Chapter Twenty Five: Another Talk with Watson
Once we were alone I very unceremoniously flopped onto the sofa and closed my eyes. "Sorry you had to witness that Doc," I said without looking at him.
"Although I am not completely use to your twenty first century dialect, I could understand what your friend was implying."
I nodded and proceeded to rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. "Yeah, I know and I'm ever so sorry. God sometimes I wanna kill her."
"Mackenzie!"
"Relax Doc," I said chuckling at his horror. "It's a statement, a figure of speech, nothing more, nothing less."
"Mackenzie, you seem troubled," Watson stated.
"Confused is more like it," I said with a tight smile.
"Your emotions again?"
I shook my head. "No, I'm confused about the enigma known as Sherlock Holmes." I opened my eyes and saw Watson cock his head to the left signaling for me to continue talking.
"You and Holmes have been friends for years right?"
The doctor nodded.
"Has he ever…" I stopped and contemplated the best way to phrase my question. When I realized there was no tactful way to put it, I just stated bluntly: "Has he ever mentioned his past to you?"
"His past cases?"
I shook my head again. "No, his past life?"
"You are talking in riddles."
I took a deep breath and realized how stupid the previous words sounded. Good Mac, tell Watson some more about reincarnation! "Listen Watson, has he ever told you about himself…I mean his family, before you met?"
"Why do you ask?"
Quickly I told him about Sherlock Holmes's strange confession to me over ale at a dingy Parisian bar. "It sounded to me that something happened in his past that made him so distrustful of people," I concluded.
Watson nodded and a faraway look entered his eyes. "Yes, quite right. A perfect way to describe him, distrustful."
I said nothing, realizing that Watson was completely oblivious to my presence in the room.
"Holmes has always been reticent on that particular subject, although he never once shied away from deducing the past of others, he still doesn't. He lives by what Americans call double standards."
"You can say that again Doc," I said not able to hold my tongue.
He started and his green eyes focused on me. "You can't fault him for that though Mackenzie," the doctor said gently. He leaned forward and took one of my hands in his own. "I know you love him; I can see it in your eyes, in your expression, which is why I am going to tell you something I've never told anyone. You must swear on your life you will never repeat what I am about to say."
Feeling extremely curious, I nodded. "I swear Doc."
He squeezed my hand and quickly stood. He pressed his ear to bedroom door of Sherlock Holmes, I am assuming to see if he was awake or not. Satisfied, he repeated the action on my bedroom door. He then returned and once again took one of my hands.
"I needed to make sure we are not overheard. What I am about to tell you took place several years ago. Holmes and I had been co-habiting and friends for roughly six years. It was Christmas night and Mrs. Hudson left the house to visit her niece in Kent, leaving us two bachelors alone to spend the holidays in our own fashion.
'I remembered how excited I was because I believed I had found the perfect gift for my enigmatic friend." The good doctor paused and his eyes once again took on a far-off expression, a small smile played on his lips which showed how much he savored the past memories.
