Taking a breath

The light lunch with Holmes and Sir Henry is very likely to always remain in my memory.

We were only the three of us, as Dr. Mortimer had already left in order to attend to his patients, and there was such a rare mood cast over our little group, that it would take a better writer than me to do it full justice. One of the words, though, that always come to my mind when I think of this day is glowing.

The sun was shining warmly through the windows, filling the room with a magnificent light. Sir Henry was in very good spirits, and whenever I looked at my friend, there was this... yes... this glowing in is eyes. Not the fierce energy that came upon him when he was hunting a criminal, and not the sparks of fascination over an intricate chemical experiment. This was different and, whatever it was, rather unprecedented.

Sir Henry had started to talk about his earlier life in America, and Holmes asked him several questions as he had never been there himself. Maybe, I thought to myself, he also considered it easier to listen than to come up with a coherent conversation himself, his mind being distracted by what had just transpired between us... as my own mind most certainly was.

To be more precise, I felt simply blown away! His lips in my palm, the expression on his face, his smile, his words... all of these seemed to be (though in a rather guarded manner) promises of things yet to come. And never before had he acted like this with me... or... or with anyone? Who was I to know? Today he had shown me a side of himself that I had never suspected there, and I was only too eager to explore this new facet of his, and explore it thoroughly. After all, he himself had invited me to do so.

He was sitting on the opposite side of the table, too far away to reach, even if it had been possible for me to try. And yet, I could feel him. Oh... how I could feel him! His presence filled the room, his voice was a caress, and every glance he ventured into my direction was like a physical touch.

It was not for the first time that day that I wondered how I could have lived side by side with this man for so many years, and without noticing the sensuality of his voice, especially when it trailed down into the lower registers. And how come that his elegant, enticing hands had left me so very unaffected for such a long time?

For a moment or two I allowed my imagination to go astray - because one thing was certain: I was all but unaffected by now! And I could not help but musing about getting up under the pretense of a headache, making my excuses to Sir Henry and having my friend following me after only so much time as tact affords.

Without any verbal form of communication we would agree to retire to my bedroom, which would be only dimly lit and all silent except the sound of our breathing and the rustling of clothing against skin and other fabrics and then descending to the floor. I would taste his lips, and his mouth would be not only yielding to my desires but even urge me forward, demanding more. I would echo his moans of pleasure, his body would be pressed against mine, unmistakeably showing me what he wanted and needed. Eventually we would stumble towards the bed, and then we -

"Would you please pass me the salt, my dear fellow?"

I jerked out of my reverie and met Holmes' intense gaze. Maybe I blushed - it would not surprise me at all - for I felt a heatwave surging up. My friend looked into my eyes as if he knew exactly what I had been thinking, but he was neither mocking nor chiding me. The message was only: I understand... And: This is not the right time or place... And he was right, of course.

I reached for the salt and handed it over, and it was with the hint of a smile, as he allowed his fingers to brush against mine when he took it.

Approaching the Rubicon

The table had just been cleared, when Barrymore entered with a letter on his silver tablet. Sir Henry took it and thanked him with his usual little nod, and I, in my heightened state of mind, could not help but feeling oddly content with the sight. I can still very vividly remember our common adventure regarding the dreadful Hound incident that had cost among others the life of Sir Charles Baskerville and, subsequently, brought his young American heir Henry Baskerville to the ancient home of his family. I took in the little scene that spoke of home and trust and mutual respect when I suddenly watched the change of expression in the face of our host. He slowly let the note sink and stared for a moment blankly into mid air, before he seemed to compose himself. He cleared his throat.

"I fear there will be a change of plans regarding tonight's dinner party."

Holmes glanced at me questioningly, but I could only answer him with a puzzled look - before I finally realised that Sir Henry had indeed been talking about company for the evening. Could it really have been only a few hours ago?

I pulled myself together. "Has something happened, Sir Henry?" I enquired.

"Well, it seems our intended guest of honour has severely sprained her ankle this morning, so I fear we will have to put the plans for the evening on hold."

I had no idea whom he was talking about, and I was completely unaware of any supposed guest of honour, so I merely asked if my assistance as a doctor was required, whereas Sir Henry informed me that Doctor Mortimer was already attending to the patient. He seemed somehow confused and concerned and on the whole rather put out, and I was not quite sure what was going on.

"Sir Henry." Holmes' eyes met mine for a moment, before he continued. "While this is certainly a most unfortunate incident... why should you be forced to put all parts of your plan on hold? Even if the circumstances are altered?"

Our host stared at my friend, and I knew the expression on his face all too well! It was the face of someone convinced to be dealing with a mind reader. "How on earth do you know..." His voice trailed off, maybe because of the redundancy of the question.

Holmes added: "People seem to be spending their time waiting for the perfect moment to come. But even if a moment is not exactly perfect, it might still be the right one."

It was now my turn to stare, because I still did not know what exactly they were talking about, and even more so because of that sudden undertone of emotion in Holmes's voice.

Sir Henry looked at him for quite a while before finally asking: "Does that mean you both would forgive me for neglecting you this afternoon? I also need to reschedule the dinner and all that... and I might be out of the house for a while..."

"Our good doctor here -" Holmes smiled briefly in my direction, "- has been repeatedly admonishing me about getting some rest. Being a doctor, he might have a point, so... I think I am going to humour him today and allow myself a nap in the afternoon. What do you say, Watson?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think you can entertain yourself for a few hours today?"

"Why certainly." I was still not quite sure what they were talking about, but obviously it involved Sir Henry being absent for the rest of the day, and my mind was reeling at the idea. "I have brought several books along that are waiting to be read. Please, Sir Henry, feel free to do whatever you please, without any concerns about us. Anyway, I would not, after all, want to endanger Holmes's plans for rest - now that he finally seems to be willing to indulge me."

"Oh", remarked my friend. "Whatever the good doctor wishes..." He quirked an eyebrow and managed to sound just the slightest bit ironic, but I felt the heat rising in my face and started fussing with my napkin, because I could not help it - all of a sudden every second word my friend said seemed to contain a double meaning for me.

Sir Henry smiled gratefully, as to him our conversation did not seem to be anything outside the ordinary. Also, as I understood a bit later, when we left the table, his mind must have already gotten ahead of him anyway.

"So he is about to propose marriage?" I asked Holmes, as we retreated into the luxuriously filled library and sat down in two large leather armchairs by the fire.

"At least that's what I gathered, yes."

"But whom, I wonder?"

Holmes chuckled lightly. "My dear fellow, I am highly flattered by your trust in my observational and deductional skills, but as much as I loathe to admit it: They are not unlimited."

I could not help but smile at this. "I assume this bout of modesty is to be kept off the record, eh?"

This one was a genuine grin. "Oh, strictly! After all, we're both on holiday, isn't that right? I can say, though, that the letter was written on paper bearing the letterhead of the Vicarage. And I must assume that our host is not planning to marry the Vicar."

"Somebody in his household, then!"

"Exactly. And a lady who has been staying there long enough so that Sir Henry could get acquainted with her, and better acquainted than in the early days with the unfortunate Mrs. Stapleton. I don't think he is of the type to make the same mistake twice. So, are you aware of a lady other than the cook or the maid living in the Vicarage?"

I shrugged. "No... I don't think so. Even if Sir Henry had mentioned something along those lines... I fear my mind has been more in London than right here these days. I might have not been the most attentive listener."

"I see..." My friend looked at me thoughtfully and finally took out his cigarette case. But instead of opening it he just held it in his hands and seemed to study it for a while, before he laid it calmly on the armrest of his seat. He rose with a fluid movement. "I think I'm going to lie down, Watson. Sir Henry is surely in the process of getting ready for the meeting with his lady." He passed me by, and his hand rested on my shoulder for the briefest of moments. Then he was gone.

I was sitting there, forcing myself to breathe calmly and counted silently to fifty. Then I counted again to onehundred. And then I could see no valid reason to stay seated any further.

At the bottom of the staircase I met our host, who had dressed into a smart suit and was on his way out. I remember that we exchanged a few words, and that I wished him luck - but my mind was once more already elsewhere.

I knocked at the door to Holmes' room, and he answered me with a "Come in!" that seemed calm enough.