Chapter Thirty Nine.
Sherlock Holmes was infused with energy, now that he finally had a real purpose.
He needed to get those exquisite sketches to Scotland Yard and into the hands of Greg LeStrade.
The sooner the better.
He also needed to fulfil his promise to Watson and Cassia, and get to the hospital.
The time was right.
He was fast running out of stamina, and tolerance for the pain in his head.
However, instead of being eager to get going, he now found himself looking at Cassia Ingram, somewhat loathed to leave her suddenly, because she looked wan and weary, her shoulders slumped, as if all the life had drained out of her.
She looked exhausted.
However, he could not mistake the twinkle in her eyes and the look of sheer relief on her face.
She had found peace at last.
It was finally over for her.
She had confronted her tormentor, come face to face with him, and now, she knew her enemy's name
Her work was done.
As was his, or so it seemed.
He wasn't destined to hunt down the killer himself, it appeared. He was merely to be the one to present the evidence to the police and then spur then into action.
Then it would be time for him to confront his future.
"I'll go and stop a cab," Watson offered as he noticed Holmes watching Cassia.
Another less than subtle attempt at tact, Holmes realized, allowing he and Cassia a moment alone to say their farewells.
Although, Holmes could tell from the half grin on his lips that Watson would dearly have loved to be a fly on the wall at that moment!
"Bye, Cass! I'll keep in touch…" John called out as he bounded down the stairs, suddenly invigorated himself now that things were really starting to happen.
"You look done in," Holmes observed in gentle tones, addressing Cassia directly now. "Stay as long as you like," he invited. "Get some proper rest. You'll sleep easier now, no doubt."
"No doubt," she smiled in reply.
"Just let Mrs Hudson know when you leave, she'll see to everything …"
Holmes found himself wanting to go to her, to wrap his arms around her comfortingly one last time, realizing that it could be the last chance he might ever have to hold a woman, any woman, in an affectionate embrace, but he did not.
"Sherlock…" Cassia faltered, and he wondered if she had been able to read his mind.
However, the moment was gone.
He was Sherlock Holmes.
the opportunity lost, because of his inability to reach out to another human being.
It wasn't his fault.
It was simply the way that he was.
He didn't do love and romance.
He barely knew how to maintain a friendship with his male colleagues, let alone conduct a courtship with a woman.
No.
He was alone, and he preferred it that way.
Alone he was protected.
And, so Cassia would be, too.
It was for the best.
"It has been most," he paused, briefly, searching for the right word. "Illuminating," he added at last with a wry half smile.
"You'll be alright," she assured confidently.
"I know. You have it on good authority ..."
"Don't forget this…"
She rose somewhat stiffly from the couch and held out the sketches, which she had carefully torn from the pad, for him to take, a beautiful, warm, reassuring smile on her face, and his fingers gently brushed hers, briefly, as he took the sheaves of paper from her.
"Keep in touch," Holmes voice came out as a sort of thick croak, lodged somewhere in the back of his throat, and he suddenly had to cough to clear his throat.
"Of course. I made you a promise and I owe you an explanation …"
"Sherlock!" Watson's voice suddenly echoed from the bottom of the stairs, "Cab's waiting!"
"I'd better …."
Holmes waved absently toward the door, although it was clear that he had something on his mind other than rushing away.
"Yes, you better had…"
"Adieu, Cass …"
"A bientôt, Sherlock," and with that, it was Cassia Ingram who took the initiative and quickly closing the gap between them, gently wrapped her arms around Holmes, drawing him in close in a warm embrace, and so that she could reach up on tip toes and plant a soft, sweet, stolen kiss on his lips.
Holmes did not respond.
He neither welcomed, nor rebuffed her attentions.
He was far too surprised, however, not by Cassia's actions, but by his own reaction to her lips against his.
He found that he actually liked it.
She broke the kiss quickly and then drew him close in one last swift, fierce hug, and then she pulled away and turned her back, not wanting to see him go, or for him to see the fresh tears rushing down her flushed cheeks.
When she did finally look back a few seconds later, Holmes was gone.