Prompt: Feeling blue. The July birth flower is the larkspur or delphinium. Use a blue flower today, either in its normal state or figuratively 'eyes of cornflower blue'.
Paper crackled with the flipping of pages. First one way, then back when I skimmed past it. Several seconds finally found the word I sought, and I continued working. The hours of solitude should let me finish the first draft today.
"John?"
Unless my hours ended before they truly began. The quiet word interrupted yet another search through that dry text, and a finger held my spot as I turned to find Mary lingering in the doorway. The strange uncertainty darkening her normally bright blue eyes made me quickly retrieve a more reliable bookmark.
"Sorry, to interrupt," she said as I stood. "I know you wanted a few hours to write, but—"
A hand on her shoulder halted the wary apology. She could never be unwelcome, no matter how busy I was. Nor would she disregard a requested few hours' silence unless necessary. Telling her as much earned me a smile that conveyed an "I love you" far better than words ever could.
"There's a man at the door asking for you," she told me, turning to match my pace down the hall. "He said he has an appointment, but he refused to tell me his name, insisting you knew he was coming."
I did not, and I had purposely checked my appointment book before closing myself in my study. Too many days had passed since I had last found the opportunity to put pen to paper, and I had been looking forward to the hours of relative quiet.
I could not hold Mary at fault for a lying guest, however, and they might well be here on some business whose missive had gone astray—or related to one of Holmes' cases. A gesture signaled Mary to drop back on the chance they meant trouble.
A hunched, older man stared through the front window, probably watching the blue cart of the flower vendor that had shown up earlier. Less than an inch taller than me, short, light hair contrasted with sun-darkened skin. His rough laborer's suit had seen far better days, and a slightly newer belt held a variety of hand tools. He turned as I entered.
"Ah! Doctor Watson?"
"Yes, what can I—" The question cut off as he met my gaze, then amusement tried to leak through a pointedly low growl. "Holmes."
Pleased greeting immediately flipped to disgruntled irritation, but he did not try to convince me. The next moment abruptly changed his posture from a work-hardened laborer to my friend in make-up and a worn suit. He never liked when I saw through a disguise—especially when he still had no idea how I had done so.
"Mr. Holmes!" Mary threw a slipper at him, laughing and chiding him for fooling her, but I simply crossed my arms. A trick like that—no matter how unsuccessful—deserved some payback.
"Well that explains why I didn't remember an afterhours appointment," I commented evenly. Effort kept my expression blank, as if irritated at the unexpected company. "I suppose you decided testing a new disguise mattered more than respecting someone's free time?"
The slightest hesitation announced partial success, but he forced a smirk only a few seconds later. "How else do I ensure it works?" If it fools you, no one else will see through it.
Affected annoyance fell at the backhanded compliment, as he had known it would, but Mary saved me from replying by sending him to the washroom. My afternoon of writing became several hours of welcome company with my two favorite people. Only after he left did she finally ask how I had seen through his disguise so easily.
"His eyes." Confusion met the shortened answer. "He can't change his eye color," I added, "and I have never seen anyone else with steely grey eyes. Now that he has fooled you once at home, he will eventually try again in public. He griped for hours the first time I saw through a disguise on a Regent's Park bench."
A light laugh met my own wide grin. "I suppose this is why you always remember eye colors?"
"Of course. Holmes' disguises don't just become new people. They frequently copy old. I once saw him duplicate the vendor down the street with only a few hours and quite a bit of makeup. If he ever finds a way to change the color of his eyes, I doubt even Mycroft's guards would be able to identify him."
She merely hummed, eyes distant as she thought. A train of logic sparked a decision, but when my question received a laughing order to "wait and see," I soon returned to my study to write until sundown.
Or until Holmes decided to try again. Mary ended up chasing him around the house.
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