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[Sherlock Holmes] My Infinite Variety (A Case of Identity) 4 / 5


Title:
My Infinite Variety (A Case of Identity)

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Pairing:
Holmes / Watson

Rating: R
Word Count: 41,410
(W) Part :
4 / 5 Warning:
Slash, what if, something not now I remember Notes: What if
EMPT up. Written by:


bigbangitalia
, second edition. 1 Woodley was a member, and introduced me as his friend, using the fake name we agreed on. I found it unlikely that Moran would be suspicious on the sole basis of my name, but the fame of Sherlock Holmes had quickly made the rounds of the city and we had all agreed that there was no reason to risk it. The room was moderately crowded, and the arrival of Woodley sparked a small commotion. The news of his attack was known to all, of course, and everyone wanted to know something more. While a large crowd of gentlemen surrounding Woodley, and indirectly me, I saw Moran in the process of getting up from a table in the back of the room. I had never met personally, but Holmes had described me. He was impressive in every way more wrong. Apparently he was a gentleman of the most distinguished, but his face betrayed a lot of evil that resides within. It was a tremendously virile face and at the same time left. With a philosopher's forehead and the mouth of a lecherous, he must have started its life with the equally huge opportunity to do good or evil. But it was not possible to watch those cruel blue eyes, his eyelids heavy and cynical, or that aggressive and ferocious nose, or forehead and ominous signs, but read the clearer signals of danger, deliberately made by Mother Nature. This man got terrible So from his chair and raised his eyes ice on my companion. At that moment the fate would have it, Woodley also divert the eye from a gentleman he was talking about and meet those of Moran. The effect was electric. Moran's eyes grew dark, his cheeks were full of shadows. Woodley stared with an expression in which hatred and amazement were equally blended.

The young man had been hitherto calm and balance, but when he took the match to a cigarette I saw that his hands were shaking, and it did not go unnoticed. I beat him a pat on the shoulder. "It's nothing," I said aloud. "A small side effect of the wound. It has been touched a nerve, " improvvisai, e se qualcuno aveva le nozioni mediche utili a correggermi, dovette pensare che volevo risparmiare a Woodley la vergogna di far sapere a tutti che era ancora profondamente scosso.
When Moran came up, the gentlemen were almost all returned to their tables. Woodley shook hands with a desperate decision. I, for myself, I was carefully weighed and kept at the margins in check. Moran was like a predator who is aware of all possible enemies in its radius of action even when it focuses on only one of them. "Richard," he said with a heavy relief in his voice, like a big sigh. "But I doing? I almost took a hit this morning when I open the newspaper. "The freedom to put his hand on his arm, with a familiarity that seemed excessive, but not unjustified if the two had really gone. "I'm sure," said Woodley, smiled pulled. "But it's not so easy to kill me, Colonel." was obviously terribly obvious. Woodley's teeth were so tight that he seemed to hear them creak. Discreetly, I rested a hand on the wrist, and pressed to tell you to relax.
"Colonel," said Woodley, "may I present Dr. Roxborough? It is a family friend. He's been given the thankless task of me to nurse, just in case some fool had groped back into my bedroom and burn your brains out. "

" Oh, come on, Woodley, "I replied, with all the good humor that managed to pull out," things do not are not so. "The leaned his hand on his shoulder. "The boy is still weak," I said to Moran, as if speaking in confidence. "His parents felt safer knowing that a doctor was with him." "She was military," said Moran, just looking. It was not a question.

"Afghanistan. How did you know? "

" Look. You can stop being a doctor, or painter, or prime minister. Soldier, it is life. "

Risi. "He's absolutely right."

"Some progress in the investigation," asked Moran. "Any suspects?"

"One, yes," said Woodley, a voice that dripped venom. "It is certain now. There is every evidence. I was assured that we will have a hanging by the end of summer. "

This was not, technically, a lie. I had heard myself Holmes make an estimate of its kind in front of the boy.

Moran's lips looked like getting back into the mouth. "What wonderful news, "he said slowly, savoring as a bad food.

"So," I said, "since it has so much insisted on coming to play, Woodley, why not start? Colonel? "

We started with a game of whist - Moran was paired with a Mr. Vaughan - and played almost non-stop until after eleven. I am a fair player, and all in all I think I could enjoy the evening, maybe even fun, it was not for the overwhelming presence of Moran at the table. Woodley if he drew in admirably, but the poor boy was terrified. It did not seem completely exclude the possibility that Moran drew the revolver from his pocket and shoots him there on the spot, in front of all the Cavendish.

At half past eleven we left the club. A carriage waited at the front door, and I had expected that Holmes are already inside, but there was no trace of him. What alarmed me slightly, though I held him for me. Woodley, however, stirred uneasily beside me.

"He said that we would reach out of the club, is not it?" He said. "He also heard her, Doctor?"

"Yes," I admitted. "But do not worry. Holmes knows what he does. "

" I always call it? "Asked Woodley, leaving aside the apprehension of a moment. "When you're alone? I mean, I understand that in public, the image. But ... in private? "

for a moment I wondered what he was talking about, first to remember that 'Sherlock Holmes' was a pseudonym for all. "Oh, no. Certainly not. "

" How ...? "

" I'm afraid not poterglielo say. Excuse me. "

" Oh, no, no. She Excuse me. I did not want to be intrusive. "He rubbed a hand with the other, nervous. "I wanted to meet you at another time, sir. Forgive me if I told you before, but I am a great admirer of his stories. The league

red hair, I think my absolute favorite. "

smiled. "It's mine too."

"Really? You know, I actually suspected it already. There were a few phrases, expressions ... It was Ronnie introduced me to his stories, and he was quite certain. I was not so convinced, but when I saw you together I thought, 'Well, no doubt, is true. Holmes and Watson. It was obvious, to think '. I am very happy to have met you, doctor, known for having both. You understand what I mean? "

My smile was petrified. "No, I'm afraid not."

"No, no," he hastened to add Woodley, misunderstanding. "Do not worry. I am sure that it is not obvious to anyone else. For anyone who might give you trouble. "

" Mr. Woodley, I am sure you have the best intentions, but I assure you that you are wrong. "

" Okay, "he said, slightly disappointed. "Excuse me. But it has nothing to fear from me. I said some things, she and Mr. Holmes does not know ... things that no one else. Ronnie and me. I can believe, has nothing to fear. "

" Mr. Woodley ... "

" It's just that before, at home, I saw how it looked. And I thought ... No, really forgive me. I'll shut up. "He covered his mouth with one hand leaning on the side of the carriage.

"I am saddened by the death of his companion," I said slowly, in little more than a whisper. "I can understand. My wife died three years ago. And believe me, not the judge. Each of us is as God made it. But I tell you you're wrong about me and Holmes. "

Woodley looked at me, surprise in his eyes glistening wet. "But he loves her, of course," he said. I shook my head, confused. "I do not know."

said no more. I gates of the villa of Adair already stood out in the bottom of the avenue, and was a thing of the moment and dismount from the carriage.

When I raised my arm to give the cabbie his salary, these - instead of taking the money - I grabbed his wrist with his free hand and lifted his hat from his eyes. It was Sherlock Holmes.




+



I seemed to find myself in one of my stories when Woodley left home, I found myself shoulder to shoulder with Holmes on the streets at night in London, the revolver in his pocket and the thrill of adventure in the heart. Holmes was cold and silent grave. When the glitter of the lamps shone on her features austere, I could see that his brows were contracted in meditation and thin lips compressed into a line.

I had no idea where we were going, but it did not matter. Holmes watched as she looked with extreme caution on the right and left, and made sure every angle with the utmost care not being followed. His knowledge of the streets of London was extraordinary, and on this occasion he passed rapidly and with a firm step through a network of barns and stables, which until that moment I had ignored its existence. It is also apparent in a narrow street bordered by grim-looking old houses, where Holmes turned down a very narrow lane, crossed a wooden railing that led into a deserted courtyard, and then opened with a key the back door of a house. We went together, and he closed it behind us.

The place was completely dark, but it became clear that it was an abandoned house. Our steps on the bare boards creaked and rattled, and my outstretched hand touched a wall from which the tapestries hung in thick curls. The cold, thin fingers Holmes closed around my wrist and led me down a long corridor, until recent effort to muddy the blade of light over a door. Here Holmes turned suddenly to the right, and we found ourselves in a large square room, empty, with deep shadows in the corners, but faintly lit in the middle from street lights downstairs. There were no lights nearby, and the window was covered with thick dust, so that we could only distinguish their figures.

My companion put his hand on my shoulder and his lips to your ear. The warmth of his breath, completely unexpected, almost made me wince, but I did not move.

"He knows where we are?" She whispered.

"Park Lane," I said, sticking his chin just to look out the window mat - and to seek salvation from its proximity to a minimum.

"Exactly. We are in front of the villa of Adair. "

" Why are we here? "

“Perché permette una visuale eccellente. Posso chiederle, mio caro, di avvicinarsi un poco alla finestra, stando attentissimo a non farsi vedere, e dare un’occhiata alla prima finestra al secondo piano? È l’unica illuminata.”
Feci un passo avanti e guardai nella direzione indicata. Le tende erano tirate, e una forte luce brillava nella stanza. L’ombra di un uomo seduto in poltrona era proiettata in una rigida sagoma scura sullo schermo luminoso della finestra. Non era possibile confondere la posa della testa, la larghezza delle spalle, la regolarità mascolina dei lineamenti. Era Richard Woodley, o – mi sovvenne – piuttosto la sua fedele riproduzione.
In that, I saw the shadow move. "Holmes," I murmured in sudden anxiety. "It's Woodley? Why is the window, when she said ...? "

" It's Woodley. "

" But he moved. "

" Of course it has moved, "said Holmes, with some impatience. "The comic-opera look like an idiot? I could put a dummy there and expect that one of the most intelligent men in Europe there helmets? Westwood has a mandate to turn the bust every fifteen minutes. "

My body seemed to remember at that moment that I was immersed in a pool of darkness, without the contact of another human being, and told me her discomfort with a shudder. Instinctively, her hand back view to see that Holmes was still close to me. I met her stomach, and he came up, leaning on the arm read five fingers.

The darkness seemed to require a gentle voice whispered confessions. I sighed. Holmes was very close. I felt her hair grazed his temple, heavy and compact, fragrant grease.

"Young Woodley seems to believe that our relations are like those he had with his friend," I muttered.

Holmes stood perfectly still.

"Do you think that everything is already in my stories."

"And there?"

"I do not know. If there is, I do not remember bringing this set. I could have done it and not know? "

" I'm not an expert in literature. "

" But I believe you? "

" Why so important? They are just stories. "

" Yes. Yes, they were once. But now everything is changed. And if she is all that is Sherlock Holmes, if he has his intelligence and his knowledge and the habits and vices, I wonder ... "

" Do not do it. "

" I wonder, can you say? "

Holmes was silent. In complete silence, I heard him swallow with amazing clarity.

"If you ask me," she whispered, "there is nothing that I would tell you."

I turned. The light lit up the dirt road barely forehead and cheekbones, leaving the rest in the shade, including those formidable eyes that had so impressed me at our first meeting, and that still did not cease to have a profound effect on me. Inside the white of the cornea, barely discernible, I could imagine them as two furnaces silent invisible.

His fingers touched my throat. As the light came from my shoulders, my face must have seemed completely in the shade. I felt the thumb track, with extreme delicacy, the relief of my cheekbone.

For what it was, what Sherlock Holmes was, for the incredible energy of his manner and authority of his figure, the kiss could have come from another person. They could share in the dark, Holmes and another, and I do not think I would have found more absurd than merely touch of his lips, the gentle caress desperately. I felt trapped in the familiar presence of Holmes, pungent in the flavoring of its tobacco and sweet in one of its grease, and maybe it was the instincts of a soldier, perhaps the agony of that kiss that remained stubbornly the edge of any feeling, but I raised a hand and the sinking of arrogance in his hair, forcing him closer. Suddenly Holmes was everywhere I could feel in my mouth and my nose against my knees, around my body. He let out a faint sound on my lips, less than a whimper, not a sigh, less than a breath, it filled me with tenderness, and for a long time refused to let him go.

When we parted, it was slow. Neither wanted to talk, but I felt that I should have said something - something to give a dimension of the incident, to make even minimally understandable. I felt that reality was slipping, and I had to grab it before it was too late. But I

Holmes put his finger on the mouth in a reverent caress, the caress and suddenly became a vice. I felt the whole hand cover my mouth into a wall of steel. The other arm of Holmes ran around behind me, and he pulled me in the darkest of the room, easily, since the surprise had annulled the instinct to react.

Finally I realized what his senses more acute had already read. A slight noise reached my ears and stealth, not on the side of Park Lane, but from the back of the house where we hid. A door opened and closed. A moment later, footsteps proceeded slowly along the corridor - steps that would want to be silent, but echoed harshly to the empty house. Holmes crouched back against the wall and I did the same, holding his hand around the handle of my revolver.

strive to see through the darkness, I saw the vague outline of a man, a little 'darker darkness of the open door. Was less than three yards from us, and I was prepared to repel his assault, when I realized I had no idea of our presence. We passed by, went to the window and opened it a few inches without a sound. He seemed beside himself with excitement, and even in the dark had no difficulty in recognizing the hooked nose, the grizzled beard, the features marked by fierce and dark lines deep. He was carrying what looked like a stick, but when I put her on the floor, the object emitted a metallic clang. Then he took out a massive object from his coat pocket and performed an operation which resulted in a snap net and noisy, like a bolt which engages in its place. He pulled up and saw that clutched in his hand like a gun from the bottom curiously deformed. He opened the gun, gave it something, and he closed with a click. Then, returning to his knees, put the tip of the cane on the window sill open and closed finger around the trigger.

There was a strange hissing sound, and distant, a crystal tinkling of broken glass. At that moment, Holmes sprang like a tiger at the back of the shooter, and pushed him face down on the floor. The other was standing in a moment, and with violent force grabbed him by the throat, but I hit him on the head with the butt of the revolver, and the man fell on the floor. I rushed over him, and while I kept my buddy blew a whistle on a high note that I had never seen carrying. There was a noise of hurried steps on the floor, and two uniformed policemen and a detective in plain clothes entered the room.

"Brooks?" Said Holmes, catch my breath.

"Okay. All right, sir, can leave it, we'll do, "the two policemen were telling me, but it took me a while to let go of my muscles. The whole scene was something unreal, and when Holmes pulled the curtains to avoid the gaze of onlookers who were flocking under the window, the effect was even worse.

"Who the hell are you?" Gasped our prisoner, struggling like a wild beast in a cage, but the two officers held him tight. "Who the hell are you? How dare you? "

" Sincerely, Colonel, "said Holmes coldly," I was not sure that a device so simple was enough against the best hunter of the Empire. I fear that the city life has watered down his instincts. Or maybe were the papers? "

" You! "Growled Moran, recognition. "You're the bastard who accompanied the whore of Woodley! I will take care of ruin,

doctor, I will take care of both ruin! "

Against all reason, because Moran was beside himself with an awesome spectacle to behold, I felt my lips stretch into a smile.

"And I will take care not to miss the appointment," I said.

Meanwhile, Holmes had picked up the rifle from the floor and he was studying the mechanism. "A weapon wonderful, unique," he said. "Van Herder, is not it? I never had the opportunity to see one up close. And the bullets ... "He opened the barrel, dropping the unused bullet in his palm. It was a very ordinary semiblindato small arms. "Pay attention to her man, inspector, because it is the same that you have tried unsuccessfully for months, the murderess of Ronald Adair. With this weapon and the testimony of Mr. Woodley will not be too difficult to prove. "

In less than no time we were alone in the empty house, just as Moran if he had never disturbed the quiet spooky. When even The last step was gone down the hall, Holmes gave a deep sigh and slumped against the wall, putting a hand to the face.

"Holmes?" I cried, kneeling in front of him. "Holmes is injured?"

"I was a fool," he murmured, his voice muffled by the palm that covered his mouth. "A fool. I never should have brought with me. My God, for a moment I thought I would have broken his neck. And you'd be next. I thought it would hit the road, what an idiot, all stationed in Scotland Yard and we over here dead. What an idiot! "He took a tremendous fist against the wall behind him, which reverberated darkly.

"Holmes," I muttered, hurrying to take his hand to prevent repeat the gesture. "We're not dead."

"For a little, and in any case not because of me."

smiled weakly. "I find it difficult to believe, but are a good shooter. I do not think we would kill him. "

Holmes looked at me upset. She runs her fingers through his hair with rage, and as soon as he withdrew to grease the torn tufts fell over his eyes, returning ten years. I shook his hand in mine, stroking the side scraped from the wall, and Holmes seemed dumbfounded for a moment. Then he pulled me into a desperate embrace, suffocating. "I'm not going anywhere," I muttered, and "We did it," and "You did it," and "Let's go home." "Let's go home," I said, brushing the ear with his lips, and in all honesty I meant something else, but between the weariness, the terror I had felt it in the hands of Moran in the throat, and relief that I ran in the veins in shock intoxicants, I could not bring myself to utter the words.

"Let's go home," I repeated.




+



But first we had to visit the Adair and reassure them that everything had gone according to plan - especially reassuring Lady Constance and her daughter, who knew nothing of the plans and had been awakened by the sound of broken glass. In the bedroom, which was then Ronald Adair had hosted Richard Woodley, was the wax bust of the latter, with a round hole between the eyes. The bullet had passed through the wax and it was stuck in the wall, digging a small hole in the upholstery. Mannequin hanging from the shoulders of a gown that these Woodley, deeply shaken, ripped from its reproduction and ordered to burn instantly. They were so

past two when we returned to Kensington. Holmes had stopped talking since we left Park Lane, but never once tried to force it. His face spoke of serious thoughts and deep fatigue, and I for my part I was exhausted.

We climbed the stairs in silence and once again in complete darkness, the steps perfectly coordinated. Coming down the stairs, my door was the nearest, and there I stopped. Holmes hesitated. We had not talked about anything and certainly would be the time to do it, but it was so terribly late and there was not a muscle in my body that does not crave the rest. I opened the door and entered, simply, and closed with a turn of the key.

lit the lamp drifting in the dark quiet of my family room. The armchair in the corner by the window gently creaked under the weight of Holmes. I closed the screen of the lamp and pulled the curtains firmly.

Holmes studied me carefully, as if he could somehow divine what secrets the way I slipped off his jacket and hung in the closet.

"So," I said finally sitting on the corner of the bed closest to the chair. "Tell me."

"It is not easy," he said.

"I did not hurry." Undid the tie and threw it away, enjoying the fresh air on the throat. The fatigue was gone, but I felt strangely at peace with creation. I aimed my hands back on the mattress and I downloaded the weight of the bust, relaxing with a sigh.

"You're not making things easier," he remarked, smiling faintly.
"I do not have to," I replied.
Holmes leaned forward, elbows on knees, as if to counteract my position.

"You hate Sherlock Holmes," he said. "And I do not know, I really do not know how I will survive the moment when you realize that we are equal."

"You're not ..."

"We are the same," he repeated. "I am that monster, that manipulative, selfish. I rejoice more to solving a puzzle that for the salvation of a lifetime. Oh, you were too good, even if the puzzle is up to four or five lifetimes approaching. If you served my purposes, I would leave you to believe that three years are dead. I would. I did. And come back, after three years or seven or ten, and pretend that you were still here waiting for me. "

" You have plans to die a second time? "I asked, quietly.

"No. I plan to live much longer, and in ten or fifteen years to retire and buy a home in Sussex to live together for as long as possible. And to die first to ridiculously advanced age, seventy or eighty years, when your face will be the only thing that will make me want to stay on this earth a day. But this is not the point. "

I sat straighter. Holmes was deadly serious - pale, even.

"You know what I have just asked?"

"Yes, and I asked you. This is exactly the point. Watson ... "He ran his hand over his face. "God help me, I can not. Sopravvivrei not. "

" I will not go anywhere. "

" You'll do. I hate and you will. Or worse, I do not hate and

will. I can not even begin to explain what ... "

"No."

"Watson."

"No. Listen to me. I'm sorry I said those things, but have never been applied to you. No, let me speak. I hated Sherlock Holmes, and - we're talking about the character of the Strand - I hate him still. But you are not the same person, because Sherlock Holmes

is not a person. "

" It is, "he said, grimly. "It's me."

I shook my head. "No, it's just the surface. Maybe if I only look at a distance, without having full knowledge of all that stirs beneath the skin, if I just read the story of your most eccentric ways, your vices more unbearable and little else, maybe in that case I detest them. It would take a lot away, but you can. "

" Watson, really, you do not know what you're talking about. "

" I know perfectly. I do not think there is a drop of selfishness in you. You are cruel, when you want, but never for free. There is always a purpose, and is usually terribly noble, as understand it takes time. What if my service is useful for a particular purpose, are, you use me. I give you all. I can not conceive of a single gesture that you deliberately disrespectful, or infamous, or humiliating. I think I know enough to know. "

Holmes was silent.

"Know that I have a habit of changing opinion about the people I love. There's the narrow middle-class in this - do not say no. But on the other hand are only a general practitioner. You can not expect too kind. " The transition was too fast for memory states nor Serb, but I know that a moment later I was no longer alone on the bed, my hands and mouth full of Sherlock Holmes, and his fingers dug paths exquisite in my back. We were both exhausted by the day, he is not younger than me, if you smile a little frustrated that I reserved a moment later he felt something.

"Let's go to bed," I muttered over his shoulder, like a few hours first I said, 'Let's go home, "and meaning the same thing. A few minutes later, turn off lights.



+

Beth
We woke at the usual time, knocking on my door to announce that breakfast was served. I answered without thinking, but a moment after a long series of implications made its way into my mind slowed down by drowsiness. There were both of our coats in the hall, I reasoned, but Holmes's room was open and empty, unused bed, and then Mr. Holmes where he could have stayed? I jumped down, seized with a shiver of terror.

"out the window like a lover," muttered the person concerned beside me, divining my thoughts. Put his hand on my back in a long caress. "It shall return the door."

smiled irresistibly thrown back into the pillows. Holmes crawled her cheek on my shoulder, the healthy, and I spread my arm to place him. I touched the unkempt hair with your fingers.

I would not have objected to the idea of being so, in perfect peace, and take another hour or two of sleep. I remembered vaguely that it had visits until late morning, as in Holmes, sticking to its clients odd hours, often without an appointment, and therefore would not be a crime to leave once the door.

But Holmes was in excellent spirits, and in the quiet moments like he kept them.

"To start, I thought of the next month," he said against my chest. "Or the one after, maybe."

"Leaving? Parties? To where? "I replied, while my heart beat the absurdly accelerated, just as he had done moments before.

Holmes raised his head. "Let's go. My boy, do not believe that I do not appreciate your response, but you seem confused. Have not I promised that I would have taken to Paris this summer? Or anywhere else, for that matter. "

sighed. "I did not think I said seriously."
"I huff. Am I some one of those boastful inexperienced girls who promise to Paris to have easier access to their beds? "
" Do I look like an inexperienced girl? "

" Oh, no, "she murmured, rising on his elbow. "But look at the facts, doctor, this is your bed."

"Yes," I admitted softly. "An excellent deduction."

was my bed, really, and now that sleep was banished I appreciate the fact that there giacessimo together, barely covered by sheets, as well as the exquisite way in which the weak light all attenuated the roughness on the face of Holmes. The white blade of pure light through the curtains marked the chest from the shoulder to the opposite side, then completely immersed in the whiteness of the sheets.

I saw his fingers idly join the scar to the clavicle and brush her with reverence. It was an ugly scar, but the years they had mitigated the relief and lighten the color. Half-shut eyes, bowing his head to accommodate the slow ascent of his fingers along the curve of the neck.

"Breakfast is fredderà," I said lazily.

"It's inevitable," agreed Holmes. He stopped, inspired. "I remember once, at Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson had to heat it up twice, and in the end, however, ate cold. You had refused to ask to warm up again - a foolish scruple, if you allow me. We both knew she would, if asked gliel'avessi you. "

" This is not the point, "I said, as if I had really done what he was talking. It had become another habit. Sometimes Holmes spoke for hours about things I had said and done before '91. At first, gently corrected him, and he, impatiently, allowed to add, "... in my memories," or similar terms. But I had stopped for some time now and I could even natural step in and defend my actions as if you were really state.

"The point is," Holmes said, touching his throat, "the devil's breakfast."

"Oh, yes," I muttered. I stopped her hand, her touch so kind as to be inconsistent, both tremendously enjoyable and torture on the nerves. The events of the last month had changed me deeply, because I looked at my hand to pull her under the sheets as if it belonged to another.

Holmes smiled and reshaping its entire position to accommodate the move. His right leg went over my left elbow and his spot on the mattress next to my shoulder. So close, Holmes leaned to kiss. The effect was exquisite aesthetic perfection. Under the covers I touched his abdomen with the back of the fingers and the inside of the thigh, before collecting his manhood gently in the palm. Holmes gave a slight sigh, we are moving in my direction.

"I wonder," I muttered when the word was returned. There was not much of hesitation, because we were certain of one another, as the desire to proceed with all the calm as possible, to sip the last drop of passion, to make it a pleasant, dizzy exasperation. Among my half-closed eyelids, Holmes ran his tongue over his lips slowly.

"What?"

"What was it like before. Between you and I think we might say, the person I am in your memory. "I let my hand emerge from under the sheets, absently stroking his chest. "It's stupid of me, but I can not help but think that ... there will be comparisons, I suppose. I'm not worried, "she hastened to add, seeing his strange expression. "But I would feel least prepared." The I reported a lock too long behind the ear. "You know what I mean?"

"Yes," he said. "But you're right in thinking dartene. There is nothing to talk about. "

"In what way?"

"In the most literal of senses. I have nothing to tell. "

now seemed embarrassed, but the news I could so surprising that I sat down to deal with it in all its implications. "I am sure have you heard that ..."

"I doubt it."

"Before. We talked about Mrs. Hudson's breakfast ... cold. "

" Yes, "said Holmes. "This time we worked all night and much of the gossip columns on the morning of the last three months, seeking a foothold in a case. Mrs. Hudson was in hysterics when she saw that had been the living room. "

I could not find anything to say for a few seconds.

"Why do not you tell me?" I asked at the end.

"What? What
not
we never had a carnal relationship? They tell me things like that tend to be assumed. "

" No. No, before. First - in agreement, I can not put it in a way that does not sound crazy, but - before '91. Why do not you tell me you love me. "

" Because in my whole life I never managed to get one decent deduction on your account that does not affect the status of your boots or your preferences with regard to investment banking, "said resting her head on my pillow.

"This is certainly a lie."

"It's the truth. I was terrified. I would rather die than see you at the door with suitcases in hand. And then, "he gestured," there was the marriage. "He turned his head at me. "So you see, my boy, that there is no comparison possible," concluded the plan. "But with your permission, I will set a precedent on which to measure all future times. Should the world decide to go crazy again, at least I would have more interesting stories to tell. "

" will not happen, " I whispered, creeping closer. "But if it happens, you have my word that this time I'll be on the safe side."

felt a slight sense of vertigo and with just a chill when Holmes flew the covers away. Her look fits my body from head to foot and returned to my face, an inch perfect lips prisoner between the incisors. The liberal with a slight thumb pressure paid off for my little concern from a long series of kisses on the fingers and palm.

seemed to me that the weight of endless years and two separate universes were to concentrate on my bed, with the irresistible pressure of a few moments I imagined preceded the explosion of a star. Holmes then kissed me to suck my breath and muffled ears, and remembered that he was alive and no less real for me, both alive, and there was nothing in the world where you might be worried. The

rivoltai relaxed, taking his face in his hands. I climbed his legs up to rest, quiet and authoritarian, at the base of my back.

"I hope I did not have plans for the next ten or fifteen years," he murmured, a trace of anxiety in his voice. "And after ten or twenty of them."

closed my eyes. The world had stopped rotating, at least in my immediate vicinity. I kissed Holmes - strange to say, the most concrete and stable which I could think of - if the dizziness returned. not returned.




+



In July I received a letter from Percy Trevelyan, and in August I wrote a person who claimed to be the sister of Holmes.

reacted to the letter of my friend, I am sure, so much less sense of how I should have.

It was in early July, the echo of the arrest of Moran had not dissolved completely, and the part of Holmes in the story - as required out of the official pages - had already made the rounds of London. There had contributed largely to the young Richard Woodley, whose acquaintances high places he had been offered a variety of audiences and continuing to entertain with its history (in which a Scotland Yard, at best, was allowed to make a small appearance). In this wave of celebrities accompanied my friend to a wave of unprecedented employment: it seemed that the whole of London, suddenly, he dusted off his worst misdeeds to submit them to the great detective. It was mostly involved unworthy of my friend, that he accepted the resignation and methodical mind of the employee, just because they paid well and in the worst did not require more than a half-day investigation. But there were also cases more promising than those that did shine eyes and in which he threw himself body and soul, and these sometimes accompanied him, taking notes for his archive.

This turn, coincided with each other far more radical in our relationship, I do not worry, was, after all, nothing but a consolidation of a procedure already established itself in the last month. And Holmes was happy. There was an absurd but nevertheless functional balance in my life, and he was the fulcrum.

three weeks had passed since the first night that Holmes had spent in my bed - the first in a series, interrupted only by sporadic ones in which I was to visit him in his bedroom - when the letter came to Trevelyan.

breakage of the cup itself was an overreaction. I held her hand, the sheet in the other, and I was going to take it to his lips when, having reached the last line, the whole picture I had made it clear in his mind, and I finally understood the meaning: Trevelyan wanted to meet Holmes. The thought was so bad that my body instantly lost interest in anything else. The cup fell with a crash on the table, pouring tea on the tablecloth, and from there rolled to the edge of undisturbed on the floor and shattered.

"Watson! What is it? "Holmes asked, alarmed. On another occasion I

tried to feign indifference, but the cup was broken between us like a banner, a tangible proof of my concern. I handed him the letter without speaking. In it, Trevelyan apologized for not being able to respond to my request for some time before, because his recovery before and after the work had constantly busy, but it was said at my disposal from now on. Also expressed, if possible, the desire to meet this amazing detective friendly that I had kept hidden from the world for so long, because, he joked, 'having already shared the space of a story, it seems to me essential that we be able to meet, even in reality '.

Holmes looked up. "There is no connection between the two," he said. "So your friend does not know ...?"
"No, no." Now that the horror was over, I was ashamed of my moment of defaillance
. "At no time told him nothing. It was not something that you could talk to the telegram. "

" So why are you so upset? "

" I am not, "I answered honestly. "It was just a moment."

Holmes folded sheet with the method and set it on the table, exactly half way. Then he lit a cigarette. He was thoughtful and I saw well.

"There's something I do not know?" Asked finally, his cheek on the palm.

"No. Of course not. "

" I do not understand. It is not guilt, you're not avoiding my gaze. And if Trevelyan does not know me you have reason to worry, why not find out. What is it? "

I covered my mouth with his hand. It was an indescribable feeling, a mixture of fear and repulsion, and was eventually nominated for Holmes to me.

"Ah," he said. "Do you still believe that I should visit me?" I asked calmly and politely, but I felt the same revulsion to hide behind the steel his voice, the same infinite disgust that I felt at that moment.

"No!" I reached out his hand to cover resting on the table. "I do not mean - oh, to hell with the cavalry. I'm not a saint, and I will not do anything to take away from me. I am the last stage of the process of human evolution to the most abject selfishness, and this has already been discharged. "At this

Holmes smiled and bent down to kiss his fingers. The fact that he is bent almost at the table instead of bringing my hand to my mouth images and thoughts provoked entirely inappropriate time and place. "However," I muttered, replace the feeling nausea, "I can not help but wonder if my behavior is not worthy."

"Unworthy of what? Of your profession? Your sense of honor? Of me? "

" Of all these things and more, yes, "I said. "This is not the first time I think. Holmes, please do not get me wrong, I do not want to change anything between us, but I wonder if it is not my selfishness to keep you from ... to ... "

" Healing? "She suggested, coolly.

I nodded, unable to force myself to say it.

Holmes pinned gaze out the window, smoking casually. I for my part I completely lost my appetite, and I dropped my fork into the pot with a bad grace, pulling his feet. Glancing in the street, I imagined the car to a sanitarium stops in front of my door, black, anonymous yet perfectly recognizable, and Holmes spontaneously climb with his usual regal pace, looked left and right by two sturdy porters. I could not resist the image, and pulled the curtain shutter as he could cover up something that was just in my mind.

"Your guilt is illogical," said Holmes close to my ear. I kissed her neck. "You say that I could heal. I doubt it, but consider the possibilities. Why do I hand over healing? A tedious normality, the greyness of human life, without a shadow of a challenge, an obstacle. No puzzles to solve. Without in any way to train your mind. Maybe you can not imagine that place is my mind when boredom takes over. I will not attempt to describe it, because I do not want you to know. But take my word, and know that I do not speak lightly when I say that climb more willingly to the gallows. How could I resist? A month? One year? And then what? "He shook his arms around and rested his chin on my shoulder, as I had to hold onto the only wreck in the storm.

"Holmes, you may enter ..."

"I told you you could decide what to do with me. The decision is still yours, always has been. "

closed my eyes. "I have no decision to make," I whispered. "Even if it was the best thing for you, I'd be too cowardly to say yes." I turned away, because I felt disgusted with myself too much to bear them near me, but his expression made me regret. "Forgive me. It is almost time for visits, "I said without looking. I picked up the letter and I took refuge in my studio.

meeting with Percy proved entirely harmless, even pleasant, but the echo of that conversation was still buried in my mind when, a month after we returned from Paris.