Awakening

by "nineteen year old not quite a lady"

I looked up at the ceiling and quietly sighed, hearing Mrs. Hudson's gentle puttering about the house, judging by the accumulation of noises following her activities that today she was stirring herself into a household cleaning frenzy. The observation, I thought, wasn't even worth the half-second or so of mindless labor it took to deduce. I lay there, restless, my eyes wanting to steal over to the cabinet to my left, the cabinet where I kept not books on chemical observations or the various accoutrements of my career, but cocaine, opium and morphine. Then again, I thought with asperity, these are the effects of my chosen profession. I inwardly grimaced at the thought of seeing Mrs. Hudson's pitying looks after I had consumed of one or the other of these particular stimuli and instead slowly brought myself to a sitting position. Though the good lady professed (out loud at least) not to have any knowledge of the kinds of substances I was involved with, I had known her, it seems, for the majority of my life, she saw me nearly every day. She made her diagnosis of depression and she tried to excite some interest for me, in me, for anything. I got up from the chair slowly, turning around looking everywhere but at the cabinet in a timid attempt to stay the needle or the powder from my body. I took a book off the shelf and put it back without even glancing at the title. I wandered over to my violin case and shuddered at the effort involved in playing it. It was then that I registered the sound that I had been hearing since I had awaken, the sound of almost perfect silence. I inwardly groaned, the first thing Mrs. Hudson had mentioned when I walked in the door after my extended absence, aside from her gentle but ever-present harassment concerning my intake of food and sleep, was that something had seemed wrong with the hives. Grateful for the interruption I walked over to the paneling and stood before them, knowing by their silence what I would find. I opened the panels and smiled humorlessly. More than a half of the total population was dead, killed, I reasoned by the unusual frost. The other members seemed almost lost without their companions and the hives had a dreary look about them. I slid back the panels and stood for a moment while light streamed in through the large windows. I looked outside, my eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the afternoon's brightness. Perhaps I would go for a walk, I thought. Perhaps I could just walk to the edge of the cliffs overlooking the sea and just take one more step . . .

Enough! My mind shouted at me, that is enough of that kind of thinking!

Murmuring out loud, "That has been the problem your whole life, Holmes, too many thoughts." A small smile touched my face and I began to count back the weeks from my last case. I sighed again.

"Are you all right Mr. Holmes?"

"Perfectly, Mrs. Hudson. I think that I shall be out today, so there's no need to trouble with lunch."

"As if you would eat it anyway, Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson pronounced this last sentence as one of victory and I turned to face her.

I raised an eyebrow at her proclamation and smiled a little at the look of innocence she gave me. I quickly got my rucksack from the shelf and located the bottles of necessary paint for the experiment. Blue and red should do, I thought. I looked quickly around the room, my eyes falling on the cabinet. I strode quietly and quickly from the room and into the sunshine.

I found the spot easily enough and sat amongst the bees and flowers and set about my work. After I painted the first bees I sat and relaxed, turning my thoughts to the previous consultation. "This is all you need, Holmes," I told myself, "A little exercise and some of Mrs. Hudson's mince meat pies; that should fill the void in your life, the emptiness." The loneliness, my mind added but before the thought could be fully formed I heard footsteps behind me. I softly swore for allowing my cheerless mood to influence my observations and turned to look at the approaching figure. A young man, I saw and reading a book by Virgil. I glanced away, quietly angered by the intrusion into my thoughts. No doubt this farm boy would desire tedious conversation and after perhaps, noticing the blue and red spots on the bees would undoubtedly enjoy expressing to the world at large this other-worldly phenomenon. If he even noticed them, I added. I loudly cleared my throat as I saw the young man was completely inattentive and would if he continued, walk right over me. He looked up and cursed as he almost fell and his belongings scattered across the ground. I waited for the inevitable conversational infringement.

"What on earth are you doing?" He demanded. "Lying in wait for someone?"

"I should think that I can hardly be accused of 'lying' anywhere," I said, "as I am seated openly on an uncluttered hillside, minding my own business. When, that is, I am not having to fend off those who propose to crush me underfoot." As if I need to explain my presence to this irritating figure!

"You have not answered my question, sir," came the reply.

"What am I doing here, do you mean?" Fine, take this answer and go.

"Exactly."

"I am watching bees," I said flatly, and turned back to my contemplation of the hillside.

I sat quietly as the young man stood behind me. I dismissed him from my thoughts and found myself thinking of the cabinet in my laboratory, surely as a reward for humoring this infuriating local I could permit myself a small indulgence. My thoughts were again broken off by creature moving about behind me. Gathering his belongings and taking his leave I observed. Good riddance to you young man. Now was this the forty-fourth day since the Lestrade came to speak with me or was it the forty-fifth... and I was just about to discern the answer to this mindless query when the boy spoke again.

"I'd say the blue spots are a better bet, if you're trying for another hive," he said. "The ones you've only marked with red are probably from Mr. Warner's orchard. The blue spots are farther away, but they're almost sure to be wild ones."

My heart stuttered in my chest. It was as if he had started to speak in a foreign language! I looked up and slowly turned around my mouth closing and opening with complete and unfeigned surprise. To hear my own private thoughts parroted from the mouth of this, this child! How could he possibly know?

"What did you say?"

"I beg your pardon, are you hard of hearing?" He raised his voice somewhat and spoke slowly. "I said, if you want a new hive you'll have to follow the blue spots, because the reds are sure to be Tom Warner's."

"I am not hard of hearing, although I am short of credulity. How do you come to know of my interests?'

"I should have thought it obvious," He said impatiently. "I saw paint on your pocket-handkerchief, and traces on your fingers where you wiped it away. The only reason to mark bees that I can think of is to enable one to follow them to their hive. You are either interested in gathering honey or in the bees themselves, and it is not the time of year to harvest honey. Three months ago we had an unusual cold spell that killed many hives. Therefore I assume that you are tracking these in order to replenish your own stock."

Hearing sound logical deductions from this person is absurd, I thought as I looked at him more closely. How is it possible? I wished to hear him speak again and intentionally provoked him, testing the depths of him.

"My God," I said in a voice of mock wonder, "it can think."

"My God, it can recognize another human being when it's hit over the head with one." He continued, "And to think that I was raised to believe that old people had decent manners."

I looked at his anger and indignation and for a moment I was reminded of myself when I had just started out at Baker Street; young, sharp-eyed, passionate and clear headed. Perhaps, I mused, this is the ghost of the detective's past, I inwardly smiled at my fancy. My thoughts turned melancholy, however. This is too much. It is not fair to have to look at this fellow and see what I used to do, to be. Like a mirror that reflects the hearts' desires, I looked into his clear gaze and remembered. I need to be away, I told myself suddenly, away from this intelligence and away from those eyes that are so like mine. And yes, when I get back home I'll go to that cabinet and take out what I need, I'll take out what I am now and be dammed to Mrs. Hudson and her sympathetic looks. That should take away the sting of this unexpected encounter, this curse of remembrance.

"Young man I," I began and was shocked to see further looks of anger flit across his face.

"Young man!" Young man!" He repeated. Completely at a loss now, I could only be still and listen as the speaker declared, "It's a damn good thing you did retire if that's all that's left of the great detective's mind!"

As this was pronounced the speaker pulled at the nondescript cap he was wearing and let loose a full head of blonde plaits! I stood there like a fool, in the presence I realized, of a very young, very female person. I gaped in surprise and as I stared into the irritated face across from me, I reviewed our conversation and my own thoughts of comparison. Helpless to contain myself, I burst into laughter. I laughed long and hard until asphyxiation became a concern and as I laughed I saw the anger disappear from the figure opposite me, as her tightly controlled features relaxed into an easy smile. Intelligent, young and beautiful, I amended. Looking at her, seeing her eyes and her smile and her hair, seeing her clearly for the first time, I felt a shadow lift from my heart.

And I was shocked by the sudden impulse, this abrupt and unanticipated desire to hold her, to touch her face and her mind and her heart. In that instant as I stood there, looking at her, her long hair disheveled and moving with a slight breeze from the sea, she owned me. I have never felt anything quite like it, that feeling and I realized that I had, unobtrusively and surprisingly fallen in love. Quietly and without any preliminary I had gone out for a day of grim reflection and when I returned to the cottage I knew that she would be there, in my heart and blood. I had left the cottage this afternoon lifeless, and now I was lost. She looked at me with that remarkable gaze and I knew that I both wanted and needed her. I wanted to speak with her, to hear her voice and thoughts and I wanted to take her into my arms and put my lips to hers, so that when I breathed in, she breathed out.