Thank you to mrspencil for her continued reviews!
I'm afraid this one is a bit short, but it is once again necessary to the plot.
It is an odd and lamentable fact that a train never seems to go faster than when you are not on it. So I thought as I watched it fade into the distance after breathlessly running to try to catch it. As the smoke faded away, I sat down on one of the benches and tried to collect myself.
"I'm terribly sorry, old fellow," said Holmes. He had come after me at a more leisurely pace, no doubt having given up hope of reaching the train on time as soon as he heard the whistle. He took a seat next to me. "I'm not sure what came over me."
"Damnable pride is what came over you," said I. At this point, the whole adventure seemed to me a series of inexplicable behavior, foul moods, and uncomfortable situations. And to top it all off I was now going to miss my breakfast because Holmes got in a squabble with an old policeman. I have a certain amount of patience. Indeed, others have remarked that I have an inordinate amount of it. This, however, was the last straw. "All you've done this weekend is make everyone around you miserable," said I. "And I personally am tired of it."
"Watson, I beg of you, please do not lose that saintly temperament which you are so often praised for," said he, pressing a hand to his brow. "I'm sure we can catch another train."
"Holmes, the next train is at dawn," said I emphatically. "We could walk to London in that time."
"Your sense of hyperbole is as keen as ever," he murmured, letting his arms hang over the back of the bench and closing his eyes.
"Holmes, this is not a laughing matter."
"I did not say it was," he responded, not opening his eyes.
"Then what the devil are we going to do about it?" I cried.
He gave a little sigh through his nose and looked over at me. "As I see it, there are two options," said he. "We can either wait for the next train at dawn or we can go back to Oxford. You seem violently and, I might add, quite illogically opposed to the former, which I suppose means we must take the latter."
This sudden "consideration" of my feelings was too much. The annoyed manner in which he said it, as though it were a chore that had to be done in order to appease me when I had done so much for him over the past few hours was simply intolerable.
"Holmes, I shall not be made the burden in this situation," said I. "I do not see what is so terrible about going back to your own home. Less than a week ago, you told me that you were going to spend the weekend at your parents' house, and yet at every opportunity you have tried to escape it. Had I known that this was going to be an exercise in avoidance, I never should have come."
Holmes opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "And what's more," I cried. "There is an old man, no doubt anxiously waiting for you to come home, whom you seem to have entirely pushed aside like so much rubbish. Officer Wilson was right. It is dishonorable, Holmes, and I wouldn't have thought it of you."
"Watson, if I have to hear one more word about how my father is a saint, I shall go mad," said he.
"Well, it certainly seems to run in your family," said I bitterly. Not a moment after I said it, I began to regret it. Holmes stared at me with a look of pure rage. Clearly, I had hit a nerve.
"Sorry, old fellow," said I, trying to keep my temper. "I wasn't…"
He held up a finger for silence then stood up from the bench and turned towards the street. "Good evening, Dr. Watson," said he, and with that he stalked off the platform and into the night, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Well, it seems that our thirteenth chapter has left Dr. Watson in a very unlucky position, though I doubt luck had very much to do with it.
Reviews appreciated as always.