Please note: this a continuation of Chapter 17, wherein a young, pre-Watson Holmes attends a ballet and gives his compliments to the lead ballerina only to learn of an old woman in the company acting very strangely...
Sherlock Holmes laid himself flat on the catwalk above the stage, waiting. The exchange was to take place here, and he was going to spy on the proceedings. He heard a soft sound from above him, but ignored it. There could be nothing up there: there were no catwalks above him, just some thin beams and wires.
He was wrong. Arina landed quietly beside him, her graceful jump shaking the catwalks only slightly. She smiled at Holmes who was gaping up at her, mouth open and eyes wide. She lay down next to him, surveying the stage.
"Is Sherlock Holmes here to prevent a mischief?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper.
"Yes," he said, keeping his voice low as well. "Ms. Orlov, please, I cannot guarantee I will not be caught…"
Arina smiled at him. "I have never been caught," she said, "from there." She gestured to the beams above them. "Not even by Mr. Sherlock Holmes detective."
Holmes smiled very slightly. "You can fly," he said with a shrug. "I cannot."
She stood and held a hand out. "Fly with me."
He hesitated for only a moment before taking her hand and letting her pull him up.
"Follow," she whispered. She moved off the catwalk onto a beam, and Sherlock Holmes replicated her every handhold and footstep with care, if a bit more clumsily. They reached a high beam Arina sat down, and she gripped Holmes hard as he shakily sat down next to her.
"Do not fear," she said. "I will keep you safe. If you do fall, fall forwards to catwalk." She pointed, but Sherlock Holmes did not wish to look down. He tried to smile to reassure her he was fine, but he was sure it was more of a grimace. His grip on her arm was as tight as his other hand's grip on the beam. He tried to relax and let go, therefore, worried he was hurting her. If he was, she didn't complain, only seemed amused.
"Look," she whispered, "the door. Here is the old woman."
Holmes did look, then, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from Arina and telling himself he was so riveted on her simply because they were so high up and she was his best chance not to fall.
When she'd invited him into her dressing room the night before it had been nearly impossible to focus completely on the task at hand, but he was a gentleman and a professional and he had to be now as well. Arina had told him about how she would climb through the rafters of every theater they performed in, and would often see the old woman meeting with strange people for what seemed like an exchange. To Holmes, the case seemed to be a straightforward one of smuggling, and if he could figure out what was being smuggled and by whom he could take the information to the police and let them do all the dirty work of tracing the smuggling back to its source and making the arrests.
He watched as the old Russian woman came into the theater, looking around her suspiciously, even up at the catwalk were he'd just been. He realized belatedly that he'd stopped gripping Arina's arm and instead had her hand in his. He let go, embarrassed, but she held onto him and so he let his long fingers fold over her smaller ones and pretended he wasn't grinning like an idiot. Sitting on a beam with the ground far below was no time to melt.
The old woman's meeting occurred a few minutes later. Holmes and Arina watched as she traded a small, thin, rectangular package for a fat envelope Holmes was sure was full of cash. "Ha!" he breathed low enough only Arina could possibly hear. "You were wrong, my dear. This old woman does have a heart for the arts, but not for ballet. Do you know what that was?"
Arina frowned as she watched the meeting end and the people retreat. "It was… money?" she asked.
"Part of it was, I'm sure," Holmes said cryptically. "Come, let's get down from here."
She nodded and rose, telling Holmes where to hold and put his feet. She stayed above him, ready to grab him if his foot slipped. Holmes climbed down using the catwalk, and Arina flew down.
"Sherlock Holmes has seen more tonight than Arina," she observed.
"Yes, and I need to go now."
"Return," she said urgently.
"I will," he said, taking both her hands in his. "Of course I will. Don't you believe in me?"
She smiled, wrapping her arms around him for just a moment.
"Most men?" she said with a shrug. "Fooey. Sherlock Holmes? Sherlock Holmes I would take home to Russia."
"Arina… I will return," he promised. "Wait up for me, and keep your head down. Don't let the old woman know what you've been up to."
"I will be safe," she assured him.
He reached up, touched her cheek with a trembling hand, nodded once, and left.
Arina smiled when she saw him. "You have an answer for me?" she asked.
He nodded, giving her a smile of his own. "The old woman will bother you no longer," he proclaimed.
Arina nodded. "What was the item she gave her criminal friend?"
Holmes hesitated. "Please, you must forgive me, but I cannot tell you about it as of yet. The police will be here soon, and they will ask you lots of questions. I need you not to be able to answer them without lying, else they may suspect you are involved and arrest you."
Arina bit her bottom lip. "I do not like so many mysteries," she murmured.
"I will come back to you when they have left," Holmes said, "and all will be made clear. It was quite a simple problem, really, and there is nothing to be afraid of."
Arina stepped close to him, laying her hands on his chest. "When you come back," she said softly, "will you stay?"
He looked at her openly. He swallowed hard, his jaw moved, his breathing changed, and his chest heaved once, but he did not speak. She laid her hand over his heart, felt it racing beneath her fingers.
She sighed. "I see," she murmured. "There are no worries. I understand. The detective cannot join the ballet company. It is the world I live in, and Sherlock Holmes will not join."
"And you, Ms. Orlov, were born to fly," Sherlock Holmes murmured in response. "You could never come down to be part of my world, and it would burden my heart if I clipped your wings. I…" his voice cracked, and he looked away, screwing his eyes shut for just a moment. "I would follow you nearly anywhere," he said. "But I am a strange man, and I would wither in your world just as you would wither in mine."
Arina smiled very sadly. "A strange man," she said. "A young man, and a young woman, both of whom may find each other again, may they not? But for now, they say goodbye." She looked up at him expectantly, and he leaned down to meet her.
"I must go," he said breathlessly a few moments later. "The police will be here soon."
"To ask about the paintings," Arina said.
He blinked in confusion. "How did you know…"
"The forged ones the old lady makes," Arina clarified with a smile. "She is an artist, you say., but not a dancer. She must paint. Why sell paintings in darkness and secret? To replace the ones which have been stolen by others. Yes?"
"Yes."
"Sherlock Holmes?" she asked nervously, "will scandal come to the ballet company?"
"No, Arina. I have convinced the police that she was working completely alone, though I myself am certain she was not. But I would not put your livelihood in danger. Arina, you were born for this. But perhaps, as you say, we will meet again. I hope we will."
"And I will hope, too, and say goodbye. Should Sherlock Holmes ever be in Russia he will be welcome."
"And you will always have a friend in England."
They embraced, only parting ways when the police were near and Holmes had to leave so as to preserve Ms. Orlov's reputation.
Sherlock Holmes went on to become the world's foremost consulting detective, universally beloved. Arina Orlov danced for three more years before suffering a strain which ended her in ballet forever. Holmes read about the injury in the newspaper and began to write her a letter, but he couldn't bring himself to write, 'the newspaper also mentioned your recent engagement. I offer you my congratulations and best wishes for your upcoming nuptials and continued happiness.'
The letter, therefore, was never sent, but if it had, perhaps it would have been given a reply. And if it had been, he might have learned that Arina had never forgotten him, either. Neither of them ever did forget their meeting, but only one had cause to regret how it had ended.
For the prompt from Stutley Constable: A scandalous artist.
For TrustingHim17, who wanted to see the rest of the case.