A Shy Man’s Lovemaking

And I, forsooth, in love!

I, that have been love’s whip;

A very beadle to a humorous sigh;

A critic, nay, a night-watch constable…

O, I am yours, and all that I possess!

—William Shakespeare. Love’s Labour’s Lost.

The short blocks from Baker Street to St. John’s Wood were surprisingly few, yet interminable for Holmes. He leapt out before the cab had stopped and pitched the jarvey his fare, raced down the flagstone path and met her at the door. Once inside, he drew her to him.

Reciting the poem “Now” by Robert Browning was how he proposed:—

Out of your whole life give but one moment!

All of your life that has gone before,

All to come after it,—so you ignore,

So you make perfect the present,—condense,

In a rapture of rage, for perfection’s endowment

You around me for once, you beneath me, above me

Me—sure that despite of time future, time past,—

This tick of our life-time’s one moment you love me!

How long such suspension may linger? Ah, Sweet—

The moment eternal—just that and no more—

When ecstasy’s utmost we clutch at the core

While cheeks burn, arms open, eyes shut and lips meet!

He then did something he had once thought impossible. He knelt and took her hands in his.

“Irene, marry me?”

“Sherlock, yes!”

Holmes rose and brought her to his embrace, their mutual gaze deeply entwined as he looked into the eyes of the woman he trusted implicitly, the Woman.

Hero and heroine on the cusp of an adventurous new century, Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler, celebrated artists in their chosen fields, forged a highly unorthodox marriage contract. Similar to those advocated by the suffragists. They planned to marry quietly in Paris, where their unique contract would be validated.

He gently kissed her at their sanctuary door, stepped over its threshold into that other world that held murderous problems and mysteries only he could solve.

I’d overslept but what did it matter. From my bedroom window, I could see the plane tree’s vibrant green leaves were reaching to the bright sun. Forced to a squint I lazily stretched and threw on my dressing gown. Slowly marched down to the first floor and carefully entered my bachelor sitting room, unshaven and a bit hungover, expecting to find it empty.

Holmes was speaking with Mrs. Hudson at the breakfast table, a meal she rarely shared with us.

“Rachel will be starting at St Hilda’s College in the fall having breezed through her exams,” he said with parental pride.

“And Oxford is lucky to have her,” she said.

When I walked in, she was smiling. He was smiling and smoking the last of my tobacco.

She said, “Doctor, join us, I’ve just brought up your breakfast.” She poured me a cup of coffee, another rarity.

I sat across from him, added milk and a sugar cube.

Holmes beamed at me. “Watson, thank you for your encouragement, last night I proposed, and she accepted.”

“Holmes, my dear fellow, congratulations!” I shook his hand heartily and raised my coffee cup in a toast: “Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, a long and happy marriage!”

“Thank you, Watson. Yet, I never realized what a stabilizing influence my presence had upon you.”

I gulped down some coffee. “I didn’t expect to see you—”

“And how much did Stamford score from you last night?”

“Stop it, Holmes!” I cracked open an egg with more force than was necessary. It was still blessedly soft boiled. “Your surmises are incorrect. It was a football game with Robinson, we celebrated with the team.”

“Watson, forgive my jest. I see you have been heroically saving lives by the thousands in our fair city. The tactics you and your cohorts encouraged in town were both radical and unique, but entirely appropriate for such a deadly adversary. You should all be knighted.”

“Thank you, Holmes. I didn’t think you were aware of my trials.”

“Tsk, tsk, Doctor, even on Irene’s arm, I am still capable of reading a newspaper and noticing the winter gardens that opened outside every theatre, restaurant, and pub in town.”

“If I might be so bold,” I gestured with my egg spoon. “You both have such established lives. How will you manage it?”

Holmes laughed. “Nothing changes except that when Irene is in town, I share my life with the loveliest woman providence ever created.” He smoked and for a moment his smile was lost behind its veil.

“Holmes, marriage changes everything in a man’s life.”

“Watson, I knew from the first that you were destined to fulfil the role of my partner. I know that (as long as you will) I will always share this part of my life with you, my friend.” He extended his hand and shook mine amiably.

“Thank you, Holmes. It is very courteous of you to say so.”

“Irene and I have a high regard for each other’s professions.” He knocked out his pipe and watched me as I sampled my kippers.

“You are not going to share the same home? Forgive me, but, what kind of a marriage is that?”

He sighed, “Watson, this is my office, my lab, my home, my club, and Rachel’s home. I will still live here when Irene is on tour.”

“You sized me up in Bart’s Chemical laboratory just like that? Of course, all the times I’ve saved your skin has nothing to do with it?”

“A touch Watson a definite touch!” He laughed and lit a cigarette, offered one to me. “Doctor, if you are sufficiently recovered would you bring me up to date with the Priory case?”

“Actually, Holmes, it is in your hands.” I chose a piece of toast and sipped my coffee.

“A false presumption my friend, Scotland Yard has decided the murders were caused by body snatchers. Savory has his church back, his construction plans are going forward. I’m baffled and stopped at every turn. Each of my threads has come to naught. It’s as if they grew there like flowering weeds in a chink of cobblestone. Only you and I, Watson, think something is still amiss in this dark Priory forest.”

I poured myself another cup of coffee. “Holmes, where do we go from here?”

“Doctor, the abstruse chemical investigations I have been absorbed in may help us convict the killer, yet have not led us to him. I have been doing a little research into your case, I hope you don’t mind.”

“I see it as part of a whole, have you uncovered anything?”

“Not yet. One thread leads to the West End. Could she have been an actress? Or one of those craftswomen who are indispensable to the theatre—a dresser, perhaps?”

I cracked open my second egg. “I am meeting with my literary agent this week. His play, Waterloo, is in production. I’ll speak with him.”

“Yet another historical romp for him? It is interesting for me to note how blind some artists are to their best pursuits, unlike you, my dear, Watson. Your vision is straight and true.”

“Thank you, Holmes, not everyone lives with their muse.”

“Ha! Watson, your sabre is sharp today, please spare me. While our yachter was under sail I visited the Swan Inn Chelsea. It seems he revives his glory in this pub and is celebrated as a race winner. Keep the Irregulars on guard, they will report to you, and you will report their findings to me. He looked at his watch. “Ah ha, we still have time to visit my tailor. We will refill your tobacco pouch on the way, a fine blend to be sure. You’re out, you know.” He offered me his case, “Cigarette?”

We walked to Oxford Street with the Marble Arch on our right signifying we were once again breathing the city’s rarest air. In the neighbourhood of the squares amid London’s most fashionable shops I entered Bradley’s. Holmes continued to his tailor.

When he returned he was crammed in with his boxes in a carriage. “I am leaving for the Continent. Irene and I will share the first week of her Parisian tour.” He smiled. “Watson, your ability to lead the investigation is of great service to me now. Under no circumstances are you to put yourself or the Irregulars in danger.”