A Russellian Fugue

by "What this old thing? It's scarcely decent"

Part IV

Sussex - April 1919

How could something so simple be so damned hard? After all, it involved no physical labor. On the contrary, Holmes was getting much more rest than he usually did. And still, he was exhausted! Emotionally drained every hour of every day. The unadorned task of rolling his eyes at receiving a letter from her, or grumbling when asked if she was coming home between terms - petty little things and yet they left him feeling empty and depressed.

Fortunately his roll was taking his mind off some of the stress. Readying himself for Watson's anxious eyes had taken a great deal of preparation and the good doctor's reaction had wrenched his heart in two. Holmes eyed his watchers through his bedroom window (Mycroft was such a lifesaver.) And prayed that this whole ridiculous charade would be over soon.

On a particularly frustrating day, he grabbed his cloth cap and stalked into the village to send a telegram. It read:

ARE YOU COMING DOWN
BETWEEN TERMS QUERY
HOLMES

He told himself that he only wanted her to come so that he could deliver Mycroft's envelope to her, but his heart didn't listen. Holmes received his reply the next day.

SHOULD I QUERY
RUSSELL

Admiring her caution, he wrote:

PLEASE DO MRS HUDSON WOULD
ALSO BE GLAD
HOLMES

Russell's had come in return saying that she would indeed come. And so he sat, apprehensively awaiting her arrival under his cold, aloof exterior. Maybe my violin would be an adequate distraction, he thought. With his Stradivarius tucked under his chin, a tuneless melody echoed from its strings and mirrored the sense of melancholy that was pervading his life. The tires of her Morris crunching the gravel on the drive alerted him to her presence and he went to meet her.

Holmes' jaw clenched at the sight of her. She was obviously working herself too hard and she had lost some weight since they last met.

"Hello, Russell." He was sure to keep his voice tight and unemotional as he greeted her.

She followed his cue. "Hello, Holmes. I brought you and Mrs. Hudson a few things from Oxford."

"That was nice of you, Russell." He stepped back to allow her entrance. It had been so long since she had been there. He missed her. "Please come in."

They ate and drank their tea dutifully, while Mrs. Hudson expressed her concern for Mary's state, especially regarding Mary's encounter with a lightpost. Holmes, for one, knew that Russell would never run into a lightpost. Even on the Downs when she had her face in a book she instinctually knew where not to step. He eyed her, trying to determine the real reason for the situation.

The purpose now was to get her alone in the laboratory for a few minutes. A few enquiries after her school work led to questions concerning his latest experiments. Perfect, he thought! Holmes told her of an experiment he was working on, and was rather proud of himself for prevaricating such minute details on the spot, and showed her into the windowless laboratory.

Thank God! A minute to drop the masks. He turned to Russell with all walls between them gone. A brief interlude where they were once more friends and companions. "Hello, Russell."

She abruptly turned her back and her hands clutched into fists.

Holmes saw that this was too much for her and conceded that it was damned hard for himself as well. He didn't want to go back to their bitter quarrels either, but what choice did they have? He remembered their nights on the ship back from Palestine and an idea struck him. Knocking his fist on the door twice told her that he understood and would make this as easy as he could. Holmes pushed a stool behind her, so she could at least sit down.

"We have perhaps five minutes without it looking odd."

"You're watched, I take it."

"Every move, even in the sitting room. They've made some arrangement with the neighbours - telescopes in the trees. They may even be able to read lips. Will tells me that rumour in town says they have a deaf person there."

"Patrick says they're asking about me, and you."

"They are city people, and don't know that you can't hide anything in the country."

"Yes, and they are sure of themselves. I assume you are being watched."

"I only saw them two weeks ago, two men and a woman. Very good, too. Five cars followed me down here. The lady has money."

"We knew that." Holmes decided to enquire after her well-being. "Are you all right, Russell? You've lost half a stone since January, and you aren't sleeping." The idea that this whole crazy plan might capture her instead of their adversary was incredibly real to him at this moment.

"Only six pounds, not seven, and I sleep as you do. I'm busy." Her voice dropped to a whisper that made his brow furrow with longing to comfort her. "Holmes, I wish this were over." And he stepped forward to offer that comfort, somehow, but her words stopped him dead in his tracks. "No, don't come near me, I couldn't bear it. And I don't think I can do this trip again. I'm fine when I'm in Oxford, but don't ask me to come down again until the end. Please."

And the worst part was that only God knew when this whole thing would be over! When he saw exactly how much this was tearing her apart, he felt the tiniest bit of hope for the future of their relationship. "Yes. Yes, I understand." Holmes could tell that his voice betrayed part of what his heart was bursting with, but when he continued, his tones had returned to normal.

"You are quite correct, Russell. There is nothing to be gained by it, and much to lose. To business then. I had copies of the photographs made for you. I gave the Roman numeral series to Mycroft, but neither of us can make any sense of it. I know it's there. Perhaps you can dig it out. It's that packet on the bench in front of you."

Holmes watched as she concealed it in an inner pocket. "We must go back out now, Russell. And in about ten minutes we will begin again, and you will leave angrily before Mrs. Hudson can offer you any supper. Yes?"

"Yes, Holmes. Good-bye."

He sighed as he returned to the sitting room and braced himself for another of their vicious battles. Holmes had decided long ago that if their friendship could withstand this, then it could withstand anything. Russell joined him a little later and so they returned to their roles. She of the indignant student and he of the injured mentor. As she stormed out a short time later, he couldn't watch her drive away down the road, but he listened with his acute hearing until every remnant of sound had dissipated into thin air.

That had been one of the hardest days of his life. Although, the night in Oxford had been hard as well, just not in the same way...