A Russellian Fugue

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

Part V

Oxford - May 1919

She looked beautiful at her desk in the Bodleian. What on earth was she so intent on? Holmes subtly glanced over her shoulder and saw the Roman Numeral sequence. She must be getting somewhere, he thought. Perhaps it would be better if I wait for her elsewhere. After all, if she recognizes me here, God only knows what sort of scene she might cause.

Holmes proceeded to her rooms and settled himself down to wait. His watchers on the hillside were gone. The end was approaching, that much was clear. The greasy thumb print on her doorknob should be enough to alert her of his presence. Just like last time. Indeed, five minutes later, she burst through the door. He grimaced at her carelessness.

"It's a good thing there wasn't another bomb here, Russell. There wouldn't be much left of you." Thank God that there hadn't been! And that he'd caught the first one.

The relief that showed on her face as she saw him, reminded him just how much he had missed her company during their necessary charade. If the cause had been any less noble than saving their own lives, he didn't think it would have been possible to keep it up for so long. It had taken its toll on both of them, even in the short months it had lasted.

"Oh, God, Holmes, it is good to see you."

Before he knew it, she was across the room and had his head between her breasts. (He would swear to it.) He held her against him with all his strength. It felt wonderful to have her back in his life. Holmes looked forward to renewing their friendship. He had dearly missed her drop-ins at his cottage. He was so tired of pretending to loath the very mention of her name, when he found it so hard to live without her. Perhaps once she reached her majority...

Three months of being without her presence and the same thoughts were still echoing through his head. Russell finally managed to speak.

"Holmes, Holmes, we can talk again, it's over, I know who she is, but I thought she had you, my watchers disappeared and your telephone line is out, and I was coming up here to get the revolver and drive down to Sussex, but you're here, and..."

Thrilled as he was to hear her concern for his well-being, the rest of her ranting made very little sense. "Very well, Russell, I am flattered that you seem relieved to see me alive, but could you be a bit clearer please, particularly concerning the telephone line and the watchers?" Damn this beard, trying to come off again. Although, in the warmth of that embrace, he was rather surprised that the whole disguise hadn't come off.

"I've been working in Bodley this afternoon..."

"Oh for God's sake, Russell, don't be completely daft. Or has my absence softened your brain?"

"Oh, of course, you were there. Why didn't you make yourself known then?"

"And have a scene like this in the midst of those hallowed halls? I thought you might wish to work there again in the future, so I came here to wait for you. I could also see that you were on the edge of something and didn't want to risk knocking it out of your head. I did blow my nose loudly in your ear, if you remember, but when that failed to get your attention I took the hint and left. What did you find? I could see that you were working on the Roman numerals theory, but without peering too closely I couldn't see where your thoughts were taking you."

"Yes, Holmes, it was a code. Roman numerals in a base eight., not base ten. It spelt Moriarty. And do you know who had me working on base eight three days before the bombs were set?"

"I do remember, yes, your maths tutor. But how does..."

"Yes, and she even told me of Moriarty's exercises, though not directly, of course, just mentioned offhand that she had seen some problems in a book and..."

"Ah, I see now. Yes, of course."

"Of course what?"

"Your maths tutor is a woman. I might have known."

"Didn't you know? I thought I told you. But she's not blonde, you see, so..."

"And where is she now? Kindly quite blithering, Russell. I should greatly enjoy catching this woman if she is so kind as to walk into our trap, so I shouldn't have to spend the rest of my life dodging bombs and pretending to detest the very mention of your name."

"Oh. Yes. But she is. I mean, that she withdrew my watchers today while I was in the library. She may have guessed what I was doing, or she may have just decided to go ahead, but the telephone lines to the village are down, so I thought..."

"Right you were, Russell, and that means we must fly. Can you put on some more sensible clothing? There may be rough work ahead of us."

Once she was ready, they stormed down the stairs, to the surprise of Russell's demure neighbours.

"Men! Two men in the hall!"

"Oh, for God's sake, Di, it's me!"

Holmes decided that this wasn't the time to be correcting Russell's grammar. By now, there was a small crowd watching them go.

"Mary? But who's that with you?"

"An old friend of the family."

"But it's a man!"

"So I noticed," came Russ' response.

Holmes swallowed thickly and kept going.

"But men aren't allowed in here!"

The duo ignored the fading protests and approached Mr. Thomas' desk.

"Russell, I must use Mr. Thomas's telephone - Ah, here he is. Pardon me, Thomas." Holmes smirked at the lack of recognition on the mans face.

"I beg your pardon, reverend sir, may I help you? Miss Russell, who is this? Please, sir, what do you want? Sir, the telephone is not for public use. Sir..."

Russell interrupted his pleas as Holmes made his call.

"Hello? Mycroft? Yes, we're on our way down just as soon as I'm done talking to you. No, there's no time for long explanations, or even short ones, for that matter. I need you to bring a few people down to the cottage tonight. After dark would be best. Yes, quite. I understand. No, I don't think so. Many thanks, Mycroft, and I'll see you soon."

Holmes broke the connexion and turned to find Russell telling Thomas that she wouldn't be back tonight.

"Or tomorrow night. Come, Russell!"

They both launched themselves into the car and watched an astounded Hugh fade into the night as they squealed off. Holmes winced. How could this woman next to him be so careful and detailed with some things, like essays for her sociopath maths tutor, and so chaotic when it came to driving a car? He would be lucky to survive the drive. His white knuckles shown clearly in the darkness of the car's interior and he was sure Russell noticed them. Apparently, she didn't care if this drive took ten years off of his life. Perhaps he should drive in the future. Unless they ended up in a ditch first.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Russell asked her tense partner.

"I say, Russell, do you think­­" he rethought what he was going to say, "that is, is this the proper speed for this particular road and these - watch the cow" he clenched the dashboard, "these particular conditions?" There, was that discreet enough?

"Well, I could go a bit faster, if you like, Holmes. I suppose the car would take it."

She wanted to joke, did she. Well, she was going to be disappointed.

"No, that was not what I had in mind."

"Then what - Oh, of course, you want an alternate route. You're right as usual, Holmes. Reach behind you and get the maps; they're in that black pouch there. There's a hand torch in the pocket. Holmes, your eyebrow has fallen off again."

"I'm not surprised," he said, considering how much sweat this ride was creating.

Holmes tried to relax as the hours wore on, but he was hardly successful. Russell kept trying to lure him into conversation. He was too busy gripping his seat and restraining himself from telling her how to drive properly. He didn't think that she would appreciate it. When she finally asked him if he was all right, he almost laughed out loud.

"Russell, if you decide to take up Grand Prix racing, do ask Watson to do your navigating. This is just his metier."

"Why, Holmes, do you have doubts about my driving?"

"No, Russell, I freely admit that when it comes to your driving abilities, I have no doubts whatsoever. The doubts I have are concerned with the other end of our journey. The question of our arrival, for one thing."

"And what we shall find when we get there?"

"That too, but it is perhaps not of such immediate concern. Russell, did you see that tree back there?" He would swear that she had taken a very large chunk out of it in passing.

"Yes, a fine old oak, wasn't it?"

"I hope it still is." He said, not believing a word of it. She was enjoying this way too much. He hoped she still was this happy at the end of the night.

And yet, it had been quite the opposite...