Chapter Twenty Two: An Emotional Showdown
Where he was headed I had no idea, but I was certainly going to find out. As I ran I cursed nineteenth century clothing and that arrogant count. By the time I was halfway down the crowded street; I removed my shoes and was running on the cold cobblestones barefoot.
"Damnit Holmes! Wait up!"
Again he paid me no heed and continued to walk. I finally caught up with him on a nearly deserted street where he stopped under a gaslight.
"Holmes," I said attempting to catch my breath.
"Leave me alone," he growled.
I shook my head stubbornly. "No. Why did you run off like that?"
He turned his back to me and did not deign to answer my question.
"Holmes, come on, don't shut me out! Please, what's the matter?"
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared into the distance, keeping his back toward me. "You must be both deaf and dense if you cannot divine the reason for my flight."
He shivered slightly from the cold and his own emotions. I put my arms around him and immediately he tensed. "Get away from me!"
"No," I said holding him closer to me. He stiffened and attempted to pull away, but I held him fast. I rubbed his arms in attempt to get some heat into them. "Can't we talk?"
"About what? My humiliation? Perhaps you would like to talk about the reason I said something that I do not understand? I think not," he said pushing me away from him. Once again he began walking away.
"Holmes are you so dense that you cannot realize I feel the same way about you?" I cried out in desperation.
He stopped in the middle of the street and his body tensed as though he was just shot. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife and I knew that moment we were standing unsteadily on the edge precipice and a wrong movement could send us crashing into the abyss of loneliness and despair.
He slowly turned around and we stood facing each other, each uncertain of how the other was going to react. I felt like cowboy in the old west standing in the middle of a street waiting for the shootout to begin.
"What do you mean you feel the same way about me?" The confusion in his voice was very real and I pitied him for a moment.
"You accused me of being dense! Don't you realize I have feelings for you?"
"You have feelings for me? What type of feelings Mademoiselle?"
I was very quickly becoming frustrated with either his good acting or his ignorance. I knew if I had to voice my feelings aloud, nothing would be the same between us and yet I knew Holmes was not going to make the first move. "You're the detective Holmes! You figure out what I mean!" I took a deep breath and calmed my nerves. "We need to talk Holmes."
"There is nothing to talk about," he said but for the first time since I've known him, he sounded unsure of himself.
"Please Holmes, let's talk. There is a lot both of us need to say."
When he didn't reply, an idea formulated in my mind.
"You said you wanted to talk to me Holmes. We'll discuss the case, we'll just discuss the case and we'll both forget anything else said between us. All right?"
"Words are not that easy to forget," he replied softly. "They remain stored in memory long after a person is gone."
"Stop being morbid," I said with a small smile. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
"If you are going to be so insistent, I suggest we go someplace warmer," he said most probably noticing my shivering. "It was very remiss of both of us to venture out without our jackets."
"I'm not surprised that I left it behind," I said with a great deal of self-deprecation. "I'm always doing stupid stuff like that," I shivered and cursed him silently for acting like an ass and running out of the restaurant. "Where do you wanna go?"
The detective took a few steps toward me, stopping under the very lamp where we first began this strange conversation. "There is a small tavern not to far from here. While it is undoubtedly quite loud and crowded we should be able to converse with relative ease."
"Sounds good to me."
"Before we begin our walk, I suggest you put your shoes back on," he said looking at my stocking feet.
I felt a blush rise to my cheeks but the biting cold would hide it successfully. Quickly I returned my shoes to my feet. Sherlock Holmes took my arm hesitatingly and we began to walk.
"I must escort you properly," he muttered, attempting to justify his actions. "People would think it queer for a woman to be walking with a man unaccompanied."
"Yes of course," I said not really caring about his reasoning. My thoughts were on the dinner conversation and his quick defense of me. He called me beautiful! No compliment ever and I mean ever made me feel as good as that one. As beautiful as you may think I am Holmes, I think you're ten times as sexy and your heart is ten times as big. Could he be trying to win my heart? Oh God I hope so! But then again, Sherlock Holmes was an excellent actor. He might not have felt that way about me at all. That comment could have been a ruse, a way for him to get away from the boring dinner conversation and discuss case details with me.
My mind threw back several instances when he attempted to do anything but win my heart. This evening's statement about cutting my throat stood out in my mind. But then again, the same man comforted me when I was missing home. He also saved my life. Which doesn't mean a damned thing. The man obviously didn't want blood on his hands.
Yes but he was also nervous, and he said he felt guilty.
Did you even think he felt guilty because perhaps he contemplated leaving you there? Did that ever cross your mind Mac? Didn't he say he felt guilty, like he caused your injuries? And didn't he, indirectly, by belittling you? You said before you set off on that staircase that you wanted to prove yourself to Sherlock Holmes .Be honest now Mac.
Yes but…
No buts, doesn't it make more sense to believe that he was just using the Count's words as an excuse to leave? Honestly Mac, how dense can you be? You heard him yourself denounce love and anything that had to do with that emotion. Come on Mac, this man is not as much as of enigma as you imagine him to be. Just forget the entire incident and see what happens…
"Mackenzie, I daresay Mackenzie, are you listening to a word I'm saying?"
I started at the sound of Holmes's voice, which broke my interior conflict. "Huh? Did you say something?"
He sighed and muttered something about how I was a typical self-absorbed female. He at least, seemed to be back to his old self.
"What was that comment Holmes?"
He shook his head and removed his arm from the link it formed with mine. Funny, I didn't remember linking arms with him, but then again in the mental battle I wouldn't have remembered if he did cartwheels and started reciting Shakespearean sonnets. Without another word, he opened the door to a shabby looking tavern and motioned for me to enter.
The warmth enveloped me and I already felt the chill leaving my body. Holmes took my arm and gently steered me towards a secluded table near the back of the tavern. "Go sit down Mackenzie, I'll get us something warm to drink."
I obeyed and tried my best to ignore the stares of the inebriated men as they watched me sitting alone at the table. One had the audacity to approach me.
"Salut mademoiselle," the man said leaning over the table his face mere inches from mine. His breath was rank with the smell of sour alcohol and saliva. "What's a pretty lady like yoush doin' 'ere by yer lonesome? Me thinks yous are in need of some comp'ny."
"No, that is quite all right sir," I said softly. "I'm actually with someone."
"Y'are? I don't see 'im. Perhaps you jus' don't wanna come with Jacque? That wouldn't be very wise Mademoiselle, you do realize dat. No one rejects Jacque, an' I'll teach yer a lessen yer not gonna ferget," with that, he unsteadily raised his hand to strike me.
"I wouldn't do that if I were Jacque," it was Holmes's voice and I noticed Jacque's hand was stopped in midair. It took me a moment to realize Holmes had the hand in his powerful grasp. "She is with me Monsieur."
The man who called himself Jacque turned his face away from me and looked at Holmes over his shoulder. I guess something in the detective's posture made the man fearful because he suddenly became docile. "Aye I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean ta interrupt er walk on yer territory."
Holmes smiled and there was a powerful venom behind that smile. "I know, and I suggest you show that you are true to you word and leave us, now."
Holmes quickly released the derelict's hand and Jacque rushed away with several more incoherent apologies.
The detective sat down on the wooden stool Jacque was occupying only moments before and pushed a glass of frothing liquid to me. "It'll warm you," he said with a sincere smile.
I cautiously sipped the liquid and felt its burning sensation run the length of my throat. I took another, bigger swig and the started coughing. Holmes laughed heartily and grinned over his glass.
"Better drink it slow Mac," he said gently. "I didn't realize you weren't use to the liquor's strength."
For the first time since I had been thrown back in time, I felt really comfortable. A brief memory flashed through my mind of me and Shawn and Beck and Laury all of us sitting in the small coffee shop after rehearsal in much the same fashion as Holmes and I were sitting now. Holmes's grinning only made me think of Shawn and my friends again.
"No, I'm defiantly not use to it," I said not venturing to drink again.
"I prefer sherry actually, or a fine wine. This ale is more Watson's flavor," he was being honest and candid, another one of his chameleon-like moods.
"Now that we're here," I said allowing my eyes to take in the dark wood of the ale house and the dingy light that barely penetrated the shadows, "I think it's time we had our little talk."
If Holmes lost any of his confidence he didn't show it. "Yes, I did want to speak with you. I do not, for one minute, trust anyone that is involved in this pretty little problem. Although I have not laid eyes on our 'opera ghost' alias 'Angel of Music,' I have the strongest feeling that he is one of the most dangerous antagonists I have ever come across. I think it would be best if you and Becky remained here, in Paris, while Watson and I went to Perros."
"Why?"
"I believe Perros will be extremely dangerous. There is danger enough for me and Watson, I do not need the additional weight of your wellbeing and that of your friend to weigh upon my nerves."
"Since we're talking about my wellbeing," I said thankful that he brought the topic up, "why did you defend me during dinner? Why did you save my life in the cellar of the opera house and why did you protect me from Jacque just now?"
My question seemed to startle him because he contemplated my words for several minutes and took a nip of ale before answering. "Do you honestly think I would wish any harm to come to you?"
I shrugged. "I don't know Holmes," I answered frankly. "I just don't know."
He averted his gaze and found something interesting to examine on the scratched table top. "I will admit that I am not the easiest person to get along with."
"You could say that again," I retorted.
Holmes made no indication that he heard my remark. "I will also admit that I have no use for love or the softer emotions. They all reduce men to blithering idiots and a person cannot be logical if they are constantly being plagued by feelings. However I am sure you have realized all of that."
I nodded but said nothing. I had a feeling I was going to get some sort of strange confession from him and thought it best if I kept my mouth shut.
"I have seen betrayal and much of it in my lifetime. I learned at an early age that people cannot be trusted. I will not deny it was a difficult lesson to learn but one which I have kept with me since childhood. I kept very much to myself, never trusting anyone. Watson changed all that. He showed me that I could confide in someone, that I could trust another person with my secrets.
'However, my distrust for women I cannot overcome so easily. I have learned that they are manipulative and if you show them love, they do things that will tare your heart into pieces, turning your world upside down, changing the way you look at everything. But that doesn't mean that I do not or cannot learn to care for a woman as I would care for a sister or a friend. That is how I view you Mackenzie, like a sister. Despite my sneering insults and callous remarks, underneath I do care for you and I would not want to see you hurt any more then I would want to see Watson injured. What I am trying to say, is although I may fall short of being a friend to you, I view you as one."
This speech took my completely by surprise and I nearly dropped my glass in shock. Sherlock Holmes was admitting he cared about me! My heart swelled with hope that if I could get him to trust me and care about me, I could get him to eventually love me. Sweet Jesus how glorious that would be.
The sadness in his face ripped cloud nine out from underneath my feet. Obviously relating this to me had cut Holmes deeply; it seemed as though bringing up his past was extremely painful. It was then that reality slapped me hard in the face. All of the events that Holmes had told me about had happened to him when he was just a boy! Although I couldn't figure out what the events were, I could see by the haunted look in his eyes that they were painful and frightening.
A million thoughts rushed through my mind and I had to resist the urge to hug him. I wanted to comfort him in some way but I didn't know how. How could I…
I looked at the table and saw his hand lying on top of it. I gently covered his hand with mine and squeezed it gently. He was startled and looked up at me. Our eyes met and a mutual understanding went through us at that moment. A mutual understanding and agreement to trust each other and care for each other.
I squeezed his hand again and simply said: "I understand Holmes. I understand."
His eyes were filled with surprise and then he once again averted his gaze to the tabletop. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and very gently removed his hand from underneath mine. "Well," he said finishing his drink rather quickly, "I believe we discussed everything that needed to be said--"
"Not so fast Holmes," I said hiding a smile behind the foamy liquid in my glass.
He paled and looked slightly sick, when he realized that I had more to say. Undoubtedly, he felt he would have to make yet another confession.
"I disagree with you on one point."
"And what is that point?" He asked with feigned confidence.
"When you said that I couldn't go with you to Perros."
His face relaxed and he seemed much more comfortable returning to the case at hand. "Yes, and I stand by those convictions."
"However strong those convictions may be Monsieur Sherlock Holmes, I happen to be in disagreement with them. I believe I said before you go where I go and trust me I meant it."
"I take it," he said taking a final pull on his ale, "it would be useless to argue with you?"
"See, you're more observant than you give yourself credit for."
He sighed wearily and stood. "Considering the fact that I cannot avoid your coming along, we might as well go as friends rather than enemies."
"Good point," I said venturing another sip of the strange drink.
"Are you finished?" He asked looking at the glass. "I would recommend that we return to the hotel and get a good nights rest. Our train leaves early tomorrow morning."
I stood and immediately regretted the quick movement. (I drank more ale than I realized and drank it much quicker than I should have.) My head swam and I could not, for the life of me, feel my legs.
"Good Lord," Holmes said with a chuckle, "it appears you've had a bit too much to drink. Are you going to be all right?"
"Yeah, I'll be fine," I said letting go of the side of the table. "I just gotta get my balance." I slowly walked, (rather staggered) away from the table and stood next to Holmes. "Ready."
The detective put his arm around my shoulders and leaned me against him, in effort to steady me. "Just put your arm around me, I will keep you from falling."
I smiled and took a deep breath, the smell of the barroom suddenly seemed to diminish, and was replaced by the scent of sandalwood aftershave and shag tobacco. I was in heaven!
"Come along," he said slowly walking toward the exit of the establishment. I felt the eyes of the drunkards on Holmes and me but I didn't care. All that mattered was the detective had his arm around me; everything else was quickly forgotten.
I quickly sobered when we stepped out of the establishment and into the biting cold. I shivered and moved even closer to Holmes.
"Damn, it's so cold!" I muttered, watching my words turn to vapor in the frigid air.
"Yes," Holmes replied, although his voice did not even waver, which to me suggested he didn't even feel the cold.
"I feel totally stupid for leaving my wrap behind," I murmured.
"I feel the same way as you at the moment," the detective said holding my tightly. "Once we get to a better section of the city, I will hail a cab to take us to our hotel."
I nodded and said nothing, simply content to stay forever in a half embrace with Sherlock Holmes. My fingers were numb as well as the rest of my body, but at that moment I didn't feel it. I only felt my heart soaring in time with his even steps.
