Watson
I stared after the figure of my friend disappearing down the stately corridor, and then glanced back uncertainly toward the impassive gentleman behind the desk. Mycroft Holmes's thin lips curled in a satisfied smile, and he nodded reassuringly in my direction.
"Give him time, Doctor. And pray remember the more time he spends in that temper, the less he will spend in some artificial stimulation." The older man heaved himself out of his chair and moved ponderously round the desk to show me out. "I know what I am doing, Watson. And I know that you possess both the discretion and the affection for my brother that qualify you to take the reins from my hands at this time."
I lifted my medical bag with a doubtful look, to which Mycroft again nodded reassuringly. "I wish you the best of luck, Doctor. Let him sulk as long as he is able to. And I do wish I was able to tell you something about this Trevor fellow, but to be honest at that period of our lives I was not much involved with my brother. He withdrew into himself after the deaths of our parents and made it quite clear that he wished no interference with his studies or his life, either from me or from anyone else."
I paused in the doorway, the realisation finally fitting into place that not just memories of my friend's collegiate days were probably going to be resurrected here. I extended my hand. Mycroft Holmes inclined his head in understanding and warmly returned the gesture of goodwill. "Very good, Doctor. Do keep me informed if communication slips his mind, which I am certain it will."
I smiled and, after bidding the man farewell, exited the monstrous buildings into the sunshine of an unusually pleasant noonday. I well knew that Holmes in the condition and temper he maintained at the moment could be anywhere in London, and in consequence I stopped at a small café on Bow Street for a sandwich and a cup of fortifying tea (orange pekoe, not black Darjeeling) before I moved on to inform my fellow medicos that a case had come up and I would be unavailable until further notice.
After taking care of a few errands, I returned to Baker Street, to find a rather out-of-sorts Mrs. Hudson dusting the banister and the hall table outside Holmes's bedroom.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson," I ventured, hanging my hat on the peg downstairs and then beginning to ascend slowly.
"Doctor," she greeted me, glancing pointedly at the closed door of the sitting room. "I take it Mr. Holmes has a case, then?"
Dismayed, I frowned. "Don't tell me he's started smoking already?"
"Quite," said she succinctly. "I do hope you can convince him of the benefits of an open window on the only sunny day we may have this week? I aired out your room as well, Doctor, and dusted your furniture."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. You have been most patient of late, and I do appreciate it," I sighed, smiling at the longsuffering woman. She merely nodded knowingly at me and continued on down the stairs, running the duster efficiently into every crook and niche of the polished wood.
I dropped my bag upon the table and opened the sitting room door, to be greeted by a positive fog that reeked of black shag tobacco. Coughing, I ploughed my way to the window and without asking lifted it, waving the smoke out into the balmy afternoon air with a nearby old newspaper.
When the haze had cleared, I saw Holmes sitting in his armchair with his legs drawn up to his chest, his hands clasped in front of them and his chin resting upon his knees, and staring into the blackness of an unlit fire. His oldest and oiliest pipe was clenched so tightly between his teeth that I could see from here the tension of his set jaw, and his forehead was creased with deep thought wrinkles.
I sighed, knowing that it would do me no good to question him on his mental disturbances or upon his past and therefore not about to attempt it until he was in a somewhat better mood. Instead, I closed the window half-way, leaving enough room for a breeze, and began to clean up the residual chaos of a three-week depression. I stacked all the old newspapers into one neat pile to be burnt later, cleaned up the cigarette ends and ash from the different receptacles Holmes had appropriated and then dumped them into the fireplace, and replaced the books and papers into their correct drawers and shelves.
By the time I had finished, I was perspiring profusely and set about to remove my jacket for the room was growing very warm. I tossed the coat onto my armchair, and received a startled blink from the pensive detective as motion in his immediate vision brought him out of his reverie.
"Did you eat luncheon?" I asked cautiously, mopping my forehead.
I received a brief shake of his head, before his eyes narrowed and he relit his extinguished pipe, returning to his brown study and ignoring any further attempts at conversation I endeavoured to instigate.
I knew were I to lie down at the moment I should probably sleep the entire afternoon away in the heat, and so instead I merely sighed and moved into Holmes's bedroom to locate his luggage among the chaotic mess he deigned to call organization. Behind his dresser I located his shaving-kit (how it got wedged between the dresser and the wall I had no idea), his traveling valise was (shockingly) in its proper place at the floor of his wardrobe, and his other portmanteaus were in the hall closets downstairs I knew.
I set about laying out his lightest summer suits, for I well knew the weather would be atrociously hot in India and Nepal, our final destination were Holmes to decide to take the case (which he would, I had no doubt), and his light summer hats and so on. I did not actually pack his suitcases, as I knew full well he would just toss everything about to his satisfaction anyway, but I did line them up along with the appropriate clothing and accessories; I knew from experience that my friend hated to pack, and half the time ended up begging or bribing or blackmailing me to do it for him when we were to take along more than a toothbrush and a clean collar.
Before long, the heat became slightly oppressive and my collar was wilting under the stifling warmth of his small bedroom. My leg also throbbed with the changes of the weather in the last few days, and I was horribly fatigued from the physical and mental strain of this time of tension during the previous weeks. Finally, after I chased a runaway cuff-link under his bed and emerged sneezing and covered in dust and heaven only knew what else, I was forced to sit and mop my forehead with the back of my now-dirty sleeve, leaning my head back for a moment against his bed to rest.
I am not certain if I dozed off in that position or merely was lulled into a sort of warmly muddled daze close to it, but I am certain I jumped back to consciousness when Holmes bellowed for me at the top of his lungs from the sitting room.
"Watson!" I winced, rubbing my eyes and only then realising my sleeve was positively covered in dust which stung my eyes and temporarily blurred my vision. "Watson, pack your things, we leave tomorrow. I shall procure the tickets and so – my dear fellow, are you quite all right?"
I rubbed my watering eyes clear in time to see that he had bounded into the bedroom and stopped short at the sight of me sitting on the floor in front of his bed.
"Yes, quite," I grumbled, swiping at my itching eyes. "Do you ever clean under that bed or at least allow Mrs. Hudson access to your room to do so once in a while?"
"What exactly were you doing under my bed?" he queried, extending a hand to pull me to my feet. I took it and rose stiffly, keeping the weight off my bad leg, but before I could answer, his keen roving eyes had flitted to the contents of said bed. "My dear chap, there was no call for you to do this –"
"Yes, yes," I yawned, waving him off but secretly rather glad that he at least noticed my efforts. "I was chasing a cuff-link under the bed; here. What were you saying about tomorrow?"
"Oh. Yes. I have decided to accept this case, Watson, more to prove my brother is mistaken in his belief of Trevor's involvement than anything else," my friend said, eagerly shoving the pile of clothing into a valise and not even checking to see that I had remembered everything.
"You believe him to have no knowledge of the business," I stated cautiously.
He raised a dark eyebrow at me. "I never said so. Merely that I don't see him as being devious enough or having any reason to contaminate the shipments of Darjeeling from the surrounding areas."
"You say devious," I remarked, handing him his extra shoes which he took and mashed down on top of his extra hat (I winced). "He's not…a manipulative sort, then?"
Holmes paused in his packing to face me, his arms folded. "Your subtlety in inquiries regarding my past leaves much to be desired, Doctor."
"I wasn't trying to be subtle," I retorted, rolling up his neckties and positioning them neatly in a portmanteau. "You've pointedly avoided telling me anything about the man; how else am I supposed to know what to expect if you do not see fit to tell me anything about him?"
"Such as?" he asked, the hints of a glare beginning in the back of his eyes.
I sighed and sat wearily on the edge of his bed to take the strain off my leg. "Holmes, pray listen carefully to me," I implored him. I had hoped he would sit as well but instead he remained standing over me, forcing me to look up at him. "I have no intention of prying into your past life, I promise you that much. As far as I am concerned, your history is a closed book that I shan't attempt to open. But I do believe I am entitled to know what might have a bearing on this case, if I am to keep up with the rapidity of your train of thoughts as you prefer I do?"
"Victor Trevor is a good man, Doctor, or was twenty years ago at least," Holmes stated coolly. "After having a criminal for a father I know full well he would never consent to having dealings with one or becoming one himself. Besides, the man is of above average intelligence – much like you, Watson. He may not be a genius, but nor is he foolish enough to leave such a clear pattern incriminating his own plantation, were he behind this."
I was somewhat startled at the oblique compliment but nodded solemnly at this information, hoping more was forthcoming. Unfortunately, Holmes had obviously said all that he cared to say, for he stopped and began packing his traveling valise with his most powerful lens and other necessities, leaving me watching him.
Finally I sighed and stood to leave, though I paused in the door and looked back at him. "Holmes."
"Yes, what is it?" he muttered, rummaging through a drawer, down upon his hands and knees at the bottom of his bureau.
"Are you going to at least describe the man to me before we get to Bombay?"
My friend paused, lowering his head with a small sigh for a moment before looking up at me. "Yes, Watson," he replied slowly, pensively. "It is just that…this is all rather sudden, you understand?"
"Of course, Holmes."
"Good man," he said quietly, smiling and jumping back to his feet with all traces of his defensiveness gone. "I shall tell you everything I can, Doctor, but not until I have my own mind sufficiently sorted upon the subject. Will that satisfy you for now?"
"Quite, my dear fellow," I answered, relief filling me at the knowledge that he was merely attempting to get his own mind in order first and foremost, not avoiding his past and his keeping typical reticence regarding it. "You're treading on that clean collar."
"Oh." He hastily picked up the poor thing and scowled, tossing it upon the bedside chair. Then he glanced ruefully back at me and his eyes softened ever so slightly. "You have been most patient, Watson," said he, in a tone that in another man would have indicated gratefulness. "Do be patient with me for a little longer, eh?"
"If that is what you wish, certainly," I agreed.
"Capital. Now off with you, Doctor, and pack your things – we leave at eight tomorrow, and you know how much you despise early mornings; best to not be up late choosing clothing. Oh, and pack your revolver; you may have occasion to bag yourself a tiger or something!"
"Holmes, I am most definitely never going to hunt a tiger with only a pistol," I replied dryly. "And you are far more likely to encounter an adder or a vampire bat than a large cat, in that area."
"Oh, lovely," I heard him mutter as he stuck his head into his wardrobe to locate his waterproofs. I grinned and started up the stairs, only to be stopped halfway when he called out for me, standing half in the hall and looking at me curiously.
"Yes, Holmes?"
"Do I remember correctly, Doctor, that you did spend time in India, while you were in the service?" he inquired quietly.
I shifted my weight uncomfortably and ran an uneasy hand through my hair, for I had indeed and the memories had been rather threatening to revive in painful clarity while I had been packing his things in that heat. "Yes, I did; after Maiwand I was taken to Peshawar, which is only just over the Indian border. But occasionally we ventured into the territory, though not in the Terai area. That was far too inland…I am surprised you did not see the place yourself, on your travels in and near Tibet," I replied slyly.
He ignored my last comment and continued looking thoughtfully up at me. "Perhaps on the ship, we should have a mutual exchange of information concerning the past, then," he ventured inquisitively.
I paused, stroking my moustache in thought, but of course it was only fair. I nodded finally, and his thin lips twitched in a small smile before he nodded and popped back into his bedroom without another word.
A sudden thought struck me, however, and I descended the stairs and rapped on his door.
"Come in!" he bellowed, and I pushed the door open and stood somewhat hesitantly in the doorway. "What is it, Watson?" He glanced up in the midst of fastening a bulging portmanteau, giving me his complete attention.
"Holmes, may I ask you something without your growing irritated with my medical views?" I finally questioned directly.
His brows knitted, but he nodded slowly. Thus encouraged, I continued in as calm a tone as I could conjure to keep the tension to a minimum. "Holmes, I have no idea what this Trevor fellow's view upon your…habit…would be," and we both knew to which one I was referring; he flushed slightly. "But I somehow doubt you would like him to learn of it by accident or some such while on our trip, am I correct?"
His immediate casting down of his gaze, closer to embarrassment than I had ever seen before from him, told me my answer. I leaned against the doorway and lowered my voice. "I'm not asking you to leave it behind, though I should prefer that of course. Pack the case in my medical bag," I said softly. "No one will think twice about seeing such in there."
His face shot upward to look at me in something akin to bewilderment, and I knew I had taken the correct approach. I turned to leave, only to have him come after me and stop me, laying a hand on my arm on the banister. His eyes were stormy, and his grip rather tighter than normal.
"If I do, promise me something, Doctor," he stated intensely.
"Not until I know what it is," I replied firmly, not knowing what it could be in reference to the infernal stuff.
"Promise me you won't allow me access to it in front of him," he implored without preamble.
I nodded readily. "That I can safely promise, Holmes."
"Good man." He clapped my arm once and then jumped back down to the hall, bellowing to Mrs. Hudson that he would be wanting dinner, and soon if she pleased.
Laughing to myself, I continued my way up to my room to unearth my own luggage and get it satisfactorily packed before the dear lady answered her lodger's trying demands. Perhaps this case was going to be rather pleasant after all, if Holmes continued to keep in a reasonably good mood which in turn assured that I should be.
Granted, being rudely awoken the next morning at half-past six by a far-too-excited consulting detective bounding in, lighting the gas, and then shouting at me to rouse myself, did not add to that optimism much.
To be continued.
