
Randolf Grufstred was a self made man, the son of an Austrian immigrant, and one of the most jovial and convivial men you could have wished to meet. In no way whatsoever reminiscent of a lawyer, he had impressed Arthur Thurlow to such an extent that he been immediately taken on by him to help represent both his firm and in time as part of his charitable foundation. Short and rather round, so was his wife Martha, his match in every way, as kind and pleasant as her husband, a doting mother of five, and well loved by those who knew her...if a tad excitable.
"Oh my!" she exclaimed, clutching Helen's hand. "Did Marsden say Mr. Holmes? Did he, Randolf?" Her voice rose almost to a squeak, as she turned to her husband.
"Yes, my sweet." He nodded, his fingers straightening his waxed moustache. "Indeed, he did."
She fanned herself quickly. "I can hardly believe he came! He hardly ever comes to parties you know," she told Helen conspiratorially.
The young woman smiled fondly at the matron, and nodded in agreement. "I have indeed heard that," she agreed, glancing down at her friends and the approaching detective.
Martha peered over at him, her rapid fan beats slowing gradually, and as Randolf greeted a lawyer friend, her fan slowed to a stop before she placed it over her mouth and leaned once more towards Helen. "My dear...his descriptions in The Strand and illustrations don't remotely do him justice!" she whispered to her quickly. "He is tall, yes, and aristocratic looking with those aquiline features, but quite robust and athletic, and with a full head of hair neatly pomaded...not the rather gaunt man with the receding hairline they paint him in his pictures."
She quickly greeted Randolf's friend as did Helen, and as his friend moved off Randolf chuckled. "I think you'll find, my sweet, that the man illustrated in The Strand is a model. I somehow doubt that Mr. Holmes, considering what we know of his nature, would bother to pose so he could be drawn...especially, as apparently he does not even particularly care for the stories."
"How pleasing a discovery..." Martha murmured with a smile, appearing to ignore them both. "He is much more attractive in person."
"And I am sure," Helen added as the queue moved on, "that it is for his protection as well...for if they were to draw him from life, would he not be accosted in the streets from people who need help or simply wish to make his acquaintance? Never mind, should his likeness get back to the ones he is working against." She paused as her co-hostess's last words filtered in, and found her mind quite agreeing with them.
Martha snapped her fan shut and looked at the other woman, tapping her on the arm lightly and repeatedly with the fan in admiration. "My dear Helen, how very clever of you! I never would've thought of that! Of course, that is a most sensible reason."
"How do you do, Mr Grufstred," Watson's voice intruded on them, as he bowed politely. "John Watson, M.D and this is my fiancée, Miss Mary Morstan. Thank you for the kind invitation into your home this Yuletide."
"Not at all! Not at all, Dr. Watson! Miss Morstan!" Randolf took his hand, and shook it warmly, before taking Mary's hand and kissing it. "It is we who are honoured by your presence. My wife, Martha," he introduced her as Watson kissed her hand and the two women shook hands. "And I believe you know Miss Thurlow," he finished with a beaming smile.
"Indeed." Watson smiled at her, as he took her outstretched gloved hand and kissed it. "It is good to see you again so soon, Miss Thurlow, and a Merry Christmas," he greeted her, before making way for his fiancée to greet her.
"Merry Christmas, Doctor," she returned, before grinning at the other woman and taking her hands. "And how are you, Mary? How beautiful your dress is! Did you enjoy your Christmas? And thank you for the scarf! It was most becoming, and keeps the chill out wonderfully," she enthused, her words tumbling out in a rather rambling if excited flow.
Also showing the same girlish gleam in her eyes, her friend smiled widely back. "Yes, thank you. Christmas was most pleasant indeed. And thank you for the shawl. The work is so fine...it must have taken you ages to make," she responded, to which Helen merely shook her head in reply.
"Think nothing of it, Mary. It was a pleasure to make...truly...and you are most welcome indeed," she insisted.
"You have given myself and my wife...and indeed our children...much pleasure with your stories, Doctor," Randolf informed Watson quickly.
"Oh yes!" Martha chimed in with a nod. "Wonderful renditions of such adventures...we simply must talk later! And would you do me the honour of autographing my copy of your first novel?"
Watson smiled at the petite, round woman, and inclined his head again. "It would be my pleasure, Mrs. Grufstred," he replied before taking Mary's arm and moving away with another smile at Helen before they left.
Next in the queue, Holmes stepped forward, and similarly inclined his head to his host. "Compliments of the season, Mr. Grufstred I am..."
"No need for introductions, sir," Randolph interjected as he took the detective's hand and shook it. "Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Holmes."
"Indeed?" Holmes arched an eyebrow at the vigorousness of the shake. "I hope it has paved a favourable path in doing so."
"Exceedingly so, sir...exceedingly," the solicitor agreed with a nod. "As a lawyer, sir, it is most refreshing to meet a man concerned with justice." His eyes twinkled at the joke made at his trade's expense.
Holmes regarded him for a moment before his mouth quirked upwards in a smile, until finally he released a short chuckle. "And indeed, sir, just as refreshing to meet a lawyer with a sense of humour about his own trade," he replied, as his own handshake firmness increased in return.
Randolph's smile widened, before releasing his hand to introduce him to the woman standing next to him, who's fan was fluttering wildly as she reached out her hand for Holmes to take. "My good lady wife, Martha, Mr. Holmes."
"An honour, Mrs. Grufstred," the tall man intoned politely, bowing over it slowly. "Most kind of you to invite me to your home."
"Oh no, Mr. Holmes," she insisted with a rapid shake of her head. "It was so kind of you to come. You do not know it, sir, but you will have made me the singular envy of Mayfair. I shall be able to dine out on this for years!"
Smiling but looking slightly bemused at that, Holmes inclined his head in a slow nod. "I am gratified that I might be able to...help...in some small way," he replied choosing his words carefully.
"And of course, like the doctor, you know Miss Thurlow, our Foundation President and co-hostess this evening?" Randolf finished.
Taking a step towards her, Holmes nodded. "Indeed...a good evening and a belated Happy Christmas, Miss Thurlow," he greeted her.
Helen felt decidedly nervous as she extended her hand to the detective, though determined not to show it. "How do you do, Mr. Holmes? It was most kind of you to come this evening. Have you been enjoying the Christmas season?" she greeted him, inwardly wincing at her small ramble.
Taking her hand, he bowed over it and looked up from where he was positioned, his eyes gazing her as he still held her hand. "I am well, Miss Thurlow. It is my pleasure to be here. And all things considered, it has been an enjoyable Christmas thus far," he answered each of her remarks in turn before straightening slowly. "And you? I trust you and your family enjoyed the day?"
"Indeed, they did. Matthew and Andrew received more toys than they know what to do with," she replied with a sigh. "My mother spoils them, I fear. Andrew received a chemistry set, and he spent the whole day trying to make things explode. Poor Goodwin has been on tenterhooks."
Holmes smiled vaguely. "A state of existence that from my few observations appears to be his lot...all though I would've thought that Matthew with his more cerebral and introspective ways would've been more inclined towards the chemistry set."
She nodded in agreement. "As did I, Mr. Holmes. However, it was a present from an uncle and aunt on his mother's side of the family...and they have never met the twins. I believe they got them mixed up...for they gave Matthew an archery set, for which he is not so inclined...though he did try it...and we now have a nice hole in the middle of his bedroom door." She quirked an eyebrow. "It seems he neglected to listen when I mentioned it was an outdoors item."
"Ah..." he mused. "Yes, that it is, and most certainly when you are a poor shot and in possession of three cats, a hamster, and a turtle, I believe?"
Her eyes twinkling up at him, she nodded with a chuckle, feeling more relaxed by the second. "Yes...and they are both still trying to convince me that we need a hound."
"That, I can take no responsibility for. Watson's tale is most at fault in that regards," he replied, before glancing around. "I must thank you for the invitation to this event, Miss Thurlow. I must admit I have been looking forward to it."
She appeared a little surprised at that. "Indeed? Well...I am glad that you were able to come then...I know you are a very busy man."
"True, but this Foundation is a worthy one, and an eminent one with the likes of Professor Otto Emmerich amongst its Advisory Board," he responded, glancing around the room once more. "Might you be so good as to point me in his direction?" he enquired.
Helen flushed slightly, and glanced at her co-host. "I don't believe he has arrived yet, Mr. Holmes. Mr. Grufstred?"
Randolf quickly looked at her and then at Holmes and back again, as the next guest arrived by his side. "My dear, Miss Thurlow, had you not heard?" he asked her. "The professor was taken ill on his arrival in London from Heidelberg, and is fighting off the most dreadful cold and ague. He is hopeful of being able to make our board meeting next Wednesday, but is too ill to attend this evening, and sent his apologies yesterday."
Holmes stiffened noticeably where he stood. "I see..." he said slowly. "How unfortunate."
Helen's face shifted from simply surprised to one of concern as well. "No, I did not hear. How dreadful! Does he require a physician?"
"He is well attended to," Randolf assured her. "He has many friends in the medical community, being a man of science."
She nodded, though continued to look concerned, before turning back to her guest, her voice apologetic and consoling. "I do apologise, Mr. Holmes. I truly hope this will not ruin your evening."
Holmes's nod was brief, as he took a step away from her. "Thank you, Miss Thurlow," he replied, his disappointment etched momentarily into his face before resolving itself into its usual reserved geniality. "I shan't detain you from your duties any longer." And with an incline of his head, he headed like Watson and Mary up the last few steps for the main room, before stopping and gazing in at the crowd. Taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, he hesitated before stepping into the throng with great reluctance, as Helen watched him go with a hint of worry, before turning back to the Grufstreds and her other guests.
Later, as the half hour approached and nearly all had arrived, Helen and the Grufstreds made for the centre of the celebrations, entering the brightly illuminated and decorated room, which was lit by two large fires in huge hearths at either end of the long stretch of highly polished dance floor, and also contained a small five piece piano and string orchestra that was currently providing lively music for both carolling and dance. Standing at the doorway as her co-hosts moved into join their guests, Helen glanced around at the festivities with a pleased smile.
Along the far side of the room lay a long buffet table attended to by footmen and maids serving both a myriad of refreshments and food, as well as doling out liberal doses of spiced mulled wine and fruit punch for all comers from two huge, ornate, silver punchbowls. The room teemed with life and laughter with both singers by the piano and dancers on the floor taking pride of place, and all were overlooked by the massive Christmas tree that was ablaze with candles and decorations, beside which back in a nook, and doing his utmost to remain unobserved, stood the distinctive and decidedly lone figure of Sherlock Holmes.
The tall man shifted while watching Watson and Mary take to the dance floor to join in a Promenade. Putting his empty glass down on a small table, he wished he had brought his syringe and cocaine, for the night so anticipated was now going to be long and deadly dull, because of the disappointment. A meeting with Professor Emmerich had long been something he'd looked forward too, and it was truly a great let down to know that he had been so close to a conversation with him. The few people who he had encountered thus far had could only be described as gushing aficionados, pleasant enough people but mind numbingly trivial in their conversation, and it had not taken him long to attempt to retreat out of sight.
However, he had not gone completely unobserved. Helen watched him as he lit a cigarette from one of the candles on the nearby tree, and could almost discern the waves of discomfort wafting from him. After talking briefly with a few people, the corner of her eye ever distracted by her one lone guest, she excused herself, and made her way in a roundabout manner over to him by way of a painfully slow round of the room, stopping to talk and listen to the society chat that came her way, and reasoning to herself that as a host, it would be the least she could do to entertain him a little.
Her suspicions as to his state and why were confirmed when she caught the barely contained look of boredom that had settled on his face. He'd only come to see the professor, she concluded. After all why would a man who shunned all public gatherings suddenly agreed to attend one and eagerly at that? Arriving at the tree, she sipped her champagne quietly not far from him, giving no sign that she had spotted him, as her eyes scanned the crowd, half loathe to interrupt his thoughts, but knowing that he needed some clear distracting.
Wondering if there was a way he could slip away silently so early in the evening without giving offence, Holmes suddenly became aware of the person not far from him. After a moment of indecision, his manners and obligation towards his hostess took over from his desire to disappear, and he inched forward and turned his head slightly in her direction. "Miss Thurlow," he greeted her with a rather flat tone, his mind searching for some bit of chit chat, as he glanced around the lively room. "Your...party seems to be going well."
"Why Mr. Holmes!" she replied as if not having seen him. "Indeed," she agreed, moving a little closer, and casting a quick smile up at him. "Many are seeming to enjoy it. Though I must confess, I've never been one for large gatherings."
"A difficult position to find yourself in when you are the head of two such charitable groups and a large international firm...not to mention a member of high society," he murmured. "Large gatherings tend to be the de facto situation."
She chuckled. "Yes, I know. But after a lifetime of solitude, all this..." she paused, and indicated the room with a slight wave of her hand, "is a little overwhelming. I would much rather be home in front of the fire with a good book." She glanced at him quickly, and after another brief pause continued, "I do apologise that the professor was not able to attend and any inconvenience this has caused you in any way. And though I fear I am a poor substitute indeed, might I stand in for him instead?"
He glanced down at his cigarette, and tossed it towards the fire, before replying, "I do not deny it is a blow. I had looked forward to meeting him while he was here in London, but it is hardly your fault that he is unable to attend tonight, Miss Thurlow. Please do not feel obligated to attend on me. You have other guests, the vast majority more lively than I, and far more in keeping with the festivities."
She shook her head, and turned to him more fully. "I do not feel the slightest bit obligated, Mr. Holmes. If I did not wish to attend you, I would not have offered. Besides...you would be doing me a service as well. I am not able to be as social as I would normally be expected to be due to my current circumstances. So since I cannot dance the night away, nor am I very interested in the games that will surely follow...you would be doing me a great favour in providing me with a higher level of conversation than who looks more fetching or who is now connected with whom." She grimaced just a little. "I'm afraid I've already had more society gossip this evening than I can take."
He regarded her in silence for a moment, gauging her words, before nodding slowly. "Of course, Miss Thurlow," he replied. "Though I cannot promise to be the best of companions. I too would rather be curled up at home with some reading matter."
She gave him a commiserating smile. "Indeed, Miss Havisham is currently plotting away in my book, and though I have read it many a time, I cannot help but hope that this time Estella will not be so cruel, and Pip will become a gentleman and not get embroiled in his benefactor's mess." She sighed and shook her head wryly. "But, I fear it won't be so."
"Why not?" he asked with an inquisitive tone. "Will Miss Havisham succeed in plotting to murder this Pip?"
She blinked in surprise at his words. "Murder?" she repeated with a slight frown. "Oh no, Mr. Holmes. She doesn't want to murder him...well, perhaps destroy his and all men's hearts...but not murder." She paused, her head tilting to the side as it did whenever she grew focused on a conversation. "Have you not read Great Expectations?"
"I have not," he answered readily, "Is it a worthy read?"
Her eyes widened, even as her head bobbed adamantly. "Oh yes! Charles Dickens is a wonderful author. Great Expectations, Oliver Twist, A Tale of Two Cities...all very poignant and insightful novels. They speak a great deal of the human condition," she enthused, before quoting, "It is a far, far better thing that I have done than I have done before...it is a far, far better resting place I go to, than I have ever known."
His brow creased slightly. "Dickens...yes, the social rights campaigner and raconteur. I do recall he was an author." He glanced over at her. "You seem to enjoy his work, though I can't say I'm familiar with it myself."
She shook her head a little in awe at his admission. "He is one of my favourite authors...a tad on the melancholy side sometimes...but a fine storyteller. What books do you prefer, Mr. Holmes?" she asked with curiosity.
"Books?" Holmes replied. "Texts and treatises affecting the human condition mostly. The sciences - chemistry, mathematics, biology, Grey's Anatomy, history and geography texts, and some few on comparative theology and philosophy."
Helen nodded slowly as she took that in. "I am afraid I know little of science and anatomy...however, I have read the works of Plato, as well as many classical texts. I have always found Plato's metaphor of the cave to be rather fascinating...and the illusion that we are all watching shadow puppets on the wall rather than really seeing the world around us."
"Plato...for all his immensely impressive logic sometimes spoke out of his hat. For while we may or may not be watching the shadow puppets...the real world impacts on us just the same. Personally, I find the works of Plato's predecessors far more edifying and less bone dry," he replied rather bluntly.
"I agree wholeheartedly, Mr. Holmes. He was rather hard to get through," she admitted with a chuckle. "I actually prefer the plays to ancient Greek philosophy...but in their society all things were connected. Not that they are not in ours...just more intricately so in that time." She paused to take a sip of her champagne. "What are you currently reading, Mr. Holmes?"
"A somewhat obscure history of Jacques Rumina...a groundbreaking chemist working in the fields of toxins," he answered. "It is detailed, if a little too enamoured of the particulars of his life for my liking. A book on science should be just that."
She quirked a slender brow at that. "But, if it is a history of the man...then it is bound to be about him more than his work, wouldn't you agree? Otherwise, if what you wished for was the purely scientific aspect, why not simply read a written work of his?"
"Few survive..." he lamented somewhat. "Rumina lived and worked in the 1500's, and much of his work was lost through civil strife and internecine wars." Shaking his head, he gazed over at her. "If you advertise a book on the life's work of a man, I would prefer you live up to such claims. I have no desire to speculate on what someone had for tea four hundred years previous." He pulled out his cigarette case again from his pocket. "Nor how a piece of undigested cheese might have influenced the outcome of a test for arsenic."
She bit her bottom lip to keep from releasing the laugh that threatened to burst out. "Well..." she postulated after a moment. "Perhaps...perhaps historians are interested in such findings. Sometimes people find the amusing anecdotes of how the work was reached as relevant as the actual results."
"It is not important, Miss Thurlow," he returned quite bluntly, "nor indeed is most any novel. Fictionalised lives...and events are only the shadow puppets you spoke of. Mere reflections of real life. I have no need of them when I have the real world to deal with, which is why I never touched a novel again after school. It distracts the mind..." He pulled out a cigarette, before closing the case, and returning it to his jacket pocket. "With all the flotsam of his personal life banging around in your head, how is one supposed to truly analyse and sift through results?"
She looked a little surprised at his narrow view, but recovered quickly. "The rational mind is not the only part of one's brain that needs to be exercised, for without imagination...how can one truly utilize one's whole mind? Novels...and indeed amusing stories serve this purpose. It is about balance, Mr. Holmes," she answered.
"My imagination, Miss Thurlow, is amply utilised in the pursuance of my cases, I assure you. I must entertain all possibilities, no matter how remote, and put my imagination to work as to how such scenarios come to pass. I spend many hours in such silent cogitation...but my imagination is in the here and now. Not on the pages of a novel." He turned to her a little. "Do not mistake me, Miss Thurlow. I do not wish to denigrate great authors, but I merely have no time for them...my brain cannot afford to mix fact and reality with fiction."
She sighed and shook her head at his stubbornness. "Very well...then I shall not attempt to convert you to the merits of allowing one's brain to release and take a holiday from the rigors of everyday life." She gave him a warm smile regardless, recognizing that this was one debate she was not going to win.
He inclined his head with a slight smile. "In that, you are more gracious and more subtle than the good doctor." He nodded towards his friend, who was departing the dance floor with his fiancée. "When he discovered the deliberate gaps in my knowledge, he forced me to a test to discover how little I knew in certain areas. Quantifying my ignorance as it were."
He glanced back at her. "But you know of my relaxing pursuits...of my boxing, fencing...occasional riding...and you have heard me play, Miss Thurlow. While you have your literature...I have my music. It no doubt achieves the same level of mind expansion you speak of...but does so not by filling the mind...but by clarifying it...allowing it to focus inwards on a mood or a thought and sift through it. Music, Miss Thurlow…music is the universal language. It can calm and arouse, create fervour or introspection...all without a word...truly, dear lady, it has charms to do more than merely soothe the savage breast. So you know I do allow my brain its release...and ease."
Her expression showed her agreement as soon as he mentioned music. "Indeed. I too find much comfort and joy in listening to a well played piece. In fact, I must confess to attending many a recital on those rare occasions that I was allowed a short break from my mother….usually when one of our relations came by for a visit. It can truly lift one's soul when in a black mood," she replied, almost breathing the words. "I would close my eyes and float away on the notes...the melodies of Chopin on the piano...a string quartet playing Bach...or an accompanied soloist playing Vivaldi or Mozart." Her smile turned a little lopsided. "Though, you must think me rather silly for going on so...but I cannot express how I looked forward to those."
"I think nothing of the sort, Miss Thurlow," he replied, his smile widening slightly, and his understanding writ large in his expression. "I am a great admirer of such concerts. If there is one regret I have is that, more often than not when I travel there occur in London the most enticing performances - ones I would have cheerfully stayed and enjoyed, but which, by the time I am returned and have some free time, they are over...or Watson is otherwise engaged." He regarded her thoughtfully. "Your choice in the matter must have been similarly restricted...as your financial circumstances would only afford you egress to only the free or lowest cost seats?"
Helen inclined her head in reply. "Yes...but I did not need to see them play to enjoy it. As long as I could hear it..." She sighed at the memories, and took a sip from her glass. "I suppose the restrictions on my time and monetary circumstances made me only appreciate it more."
He nodded, appreciating that too, before answering, "Still...now that you are with means, the warmth of an interior or and the feel of a good seat beneath you would no doubt help the mind's relaxation just that little bit more." The smile that was touched his lips was one of gentle joviality, as for the first time that evening, he began to truly appear at ease.
"Oh yes...and I am also, l must say, looking forward to attending an opera as soon as propriety allows. I have never been to one...and the chance to not only hear the music, but see the story unfold is most appealing. Mother says that they are indeed something to behold," she agreed, her own smile and her enthusiasm for the subject lighting her face.
"Your mother is, quite correct," he confirmed. "When staged correctly and cast adequately, there is nothing that fills the ear and eye so well as opera...though I must confess, I care less for the librettos than I do the music. But you should make all due haste to Covent Garden or the Royal."
"Then as soon as I am able, I shall," she assured him, her eyes twinkling with pleasure that she had found someone who understood her love of music.
"If you would care to listen, I would be happy to impart what knowledge I have of concerts and operatic productions that might produce a resonance of one sort or another within." He paused and gazed around the room, as if realising the company about them for the first time. "But...my manners!" he said suddenly. "I should not keep you standing here. Would you care to take a seat?" He indicated some empty chairs not far from them. "And perhaps I might fetch you a glass of mulled wine or punch to sustain you while we continue our conversation?"
"That would be most kind of you, and I would indeed appreciate any knowledge you would care pass on," she agreed, still quietly composed, but with a pleased smile on her lips.
With one hand behind his back, Holmes indicated the seats beyond with the other, and on her turn, followed her towards the chairs. Once he saw her seated, he moved briskly across the room to fetch some punch, deciding on something cool to drink as the warmth in the room had been steadily rising through out the night, and on returning, sat a little apart with her, and began a veritable A to Z of composers in their conversation while the party whirled on around them. This pattern continued through the night, only temporarily ceasing when Helen, forced to by sheer duty, had to stop to do a sweep of the room as hostess, or help to organise a game or musical event, after which she quietly returned to her seat where their conversation picked up again.
As the evening wore on, so too did the dancing, and after a particularly vigorous Gavotte, Watson led a laughing and slightly out of breath Mary from the dance floor to the refreshment table, gathering the silver ladle to begin to pour two crystal cups of the refreshingly cool fruit punch.
Accepting the proffered drink, Mary turned to take in the crowd around her, finding that she was having one of the best and most active Christmases she could ever recall experiencing, though part of her could not believe that she was in the same room, let alone dancing and conversing with so many distinguished personages. As she waited for her fiancé, her eyes froze in mid sweep of the room, widening ever so slightly as she took in the rather animated Sherlock Holmes and smiling face of her friend.
"John..." she hedged, as they moved away from the refreshment table. "I see that Helen and Mr. Holmes have put aside any perceived differences."
"Hmm?" he murmured, looking up from his cup, glad for both the breather they were taking and the soothing chill of the punch. "Oh yes..." Watson nodded slowly on seeing what she was. "How amazing," he agreed, with a shake of his head. "When we couldn't tempt him to stay with us, I was full sure Holmes was all set to sink into a morass of ill humour because his professor didn't show." He paused to take a sip of his drink. "It seems she must have caught his attention with something just before he tipped over into that mood of his." With a sigh of relief, he nodded, his mouth curling into a wry smile. "Good for her...means I shan't have a bear of a companion tonight."
She nodded silently, continuing to take in his partner's almost lively face and her new friend's nods and smiles. Indeed, there was a light in her eyes Mary could not remember seeing in her before. "Indeed...he looks...most entertained, as does she," she mused, her expression thoughtful.
Watson caught her tone and turned his eyes to her, across to the conversationalists, and then back at his fiancée again, his head gradually moving in a slow sedate shake. "My dear Mary...darling girl...do not even begin to think of it," he advised, reading her mind clearly.
Shifting her attention back to him, she saw his rather bemused if serious expression, and with a sigh nodded in agreement. "Very well...but you must admit, they do make a rather handsome couple. And I haven't seen either of them look so lively...even when Mr. Holmes was working on my case..."
Despite his better judgement, Watson looked again. "Yes...I will admit he appears animated, but she probably has him talking about chemical formulae or some such!" he asserted with a loud sigh. "And as for a handsome couple...yes, they do, but I've seen Holmes engage with many a beautiful woman and never a flicker has come of it. I have no hopes of Sherlock Holmes in that regard."
Taking a quiet sip of her punch, Mary had to admit to herself that any such hopes in making a match for her friend with her fiancé's fellow lodger were indeed...remote. However, such thoughts were tempting at the way they were speaking and the way their attention was riveted on each other. "Perhaps you're right, John," she agreed, finally turning away from the view and focusing completely on her fiancé. "I hear there is a game of charades in the other room, if you would like to take a longer break from dancing?"
Putting down his now empty glass on the table, he nodded, and extended his arm with a sheepish grin. "As much as I enjoy dancing with you, dearest Mary, I must admit I have been praying for you to say that!"
Taking his arm with a chuckle, she pointed the way to the room the game was being held, and the couple meandered off to rejoin the festivities.
The revels continued on until well past the midnight hour with Helen again only interrupting their quiet conversation for duty and decorum's sake to play the hostess and mingle a little, and Holmes only to fetch some few morsels of food from the buffet for them both, as well stopping to talk to a few admirers along the way, his mood so noticeably improved that he scarcely found them irritating in the slightest. However, finally the evening's festivities began to draw to a close and carriages were called for and coats collected as the drift away continued.
It was with some surprise that Holmes reached down and pulled on the gold sovereign on his watch chain to draw out his watch from his fob pocket and look at the time. "It seems the witching hour is upon us, Miss Thurlow," he announced, unfurling his legs and stretching them out slightly. "Time has slipped away with great alacrity...far more than I would've suspected possible at the beginning of this evening." He rose to his feet slowly, and gave her a short bow. "My thanks for providing an unexpected and most entertaining diversion tonight. I hope I have repaid it in kind by some small improvement in your ideas of which musical extravaganza would best suit?"
Ascending to her feet, she inclined her head in turn. "I am most pleased that I helped fill the gap left by Professor Emmerich in some small way. And, indeed, you have been extremely helpful and most kind for keeping me company tonight."
"Not at all...it was little enough, as I say, for your kind invitation and attention." He swept his hand towards the far side of the room and the departing throng, noting Watson and Mary talking quietly there, and falling in beside her, his hands clasped behind his back, as they walked towards them on his first stage outwards.
"Holmes..." Watson looked over at them as they approached. "We hardly saw you all night. Has our esteemed Hostess been keeping you occupied?" he inquired, casting a smile at Helen.
"In the most charming way possible," the tall man agreed with a nod. "And you? I trust, considering the amount of dancing I saw you do, you will be complaining as usual about the blisters on your feet and calling for a hot foot bath."
The doctor cleared his throat slightly with a very brief glance at Mary, before insisting, "My feet are fine, Holmes, thank you. Dancing was as ever...a pleasure." His embarrassed tone caused his friend to dip his head to his chin to hide his ever growing smirk, as Mary merely patted his arm with a soft smile on her face, not the least bit nonplussed by the detective's blunt manner.
Helen gazed at the couple and how happy and at ease they were with each other, before smiling herself. "I am gratified that you both had an enjoyable time," she interjected smoothly to her advisor.
Watson nodded, and coughed again, before replying, "Indeed we did, Miss Thurlow, of that you may rest assured. The evening was most enjoyable...even for my single-minded friend here." He inclined his head over at Holmes. "Tell me...what kept your attention so? A more faithful retelling of some of your cases? A discussion of the forces of stress and fear on the human heart and brain? Some other unsolved case sifted through?" His eyes glinted slightly at the opportunity to poke fun at his friend's interests, as he regarded him.
"Not guilty, your Honour," Holmes replied to his judge. "We talked of music, of composers...and of opera."
"Opera?" Watson exclaimed quietly.
"Yes, my dear fellow...opera," the other man confirmed. "Though I am sure Miss Thurlow's wit would be as well turned towards a discussion of an unsolved case in history, if her mind is as keen as you told me her eyes were." He turned his attention back to their hostess. "I understand you noticed some of my singular artwork on the wall upon your last visit."
Helen's brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "Your art?" she repeated with a mystified tone. "Do you paint as well?"
Chuckling, he shook his head. "I refer to my prowess with a hand gun, Miss Thurlow," he elaborated quietly. "The secreted fruits of which you most capably noted upon my wall, I was told."
Her eyes widened ever so slightly, as a light blush spread over her cheeks. "Oh...well..." she stammered. "It wasn't really that noticeable..."
"Indeed it wasn't," he agreed wholeheartedly. "A great deal less so than say my...filing system?" he queried, his light tone poking fun but simultaneously indicating that he had re-evaluated her comments of that afternoon. "Which makes the observation of it all that more keen and sharp eyed," he assured her.
Raising her eyes, which she had lowered again in embarrassment at the mention of his rather messy sitting room, she gazed at him with a rather evaluating expression on her face, unsure whether to thank him for the compliment or apologise for her words that afternoon once more. Finally, she just slowly nodded. "Thank you...so...they were on purpose?" she hedged.
"The bullet holes?" he asked. "Most definitely...when you next come to Baker Street on business with Watson, you can see for yourself just how deliberate."
Mary looked over at her fiancé in confusion. "Bullet holes?"
Watson gazed at her with some mild embarrassment. "Yes...um...from Holmes's...target practice," he explained in a quiet voice, like a boy caught by his Mama being lead astray by his badly behaved brother and doing something rather foolish, while Holmes quirked at eyebrow at blond woman as he watch her reaction.
Her blue eyes blinked. "Target practice...in the wall..." she repeated slowly, as if by saying it out loud would make some sense out of it. "I see...was it successful?" she inquired, hoping that he had at least hit the target, as she felt a sudden surge of sympathy for Mrs. Hudson.
"Oh, I would say so wouldn't you, Watson, old man?" Holmes answered with a smirk, as the doctor shot him a look of pure discomfort, his eyes pleading that he not to be pulled into this any further in front of his fiancée.
As she glancing over at Watson, Mary's eyes met her friend's across from her, resulting in the two women sharing a look of both mystification and amusement, while Helen, for her part, barely restrained the smile that fought to appear on her lips, and turned to face her conversation partner for the night.
"I must admit to being rather curious to see your art, Mr. Holmes...so, I may just take you up on your offer next time I visit Baker Street," she voiced politely, her tone light and friendly.
"Please do..." he agreed with a nod, moving them all towards the door as he began to walk. "I'm rather self critical of several of the placements of the bullet holes myself, and would value an outsider's perspective. Watson is too terrified of being overheard approving of it and facing the approbation of our dear landlady." Glancing over at his fellow lodger, he sighed in amusement as Watson flushed again.
"Only because she won't say boo to you as you well know, Holmes! So who is left for her to cavil at but me!" he bemoaned, as they moved out onto the landing.
Helen bowed her head to once more hide the grin, not so much directed at the notion of him shooting up the walls, but of the camaraderie and give and take teasing between the two. "I would be pleased to offer my opinion, if you like, Mr. Holmes."
Holmes inclined his head politely at her. "I look forward to it, Miss Thurlow," he replied, giving her a small smile before they started down the stairs. "And Watson, you need only be firm with Mrs. Hudson to keep her in check," he instructed as they descended, his face perfectly straight though his eyes were shining in amusement. "Women respond to a masterful man..." He glanced at the two in his company. "Wouldn't you say, ladies?" he asked, the humour evident in his voice.
Mary and Helen exchanged another look, before gazing straight ahead, nodding silently in unison, and both appearing to be visibly trying to restrain themselves from showing any sign of amusement. "Oh yes," and "Very much so," came the replies.
"See, Watson?" the detective pointed out, patting him on the back as they reached the foyer. "A firm hand." The chuckle undercutting his voice was unmistakable, as was the pained and highly dubious expression on his friend and colleague's.
"Ah, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson...Miss Morstan..." came the voice of their host, as the Grufstreds approached them. "We trust you had an enjoyable time."
"Indeed, and thank you," Watson replied immediately.
"It was a wonderful party," his fiancée agreed.
Holmes glanced at Helen and nodded. "A most enjoyable night."
"Thank you once again, Doctor, for signing your novel..." Mrs. Grufstred gushed, before shyly glancing up at Holmes from her diminutive spot a full fifteen inches below him. Yet with an act worthy of the finest prestidigitator, the matronly woman suddenly produced said book from nowhere, complete with pen, taking everyone by surprise. "I don't suppose you would be so kind, Mr. Holmes?"
It was Watson's turn to contain a smirk, as he watched his friend on one of those rare occasions when he was taken unawares. Composing himself, the detective looked from the book he had little time for and accompanying pen, to the hostess, and back again, before giving a gentlemanly bow. "Of course, Madam...it would be my pleasure," he said, taking the pen much to Martha Grufstred's delight and scratching his name inside before handing it back.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Holmes!" she squeaked. "It shall be a valued memento, I assure you."
"You are too gracious." Holmes inclined his head again, and garnered a grateful smile from her husband for his indulgence towards his warm but excitable wife.
At the butler's finger snap, a footman arrived with their outerwear, and they began to dress to head back into the night where the snow was falling heavily now. On buttoning up his coat, his scarf securely tucked in, and hat and cane in one hand, Holmes turned to Helen and held out his hand. "Miss Thurlow, thank you for a most cultivated evening. One I hardly expected. It was a pleasure to see you again."
Slipping her hand into his, she smiled warmly up at him. "You are most welcome, Mr. Holmes, and I am glad that you could come," she returned, before turning her eyes to her friend and her advisor. "That all of you could."
Holmes bowed over her hand, before releasing it, and doing the same with Mrs. Grufstred, and after undergoing another severe handshaking with her husband, he moved to the doorway to stand, as he regarded the falling snow.
Taking Helen's hand, Watson kissed it lightly. "Goodnight, Miss Thurlow...and thank you both for our evening and going out of your way to entertain my friend," he uttered quietly.
She shook her head almost imperceptibly, her voice a low whisper. "It was a pleasure to do so, and on the contrary...he entertained me," she replied, before asking in a louder tone. "I shall see you at the end of the week?"
With a nod of his head, the doctor straightened. "In a word...indubitably," he agreed with a broad smile, and moved down the line to the Grufstreds to allow the two women to say their goodnights.
Stepping forward, Mary embraced her friend. "Thank you for a wonderful evening, Helen," she said with gratitude, after she pulled back a little.
Helen smiled at her with twinkling eyes. "You are most welcome, Mary. It was wonderful to see you once more. We must get together soon when your duties permit."
"Oh yes," the blond woman agreed with a nod. "I will write to you early next week."
Giving her friend arm another quick squeeze, and a nod of her auburn head, Helen released her and stepped back. "Merry Christmas," she said warmly.
Taking his fiancée's arm, Watson walked towards his friend, who was still standing and watching the drifting snow from the doorway until they joined him. Turning back, Holmes raised his black silk topper, and popped it on his head. However, on catching the grey eyes of Miss Thurlow, he gave her a small smile, and doffed his hat to her slowly, before leading his friends out into the snowy night, bound for home.
Authors' Notes: Thank you again to all who both read and/or reviewed! I cannot tell you how we love to see those emails:D Now to answer any questions. Yup, this does take place after The Sign of the Four and Hound of the Baskervilles. I spent an entire afternoon dating the canon by reading the stories and using both Baring-Gould (who wasn't very helpful) and Klinger's timelines. I'm rather satisfied with the result, so know I didn't make the choices of where the cases went lightly...I actually made myself a timeline, and got rather buggy eyes to prove it. (Snicker ) As for Miss Thurlow's passing thought on Holmes's attractiveness...well, I'm afraid it was just that...a passing thought...an observation, if you will. Is she actually attracted to him...well, you'll have to read and see. Heh! I'd tell you, but then my co-writer would gag me and throw me in the closet. Also, I want to thank everyone, who has gone and read The Forfeit Daughter as well. I usually leave comments in response in following chapters, but since that story is completed and if you would like a written response, let me know on that, and I (or my illustrious co-writer) will gladly email you. We're rather friendly folk here at AerynFire. So, enjoy Chapter Three, and hopefully I shall have Chapter Four ready mid-week. Tea and Crumpets...Aeryn (of AerynFire)