Chapter Twenty Seven: Shock, Anger and Sadness

"His brother Mycroft told him what happened after the funeral. It seems that Holmes's mother had a lover and that night, Christmas night, his Father found out. His Father, in a rage, killed his wife and then, realizing what he had done, shot himself.

'I swore to Holmes I would never tell anyone what he told me that night. We never spoke of it again. But I decided to tell you Mackenzie, because you love him. And maybe, this will help you to understand his lack of emotion and his distrust of women."

I felt tears rush down my cheeks and I stared at Dr. Watson, unable to comprehend what he had just told me. My heart bled for Holmes, for what he was forced to endure, for the pain that he attempted to hide for so long. Suddenly a rage I could not understand built up inside me. I hated his father, his mother and who ever her lover was. I hated them for putting Sherlock Holmes through all that misery and pain.

When I finally found my voice, the first thing that came to my mind was a quote from a play we read in lit class.

"'But I suppose life has made him like that, and he can't help it. None of us can help the things life has done to us. They're done before you realize it, and once they're done they make you do other things and at last everything comes between you and what you'd like to be and you've lost your true self forever.'" I quoted quietly. My mind was reeling from what Watson had just told me.

"Very true statement Mackenzie," Watson said quietly. I could see in his face that he too was feeling utter sadness for his best friend.

"I didn't come up with that Doc; it was Eugene O'Neill in his play A Long Day's Journey Into Night. But it does apply to what you just told me." I sat for several minutes turning over Watson's narrative in my mind. "Hey Doc?" I said at length.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think maybe Holmes's perceptions can be changed? I mean do you think he can be shown that he is a good person and that he can trust women, as well as others?"

The doctor pondered my question for several moments and then shrugged his broad shoulders. "I can't say for sure," he admitted. "As you said 'None of us can help what life has done to us…until you've lost your true self forever.' I doubt anyone has ever tried. I know I haven't and I feel ashamed of that every time I look at him. I left him for my wife, left him in solitude. He probably thinks I left him because of the way he is. I left Baker Street to marry Mary, shortly after he told me. He probably thinks…"

I grabbed his hand and forced him to look at me. "Watson, don't be ridiculous. I'm sure he knows that you care for him as a friend. I'm sure he realizes that you do not think less of him or feel that he should have defended his mother."

Watson smiled gently and stared into my brown eyes. "I daresay you're right. I don't know what got me started talking like that."

"Doc," I said quickly.

"Yes?"

"I'm gonna try and show Holmes, show him that he is a great guy and that he can trust others. I'm gonna try and show him that it's okay to show his emotions, that he won't get hurt every time."

"You are taking on a noble mission," Watson said gently. He quickly looked at the clock on the mantel which read one thirty. "We'd best get to sleep, our train leaves early tomorrow, or rather this morning." He stood and stretched while stifling a yawn. "Are you getting to bed?"

I shook my head. "Nope, I'm gonna stay out here for awhile. Good night Doc."

He rumpled my hair affectionately. "Good night Mackenzie, and I hope to God you succeed on your quest."

I smiled and watched him go to his bedroom and quietly shut the door behind him. The Doc was right of course, it was late, but I couldn't for the life of me think about sleeping. So much had happened in the last few hours that my brain was spinning uncontrollably.

"Poor Holmes," I murmured staring at the dying fire. "He's got such a big heart too! What life has done to him. I swear to God if his father was still alive I'd kill him! If I ever learn who that lover was I'll kill him too! It's because of him that Holmes suffered!"

No you won't kid. You don't want blood on your hands.

Like hell I don't! I swear if I ever run into that sonofabitch I'll murder him for what he's done to Sherlock! Goddamnit! I hate that man's guts and I don't even know him! That's the worst part! I can't even kill the bastard cause I don't know who he is of if he's even alive!

Mac, shut up! You're dog-tired and you can't think straight. Just go to bed, you'll feel more lucid in the morning. Who knows, perhaps you can make Holmes change for the better. But one thing is for sure, you won't do any good sitting here worrying about it when you're so tired. You've had a rough enough day. Go to bed!

I decided to listen to myself and I stood and stretched. After turning out the gas I went into the bedroom I shared with Becky and undressed. I put on my PJs and climbed into bed. As I rolled over to get comfortable, I heard the unmistakable voce of my best friend.

"What was going on in there? Were you with the doctor or the detective?"

I closed my eyes and attempted to ignore her. I was still pretty sore at her comments and after hearing about Holmes's past from Watson, I didn't want her to slander the great detective.

"What are you so sore about anyway?"

"Like you have to ask?" I murmured.

"Yeah I do. You were awfully touchy tonight."

"I have good reason," I replied, my anger toward the unknown lover still smoldering in my mind.

"Damn, you're evil when you get some action in bed."

That comment did it. All the anger that was building up inside of me, decided to burst forth at that moment. I sat up, trembling with anger. "Christ! Can you for one minute get your mind out of the gutter? Is it so surprising that I spent time with a guy without sleeping with him? You with all your goddamned presumptions! It's times like this that I hate your guts! You don't know what went on tonight; you don't know the emotions that were felt.

'You always want to bring people down to your level! Just because you lost your virginity to the first guy that paid any amount of attention to you, doesn't mean that I have to! All right? You don't know my feelings, you never will. I would gratefully appreciate it if you would keep your mouth shut until you can comprehend what you are talking about!"

"Wow, that comment hurt."

"I'm glad."

"What happened to your sense of humor? Damn, you've been touchy ever since you met Mr. Holmes."

"It's because I was a little confused and now when I finally figured out what I was feeling, you proceed to make sneering comments that aren't true. On top of those sneering comments, you proceed to slander a man who you know nothing about! I'm sick of it! I'm fucking sick of it!"

"Alright, easy Mac! Easy! I didn't mean to offend you. I'll never mention your sex life again or talk about Sherlock Holmes, all right? Although I still think you should bed someone before you go to college."

My face colored. "Apology accepted, last comment ignored."

She laughed. "I wonder what Brittany is gonna be like."
I shrugged. "I don't know."

"Watson said it is really cold there this time of year."

"I'm beat," I said meaning both physically and emotionally.

"Me too," she admitted.

I pulled the covers around me and put my head on the pillow. "Night."

"Night."

I closed my eyes but sleep would not come. Images of the strange amber eyes haunted my mind, as though they burned themselves into my memory forever. The voice, his voice, the voice of the madman replayed itself in my mind. 'I want to give you a warning Innocent.' I shuddered at the remembrance. Innocent. What made him call me that? It was as though with those amber eyes he could see through to my very soul. Despite all my rough talk and the occasional raunchiness, I was still innocent to many things. I've had two boyfriends in my seventeen years and never went beyond a brief kiss with either. Could he have possibly known this, known how innocent and insecure I really was? Could he have known my secret longing for Sherlock Holmes and thus was mocking me?

Innocent. Holmes when he was seven. Because of some nameless bastard, he lost his boyish innocence, the belief that the world was good.

Innocent. The various meanings of the word, various nuances and colors. What did he mean?

I pondered the questions that assaulted my mind for a long while. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, I was awoken by a nightmare of amber eyed corpses, a nameless, faceless man who lurked in shadows and frightened boys holding each other for comfort.

I was unable to fall asleep after that nightmare so I decided to get dressed. I threw on a dress; I didn't even know the color and completed my toilet. When I finished, I glanced at the mantel clock in our room. It read four thirty.

I walked into the sitting room and stared out of the window for several minutes, looking at the city of lights below me, allowing my mind to focus on nothing and everything.

The morning was dismal, reflecting my mood. Ominous clouds hung over Paris, threatening a storm and a thick fog rolled over the city from somewhere, mostly probably the east. When my head was a little clearer, I left the hotel room and stepped outside, to loose myself in the fog.

In the fog, the line between reality and illusion blurs. You can loose touch with yourself and walk aimlessly, forgetting for the moment that you are even on land. That's where I wanted to be, lost in the fog where life can hide from itself and you forget all your problems. In the fog you become a ghost, with no past, no future no painful memories. You are only in the moment, only living as a ghost inside the fog.

I don't know how long I was a ghost in the fog, because as I said you loose all sense of time in that swirling smoky fog. Eventually, the dampness of the early morning set in my bones, bringing me back to reality, sharpening that line between reality and illusion. The dampness reminded me that I was not a ghost of the fog, but a mortal person with a past, future and painful memories. The fog lost its magic then, and I hurried back to the hotel where I warmed myself by a roaring fire in the lobby hearth.