A Broken Engagement, Chapter 6.

The next day after the concert.

The next morning Sherlock had arranged to visit Mrs Hudson again. He was glad, as it would take him out of the house at the time that Mrs Adler usually called. He walked from Camden Place to Westgate Buildings in a daze, thinking the whole time of the concert and the conversation with John beforehand.

When he arrived at Mrs Hudson's rooms, she very particularly wanted to hear about the concert and the party afterwards, and was rather disappointed in Sherlock's vagueness about the details of it all.

"Were the Durands there?" she asked.

Sherlock admitted that he had not noticed.

"How about the Ibbotsons?"

Sherlock did not think they were there, but was not quite sure.

Mrs Hudson sighed, then recollected herself. "Ah well, but I hear you were very well entertained with your own party, so I expect you never needed to look beyond at other people."

"I should have looked about myself more," returned Sherlock, with a rather conscious blush that he had done plenty of looking about, but only for one person in particular.

Mrs Hudson gave him a saucy smile. "But you had a pleasant evening, I see it in your eyes. You had music to listen to, and a lovely lady to look at and converse with – nothing more was needed."

Sherlock frowned. "What have you heard? Do you know Mrs Adler?"

"Actually, I do. She and my late husband were very well acquainted. In fact," Mrs Hudson spoke in a rush, "I hope you might mention me to her and beg for her assistance. At the time my husband died she owed him a share of money from a mutual venture they had been working on. I thought that once… once you two were married you might be able to convince her to part with at least some of it, to my benefit."

Sherlock started. "Married? What makes you think Mrs Adler and I are going to be married?"

Mrs Hudson covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh my dear, I am so sorry. Is it not supposed to be mentioned yet?" She dropped her eyes to the floor. "I should have waited for official confirmation, I know, but I was anxious about the money, you see. Please forgive me. I won't mention it again until after the official announcement."

Sherlock was starting to get angry, "There is not and never will be any official announcement of my marriage to Mrs Adler!" he exclaimed. "It was not Mrs Adler that I…" he broke off.

Mrs Hudson gave him a penetrating stare, but said nothing.

Sherlock resumed more calmly, "So you have known Mrs Adler for some time? Might you have spoken of me to her at any stage?"

"Oh my goodness, of course yes, naturally I did. We were good friends for years, and I told her about all my favourite boarders. I was so very proud of you and your accomplishments, and that you chose to board with me."

"Well, that explains something she said to me last night." Sherlock murmured.

Mrs Hudson placed her hand on his arm. "My dear, tell me truly now, are you definitely not engaged and have you absolutely no intention of marrying Mrs Adler?"

Sherlock snorted, "Definitely not and absolutely none. I don't know how such a rumour ever got started."

"Such things happen when people spend a lot of time together, but that's not important now." She leaned further forward and fixed him with an earnest gaze. "You need to know her true nature, lest she ensnare you or Mycroft in the future. She is a selfish, designing, ambitious woman without a care for anyone in the world except herself. She is involved in criminal activities and her fortune is built on blood. Now she wants a title to add to her money – be assured that if you had married her, Mycroft's life would have been worth nothing."

Sherlock felt a chill at their narrow escape. He had never been very close to Mycroft, but he would not wish him dead!

"Now, let us talk of pleasanter things – I must tell you what Nurse Rooke been saying about the gossip of Bath."

..oOo..

When Sherlock returned to Camden Place, he was dismayed to find Mrs Adler visiting his mother once again. He needed to tell his family what he had discovered about her, but could not do it with her present in their very midst. After endless excruciating chat, full of her usual insinuations and sly winks which Sherlock found increasingly distasteful, she finally rose to take her leave, saying as she did so, "Until tomorrow night then – I look forward to your party with great pleasure." She nodded to Sherlock as she swept out of the room.

Sherlock turned immediately to his mother, "Party? What party?"

Lady Holmes waved her fan idly, "Oh, I have decided to host a small evening party, just the family and the Watsons and the Lestrades gathering for an evening of cards and music. Not a big event, there will only be a cold collation and a string quartet."

"And Mrs Adler will be present." Sherlock scowled.

"Of course, dear. She is very attentive to… all of us and is invited to all my parties."

"You needn't invite her on my account," said Sherlock, flatly. "I despise the woman. I hear she made her money in criminal activities and I beg you to make your own enquiries. I would much rather that she never set foot in this house again!"

There was a surprised silence following this startling announcement, then Lady Holmes elegantly turned the subject. Mycroft did not forget, however. He had his own sources of information and would certainly use them.

..oOo..

John was restless. It was all very well staying with his sister and attending parties and concerts all over Bath, but the one person he really wanted to see was socially out of his reach. It was driving him crazy with jealousy to hear of Sherlock and Mrs Adler being seen everywhere together. Rumour had it that their engagement would be announced any day, and John lived in dread of it. From one point of view it was possible that Sherlock could not be any more lost to him if he were married to someone else than he was now, but John could not help thinking that if only he had a chance, if only Mrs Adler were out of the way, then he could make Sherlock love him again.

So it was with interest that he received an invitation to the Lestrades' house for a luncheon party. Would Sherlock be there? It might be one of his few chances to catch Sherlock alone, as the Lestrades were too socially insignificant to be of interest to the very practical Mrs Adler. He dressed carefully, brushed his hat and donned his best gloves. This might be his only chance.

As the Watsons alighted from Harry's carriage John was disappointed to see that Sherlock was not present at the luncheon party. The Lestrades had invited the Morstans, including both Mary and Captain Murray, and the Watsons but it appeared that no Holmeses were expected.

Lunch passed slowly, most of the discussion centering around Mary's upcoming wedding. John smiled and made polite conversation and wondered how soon he could tear Harry and Clara away for a walk into town instead. Sherlock had been to the bookshop once before, could he arrange to run into him again there?

They had adjourned from the table to the parlour where tea was just being poured and fruit passed around, when the maid appeared to announce the arrival of "Mr Holmes and Mr Sherlock Holmes". In another moment both Mycroft and Sherlock walked into the room.

The reason for their arrival was for Mycroft to hand out cards for a "small family gathering" the next day. John felt a chill. Would this be the night they planned to announce Sherlock's engagement to Mrs Adler? Harry accepted their card from Mycroft and made suitable noises about being "very pleased" and "completely disengaged that evening".

John felt himself to be too agitated to speak to anyone with composure, so sat down at a small writing table nearby and pretended to busy himself with writing a letter. Too late, he realized that Greg Lestrade and Sherlock were quietly conversing by the window almost at his elbow. He buried his head in his writing and unashamedly strained to overhear their conversation.

Greg was teasing Sherlock about the party the next evening, "You have not been in Bath long enough to appreciate the fine art of card playing."

Sherlock snorted. "It is pure chance, no skill is involved. Card parties hold no interest for me at all."

Greg sighed in agreement, then nudged Sherlock with his elbow. "I suppose all your interest will be for Mrs Adler?"

Sherlock replied with cool indifference, "No, she is not invited. My Lady Mother has found out some information to her disadvantage, and I believe all intercourse between her and our family is at an end."

John felt his heart stop, then resume thundering. Could it be true? Had Lady Holmes dismissed Mrs Adler from their house? John rejoiced to hear it. Sherlock was not engaged! Perhaps he had a chance after all!

After a moment of silence Greg spoke. "Look at them," he nodded at Captain Murray and Mary Morstan. "He has forgotten that six months ago he was engaged to another."

Sherlock said quietly, "He is an active man with an active profession. It is natural that his thoughts and emotions should move quickly. It is different with us gentlemen who live quiet, private lives. I know I should never forget being engaged, even if my fiancé were to be lost to me forever."

Greg laughed disbelievingly, "It is active, busy men who have the strongest feelings! Take a navy man such as Captain Murray, I have no doubt his feelings are robust and able to bear the heaviest weather. He will have labour and toil enough, for Mary's fortune is not so large that they will be able to live upon it without his profession."

"True enough," Sherlock admitted. "But I will put forth that private gentlemen have tenderer feelings, and with less to distract us our thoughts dwell more consistently in the domestic sphere. Consider that when Captain Murray is at sea, Mary's life will revolve around his letters. When he is home, her every thought will be only for his comfort and entertainment in the short time they have together before he goes away again. I imagine," Sherlock coughed for a moment, "I imagine that she will live for those times of domestic happiness when he is home and those memories will be her main support and stay for those times when he is away."

John was horrified at this juncture to knock a pen off the table, drawing their attention to him. Both looked around, but then returned to their own, very interesting, conversation. John drew a piece of paper toward himself and began to write in earnest.

"Surely," Greg said, "you do not believe that active men are unable to feel emotions?"

"Oh no," Sherlock hastened to add. "I fully believe that active men are capable of the full range of emotions, particularly when they have a responsive partner. Who could not love, with eyes full of love looking back?" They looked at Mary and Captain Murray for a moment. "All I claim for myself is that private gentlemen have the capacity to love longest, even when all hope is gone." His laugh was self-deprecating and bitter. "It is a small enough claim, you need not envy it. Indeed," he added in a lower voice, "sometimes I wish it were not so."

Just then Harry called out to John, saying that their carriage was ready and that they must leave as they had another evening party to attend. John rose from his table, tucking his paper into his jacket, and accompanied Harry and Clara down the stairs. As they were assisted into the carriage, John slapped himself on the forehead. "My dear, please excuse me! I seem to have left my gloves on the writing table. I will be just a moment." With that, he dashed back up the stairs and into the Lestrades' drawing room.

"My humblest apologies, it seems I forgot my gloves. Ah, there they are." He crossed to the writing table, and as he had hoped, Sherlock and Greg were still standing at the window. He picked up his gloves and at the same time dropped his piece of paper on the table. Catching Sherlock's glance, he looked pointedly at the paper, then left the room again. Sherlock was clever. It would be enough.

..oOo..

Sherlock snatched up the piece of paper on the writing desk and secured it inside his jacket before anyone could mark what he had done. His pulse was loud in his ears. How to find a moment to read it? Now, or should he wait until they were safe at home? No, he could not wait so long to read a message from John.

Perhaps the same cover which John had used would work for him? Murmuring about some correspondence which he needed to address, he excused himself from Greg's company and sank down to sit at the small writing desk. With shaking fingers he unfolded the letter and read the sharply slanted, hurried, almost illegible writing.

Dearest Sherlock,

I dare greatly to address you as such again, but I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that an active man forgets sooner than a gentleman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes?

I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among navy men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating in your servant,

J. W.

I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house tomorrow evening or never.

Sherlock could hardly breathe. John loved him! John had written to him right here at this table, listening to his conversation with Greg. He let the sounds of the room fade away as he dreamed of John's blue eyes lit from within by passion.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft sounded annoyed, he must have been calling Sherlock previously.

"Yes?" Sherlock replied.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I said, we need to leave immediately as I have an appointment at the gunsmith to see a new double-barrel he had in stock. We need to hurry."

"Of course, as you wish." Sherlock stood, tucking the precious letter inside his waistcoat.

They made their way down the stairs and started into town. Mycroft was impatient. "Please walk faster Sherlock, or we will not have time to inspect the gun properly before closing time."

"Mycroft, I do not feel well. Perhaps I should just go home and let you see the gun by yourself."

Mycroft stood irresolute. Clearly he felt that if Sherlock were unwell, he should not be allowed to walk home alone. Mycroft would have to give up his appointment to take his brother home. With a resigned sigh, Mycroft turned and gave Sherlock his arm as they proceeded up the street. "Would you rather we called for a chair?" Mycroft asked solicitously.

"No, no. A walk will do me good." Sherlock answered. "Too much sitting indoors, that is all."

Just then Sherlock heard the quick tap of familiar footsteps on the pavement behind them. With only a moment of preparation he turned and saw John walking up to them. John glanced at Sherlock and a look was given, but no word was needed.

Mycroft was greeting John. "Captain Watson! Perhaps you could do me a favour, if you are heading up towards Camden Place? My brother is not well, but I have an appointment in Market Street. Perhaps if you would be so good as to escort him home? He will not have a chair unless you are more persuasive than I."

John smiled. "I would never try to persuade Mr Holmes against his will. I would be happy to escort him home, if he would accept my hand?" John extended his left hand to Sherlock.

"I would be honoured." Sherlock blushed and slipped his arm through John's, taking his place at John's side.

Mycroft thanked John briefly and hurried away. Sherlock and John started walking slowly towards Camden Place. Without speaking, John placed his right hand over Sherlock's arm where it was linked with his and they continued walking.

After a while Sherlock heard John murmur something soft. It sounded like, "You are really here."

"I was always waiting for you. Why didn't you come to talk to me at interval during the concert last week?"

"I saw you were busy with Mrs Adler, and I could not watch. You were there with her, and I knew your family were around you and in favour of the match. How could I stay without agony every moment?"

"I never felt anything for Mrs Adler."

"I know that now." John's eyes met Sherlock's and they smiled as they walked.

Sherlock darted a glance down at John. "How about you and Mary Morstan?"

John pursed his lips. "I wanted to forget you. I thought I was indifferent to you when really I was just angry. I did not know myself until I saw Mrs Adler looking at you at Lyme, and then I realized I was jealous. I still wanted you, but thought I had no hope. And then," he ran his fingers through his hair, "then Mary fell and I could feel was guilt. I had led her on, I knew it, and if she wanted me and was disabled, how could I refuse to marry her? I was in a trap of my own making. But I was luckier than I deserved; she recovered and learned to love someone else. I confess I hoped it might be so when I went away."

They walked in silence for a few minutes. "You must then imagine my joy on hearing from Murray that they were engaged! He is a good man and will treat her well. I was happy for him, but even more for myself. I was free to try for you once again, to exert myself to win you if I could. I set off for Bath at that very moment."

Sherlock lifted his left hand and placed it over John's right. He slipped his long fingers under the edge of John's coat cuff and ran his hand curiously over John's fingers. Yes, John still wore that ring from so long ago. He touched his sensitive fingertips lightly to the top, checking the shape of the well-remembered stone. He had only worn it himself for a few hours but he recalled the shape and feel of it exactly. How could he not? He had imagined so many times what might have been…

"It's yours. It always has been. There was never anyone else." John said quietly.

"The ring? Your hand? Or your heart and affection?" Sherlock asked with a sideways glance.

John smiled. "Yes."

Sherlock laughed. "Well, are you planning to give me my ring back, then?"

"Your ring?" John quirked an eyebrow.

Sherlock widened his eyes innocently, "You bought it to match my eyes, I believe?"

"No." John grinned at him, while Sherlock frowned. "I bought it to match the cufflinks I want to give you for our engagement."

Sherlock pressed John's arm closer against his side. "Somehow, I must learn to tolerate being happier than I deserve."

FINIS

(But there will be an epilogue! Somehow this story didn't really earn its rating! I need to correct that!)