Chapter Eleven: Brotherly Love
I had never been one to refuse my companion anything, and I felt a thrill of hope that if Holmes and I took this surprise vacation, all of the things that had been burning in my mind might finally come together, and we might finally get to talk about what it was that had taken place between us. With that in mind, I set myself eagerly to the task of packing for what Holmes assured me would be at least a week of visiting with his friend.
We spent the next day bustling around in our own rooms, putting things together and setting our affairs in order, and Holmes refused to tell me anything else about our excursion, keeping the secret as he was wont to do with a glint in those fascinating eyes which spoke of his pleasure at my eagerness.
"But Holmes," I said at one point, a thought coming suddenly to mind, "What about Lestrade, and Scotland Yard? You gave them a promise that you wouldn't abandon them."
"So I won't." he insisted. "I shall wire them to let them know where I've gone, and if they have need of me I will be at their disposal, although I hope that Lestrade, with the help of the letter that I posted to him this morning will be able to make something of the matter without us entirely."
He had, then, solved it, I thought, and perhaps in the course of our travels he would regale me with the tale of how he'd done it. It startled me that he had put the case together without even having gone out, and yet I had known my friend to do things of the sort before, and so the matter passed entirely out of my mind.
At around noon, Holmes said that he had to step out to the post office, and that he would not be gone long. I mentioned to him that he might stop at the police station and say something to them about our going away directly, but he shrugged off my concern. I imagined that, as usual, his few minutes would translate themselves into a few hours, and so I rang for a bit of lunch, sure that he would not mind if I began without him. Even as I did so, there came a ring at the bell, and I opened the door to see Mycroft Holmes awaiting me, with a very deep look of worry on his intelligent, fleshy face.
"Ah, Doctor Watson," he said, clasping and unclasping his huge hands together, and not meeting my eyes. "Sherlock is not in, then. Well, that's just as well, that's just as well…I don't suppose it would be any trouble if I was just to come in for a moment. I won't keep you long, I assure you, no, I won't trespass on your time…do you know when my brother will be back?"
Dismayed, but not surprised, after everything, at his gloomy countenance, I assured him that he was welcome to come in, and to stay for as long as he liked. I told him that I had no idea how long Sherlock Holmes would be out, but that he was welcome to wait, and that he should stay for lunch while he was at it.
Mycroft Holmes shook his head. "No, I could not, I believe that I'm doing nothing but darkening your rooms with my presence, as I'm in no state for pleasant conversation. I'm in need of advice, if that doesn't seem a little too ironic." He smiled at me, and I recognized a little of my friend's own sad and rueful amusement in his eye. "I should be happier even to have it from you than from Sherlock, as, wonderful as my brother is, he has never to my knowledge had reason to take an interest in matters of the heart.
How wrong you are, I thought to myself, but said nothing of my thoughts. It would not do at all to speak to Mycroft of anything that had taken place in these rooms between his brother and I, at least not before I could make sense of it myself. Thinking about it in the presence of this innocent man sent a flush to my cheeks in shame and confusion, and I turned away to try to pull myself together. Mycroft Holmes did not wait for me to come to myself, but, apparently not noticing my disquiet, launched into his own woes, for which I was not ungrateful.
"It's Anne," he was saying, shifting nervously on the couch. "There's something amiss with her and I've no idea what to make of it. I thought that it was illness, but she shows no physical signs. It's just that she doesn't want to do anything. She won't go out, unless she's to go alone, and she visits friends often, but will not visit me. It's not," he said quickly, holding out a reassuring hand, "that she's with any other man. I know this, as she never has given me any reason to think that she is anything other than truthful or faithful. It is only that she seems…well, she seems as if she doesn't wish to see me anymore, and yet does not wish to call it off with me entirely. I cannot think what could cause her to be so fickle in her intentions towards me. I am not a wealthy man, I have nothing to offer her if not myself, and yet she seems loathe to spend any real amount of time in my presence."
I stared at Mycroft for a long moment, as I put together the facts in my mind. It was obvious that he had no conception of what had taken place between his brother and his fiancée. I had no idea how this could be, as I could not imagine that Holmes would have kept this information from him. Surely my friend had informed him sometime recently, discreetly, out of my presence that there was something wrong with his impending marriage. Yet obviously he had done no such thing, and I flared up in some anger at the callousness this negligence seemed to speak of in Holmes. Yet I was torn from these thoughts by the immediate necessity of dealing with Mycroft's concerns, and perhaps of explaining the circumstances myself.
I balked at this task, and was relieved when Mrs. Hudson came up to bring us lunch. At her arrival, Mycroft gave a jolt, and got to his feet abruptly, apparently shaken by the presence of another whom he did not wish to take into his confidence.
"I. think I shall return later, Doctor," he said with a little uneasy smile, "so as not to disturb your meal. I would appreciate it if you would speak to Sherlock about this, but no one else, please, no one else. I hope to speak to both of you very soon." He paused for a moment, and sighed. "After everything that you have witnessed of Sherlock and my exploits, you must find this concern of mine very trivial, and yet I assure you that it is of the gravest importance to me for all of its personal nature."
"I assure you," I said, patting him on the shoulder in what I hoped was a comforting manner, "that I completely understand. There won't be any need, Sherlock Holmes and I will call on you this evening at Pall Mall."
"I'll be waiting for you, then," Mycroft said with some relief. "Thank you, Doctor Watson; I really do thank you very much for indulging me." With that, he stepped out into the air, and our landlady, very used to agitated visitors to our rooms, gave me a sympathetic, long suffering look, and left.
For myself, I was too furious to do much of anything. I could not believe that my friend had not informed his brother of the situation, and was also angry that he had left it so that I might be saddled with the task. It was inconsiderate and cruel on so many counts that, when Holmes stepped into the room an hour or so later, I rounded on him with such consternation and aggression in my eyes that he took a surprised step back.
"My goodness, Watson," he said, giving me a long look, "something has happened here in my absence that has really put you into a temper."
"You don't need a great deal of deductive skill to determine that," I shot, glaring into his comparatively calm face. "I've just had a visit from your brother Mycroft, and I have to say that I am absolutely disgusted at the way in which you have treated the poor man. You should be ashamed of yourself, Holmes. I am ashamed of you." I turned away from him towards the wall, and he stood behind me in silence for several minutes before he spoke.
"To be ashamed of myself is one thing with which I can easily cope," he began quietly. "But for you to be ashamed of me, Watson, is something else entirely. In fact, it is my fear of you being disgusted with me that has caused me to so incur your wrath."
He sat himself on the edge of the sofa, and when he turned his beseeching gaze on me, I instinctively seated myself beside him. He folded his legs one over the other, and seemed to think for a moment before speaking, which he did in a drawling, resigned voice.
"I did not speak to Mycroft of the matter of Miss Fairchild's love, because I could not," he said. "I was completely unable to do so, for if I had, I would have found myself in a most unenviable position, and he would have been no better off for all of it. It would not have done either one of us the least bit of good, Watson, and I'm sure that if you think about it long enough you will see that for yourself."
"You'll forgive me, Holmes," I said coldly, "But all that I see is that you would be better off for not telling your brother that you had accidentally stolen his lover. That seems entirely a personal concern, and surely it would be better for Mycroft to know the truth, no matter how it hurts him, or how much it damages your pride to tell him of it."
Holmes chuckled darkly. "You give me no credit, no credit at all," he said. "I should have thought that you, in your optimistic fashion, would have believed a shred more good of me, but I see that you have twisted the facts in your own way. No, my dear doctor, it is not my pride that will suffer when we speak to Mycroft. Can you really not see it? You surprise me." He gave me a keen, piercing look, and I looked back, my resolve faltering, but not failing in the face of his quiet assurances.
"Not your pride, then, but your relationship with your brother," I tried, speaking more softly, still angry, but without that touch of malice that I had used when I had believed that he was only out to save his own skin at his brother's expense. "You are concerned about whether or not you and Mycroft will maintain your good will towards each other when this all comes to light."
"More charitable, but still incorrect," Holmes smiled. "I am so loathe to bring this all to your attention, as I was hoping that you would come round to it yourself before long, but I see that we must have the conversation after all. I suppose it is only fair, since I did force this disgrace upon you. He looked sadly across me at the trunk that I had left on the floor. "I had so hoped for a better setting for it. I suppose we may have to cancel our little trip to the country after all. I fear, Watson, that you will not wish to spend the time with me once we've spoken." He turned those deep, wonderful eyes on me, and his smile was fixed and forced, as he was a desperately cheery man. "But there is nothing for it now after all."