A Little Too Old.
He ached; everything in him ached and screamed for sleep. He looked around him and let out a small sigh. The room was filled with elegant men and women, all dressed beautifully and swirling around gracefully, making him feel slightly nauseous. Watson appeared suddenly before him, breathless and flushed.
"Aren't you a little too old for this sort of thing?" Holmes asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Old? I most certainly am not too old. Besides one forgets ones age when one is dancing with a girl as charming as Miss Cartwright."
"Yes, I'm sure one does." Holmes replied suppressing a groan.
"What's wrong?" Watson asked, his breathing returning to some sort of normal state.
"Nothing, maybe I am getting a little too old for this sort of thing."
"My dear Holmes you have always been a little too old for this sort of thing." Watson laughed. Holmes smiled thinly in return.
"It was you, Watson that insisted I come tonight, I have many others things requiring my attention."
"I thought it would do you good to focus on something other than death and destruction for a change."
"I like death and destruction – it never changes. This," Holmes waved an arm around the room, "this is forever changing and so filled with convention and uncertainty that it makes one feel quite lost."
"Lost?" Watson raised an eyebrow, "I've never heard you describe yourself as lost before."
"Because Watson I don't usually feel lost." Holmes shuffled uncomfortably, "I'll see you at home."
With that he stalked off in the direction of the door, a thousand eyes following his every move but he ignored each of them. Watson smiled as an attractive young girl linked her arm through his.
"Was that Mr. Holmes? He's very attractive isn't he?"
Watson groaned, it was a comforting thing to know, as one approached middle age, that some things in the world were never likely to change.