First, thank you to all my reviewers so far. I really hope you are enjoying this story. Oh! And in case any one is wondering, Holmes' characterization in the last few chapters is vital to this story. So sorry if his painful past has offeneded anyone. I certainly did not mean for that to happen! Hope you enjoy this chapter and the following ones!

Chapter Thirty Nine: Deductions and Reconciliation

Holmes

What will Watson do? Will he ever want to see me again? More importantly, is what he said about Mother true? Is it possible that she did indeed love me, but was too afraid to show it? Impossible! And yet...

"Holmes?"

I held my breath, dared not to hope that it was my closest friend. He called my name once again and it was then I knew he did not leave me. I almost cried out, my nerves that were so tightly strung seemed to relax at once. At least I did not loose my closest friend.

"Watson, come in!" I was shocked to hear my own voice tremble.

The door slowly opened and in stepped my dear friend, who looked at me with a physician's eye. "Holmes," he said his voice hardening. At least he was not going to pity me. "Holmes, your eyes."

"What about them?" I asked, trying to seem like my usual self, before I was forced to relive my past.

"Don't act the part of the fool Holmes. I know full well what you did in my absence! Your syringe was not idle."

I felt a deep burning shame fill me, a shame I would never admit to anyone. Watson was right, I had used cocaine to try and ease my demons, to send them back to the prison from whence they came. Trying to seem indifferent, I shrugged my shoulders. "What of it?"

"If I've told you once…"

I raised my hand to stop him. "It is none of your business how I cope with things. Now more importantly," I said, swallowing hard. "Did you find Mackenzie and relay my message?"

"Yes he did Holmes," a timid voice came from the doorway. I looked up and saw a very pale faced and shaken Mackenzie.

Mac

I felt my limbs turn to water as I stared at the great detective. My heart was pounding, not from desire but from fear, so loudly in my ears that I am sure he heard it. Now that he stood in front of me, all the words I had planned to say flew out of my mind, leaving me totally speechless.

I turned to Watson, fear evident in my voice. "Would you mind if I have a few minutes alone with him?"

Watson squeezed my shoulder and left, leaving Holmes and I facing one another. I instantly felt deja-vu, Holmes and I standing under the street lamp back in Paris. As before I was the one to make the first move.

I cleared my throat and kept my eyes averted. "Holmes, I…I want to apologize. I didn't mean to startle or offend you. It's just that with your words last night and the knowledge that you talked to Becky, I thought you already knew how I felt.

'I didn't want you to find out that way, I didn't want you to find out at all. I knew how you felt about love, about women. That's why I didn't want you to know; for fear that I would turn you away. I couldn't bear the thought of loosing you and I tried to hide my feelings. But this morning, when Becky pissed me off, the words I'd meant to hold back just came out. I didn't even know you were there.

'I would love nothing more than to change what has happened, but I cannot. I wish I could change my feelings for you, so you could be comfortable, but that I cannot do either. I…I love you, I am in love with you Sherlock Holmes, and regardless of what you may think, I know I am not mistaken."

Well that didn't come out of your mouth too badly. It could have been stated a helluva lot better but it could have been said worse. Okay Mac, now's the true time for courage, how is he going to take this?

I closed my eyes and waited for either angry words, yelling or just plain denial. It seemed like an eternity before he made any type of sound or movement. Finally he sighed.

"You must be mistaken," was all he said, although his voice sounded as though there was no conviction behind his words.

"I wish I were," I said quietly. "I wish I were so you could be at ease, so you wouldn't feel any pain or agony. But I'm not Holmes, I know I'm not."

There was nothing but silence for the next several minutes. When I opened my eyes, I saw Holmes sitting on one of the beds, his eyes closed, his eyebrows knitted and a look of utter shock and confusion was written on his features. It was clear by his expression that he was contemplating something; most probably my words and that I should not interrupt his thoughts. I wanted to sooth his furrowed brow and hold him tightly in my arms, telling him how sorry I was to have caused him so much pain.

He swallowed and cleared his throat. When he spoke his words were soft. "You must understand that I do not know what to make of your words. They go against everything I was taught to believe."

I nodded but said nothing, for I did not know what to say.

"I was convinced that you were mistaken, but you seem adamant that you are not."

"Correct."

Another long silence. "Did Watson tell you that your feelings for me are impossible?"

I nodded. "Yes, he did."

"And what do you think?"

"You're crazy, completely off your rocker," I replied, my tone harsher than I intended. "It is impossible for someone to be unlovable."

He raised his eyebrows at my words but said nothing. I was all on edge, how was he going to react? What was he going to say, indeed, what was he going to do? He could never want to see you again. At that thought my knees went weak and I grasped the wall for support.

"Mackenzie, come here and sit down. I do not need you to faint."

I staggered over to the bed and sat down beside Sherlock Holmes, unsure of how he would react to my closeness. He looked at me for several minutes and the averted his eyes.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "You must realize that…" he swallowed and looked away from me. "You must understand the way I feel…what I was taught to believe. I do not wish to hurt you, indeed, I would rather die first, but I must somehow make my position clear."

My heart sank at his hesitating yet to the point words. "You cannot not reciprocate my feelings," I said sadly. I glanced at him and saw pain in his face. I forced a smile and attempted to make my voice light, but even that did not, could not hide the misery I was feeling. "I never expected you to; indeed I rather figured that you would be disgusted by my own feelings." I shrugged my shoulders. "What will be will be, and as the saying goes, 'tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.'"

He frowned and seemed uncertain as to my words. "You certainly have a way with words."

"It had to be said," I said with a shrug of my shoulders. I was forced to swallow and avert my eyes, because it dawned on me how close we were, in bed, the door closed…too many possibilities both wonderful and frightening.

He seemed to sense my discomfort for I felt his eyes on me. "What's the matter?"

Sensory overload! Sexy guy six inches away from you on a bed! Sexy guy that you are in love with is only six inches from you on a bed! Sensory overload! Tell him that Mac, tell you're imagining y our bodies intertwining amongst rumpled sheets. How do you think he'll react?

I shook my head and got to my feet, my pulse pounding too fast for comfort. "Nothing, I'm just a little…uneasy being so close to you on that bed." I shrugged my shoulders and waited to see whether my implied feelings would be obvious to Sherlock Holmes. I wasn't disappointed; he didn't pick up on my meaning and just frowned.

"Here," I said pulling the fabric out of the band of my jeans. I tossed it to him. "It'll get our minds off emotions for awhile."

He seemed to relax, when I brought his attention back to some tangible problem. He took the silk scrap in his hands and began to study it.

"Not discolored, covered with heavy layer of dust and cobwebs. Very best material, would sell for roughly fifty pounds on Bond Street," he then brought the fabric to his nose. "Distinct odor of mildew, as though kept in a damp, dark place. Whomever owns this is quite comfortable financially, and does not concern himself with the condition of his clothing.

'He is fastidious about his personal cleanliness and is very muscular."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "How the hell did you learn all that from a piece of silk? You must be kidding me."

He shook his head good-humoredly. "No, I am not 'kidding you,'" he said making the phrase sound ridiculous as only he could. "I thought you were observant."

"I am," I barked indignantly. Damn he does have chameleon-like moods. More multifaceted than any character in fiction.

I began to laugh at my thoughts. Duh Mac! He IS a fictitious character! At least you were taught to believe that.

"What the devil are you chortling at?" He asked with some heat. Obviously he was not use to his deductions being interrupted.

I smiled, "I wasn't laughing at anything. Pray continue with explaining your deductions."

He muttered something but thankfully he deigned to explain his reasoning. He held the silk for my inspection in much the same way a magician holds a silk handkerchief before he makes it disappear. "You will notice that the silk is the color black throughout."

"No shit Sherlock," I muttered.

"I beg your pardon!" He said with indignation. Good Mac, just use the guy's first name.

Once again I apologized. "It's a twenty-first century expression. Just keep going."

"Well, since the black is the same shade throughout, it was never exposed to sunlight, hence the reason I said it was kept in a dark area…"

"Hang on a sec!" I interrupted, unable to follow his train of thought. "How do you figure it wasn't exposed to sunlight?"

He gave an exasperated sigh. "The sun has the ability to make colored fabrics fade. Since there is no discoloration or fading, this bit of silk was never exposed to sunlight."

"Cool!" I smiled. "How about your other deductions?"

"That deduction was also verified by the fact that it is covered with cobwebs and a heavy layer of dust. Neither element is seen often in areas that are exposed to great amounts of sunlight."

"True, true."

"The dampness?"

"Simplicity in itself! Since it has a musty odor…"

"It must be stored in a damp place. Anyone who stores expensive silk in a dark, damp spot doesn't really care about their clothing. Since our antagonist doesn't give a damn about his clothes, he obviously has enough money to replace them, hence your reasoning that he was financially secure!"

"Precisely."

"I can't figure out how you learned he was fastidious about personal cleanliness and he was muscular," I admitted.

As an answer, Holmes tossed me the silk. "If you put to your nose, you can make out the faint smell of soap, since the scent is deeply embedded in the fabric, he must be extremely concerned with the cleanliness of his own person.

'The width and density of the silk speaks for the size of the wearer."

"Amazing, absolutely amazing!" I said, not bothering to hide my admiration. I figured since I couldn't have him romantically, I could at least have him as a mentor and a friend.

"Elementary," he replied. He then cocked his head quizzically to one side. "Where on earth did you find this?"

"Alter in the sacristy and since Raoul de Chagny was found there, I deduced it must belong to our antagonist."

"I pose another question to you," he said with a weary air. "Where have we been…no, you could not answer that. You were busy pursuing the Persian."

"Huh?"

"The cellars of the opera house are the only places that have a great deal of dust and mildew."

"You seriously don't believe that the Phantom lives down there, do you?"

The detective shrugged. "I have no data yet." He turned away from me and reached for his pipe, signaling the conversation was finished.

"When are we returning to Paris?" I asked, not wanting to leave his company so soon.

"Six o'clock this evening," the detective replied. "Watson booked passage."

"Then what are we going to do until then?"

He sighed and lay on his back, resting his head on his folded arm. His eyes were closed and jacket was open, reveling his open vest and shirt, which was unbuttoned at the collar. He was such an alluring figure on the bed! "I would like to examine the area where we found de Chagny and try to determine how our antagonist left."

"Sounds like a plan," I murmured. Temptation was steadily increasing and I knew if I did not leave the room soon, I would not be able to control my sexual impulses. "When are you leaving?"

"About an hour's time," the detective replied. "I will admit I am quite fatigued, the entire day has been nothing but severe emotional strain." He opened his eyes and looked at me, the corners of his mouth drooped. "It appears that you too have had a strenuous day. I suggest you get some rest."

"Where should I go?"

Holmes acknowledged the room we all shared. "Here is as good a place as any."

I glanced at the bed where Becky and I were supposed to sleep. It was covered with her stuff. "How comfortable is the floor?"

"Don't be ridiculous! There are two beds in this room."

Is that an invitation? Did he just invite me to do what I think he did what I hope he did? "Yeah but Holmes, you're in one."

I held my breath as I watched his features register what I had just said. His eyes widened and his face paled slightly. He stared at me for several minutes and then moved to one side of the bed. I couldn't believe my eyes and slipped between the covers before he could protest.

Holmes

A momentary weakness, precipitated by the strenuous events of the morning…no! I will be honest with myself. I invited her to share my bed because I am frightened; frightened of being alone with my own horrible memories. Frightened of the siren call of the syringe and cocaine, for they make the memories more painful and horrifying; the memories of Father…

I am not use to feeling emotionally weak. Indeed, I have spent years building a wall to block my emotions out and now, all at once they are crashing down on me. Fear, the fear I haven't known since I was a child is now haunting me, plaguing me. Mackenzie for some strange reason is able to put my fears to rest, make it seem like they never existed. I am disquieted, being so emotionally dependant on another for peace of mind is completely against my nature and I cringe at my weakness. But I cannot help it…perhaps if I sleep, things will be clearer when I wake…

Mac

I very gently put my arm around his slender body and snuggled close to him, breathing in the smell of sandalwood aftershave lotion and the fait odor of tobacco. His body tensed under my embrace, but I ignored the signs of his discomfort. I will admit I was being extremely selfish, ignoring his comfort in order to fulfill my own desires.

Very slowly, his breathing evened out, which signaled he finally succumbed to sleep. Although far from old, when asleep, Holmes looked several years younger. All the lines of worry eased from his face, and a shock of black hair rested lazily on his forehead, giving him the appearance of an adolescent boy. Within a few moments of his nodding off, a sheen of sweat appeared on his brow and a slight whimper escaped from his throat, signaling the beginning of a nightmare.

"Shshh," I whispered pushing his hair off of his face. "Easy Holmes, you're quite safe." I continued to whisper gentle words of comfort into his ear until the lines of tension once again disappeared from his face. I continued to stroke his hair, allowing my fingers to caress each strand, freeing it from the lime oil that he used to keep it in place. "What fears haunt you Holmes? What terrors do you keep locked away in your mind? What happened to you, to make you feel unlovable?" I sighed and laid my head on his chest, listening to the gentle beating of his heart. "I wish there was something I could do to put you at ease. Just let me in Holmes, please?" My eyelids suddenly became heavy and I was forced to stifle a yawn. "Let me in…" It must've been then when I fell asleep.

The Phantom

This is certainly an interesting development. The detective and his young associate…feelings between them! I did not expect this, did not foresee this turn of events. This development can be very vital to my plans for ridding myself of that troublesome vicomte.

Hmmm, I'm getting careless. The troublesome girl has found a piece of my cloak. I must wear my new one when I return to Paris later this evening. I have much to do before tomorrow evening's performance of 'Faust.' Christine needs another lesson, the crescendo in Marguerite's Jewel Song, she sings weak. By tomorrow night, she will be ready to conquer Paris!

I think I will instruct the management to send Monsieur Holmes and his friends tickets to tomorrow night's performance. It will be very interesting to see the detective's reaction to the 'disaster' I have planed should my demands be ignored. Prepare Monsieur Holmes to meet the 'Angel of Death' face to face!