"On board ship there are many sources of joy of which the land knows nothing. You may flirt and dance at sixty; and if you are awkward in the turn of a valse, you may put it down to the motion of the ship. You need wear no gloves, and may drink your soda-and-brandy without being ashamed of it."
Anthony Trollope (1815–1882),
Chapter 24: "Sources of Joy"
Holmes
"Holmes."
"Yes, old chap?"
"That baby is no longer screaming – why are you finishing your toilette in my stateroom yet again?"
I glanced in the mirror at Watson's mischievous face as he was putting on his jacket and felt my mouth twist into a grin.
"Was that a not very subtle hint for me to make myself scarce, Watson?" I asked, pretending to look hurt.
"Not necessarily, though I do wish you would let me have at least a fourth of the mirror," he said, ducking under my elbow to straighten his tie.
He knew, I believe, what I would never say aloud – that I had been deeply shaken, shaken to my very core, by the last night's events; and that I was loathe to let him out of my sight for an instant for fear that Smith would attack again.
I had gotten him back from the grave, so to speak, for although he had not actually been infected, he so easily could have. And for a horrible night, the most horrible night of my life, I thought I was going to have to watch him die, slowly and painfully.
Watson had been most brave about it, but the horror and fear still lingered with us both, the evening after the fact; and I was still having trouble shaking off the horrible thoughts that still lurked round my mind and heart.
Watson evidently had put the past in the past, however, for he gave a jerk to his tie and then started to chuckle.
"What is so amusing, Doctor?"
"I still can't believe I beat you, Holmes."
"Yes, well –"
"I mean, really – no one bests Sherlock Holmes in fencing!"
"My mind was not on the game, Watson," I said defensively, slightly embarrassed by the fact myself.
I had just got close to what I thought might be a solution when suddenly my wrist had twisted and my foil went flying to the side of the fencing court. I had shaken myself out of my reverie to see a pair of incredulous but near-overjoyed hazel eyes looking at me triumphantly.
And at my completely dumbfounded look – my mental processes had fled from my mind upon the instant and I had no idea what I had been thinking about – Watson had broken into a delighted little laugh.
I scowled now at the remembrance of the morning's events; although truth be told, I was more than happy to see him so pleased – I had thought never to hear him laugh again after last night's dreadful nightmare.
"I was preoccupied, Watson, nothing more."
"Mmhm."
"We shall have to have a rematch, of course."
"Oh, no. I want to be able to say that the last time I fenced with you, I won. I am not playing again!"
"It was not a fair match!"
"Perhaps not – but you are the one who said you do not like to play by the rules, remember?" he asked impishly, leaning on the wall to look at me while I finished putting in my cuff-links.
I glared at him, and he calmly returned the look with a grin, knowing full well that I was not in the least bit annoyed. My pride had been hurt a trifle, but I could think of no man more worthy to best me that the one standing beside me, and I was not bothered in the least by it.
"I suppose you're going to be telling this to the whole ship," I teased him as we turned to leave.
"No, no. But it will go in the story when I write it up, I promise you that!" he said with a laugh.
I snorted and made some comment about embellished romantic adventures, and he countered with his usual arguments – I had no idea really what we were talking about, for the argument was so old we had each other's responses down pat; it was more habit than anything else at this point in time.
"You know, you need to find something new to criticise me about, Holmes," he said thoughtfully as we made our way to dinner.
"Hmm?"
"Besides my writing. You need to find a new focus."
"But you have no other vices, old chap – there is nothing to dislike," I said, quite seriously.
Now it was his turn to snort.
"Are you feeling quite well, Holmes?"
"Watson, not everything I say is meant as sarcasm!"
"Well you need to post a warning then, or one day I might die of a heart attack!"
I laughed aloud, the feeling of relief I had felt last night upon realizing Smith had been toying with us washing over me once again – and it was such a good feeling to be walking in to dinner, relatively safe, and for a little while pretend that all was well in our little world.
The key word in that thought being pretend.
My thoughts went from jollity back to Smith – but before my mood could dip, we nearly collided with a familiar figure on the way to dinner.
"Midshipman, are you permitted to eat with passengers?" I asked the man in front of us.
"Aye, Mr. Holmes," Lachlan replied, looking much the better now for a solid block of sleeping time, "is tha' an invitation?"
"Better accept it now, Lachlan – Holmes is not the sociable type. Might recall the request at any time," Watson said with an undignified snicker.
I elbowed him warningly.
"I am interested to hear your tale of last night, I must admit."
"Then it is settled. Table for three, please?"
Over an excellent dinner, I told Lachlan briefly the outline of what had happened.
"You said this mornin' that you were going to do some thinking, Holmes – have ye decided why Smith hasn't really killed you both yet?" the officer asked us.
"No, I was almost to the conclusion this morning when I was…distracted…by something," I replied, glancing at Watson in time to see him smirk, "and when I regained my concentration, my train of thought had vanished."
"Pity," Watson interjected blandly, sipping his port and not sounding at all sorry about being the cause of my mental lapse.
Lachlan eyed him quizzically, and I interrupted before Watson could tell the story – I still had my pride!
"Anyway, Lachlan, I do apologise for not letting you know sooner when we found out it was a hoax – I confess to being beyond reasonable thought at that point," I said, leaning back as the waiter passed Watson's food over me to him.
When the white-coated fellow with the fake accent had departed, Lachlan asked Watson some question about the case while I leaned back thoughtfully, trying to recall what it was that I had been thinking of before Watson had so skillfully bested me at our friendly bout this morning.
What was it? Something about Smith, why he wanted us alive. Some reason…
"So because he was so distracted, I was able to twist the foil out of his hand and it went flying thirty feet across the court," I head Watson telling Lachlan out of my distant senses.
I snorted.
"Fifteen feet," I interjected indignantly.
"Thirty."
"It was no more than twenty!"
"It was thirty," Watson said to Lachlan in a privately informative tone.
I gave up and went back to my musing, absently eating and not realizing what was in front of me. What was that elusive reason, why Smith wanted us alive still?
I finally became aware that I was staring rather rudely into space when I heard Lachlan ask Watson something in a low voice and they both snickered. I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at them.
They were both watching me with amusement, and I just now realized the table had been cleared completely of dishes.
"Ah. Finished, are we?"
"Now that is one brilliant deduction, my dear fellow. It is no wonder you're famous."
Lachlan gave a snort of laughter at Watson's sarcasm, and I glared at the both of them, rising from the table.
They followed me after exchanging an amused look, and we made our way up to the deck again. I stood close to the rail, looking out over the night sky. The promised storm seemed to be at bay at the moment, the only indication of approaching rough seas being a strong salty breeze that set the gas lights swinging.
The sounds of a six-piece orchestra leading the songs for the dancing couples were not conducive to deep thought, and so I turned to Watson and Lachlan.
"I have to find where that train of thought led, gentlemen, and so I am going to go sit down and have a quiet smoke."
"Will you think better with a sounding board?"
"Not one that beat me in fencing," I replied dryly.
Watson flushed slightly and grinned.
"Are you certain?"
"Quite. Why don't you and Lachlan go and dance or something?" I suggested slyly.
"I've never danced with a doctor before," Lachlan said seriously, his face absolutely devoid of any expression.
I nearly shouted with laughter at the midshipman's unexpected vein of humor and at my friend's bright red face.
"That was not exactly what I meant, Lachlan," I said dryly.
"That is rather a relief."
I snickered and left the two of them near the dancing area and settled myself on a nearby couch, far enough out of range that the background noise would not be disturbing and near enough that I could keep a sharp eye out for any trouble.
I smiled as I saw that they had already made their way through the crowd and were already deep in converse with a group of people – Watson was the magnetic type that made friends everywhere and anywhere he went, and Lachlan was very like him.
Possibly that was why I was drawn to our client more so than the normal for me.
But I pushed all thoughts of sentiment from my mind now – I had to get my thoughts back on track, for I had wasted enough time today in frivolity.
I absently lit up my pipe, thinking back through the case and still not remembering what I had been thinking of.
Then my mind went back to that week in '90 when I had first encountered Smith in the adventure that had shaken Watson so deeply – his reaction still to this day haunted me as a reminder of how heartless I could be.
But even he did not know the true facts of the case, and I had no intention of telling him what had really transpired…
What had really transpired.
That was it.
That was why Smith had kept me alive all this time instead of removing me.
Watson
"I don't waltz."
"Oh, go on, Midshipman," I said with a grin, nodding to the woman in question who was trying, rather prettily I might add, to convince the seaman to dance with her.
"I don't waltz!" he said desperately, his tanned face turning red.
"I don't care, Mr. Lachlan," the young thing said coquettishly, blinking a pair of long eyelashes at the flustered sailor.
"I am so going to keelhaul you for talking me into this, Doctor," the seaman muttered in my ear as he passed me.
I chuckled as he awkwardly took the lady on his arm and they swept out with the other couples on the deck.
Lachlan had, as I suspected, been merely trying to wriggle out of the thing – I could tell already that he danced as well as any other man on the deck.
And evidently the girl he was with had noticed too, and I watched with a smile as they interacted and the sailor began to relax visibly.
"Dr. Watson?"
I turned to see the young couple that held the stateroom next to Holmes's, baby in tow. They both looked much the better after a day of rest, and they appeared very much more happy, dressed in evening wear. Even the baby had on a little shiny dress that caught the light and made her coo and giggle.
"I did not even introduce myself to you this morning, Doctor," the man said, extending a hand to me, "James Sydney. This is my wife Anna and our little Helen."
The fellow appeared much more amiable than he had this morning, thanks to the rest, and I shook his hand and nodded to the lady.
"How has your daughter been, madam?"
"Much better, Doctor – she slept for several hours and has not been ill since you helped her this morning," the lady said, holding the child out for my inspection.
The little one's blue eyes were staring widely at everything, and a smile creased my face. I had thought never to see such small wonders again after last night, and the sight still thrilled me.
"Yes, well, I get seasick myself on occasion, Mrs. Sydney," I admitted, "and when I get it, I am rather a bear – you can ask Sherlock Holmes if you do not believe me. It is undoubtedly the most miserable feeling in the world."
Both young parents laughed and we chatted for a few more moments. I noticed that the lady kept casting longing looks at the dancing couples a few feet from us.
"Mrs. Sydney, would you like me to take Helen for a little while so that you and your husband can enjoy the dancing for a bit?" I asked suddenly.
The woman's face lit up, and she looked pleadingly at her husband.
"We cannot ask you to do that, Doctor, you have been too kind already –"
"Nonsense, I love children," I replied, "and Holmes is sitting over there on a couch. I'll just go over and talk to him while you have a bit of fun, eh?"
"Well…"
"Please, James?" the wife asked, her eyes sparkling.
"Are you quite certain you do not mind, Doctor?"
"Not in the least, lad. Come along now, Helen."
The woman handed the baby to me and she looked at me for a moment, scrutinizing my face. Then apparently she decided I passed inspection and she settled back with a coo, waving a tiny hand trying to grab my mustache.
"Thank you so much, Doctor Watson – we will only do one dance and not take up much of your time," the father said, taking his wife's arm.
"Make it as many as you like, Holmes and I will watch her," I replied, cradling the baby and smiling at the fresh young couple as they made their way into the next dance.
I wove my way through the crowd, finally reaching Holmes's seat without mishap and sitting down beside him.
"Thought of it yet?"
"Yes, I know now what – where the devil did you pick that up?"
"This is Helen, Holmes, not that. Babies have names, you know."
"Do they?"
"You are perfectly ridiculous. Here, you hold her – she likes you," I said, extending the child to my friend.
"No, no, I am done with all screaming children," he replied hastily, waving me away with the stem of his pipe.
"She isn't screaming – and keep that pipe away from her, the stuff you smoke is thick enough to choke a horse!"
"It is not! And your 'ship's' is no better, thank you very much!"
"Perhaps not, but I don't smoke it around small children!"
Holmes eyed the infant, who was returning his gaze with a cool curiosity, her blue eyes fastening on his pipe.
She gave a little baby-laugh and reached out for it.
"No, you cannot have it, you're too young," Holmes addressed the child as if she were an adult.
I had to laugh at his absolute cluelessness and cradled the girl in the crook of my arm.
"Where is Lachlan?" Holmes asked.
I smiled and nodded toward the dancers.
"Look."
The seaman was twirling gaily round with one of the other group of single girls who had flocked round him at the side of the dance floor. He did cut rather a stunning figure in his dress uniform, and the lady he was dancing with was a simply gorgeous creature.
"Hmph."
"Really, Holmes, can you not be human for once?"
"If it ever means making a fool of myself in that silly fashion, no, Watson."
"He appears to be having rather a wonderful time," I said a bit wistfully.
Holmes heaved a huge sigh.
"All right, give me the little blighter and go enjoy yourself. But I need to talk to you and Lachlan as soon as you can detach yourself without being rude from that regiment of skirts."
I laughed mischievously and handed the baby Helen to him.
He took her a little nervously, looking at her tiny face and then putting his pipe on the ground beside him out of her reach.
"That could be rather a while, Holmes. We both are rather popular with the fair sex, you know. Remember, my department?"
Holmes snorted.
"Oh, do go on, Watson!"
I did, though a feeling of apprehension pricked the back of my mind, for I had spotted a familiar look in my friend's eyes.
The steely, pronounced sheen that meant he was connecting the threads of his web, that sooner rather than later, we would have our rendezvous with smith.