I simply could not understand it. Holmes was the most physically coordinated man I'd ever known. He could fence, box, and had knowledge of baritsu, or Japanese wrestling. And yet he kept bumping into me. It happened most days at least once. He would collide with me on our way to a hansom, or brush his hand over mine as he reached for his letters in the morning. I could not explain it. Was he angry with me? Was he sick? If he was, he certainly would never say so. It was disquieting. But I somehow couldn't say I minded.