The Oxford Affair

by "...when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth..." (AKA: "imp/imp")

It had been a quiet week. Holmes and I had returned from a case, and soon afterwards, I had gone back to Oxford. I had much work to do, and with the interruption of this last case, I was seriously behind in my research. I needed time alone, with my books.

I had not seen Holmes for nearly three weeks now. I hadn't realized this until I looked at my calendar. Surprisingly, I had been so involved in my work that I did not miss him. Well, yes, I did, I told myself, but I was happily buried in my work during the daytime and was so tired that I did not even remember dreaming. I felt well rested, and was once again used to my familiar surroundings in my rooms.

My landlady was surprised that I had stayed this long. Usually, I was in Oxford no longer than a week or two at a time, before I had to leave for some reason or another. My dear husband (Holmes and I had been married nearly a year now) would usually send some cryptic telegram at an odd hour, requesting (or sometimes demanding) my presence in some out of the way place, and my landlady, her husband, and the housemaid would usually just shake their heads. They probably wondered how I could stay married to such a man. Sometimes, I wondered about that myself...

I was just getting ready for bed. I had spent much of the day digging through some old volumes at the library, stopping to eat before I returned to my lodgings, which were on the first floor. I had kept these rooms for some time now, and it felt almost like my second home. The only difference was that the rooms were small, consisting only of a bed/sitting room and half-bath, and nearly every corner was filled with various books, papers, clothing and a few things I had brought with me from the cottage. There was not even room for a double bed -- I had to make do with a single. This never caused a problem, except when I would sometimes wake at night and reach out for Holmes, and almost fall out of bed.

I took off my glasses, got into bed and turned off the light. I don't know how long it was before I awoke to the sound of somebody trying to pick the lock on my door. Very slowly, I put on my glasses, picked up a stone from the cliffs by the cottage that I used as a paperweight from the nightstand, and readied myself for the intruder. The door slowly opened, and I turned on the light.

"Russell, please put down that stone."

"Holmes, what on earth..."

"Russell, keep your voice down," he said sharply. He shut the door, and his eyes darted around the room. He was dressed in black, from head to foot. He took off his hat and coat, put them on a nearby chair and came over to me.

"Holmes, what is going on? Why are you here?"

"I do not wish to alarm you, Russell, but I received a note today, from the warden at Dartmoor Prison." He sat down on the edge of the bed, and then turned towards me. "It seems someone wishes to harm you." His hands, which were cold, grasped mine, which were shaking.

"Can you tell me anything more? If I'm in danger, I think I have the right to know about it." I was scared, angry and extremely relieved that he had come. "Well?"

"If I could, I would do so. I have no idea who is behind it, or what the reason is behind this plot." He shook his head. "I received the note, and came as soon as I could. Your landlady does not even know that I am here."

"You broke in?" Now, it was my turn. I shook my head. "She is going to throw a fit." I paused. "And, at present, we have no male lodgers."

"Well, she will just have to accept the situation, Russell. I am not leaving." Those dark eyes of his locked on mine. "If she wishes, she can call Scotland Yard. They are watching the house. We are safe, for the time being. I will keep watch, while you get some rest."

"No, I'll stay awake. Now that you've disturbed my sleep..."

"Russell, you look exhausted."

"Holmes, so do you." I sat up in bed, and moved closer to him. "Now, why don't you rest, and..."

I did not have time to finish my sentence. His lips met mine so quickly that I was startled. He drew back, sighed deeply, and paused as if he wanted to say something. He evidently changed his mind, and kissed me again, this time slowly and gently, then held me in his arms.

"Russell, I don't quite know what I am feeling just now." His voice was quiet, but I could sense the confusion underneath.

I kissed him. He smiled; that gentle smile that came from his heart. This man, my husband, so incapable of telling me what he felt, yet so demonstrative when words failed him.

"Holmes, you may think that I'm getting overly sentimental, but I'm going to say something."

"And, what might that be?"

"I'm glad you are here." I paused. "And, something else."

"Yes?" I could see a faint smile forming at the corner of his lips.

"I..."

At that point, I could hear heavy footsteps in the hallway. Very swiftly, Holmes went over to the chair, and grabbed his coat. The next thing I knew, he was holding his pistol in his right hand. He looked at me, and put a finger to his lips, indicating silence. There was a knock at the door. Holmes did not answer it. Another knock, and then a very recognizable voice.

"Miss Russell, what's going on in there? Are you all right?" It was my landlady, Mrs. Robertson. "Miss Russell?"

I motioned for Holmes to open the door. He did so, very cautiously.

"And, may I ask who you are, sir?" She pushed her way into the room, while Holmes checked the hallway. He closed the door. My landlady was a tenacious woman, and didn't put up with any nonsense from her lodgers. She drew herself up to her full five feet, stared up at my husband, and asked, "Well, sir, I am waiting for your answer!"

"I am Sherlock Holmes."

I had never seen Mrs. Robertson speechless. She looked at Holmes reverently, as if she were looking upon a saint. I suppressed a giggle. After a few moments, she said, very quietly, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Holmes. I had no idea that you would be coming." Suddenly, she looked perplexed, then angry. "And, just how did you get into my house? And, these rooms?"

"Mrs. Robertson..." I began.

"I will handle this, Russell." He looked down at Mrs. Robertson. "I am very sorry that I broke into your establishment, Madam. It was imperative I see my wife as soon as possible, and I did not wish to disturb you at this late hour." Holmes looked over at me, and I could sense from his expression (he raised his eyebrow) that he wanted to know from me if my landlady could be trusted. I nodded in agreement. "I received a note, saying my wife was in danger. I came at once to stay with her, and make certain nothing happens. Scotland Yard has sent some men to watch the house. They are outside at this very moment."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Holmes, for jumping to the wrong conclusion. Can I do anything to help you?" She saw the pistol, but did not comment.

"The best thing that you could do, Mrs. Robertson, is to return to your rooms, and lock the door. We want everything to appear as normal as possible. I very much doubt an intruder will be able to invade the premises, but we must take every precaution." He smiled at her, and patted her on the shoulder. "Again, I apologize for disturbing you."

"Is there anything you'd like, Mr. Holmes? If you are hungry, I could see what's left over in the kitchen."

"Thank you, Mrs. Robertson, but no. Russell?"

"I'm fine."

"Well, then, I'll do as you have suggested, Mr. Holmes. Good night then."

Holmes closed the door behind her, after he had checked the hallway once again. "Shall I get the fire going again, Russell?"

"No, I'm warm enough, Holmes." I stretched my arms above my head. He came over, and sat down on the bed, turning to me. "Now, do you remember what we were discussing before we were interrupted?" He set down his pistol on the nightstand.

"Yes. You began to tell me something." He smiled, and then frowned. "I believe you said something about being overly sentimental."

"Oh, that." I paused for a moment. "I'm glad you are here."

"I believe you already mentioned that. You said there was something else you wanted to tell me." His keen dark eyes probed deeply into mine. "Do you remember?"

I did, but hesitated. We both tended to be nonverbal in our expressions of affection. But, for some reason, I felt that something needed to be said-- something I had not told him in quite some time. I took his hands in mine, squeezed them, and could feel his nervous energy.

"Yes, I remember now." Very softly, so softly that I could barely hear myself, I said, "I love you."

"My dear Russ, I... you are being overly sentimental. However..." his voice became somewhat hoarse. "I was never happier than when I broke into these rooms, and found you were unharmed." He drew me towards him, and whispered in my ear, "I love you."

I could feel myself relaxing in his arms, and my heart was bursting with happiness. To hear him say those words brought me so much joy that I could not help myself. I kissed him passionately, and he responded in kind. Finally, though, he broke it off, and moved away from me.

"Russell, as much as I dislike saying this, I think we must attend to the serious matter that has brought me here." He stood up, and went over to his coat. "Does Mr. Robertson smoke?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"If you would not mind, I would like to have a pipe. If there is an intruder, he may have been watching the premises for some time. If he were to enter the building, and smell tobacco, he might get suspicious if he knows that there are no men present."

"I see. Have your pipe, and let's get the fire going. I could use a cup of tea." After our rather amorous exchange, I was now fully awake. "At least the fire will draw the pipe smoke, and I won't have to open the window."

"And, it is fortunate you have such heavy curtains. We don't have to worry about the lights, nor shadows."

"Sit down, then." I got out of bed, grabbed the teakettle, and filled it in the bathroom sink. By the time I returned to put the kettle on, Holmes was seated in my rocking chair, lighting his pipe. I sat down on the hearthrug, next to the rocking chair. His hand lazily stroked my hair, and I could feel myself growing warm again. I drew my knees up, and wrapped my arms around them.

"Russ, is something wrong?" I detected that slight confusion in his voice again.

"No." I wasn't certain if I sounded convincing. "Not really." I paused, trying to think of something. "I just can't understand why this is happening."

"Neither can I." He stopped stroking my hair, and took the kettle off the fire. I noticed he had found two mugs, and he filled them with the steaming liquid. He handed one to me, and I warmed my hands. After a few minutes, I took a few sips. It was a hearty Assam blend, and was very soothing. "Excellent tea, Russell. You must bring some with you when you return. I don't believe Mrs. Hudson can buy a blend like this in the village."

"I'll try to remember, Holmes."

We fell silent. I was trying to sort out my feelings in my mind. I thought I had not missed Holmes, and yet I practically threw myself at him. Telling him that I loved him was even more surprising, and his answer positively astounded me. Something had changed, and I was confused.

"Russ, you are as tense as a coiled snake." His hand massaged my right shoulder. "What is it? This business?"

Which business, I asked myself, sarcastically, in my head. The possible threat of danger? My somewhat confused feelings? I didn't know what to tell him.

"Come now." I still didn't say anything. "Mary Judith Russell? Are you listening to me?"

Now, that got my attention. He never called me Mary, except when we had been on a case together, and I hadn't heard him use my full name since our wedding. I slowly turned, and looked up at him.

"Ah, you were listening," he chided. "Now, what is wrong? You can tell me." He paused, and his hand stroked my cheek. "Remember, I am your husband, even though I haven't been around much lately, and you may have forgotten that."

"Holmes, what are you blathering about?" Now, I was getting irritated. "Of course you are my husband." Damn the man! "How could I forget?"

"It is entirely possible, my dear Russell. I have heard of such things happening." He sighed, and shook his head. "I am sorry. I was merely trying to get your attention. And, to find out what is bothering you so much that I cannot even get a straight answer from you."

"It's just that... I didn't realize..." I gulped. "I... something has changed between us." I paused, and set down my mug. "I did not think I would miss you as much as I have. And, to throw myself at you..."

"Russ, look at me." I did, and his dark eyes bored into mine. "I have felt it, as well. I... find it disconcerting, and difficult to talk about, but you are correct. We have changed. I have... come to rely on you, and it is a much deeper feeling than what we first shared. I cannot put it into words at times, but I need you now, more than I ever did, and more than I ever expected I would." He smiled. "This pottering old beekeeper is very glad that he married you."

"I... I'm glad of that, as well. You've said what I've been trying to say since you arrived. You didn't mind my rather... passionate outburst?"

"Not at all." He stood up, and held out his hands. As I rose, he put his arms around me, and held me for a long time. "Now, you must really get some rest. I shall sit by the fire, have some more tea, and a pipe."

"All right. You've convinced me. But, let me change into some clothes first." I grabbed a few things from my wardrobe, and went into the bathroom. I emerged wearing an old shirt, and an equally old pair of trousers. Holmes took one look at me, and it was plain that he much preferred my nightgown. "I'd feel better if I faced an enemy fully clothed, if you don't mind."

"Did I say anything?" He asked, looking for all the world like an innocent choirboy.

"Forget it, Holmes," I answered, shaking my head, trying not to giggle. He led me over to the bed, and I climbed in. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Holmes, what is your plan of action? What are we to do when this person, or these persons..." I noticed when I said the word 'we,' his eyes immediately shifted to the floor. "My dear husband, you're not getting any of those 'chivalrous impulses,' are you?"

He said nothing for a few moments. Finally, he looked at me. "Yes, I must admit that such things did cross my mind. However," and he held up his hand to stop my protest, "I do remember what I promised you. I am speaking to you now as my partner, not as 'a female of the species.'" He thought for a moment, and then said, "If these rooms are invaded, my plan of action is this: I will be by the door, pistol in hand." He was silent again. "Have you any of your knives with you?"

"Yes, in the drawer of the night stand."

"I thought as much." He smiled, and opened the drawer. "Yes, these will do nicely." He took three knives out, and laid them on the nightstand next to his pistol. "You will be in a position to put your talents that you so ably demonstrated in our adventure in Jerusalem to use." He looked around the room. "I think your closet would be a perfect place to secret yourself, and be able to make a clean throw. What do you think?"

"I think it would work. I wouldn't have to open the door very far in order to throw the knife." I took a look from the closet to the door of my rooms. "It's a fairly straight throw."

"Are we in agreement, then?" I studied his face closely. I could tell, from his tone of voice, his raised eyebrow, and the slight turn of his head, that he was asking for my approval, rather than just telling me (in the form of a question) that he had made his decision, and I was expected to go along with it, whether I liked it or not.

"Yes."

"Excellent." He smiled, and then suddenly, became very serious. "I just wonder, Russell, how many men could boast that their wives were extremely skilled in the art of knife throwing?"

"Not very many, I should think." I tried to be serious, but I soon was smiling, and so was he. "Perhaps I should join a traveling circus."

"It's always something to consider, should you decide to retire from the academic life." His smile grew broader.

I shook my head and kissed him, saying, "You are in need of a shave."

"I suppose so," he said, as he rubbed his hand on his cheeks.

"There's a shaving kit in the bottom drawer of the bureau. Also, a change of clothes, clean linen, and a few other items I thought you might need if you ever decided to visit."

"Russell, you astound me." He smiled, and chuckled. "How long have those things been there?"

"Since I moved in. I never know what is going to happen, so I thought it a good idea to be prepared."

"A wise idea, my dear wife." His hand stroked my cheek, and he stood up. "Now, close those eyes, and I shall turn out the lights. Are you certain that my smoking won't bother you?"

"No. Go ahead." I pulled up the covers, took off my glasses and settled myself.

Soon, it was dark. I closed my eyes, but did not sleep. I was restless, and could not get comfortable. And, I couldn't help but think about this threat on my life -- there was nothing I could do to chase it from my thoughts. Finally, I could stand it no longer, and opened my eyes. I put on my glasses. I could see Holmes sitting by the fire, sipping from a mug of tea. His pipe had long gone out, and I could tell, just by his sagging shoulders, that he was tired.

"Holmes?"

"Can't sleep?" He set down his mug of tea, stood up, and stretched.

"No."

"I thought as much. You've been thrashing about for nearly two hours now." He came over to me, turned on the light, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Why don't you try and rest? I can keep watch."

"No, Russell, I can't sleep. I won't rest until this is over."

"Well then... lay with me." I saw his raised eyebrow, and I knew he had misunderstood me. "Just hold me."

"Russell, I don't think that this bed is large enough for the two of us."

"I'll move over." I moved all the way to the edge of the bed, and lay on my side. "There is just enough room."

"Very well." He turned out the light, and he settled himself on his back. I went to him, and he put his arms around me. My head rested on his shoulder. "It is somewhat cramped, but I think we can manage, as long as we don't move around very much." He chuckled. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes."

"May I ask a favor?"

"What?"

"Your glasses, Russell. You do not need them while you are sleeping."

"Sorry." I moved a bit, took off my glasses and Holmes put them on the nightstand. "Better?"

"Yes. Now, rest."

I did not fall asleep immediately. It took some time before I felt Holmes relax, and his strong heart and steady breathing finally lulled me to sleep.

I do not recall how long I slept. I believe the security of his presence was what helped me sleep. Feeling those strong arms around me relaxed me where I felt comfortable enough to give in.

Sometime later, I moved, and I did not feel his presence. Instantly, my eyes opened. The light had been turned down, and the fire was still going. I put on my glasses, and looked over at the fire to find Holmes sitting in the rocking chair, smoking a cigarette, his long legs stretched out towards the hearth. I noticed that he had taken off his boots.

"Holmes, what... why are you up? What's going on?"

"Nothing, Russell. Go back to sleep."

"Did you hear something?"

"No. Nothing at all. I just had to get up, and move around. My rheumatism..."

"Oh, Holmes, not your rheumatism again." I was exasperated, besides being tired, afraid and any other emotion that you could possibly imagine.

"Yes, it is my rheumatism, Russell. I am just tired. When I get like this, you know what happens."

"Oh, I see. I'm sorry. Did I wake at all?"

"No. You barely moved."

"Oh. Anything happening?"

"Not as far as I can tell. It's been very quiet. I managed to go out into the hallway once, and I happened to encounter Mr. Robertson on his nightly patrol." He chuckled softly. "At least that's what he told me he was doing."

"Yes, Holmes, he has trouble sleeping, and wanders about the house at night. It's comforting, if nothing else. I frequently hear him when I'm up working. When he sees the light on, he's not alarmed because he knows that I am working."

"Oh, well, that's good to know, Russell. At least your landlords care about you." He chuckled again. "Rather like Mrs. Hudson, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, yes, I guess so, although they're not as friendly as Mrs. Hudson. I haven't known them all that long -- it's only been a little over a year, remember?"

"Yes, Russell, that's true." He stood up, stretched, threw his cigarette into the fire and came over to the bed. "I... I do not know if I can stay awake much longer. Honestly. I feel... hesitant to fall asleep. I... should be awake, but..."

"Holmes, please, lie down. You cannot stay awake those long hours. You're older..." I stopped myself, ashamed that such a thought had even entered my mind.

Holmes snapped back, "I know, Russell. You don't have to remind me of it."

"My dear husband, I'm so sorry. I did not mean it that way. I... I don't know... I just meant..." I stopped again, for I knew I had hurt him, and desperately tried to think of an apology.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at me. His dark eyes were piercing into mine.

"Now, Russell, I am going to ask you something and I want you to tell me, very honestly, your answer. I don't want you to say anything just for my benefit."

"Very well, Holmes. What is it?" I could feel my insides shaking, wondering what his question would be.

"Do you think that you would have been happier if you had married someone younger; someone who could..."

"No. Not at all. My God, Holmes, why would you even think that? You know how I feel about you. I... I thought I've made it perfectly clear."

"Yes, well, you have, Russell. But, there have been times when I have wondered if perhaps a younger man could have given you things that I cannot."

"Such as what? With you I have everything I need. Why all of a sudden these concerns about the age difference? It never seemed to bother you before."

"Oh, I don't know, Russell. Maybe it is... perhaps it is that I am exhausted, that is all." He sighed.

"Holmes, for the last time, will you stop blathering? I'm perfectly happy with you. I never would have agreed to marry you if I didn't love you. You know that." I paused. "There is so much more -- don't you realize it? Just being with you is enough. I could never find the combinations of a man such as you are in anyone else. I've never met anyone like you, and I very much doubt that I ever will. And, as for the age difference, I don't care about that. It... it..." I could feel the tears starting to form. "It doesn't matter. It never even figured into the equation. Never. Not all."

"Russell, I... never expected... I just don't know what to say." His face softened, and he looked away.

"Well, then, let's drop it and say nothing more about it." I paused for a moment, and a question formed in my mind. "If you don't want to drop it, then, let me ask you something."

"Very well." He moved closer to me on the bed.

"Would you have married anyone else?"

His very gentle hands grasped my shoulders and drew me towards him. "No, Russell, never. I very much doubt I would have ever married anyone if I had not met you. I... I thought I was destined to be alone for the rest my life, amongst my bees, being the pottering old beekeeper, content to spend my time working on my Magnum Opus." He smiled, gently. "And, bothering Mrs. Hudson." He chuckled. "Until we practically tripped over one another that day on the Downs, I assumed my life had grown into a routine, and that this routine would not be interrupted. Change was not something I was expecting, believe me." He stroked my hair. "And, then you came along. My life has taken on a whole new meaning. I know this may sound very much like a cliché, but I was a bored old man. I... really did not care, one day to the next. It all seemed the same. There was not much chance for anything else to happen." He paused. "Now, I feel as if I shall go on forever. Having you with me, waking up beside you in the mornings, sharing our adventures and our life together, no matter how mundane it may be at times... and putting up with each other, no matter how much of a trial that may be for the both of us has... changed my entire life." He paused, and sighed deeply. "That's... that's enough, Russell. I have... I can say no more. It would be superfluous, really."

He kissed me, long and hard. I barely came up for breath.

"Oh, God, Holmes, I never thought I would ever hear you say these things. I never thought... I would say the things I have said."

"Well, my dear, we have learned a lot about each other this night, haven't we? This is the most time we have spent together in quite a while. Perhaps we should do this more often." He drew back, and his eyes met mine. "Well, do you still wish me to come back to bed?"

"Yes, please." I took off my glasses and handed them to Holmes. He turned down the lamp, and got into bed. He had taken off his black sweater, and was wearing an old collarless shirt underneath. As I made myself comfortable, with my head on his shoulder, I could smell a combination of the fresh air of the Downs, mixed in with tobacco smoke and the scent of the sandalwood soap he used.

"It's going to be one long night, Holmes."

"I realize that. I wonder if it is possible to sleep with one eye open?"

"Oh, come on now. I can stay awake for a while. Why don't you try and sleep?"

"I think you've talked me into it." He yawned. "Very well then. You must promise to wake me at the slightest sound."

"I will. Close your eyes, please."

"Yes, my dear sweet wife." His good-humored sarcasm had returned, and I felt relief flood through me.

It wasn't long before I felt his breathing and his heartbeat slow down, and he was asleep.

We lay there for about two hours. I knew that I had to move, for I could feel my arm going numb. As carefully as I could, I started to turn.

"Russell?" He was instantly awake.

"It's nothing, Holmes. I'm going to move." I took one of the pillows, and propped it up against the headboard. I stretched out my legs, and moved to an almost sitting position. "Go back to sleep."

"Very well." He turned away from me, facing the door. Soon, he was asleep again.

Another two hours dragged on. I was beginning to fall asleep myself when, suddenly, I heard the floorboards in the outer hallway squeaking. Holmes awoke, grabbed his pistol and whispered to me, "Russ, hide in your closet."

As quickly and as quietly as I could, I was off the bed and into the closet within seconds. I left the door open a crack so I could see what was happening.

Holmes was by the doorway, pistol in his hand. His other hand was on the doorknob. Suddenly, all hell broke loose in the hallway. I heard scuffling, and some loud thumps. Holmes threw the door open, and in stumbled Mr. Robertson, Chief Inspector Lestrade and a rather large, scruffy looking man. He was as tall as Holmes, but had the build of a prizefighter.

"Here he is, Mr. Holmes," crowed Mr. Robertson. "I nabbed him." He glared at Lestrade. "Fat lot of good Scotland Yard did. He got into the house. You didn't even see him!"

"I was right behind him," Lestrade shot back. "You just happened to get him first."

"Gentlemen, please." Holmes quieted the two men. "Well, now, it has been some time, hasn't it, Peters?" He stared at the larger man. The lights were turned up, and I could see the tension and anger in Holmes' face. "Just out of jail, I presume? Your clothing betrays you. I thought you had at least a few more weeks left to serve on your sentence."

"He was released early, Mr. Holmes." Lestrade shook his head. "Believe me, when I get back to Scotland Yard, somebody is going to have to do some explaining to convince me that what they did was right. They ought to have known better." Lestrade walked around so that he was facing Peters. "Don't think for a moment that I have forgotten what you said to Mr. Holmes the day you were sentenced in court."

"And, I meant it, and I would of gotten away with it, if someone hadn't tipped you off," he rumbled. He looked at Holmes. "That... young... tramp that you call your wife..."

Holmes shoved Lestrade out of the way, and grabbed Peters by the lapels. I had never seen such fury on my husband's face. I opened the closet door a bit wider, and lined myself up in case I needed to make a quick throw. I had a clear shot at Peters, as long as Holmes or Lestrade didn't move.

"If you had harmed my wife, you would have never left this room alive." His voice was cold, and edgy. "If I had not been here, and she had been hurt, I would have tracked you to the ends of the earth." He let Peters go, and took a few steps back. "Lestrade, get this animal out of here before I do something that I may regret later." As they left, Holmes took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "Mr. Robertson, I am very much in your debt. I..."

"It was nothing, Mr. Holmes." The two men looked at each other, and Mr. Robertson smiled. "I understand." Holmes shook his hand, and smiled as well. "Now, would you and your missus care for a spot of breakfast?" Mr. Robertson asked.

"Please don't go to any trouble."

"Not at all. I'll have the wife bring it to you when it's ready. Have Miss Mary come out of hiding, and have a cup of tea." He left, and Holmes closed the door behind him.

I flung open the closet door, and ran to my husband's arms. He held me so tightly that I could barely breathe, but I didn't care. He loosened his embrace, and looked at me. His face was so gentle. His hands cupped my face, and he kissed me, softly.

"Mr. Holmes... oh, I'm so sorry." It was Lestrade. "I should have knocked harder."

"It's quite all right, Lestrade." Holmes and I separated, and Holmes turned to him. "Is there anything else?"

"I just wanted to apologize. I did not..." he looked down at his feet. "We let Peters get in the building. I'm taking full responsibility for that. I put you both in danger, and I..."

"Please, Chief Inspector Lestrade, don't apologize." He looked at me, and I could see the concern and worry on Lestrade's face. "There's no need for it. "I smiled, and put my hand on his shoulder. I looked over at Holmes, and he nodded in agreement. "Thank you."

"I... well..." Lestrade's face softened into a smile. "You're welcome. I must get back to headquarters, and the reports." He turned to leave us, and spun around. "There's just one thing, Miss Russell. I saw you peeking out of the closet. And, I also saw your knife. What were you intending to do?"

"This." I took the knife out of my pocket, and out of its protective sheath. I took quick aim, and threw it at the mantle piece, hitting it dead center.

"Strike me down." Lestrade's eyes grew wide. "Wherever did you learn to do that, Miss Russell?"

"It's a very long story, Lestrade. We shall have to spend some time, perhaps the next time you visit us, and explain how my wife became such an expert." Holmes smiled. "If you should need to contact me, I will be here until tomorrow night." He looked at me. "Then we are returning home."

"Well, then, I bid you 'Good Morning,'" Lestrade said, after shaking our hands.

After Holmes closed the door, and locked it, he turned to me and said, "I think that I shall wash and shave before our breakfast arrives." He went over to the bureau, and opened the bottom drawer. "You've thought of everything, I see. A shaving kit, a nightshirt, and a dressing gown." He gathered up these items, and went into my private bath. After a moment, he opened the door and asked, "Would you like to go first, Russell?"

"I'll use the bath down the hall, Holmes. You go right ahead. I'll leave the door unlocked so Mrs. Robertson can bring in our breakfast."

"Very well. Don't dawdle."

"I wasn't planning on it. I'm famished. I shall probably be finished before you."

"I very much doubt that, Russell," he said, very sarcastically, and closed the door.

By the time I returned from my bath, he was sitting there, devouring our breakfast at an alarming rate of speed. I threw my things on the chair, and sat down, heaping my plate full before he could finish everything. We were both so caught up in our breakfast that we said nothing while we were eating. It was not until we were drinking our tea and Holmes lit a pipe that I finally said something.

"Holmes, what did Lestrade mean when he said he had not forgotten what Peters said to you in court?"

"The usual threat, Russell, that I have heard hundreds of times in my career. Something to the effect of 'I'll get you for this, Holmes, just you wait.'" He sipped his tea. "If I took every single threat I've ever received in my career seriously, I would never leave the cottage. I would still be holed up in Baker Street." He looked at me, and puffed on his pipe. "The note from the prison warden was rather sketchy. He knew of a plot against me, targeting you, but could not find out who was behind it. I know the warden well enough that if he takes the time to send me a note about such a serious matter, I should pay attention to it, immediately. Hence, my sudden appearance."

"Holmes, I'm..."

"Russell, let us forget about that for now." His pipe had gone out, and he stood. "We are both exhausted, and I can think of nothing else but sleep at the moment." He put our dishes on the tray, set them outside, and locked the door. "I asked Mrs. Robertson not to disturb us unless it was an absolute emergency. Come now," he said, holding his hand out to me, "to bed."

We slept the afternoon away, and did not awaken until nearly five o'clock. We lay together, silent, content in each other's company, for some time.

"Holmes, why did you tell Lestrade that we wouldn't return home until tomorrow evening?"

"A few reasons, Russell. I thought perhaps Lestrade might need some assistance with his reports." He paused, for such a long time that I thought he might have gone back to sleep. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, and halting, is if he were unsure of exactly what he wanted to say. "I... I... wanted to spend some time with you, in your world. I do not wish to pry..."

"Never say that." I was so shocked that I could say nothing else.

"Well... then, if you would not mind, I would like to see what your typical day is like here." He paused again, and he looked at me. "If I would be in the way..."

"No, Holmes, you would not! I was planning to go to the library in the morning, and pick up a few things at the shops to bring home, in the afternoon." I smiled. "I just hope you won't find it too boring."

"I very much doubt it, Russell," he said, smiling broadly. He kissed me, I responded eagerly, and we did not have our supper until very, very late that evening.

"Absence diminishes commonplace passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and kindles fires."

Francois de la Rochefoucauld, Maximes, 1678

This story was nearly a year in the making. I would like to thank all of the Bees who were kind enough to read it, and give me their honest opinions about it. Special thanks to "the good witch of Mary Tavy" and "Vestige of Femininity" for help with the title, end quotation, and general suggestions.

This pastiche is the property of Laura A. Kuhn, with permission for public view on "The Hive."

This pastiche is based on characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Laurie R. King, and intended solely for nonprofit reading.