Finally Talking

I awake alone and cold. That is odd. The fire has gone out and the room is quite dark. Where is Watson? My head does not swim when I get to my feet and my vision is clear, though my mind still seems to be somewhat fogged. I hope that that is simply due to having just awoke.

There is a note on the coffee table, written in Watson's scrawl. He has been summoned to his practice and had not the heart to wake me before he left. I sink into my chair, still staring at his note. I feel strangely lost and hurt and for a moment or two I am not quite sure what I should do with myself.

Deciding that I am feeling much improved, I at last call for a cup of tea and some... What time is it? Some breakfast. I shall take Watson's advice and eat when and as I feel the need. I want him to be pleased if - when - he returns.

While I wait for the breakfast things I wash myself thoroughly and change my clothes. Ah yes! Now I feel much better.

I have just finished eating when my faithful friend returns. His face lights up at the sight of me and he steps inside the room quickly.

"Thank goodness! You are finally looking better," he remarks cheerfully.

My heart sinks; the fellow had might as well have said 'thank God that that is over', for I know only too well that the doctor will not stay if he is not needed. Never the less, I nod and attempt to give him a smile before I lose the battle with my building emotions and lower my gaze to the dregs of my teacup.

"Well... I thought that you were. What is the matter old fellow?"

What can I tell him? I have so much to say. All those promises that I have made to myself as I waited and longed for the reunion between myself and my Boswell, and what has become of them? I am no better than I was before! I said that I would never hurt him again and yet I have actually caused him to shed tears on more than one occasion. Above all, telling him that I am sorry is not good enough; I have to show him and let him know it. Words are ten a penny.

"Holmes? Are you all right?"

I nod and allow my gaze to meet his again. "Do you have time to talk?"

He smiles and takes a seat opposite me. "Is there still tea in the pot?"

"I am afraid not. I shall just ask Mrs. Hudson for more."

We are soon seated facing one another from either side of the hearth as we sip freshly brewed tea and share a batch of Mrs. Hudson's delicious homemade biscuits.

"You did say that you wanted to talk with me," Watson prompts after a moment or two.

I fidget in my armchair and nod. "Please be patient with me old fellow; what I have to say does not come easily."

"That sounds ominous..."

I am not angry with you! Why must you jump to conclusions so? "While I was away, I swore that things would be different when I returned... that I would be different - better than I was..."

"My dear Holmes!"

I blink rapidly and turn my gaze to the fire with a sniff. "If anything, I have been worse than ever. Never before have we fought! Never!"

Before I even know that he has moved, my Boswell has taken my cup from my trembling hands. "Holmes," he says gently as he takes my hand in his. "You are no more or less to blame than I am. I shouted at you! Why are you blaming yourself?"

Because it was my fault! "Why did you shout at me?"

"Well... I over-reacted! I should know you by now."

"Yes, I suppose that you should indeed know by now that I am selfish and that my timing is not always the best."

"Stop that."

Why? It is the truth!

"Holmes, you do not have to keep apologising. I had thought that we had already agreed that we were both in the wrong and that we should move on from it. If all you wish to do is to go over that argument..."

I shake my head. "No, I do not want that at all. I simply wish to understand what went wrong, so that it does not happen again." I would tell him that he means too much to me, but how can I say that when I have abandoned him for three long years? That is something that I shall have to prove to him.

"I was in a hurry to return to my practice and caused you to say something that I did not appreciate overly much," he responds with a shrug of his uninjured shoulder.

Yes, I remember now. I told him that I was lonely, that he must be as well and that it was ridiculous that we were living separately when we can live together so very comfortably. My choice of words were none too delicate either.

"I behaved dreadfully." What more can I say?

"Had I not repeatedly interrupted you, you would have had ample time to consider your words and my feelings would most likely have been spared," he argues. "Now please stop it. What is it that you wish to say?"

I take up my teacup again and swallow the last of its contents. It does little to steady my nerves! Well, I shall simply have to swallow my pride, as well as the tea, and show him my heart. The rest is up to him.

"Watson... I have missed you terribly. I..." Take a deep breath Holmes. "I would like, if you can find it within yourself, for you to move back to Baker Street. I shall always consider this house to be as much your home as it is mine, should you live here or not." And it is not home without him. It never has and never will be.

"What about my practice?"

Sell it! "That is up to you; it is for you to decide what you wish to do and where you wish to live. Perhaps you would prefer not to live here at all."

He meets my gaze solemnly. "I did not say that Holmes."

"I wanted to say, that terrible morning, that I wished for you to think it over for as long as you need and to decide what it is that you would like to do."

He smiles at me. "Thank you Holmes. I shall do that."

I return his smile and then excuse myself and disappear into the washroom. I need a moment or two alone to calm myself. Well, at least my Boswell knows what I have had on my mind now.

When I return to the sitting room, my friend approaches me awkwardly.

"I owe you an apology or two myself old fellow. I have been hard on you."

Hardly that! "Watson..."

"No, listen to me please. I have judged you harshly. Far too harshly. That is why I became so upset and why I shouted at you."

"I deserved it!"

He stares at me for a long moment and then rests his hands upon my shoulders. "You truly believe that."

Of course I do!

He sighs and pulls me in close to him, wrapping his arms about me, and I slowly do the same. It was delayed by two days, but we are finally admitting that we have missed one another in a manner that expresses more than an entire dictionary of words ever could. As my Boswell squeezes me as if he means never to release me again I feel my eyes begin to overflow slightly. Until now I had not even realised that I was becoming tearful!

I hear my friend sniff and realise that he is shaking. Dear old Watson! I squeeze him in turn and then rub at his back.

"What a fool I have been," I hear the fellow whisper.

"It is over now," I assure him, once I have cleared my throat. "We can return to normal... if you wish it."

"I wish it!" he replies quickly. "We can at least go back to the way that things were before... when... when Mary..."

I pull him in close to me again as I realise that the fellow has not just been upset due to my supposed death and sudden return. He is still grieving for Mary, who has not died so very long ago. How could I be so stupid?

"It is all right Watson," I assure him when he all but dissolves into tears. This is not my area, but for my Boswell I shall make an effort. He needs me. "It is all right. Cry if you need to; there is no shame in it."

I know not quite why I said that, but it does sound like the sort of thing that my friend might say to me and it does seem to help, for I feel him relax in my embrace and his sobs become quieter. I rub at his back gently, saying nothing at all unless I am responding to him, until he slowly calms himself of his own accord.

"I am sorry," the fellow says at last, when he relinquishes his hold of me to dry his eyes and blow his nose. "What must you think of me?"

I drag him to the settee and sit down beside him with my hand resting at his arm. "I know that you have had a dreadful time my dear Watson. I would never judge you harshly..."

He at once bursts into tears and I stare at him in alarm. What have I said?

"Are you all right?" I ask as I grip his arm and watch him with building concern. I have known him to become tearful after a nightmare once or twice, but this is not like him at all!

He nods and coughs into his handkerchief.

Tea. He needs some more tea. I hastily pour him another cup and hand it to him.

"Thank you Holmes. I am all right old fellow," he sets aside his cup and blows his nose rather loudly. "Excuse me. I am all right now."

I wrap an arm about him and grip his shoulder as I resume my seat at his side. "It is quite all right. I am sorry if I have upset you."

"No! No, you have done nothing wrong. Do not think that."

I study him carefully. The chap sounds dreadfully hoarse and congested, though that could be due to the tears. Crying is frightfully unpleasant and I hate to do so with an audience because it is so very messy and can leave a fellow feeling so wretched. I hope that he is not emotional due to an impending illness, but there are signs... His eyes have dark circles beneath them and he is rather pale.

"You are done up," I remark, causing him to give a start. "And no wonder my dear Watson! You have been tending to me tirelessly, after all, and at what time were you sent for? It must have been before seven!"

"Now I know that you are more yourself. How did you know that it was so early?"

Because his writing and spelling was worse than the efforts of some of my Irregulars, for one thing. "Because you came back before half past ten and you look quite worn. It was no trivial matter for which you were called, I deduce, or you would have been disgruntled when you returned; therefore you were out early and gone for some time."

He nods and takes up his teacup again.

"You should get some sleep," I advise him. "You are going to give yourself a fever if you go on as you are."

He sniffs and nods again. "I will. Just let me finish my tea old fellow. Please."

"Of course. And then, when you are ready to sleep, I shall play for you. If you would like that."

The smile with which he addresses me speaks volumes. "Yes. Yes, I would like that."

I squeeze his shoulder and return his smile. It is always a pleasure to do something for Watson; he is such a warm, kindly man and he is habitually appreciative of my efforts. Not at all like me! I am a selfish wretch and I have to remind myself to show appreciation for Watson's kindness often.

When my Boswell has finished his tea I prepare the settee for him and then wait for him to ready himself for sleep. He does not take long and all but collapses into his makeshift bed when he returns to the sitting room. Poor old fellow! He has far too little regard for his own health.

I keep my promise and play my violin until I know him to be fast asleep, though the volume of his snores do trouble me. I do hope that he has not caught a cold and that I am fretting for no reason at all. I gently tuck the rugs about him snugly, being careful not to disturb him. This done, I press a hand to his forehead and then his cheek to gauge his temperature and, when I am satisfied that I can do no more, I take to my armchair.

I hope that my dear friend is all right. I must have put a terrible strain upon the poor chap. What can I do for him? I dearly want to make amends.