Consultation

by "Vestige of Femininity"

"Holmes! My good friend, how are you? Come in, come in!"

"Good evening, Watson. I am well, thank you. Your landlady told me I might find you here today, so I came along in the hope of catching you before you left."

It was a warm, pleasant evening in mid July that found me greeting my oldest and dearest friend, Sherlock Holmes, at the surgery of the good Mr. Carter. I have been mostly retired from medicine for some years now but to keep my hand in, I occasionally do locums for those who need someone to look out for their patients while they and their families take some much needed rest. It had been a particularly busy day during my week long locum for Carter. I had just seen out the last of my patients and was about to close up and finish off my notes, when who should meet me at the door but Holmes. Nowadays, it was most unusual for him to seek me out in this manner. I was more than a little curious as to the purpose of this rather surprising visit.

"Come through to the office, Holmes and sit down. I believe Carter keeps an excellent brandy here somewhere, for medicinal purposes only, of course." My jest was met with the brief absent smile of one who is not really listening.

He was looking fairly well, physically speaking. He had gained back the weight that he had lost during Mary's convalescence in the hospital (God knows he could ill afford to lose it). But I could tell from the strained look on his face that all was not well with him. Mary's condition had been worrisome for some time after the Patricia Donleavy affair. She had lost a good deal of blood, both due to the actual gunshot wound, and during the ensuing surgery to piece together her shattered collar bone. Then of course, as is so often the case, she had been taken with fever due to infection. But she was a young, strong, healthy girl and with the help of the excellent care that she received and to Holmes' constant presence at her side, she had slowly recovered enough to be discharged. Holmes himself had been wounded in the same calamitous incident. However, he was so totally distracted by Mary's condition that he would not let even myself see to his wound until his brother Mycroft took him in hand and made him see sense.

As I placed a snifter of brandy in his hands I asked after her health since I knew that she was recuperating at his cottage in Sussex.

"She recovers, Watson, albeit slowly. She is gaining back full use of her right arm and hand. However, she is still rather weak and I expect she will require the rest of the summer to regain her full strength. I spoke with Mrs. Hudson earlier today and she informs me that Russell has been out walking the Downs most days this week, which I take to be a good sign as to her increasing stamina." He said all this rather clinically and with no particular inflection in the words. His eyes, however, gave away more than his words.

"You have been here in London then for business this week?" I knew that Holmes would on occasion, come up to London for various purposes, including consulting with his brother Mycroft.

"No, Watson," he exhaled slowly and sipped his brandy, "I am in London to remove my irritating self from Russell's increasingly angry glower." He reached over to take a cigarette that I proffered from Carter's well stocked cigarette box. I lit it for him and he inhaled deeply and blew the smoke into the air above him. "I have been doing this regularly these past weeks to give her time to herself and yes, lately to escape."

Lighting my own cigarette, I frowned and asked, "I don't think I follow, my dear fellow."

He leaned back into the chair and exhaled in what can only be described as a sigh. He looked straight ahead and drew on the cigarette again. I waited for the explanation that must be the reason for this visit.

With some reluctance he began, "The girl who inhabits my cottage these past weeks Watson, is a ghost of the her former self. Yes, physically, she has been doing well," he waved his cigarette dismissively at this. "But emotionally -" He shook his head but did not finish the sentence.

"The first few weeks after I brought Russell from the hospital, she was compliant and biddable and utterly docile." He looked at me then and snorted, "Can you imagine? Russell obediently following orders from anyone, even her doctor? I think you know her well enough yourself to realize that these characteristics are not part of her normal make up." He pulled on the cigarette like a lifeline. "She would sit for hours staring off into space, not speaking or even reading much. I have tried to get her interested in the coming term at Oxford with some success, but even that she approaches with little enthusiasm. All of this, as you can imagine, has been most alarming."

He paused in this narrative and puffed once more on his cigarette before he resumed, "Of late, this subdued stranger has been replaced with an angry young woman who becomes more and more annoyed and irritated with her surroundings, particularly with me." He did not hide his disquiet at this. "My every action and word are met with scorn and derision. She purposely tries to provoke me into anger with her irrational outbursts. Then when I do not respond, she storms angrily out of the room."

Even I knew this to be most unusual. I had come to count Mary and Holmes among the most companionable duos I have ever met, despite their differences in age and background. They were completely at ease in each others company, whether it was as teacher and student, as chess sparing partners, as friends out for a walk on the Sussex Downs, or even as participants on opposite sides of a particularly rancorous debate. I remember on one occasion early on in my acquaintance with this new apprenticeship, walking in on one of these debates. I don't recall the subject, but the tone was ruthless and they were both completely intent on scoring points off each other. I made some attempt at mediation between the two, thinking that surely this would lead to no good. My words were met merely with knowing looks at each other and then laughter. I have since come to realize that these two minds, easily bored with the conventional and the commonplace had found their match with each other, and that they both revelled in this sort of thing. It was beyond my ken, but then I never pretended to understand genius.

While I admit that at times, I have missed the comradery and the excitement of our Baker Street days together, I cannot begrudge Holmes his newfound partner. I can truly say without envy or jealousy that Mary has been the best thing that has ever happened to my dear friend. Where I had failed, she had brought Holmes back from a sure slow death some four years ago when she became his apprentice, although despite my efforts to thank her for this, I really don't think she truly realized her influence. From the day they met, Holmes had been enthralled and stimulated by a mind that was his equal in every way. Her spirited, unconventional ways, her youthful honesty and the fact that unlike most, she was not in the least bit impressed or intimidated by the man or the legend he had become, had kindled something within him. Mind you, the fact that all this was housed under the cover of a truly lovely creature might have had some influence, and although he himself had used this word when describing her to me, I am sure Holmes would argue against this point. The changes that she brought about in him in a few short months, I would not have believed had I not myself seen them with my own eyes. Of course it was obvious to me that he was very much in love with her. Yes, the great Sherlock Holmes, the man who never noticed a woman unless she had an interesting problem to present to him, and then only until the case was solved, was besotted with this young girl. But I seemed to be the only one who knew this. I have found, much to my amusement, that brilliant people can be completely obtuse when it comes to affairs of the heart.

While Mary's behaviour did seem odd indeed in light of what I knew about her, I sought to downplay it for his sake. "She has been through a lot, Holmes. She is probably still in some pain and frustrated with the slowness of her progress. The young can be very impatient. Try and make her understand that it will take time."

He shook his head and said decisively, "Such cliches will not do much good with Russell, Watson. And as I say, it is more than the physical. As you know, the accident in which she lost her family has left her with incredible emotional scars. Now, another piece of her world has crumbled away with the loss of trust and the disillusionment that the Donleavy woman left behind." He snorted, "Of course, she would rather cut out her tongue than admit this to anyone. But I know her, Watson. I know her moods and often times her very thoughts. I know what this is - it is grief for this fresh loss."

"If you feel that it is grief that is causing such drastic changes in her, then you must know that only time can help her."

He shook his head and tapped some ash into the ash tray, "Yes, I'm aware of that Watson. However, I fear- " he paused and he struggled with this next disclosure, "I fear her impatience and anger which she seems to have focussed on me will drive her away." He looked directly at me then and said uneasily, "I will lose her, Watson. She will go up to Oxford soon to be clear of me and I will lose her."

I was more than a little astonished. Here was my great good friend actually admitting what I had suspected all along. Not in so many words mind you, but at least he was finally realizing that Mary was an important part of his life and her absence would cause him some distress. However, I felt that maybe he was assigning more meaning to these events than was necessary.

"But she would go up to Oxford in any case, soon enough, would she not? No doubt she will keep in contact as she has always done in the past and will return her usual self at mid- term."

"No, Watson. I do not believe that will be the case this time." He drew on the cigarette once again before he said, "Before I left this past weekend, there was a resoluteness about her that makes me think that she has come to some conclusion with regard to her future. I believe she will take herself as far away from me as possible because in her present state of mind, she blames me for everything, and not without some cause, I hasten to add."

"Oh, surely not, Holmes!"

"It is simple truth, Watson. All of the devastating events in her life in the past months are due to her association with me. Oh, I realize that she entered into our elaborate plan to deal with the Donleavy woman willingly, but the months of forced separation and constant ruthless squabbling did take their toll. I myself found that time very difficult, and I have had considerably more experience than she at playing an effective role." Another astonishing admission, I thought. He looked particularly troubled as he said, "And if I had been quicker on my feet that day, I might have been able to prevent Russell's physical injuries and maybe the Donleavy woman might be standing trial right now."

I had not thought that Holmes would feel responsible for Russell's injuries. "You cannot blame yourself for that despicable women's actions, Holmes. The blame lies squarely on her shoulders, not yours."

"Yes, Watson, I know the truth to that." He added ruefully, "But a part of me is also aware of how that pale stranger that presently haunts my cottage is interpreting these events. While her anger may be misplaced, I am at a loss as to how to refocus it or at least distract her from it."

I watched my friend as he smoked for a few seconds and said, "Well, Holmes, since you have sought me out here today, I will take the liberty of offering my advice as a friend who has observed you and Mary these past four years." I was not sure how he would regard this advice but I felt it should be said aloud for him to face the facts. He frowned in question.

"It is very simple, my dear friend. Tell the girl of your affection for her."

"Good God, Watson-" he looked totally flabbergasted by my statement.

Before he could go on in some distracting tirade, I held up my hand to interrupt, "Holmes, as I said, I have watched you and Mary together for some time now. It has become quite obvious to me and to anyone with half a brain - and blast your sarcasm!" I caught him before he could even think it, "- it is obvious that you care for Mary not just as a friend or apprentice." He actually looked somewhat chastised at this but scowled at me nonetheless.

His silence encouraged me to continue. "One does not sit on the sick bed of a friend or apprentice and hold their unconscious hand, or stroke their hair for hours on end. One does not go without sleep or food and disregard one's own health so they can be at their side when they regain consciousness. Holmes, I was there to witness a good part of this. These are not the actions of teacher, partner or even a friend. These are the actions of a man who cares very deeply."

He still did not reply to this, but sat with one eyebrow arched, peering intently at the lit end of the cigarette in his hand.

I said, more gently, "Holmes, admit it to yourself and then tell her how you feel."

Finally he spoke, "For God sake, Watson, I cannot do that. She is much too young."

"Ah, so you do admit it then."

Somewhat irritated, he replied, "Yes, Watson. I do admit it and despite what you think, I have been aware of my feelings for Russell for some time."

"Then why, in heaven's name, man, have you not said anything to her?"

"My dear chap! As I have said, she is too young and she does not know her own mind yet herself."

"But Holmes, I have seen for myself the affection she has for you. Nineteen is not that young, and you have said yourself that she is incredibly mature for her age.

"She cares at some level, Watson, of that I am sure. But I do not know at what level and I do not think that even she knows. As to maturity, she is well beyond her years intellectually, but emotionally and in many other ways Russell has much growing to do. She is not ready for such a commitment and it would be completely improper of me to expect it of her."

"But it may be just what she needs right now to bring her out of this."

He crushed the butt of the cigarette in the ash tray and said, "No, definitely not, Watson. This is not the right time. Even if she were not so young, she is too angry and confused and vulnerable right now." He paused and seemed utterly appalled as he examined the idea, "Something like that would confuse her even more. It would only make matters worse."

"But what if you are right, Holmes? You may lose her, as you have said. She will go up to Oxford and immerse herself in her life there. Of course, there is also the possibility that she will meet someone there too." I added this last rather reluctantly, though I am sure the thought had not escaped him.

He looked uncomfortable then but said, "Then so be it, Watson." He pointed one long finger at me and said with some asperity, "And I want your word as gentleman, Watson, that none of this leaves this room. Do you understand?" He lowered the finger, picked up the brandy and said with heavy sarcasm, "I especially do not want a repeat of that scene in the garden some time ago where you practically made the poor girl feel solely responsible for my health and happiness."

Somewhat sheepishly I had to reply, "Of course, Holmes. I am sorry about that. And yes, you have my word." He seemed to accept this and settled back with his brandy. "What will you do then?" I asked.

"I will have to think of something to cheer her, or at least distract her from her grief."

There was a silence in the room as both of us sipped our brandy. At last, it occurred to me that I might be able to offer some help based on my many years as a physician rather than as a friend.

"If you assess the root of her problem to be grief, Holmes, and, if what you have told me are all the symptoms that Mary has exhibited thus far, -" he made a confirming nod at my brief pause, "then I think the one thing that seems to be missing here is the fact that throughout all of these extraordinary events, Mary has not once shed any tears."

He looked at me then in a slightly startled manner. Encouraged by this, I continued, "Everyone deals with grief differently of course, but it has been my experience that this rather simple, natural outlet for grief has great therapeutic benefits, especially for the fairer sex."

For the first time since entering the office, his face relaxed into a broad smile that transformed it, "Whatever you do Watson, do not repeat that last statement in Russell's presence. That is, unless you wish to have a large strip torn off your hide." Since I didn't understand what he meant by this and it must have been obvious in my face, he chuckled and said, "Never mind, Watson. However, I do take your meaning and I believe you may be on to something there. I have reason to believe that such an outlet has done her some good in the past." Indeed, his eyes seem to shine with a new light as his mind worked on this idea.

I hastened to remind him,"Of course, one has to approach this with some delicacy, Holmes. In her present angry state of mind, I assume that Mary would be upset if you suggested the services of a psychiatrist at this time?"

"Indeed, Watson. While she has had the occasion to make use of their assistance before, with some success I might add, I do not think that she would be open to such a suggestion."

"Then, ideally, if there was someone who she has formed a bond with, someone who is not in anyway associated with her present life, that Mary might talk to -? It might be just the thing to open the flood gates, so to speak, to eventual healing."

His long fingers drummed a tattoo on the arm of his chair, the best he could do without his pipe to help him think. He said, "There is someone," he paused here and shook his head, "but I'm afraid geography is an insurmountable factor here."

"Who are you thinking of?"

"I was thinking of the child, Jessica Simpson. I believe I related the essentials of that incident to you, did I not? She and Russell formed a remarkable bond in their short time together. As a matter of fact, in their whispered farewells, they referred to each other as 'sister.'"

Then with a half smile of one lost in a memory, he said, "God, Watson. If you had observed the incongruity of that scene on the hill where I found them -" He put one hand through his hair and shook his head with what seemed to me to be a mixture of pride and tenderness, "There was Russell sitting quietly under a tree, gently cradling the sleeping child in her arms, where not a hour before I knew that she had been scaling trees, breaking and entering through locked windows, and, I learned later, smashing bed posts with her foot (and a bone in the process) and carrying that child to safety, all at her own initiative. I can tell you, Watson, that scene gave me some pause."

It did seem to have a profound affect on my friend for he was still staring at his swirling brandy with that half smile as I said, "But a child, Holmes? And, as you implied, even if you could have her come for a visit all the way from America at such short notice, it would take too long for her to get here to be of much use in the present situation."

He frowned as his thoughts came back to the present, "True Watson. Still," he laid one long finger to his lips and tapped in thought, "maybe even a telegram or a letter from the child might stir something within her. You see, I think their bond stems from the fact that Russell could identify with the frightened child's anger and pain. There were some similiarities in their reactions to their separate traumas. Russell gave the child some advice in dealing with her demons, based on her own experiences. I saw myself how this cheered the child immeasurably. It could help Russell to be reminded that she might be wise to take her own advice to heart. It may not be exactly what we want, but it may be enough."

He seemed to come to some decision with this, and in true Holmes like manner that would have startled me had I not been more familiar with his habits, he put down the glass abruptly and stood to leave. As he made towards the office door, I said, "I am sorry that I could not be of more help to you Holmes."

Realizing his distraction then, he stopped, turned towards me and smiled, "On the contrary, my dear Watson. You have given me much to think about. And as always, you have been your usual excellent sounding board and I am indebted to you once again for listening to the ramblings of your old comrade at arms."

I was swept up in a wave of pure nostalgia at his words. I could not hide my pleasure at hearing them, for they reminded me of that exhilarating time long past where such comments were commonplace. I sent my love to Mary and wished him luck in whatever he chose to do to ease her mind. Then we shook hands before I saw him out and closed and locked up behind him.

As I watched Holmes flag down a passing taxi, I noted less strain to his features and a lightness to his step that had not been there upon his arrival. I remember feeling warmly gratified to think that maybe I had some influence on this. Whatever decision he made that day must have met with some success for I received a picture post card from him some weeks later postmarked from somewhere in France. It was unsigned of course, but I recognized the hand writing and the Latin quotation written upon the back (from Ovid, I believe):

"Interdun lacremae pondera voces habent."
"From time to time tears have all the weight of speech."