Previously: Once we were outside and had secured a Hansom, I turned to Holmes and demanded an explanation. "Well? What have you done to insult the lady?"

For once Holmes attempted no obfuscation or derailment of my line of inquiry, merely gazing at me blankly before saying, "Nothing that I thought warranted her reaction, Watson, I can assure you!" Then the most extraordinary thing happened; he blushed. Sherlock Holmes blushed the bright red of a schoolboy come face to face with the girl he fancied, and hastily turned his face away.

I gaped at him for a long moment before once again resuming my questions. "Holmes! I must know! What happened?"

He shrugged, still not meeting my gaze. "I informed the good doctor of my belief that the bomber was someone she knew, who was after her personally rather than attempting to sabotage the suffragette movement as a whole."

Then he launched into the tale, leaving nothing out no matter how poor a picture his words and actions might paint of him, while I sat and listened, stunned and yet moved at the same time.

Sherlock's Tale

Watson, you know me; you know I am far from a sentimental man, and yet from the moment I first laid eyes on Dr. Hooper – or, more accurately, from the moment she first fell into my arms – I have been beset by the most unusual sensations. The nearest I can come to describing it is the way I felt when I was gifted with my first microscope – an absolute sensation that all was right in the world, that I beheld something to which I would grow very much attached.

Ah, I see you are surprised and rather disconcerted by my depiction of Dr. Hooper as what you no doubt perceive as property; perhaps you expected me to wax eloquent about how she reminded me of a certain young American of our acquaintance, who unfortunately is no longer with us, hmm? Well, in response, Watson, all I can say is that I treasure the microscope as an integral part of my everyday life, whereas Miss Adler was more akin to a force of nature; like a hurricane, she blew in and out of my life, leaving chaos and destruction in her wake. Did I enjoy those brief flurries? Yes, I did. I confess it without shame. But when viewing the domestic arrangements of others, yourself and Mrs. Watson included, I have reached an invaluable insight: hurricanes and other forces of nature do not make for a contented household.

Am I waxing too poetic in this matter? Your expression would certainly lead me to that conclusion. However, I also perceive your interest in the current state of my…that is to say, how I…

Blast. Feelings. That is the word I have been trying so desperately to avoid, and I see by your self-satisfied smirk that it is exactly the word you have been waiting for me to say. Fine, Watson, I shall say it, then: My feelings toward Dr. Hooper are, indeed, somewhat possessive in nature. Far too possessive toward a woman with whom I have had such a brief acquaintance. I do not believe in love, as you well know, and I certainly do not believe in love at first sight; however, I will admit to having felt…something…for Dr. Hooper from that first meeting. Admiration, of course, for her pursuit of a field so many would declare not only unfeminine but also rather morbid. Appreciation for her physical attributes, I will admit to as well. And a desire to further enjoy her company you have already witnessed when I invited her to dine with me before we were so rudely interrupted by the explosion in the laboratory.

Dear me. I appear to have gone quite off track when I meant simply to relay to you the circumstances under which Dr. Hooper felt compelled to offer up her strenuous objections to some of my deductions regarding the nature of the recent attacks.

Allow me to continue the narrative as if I were writing up one of our cases, Watson, rather than speaking so ridiculously on the matter. I am not some lovestruck youth, and if this tale does ever make it to publication, I would very much prefer that you not present me in such a manner. Although I see by the mirth you are attempting to hide from me that such wishes will go unanswered.

Very well, then; here is what transpired between myself and Miss Hooper after we left you: I informed her of my belief that she was the intended target of the bomber, she objected, I inquired after her former fiancé, she strenuously denied his possible involvement, I informed her that her taste in men was abominable – which witticism she scathingly decried – and then I…

oOo

"You what?" I asked him, breathless with anticipation as my good friend fell silent.

"I kissed her," Holmes admitted quietly. He attempted to appear insouciant as he made the confession, but there was a tightness about his lips and the corners of his eyes that belied his apparent unconcern at this confession.

"You kissed her…on the cheek?" I asked; Holmes had done so the day before, and it had not resulted in such coolness on Dr. Hooper's part.

He favored me with a frown and rummaged about in his pockets for his pipe and lucifers. "Don't be obtuse, Watson; you've already witnessed the lady's reaction to such a kiss. No, I kissed her on the lips. I took her into my arms, a woman whose acquaintance I have only recently made, and kissed her with a warmth and fervor normally reserved for affianced or married couples, at least in polite society."

He retained a perfect poker-face as he related this fact to me, while I am afraid I gaped and stared worse than any stage comedian. "How did she react?" I finally asked. "I mean, obviously not well considering her coolness toward you at my home, but…"

"She slapped me, quite smartly, across the left cheek," Holmes replied, but now there was a glint of deviltry in his eyes and voice as he added, "However, not before returning the kiss and placing her hands on my shoulders. A very encouraging reaction, in my opinion, in spite of the slap that followed it and the silence that met my every attempt at conversation from that point until we returned to your home and were greeted by Mary, after retrieving Dr. Hooper's belongings." He glanced over at me. "You opinion in this matter, John, would be greatly appreciated. How should I proceed, what is your recommendation in this matter?"

I gaped at him anew, stunned that Holmes would solicit my opinion in anything, let alone matters of the heart. An organ, which I somewhat tartly reminded him, he had always claimed not to possess!

"Yes, yes, as you say," he replied impatiently, waving off my words in his usual dismissive manner. "That, however, was in the past. I find myself in the unique position of having not the faintest clue how to proceed when it comes to the young lady; she returned my kiss, then rebuffed me and refuses to allow me to offer either an apology or an explanation – not," he interrupted himself with a scowl, "that I have either readily to hand to give her."

"You don't know why you kissed her?" I asked, eager to delve into this matter. Holmes so rarely bowed to anyone's expertise outside his own, that I found myself reacting, somewhat to my chagrin, like a child eager for his gifts on Christmas Day. Nor could I resist teasing my friend a little as I said, "Surely that should be obvious, even to you!"

His scowl deepened. "Clearly I have erred in discussing this matter with you, Watson. Pray forget I said anything at all. I overstepped with Dr. Hooper and it shall not happen again. We shall solve her mystery, bring the culprit to justice, and part ways. Once she leaves your residence, we shall likely never see one another again."

With that, he closed his eyes, folded his arms across his chest, and attempted to ignore me.

I, however, was of no mind to be ignored. Certainly not after so remarkable a series of statements. "You are attracted to her," I announced loudly. "You wish to get to know her better, rather than simply deducing her life from her clothing and accent and the small signs that you read on other people. She intrigues you much as a certain other woman of our acquaintance once intrigued you; you've already said as much, so it is too late to deny it," I added swiftly as Holmes opened one eye and resumed scowling at me. "You asked for my advice, and I will therefore tender it to you thusly: Apologize for kissing her, tell her you allowed your feelings to overcome your good manners – don't interrupt, Holmes!" I added severely, as he opened his mouth to do that very thing. "You asked, and you shall listen!"

I waited a brief moment to see how he would react; he slowly closed his mouth, setting it into a thin, stubborn line, but his gaze remained fixed on me, and I was content that he was actually listening, and so continued my advice. "Tell her your feelings overcame your good manners," I repeated slowly. "Assure her it will not happen again…and then put those famous powers of observation to work to see how she reacts to those words. If, as I suspect, the lady returns your feelings in some measure – or at least is interested in you in a romantic sense – then you will surely be able to read that much. Only try not to insult her, man!" I remonstrated. "Telling a lady she has abominable taste in men will not endear you to her, no matter how true!"

"Her former fiancé was James Moriarty."

I fell utterly silent at that declaration, unable to find the words to express my dismay and shock. Holmes, however, continued to speak as he immediately recognized my misapprehension. "James Moriarty the younger, rather than the elder. Two brothers born nearly fifteen years apart and given the same Christian name by their parents, although with different middle names. The Moriarty we encountered – and who is, I can reassure you, most certainly dead – was James Arthur Moriarty; Dr. Hooper's ex-fiancé is James Thomas Moriarty, although he has ceased using either his first or his surname in favor of calling himself simply Thomas Harrison, after his mother's maiden name."

"Are you certain this Thomas Harrison is Moriarty's brother?" I asked, sudden anxiety speeding my heart. Holmes had related Moriarty the elder's declaration that neither myself nor Mary were off-limits in the war he fought against Holmes; did the younger brother harbor the same animosity? "Are my wife and child in danger, Holmes?" I demanded, angered that my friend had not begun this conversation with such damning information. I was concerned for Dr. Hooper's safety, of course, but I would be a liar were I to say I was more concerned for her than for my own family's well-being. In truth, I feared I would throw her into an active volcano, were such a thing available, if it meant keeping my Mary and our unborn child safe.

Holmes, sensing my agitation, hastened to reassure me. "Don't worry, John; I promise, Mary and the baby will be quite safe. Lestrade's men should be in place as well as my own Baker Street Irregulars, and I assure you I would never have brought Dr. Hooper to your home if I had any concerns whatsoever that by doing so I would draw Mary into the line of fire. You have my most solemn vow on that."

I relaxed somewhat at these reassurances, although I knew I would never be fully relieved until this matter had been brought to a hasty conclusion, and told Holmes so in no uncertain terms.

"Of course," he agreed as the cab finally arrived at Baker Street. He jumped out, paid the cabbie, and hurried into the building, while I followed swiftly on his heels.

My last thought as I entered my former residence was that it might be best if Mary and Dr. Hooper were to be removed to a safe house, or sent on a journey to the Continent until this had all blown over; then, irony upon ironies, I was knocked off my feet as an explosion ripped through Sherlock's flat, and unconsciousness soon fell upon me.