Nov 22nd, 1918 – Mary Russell teaches a lesson
Holmes has the rather exasperating habit of showing up unannounced and thoroughly disrupting any plans I might have. And rather than another long night with Maths, I was actually quite looking forward to an evening’s dinner and concert with Ronnie, her date and her rather attractive brother.
“Holmes, is this really necessary? I did have plans for the evening. What about using one of your Irregulars?”
“Necessary, yes. Your plans can wait. You are here and they are not.”
Honestly – does he think I serve at his pleasure? “I need a bit more than that, Holmes, before I abandon my friends for another night of tedious surveillance.”
“Russell, nobody else will do. Your skills are as good, maybe better, then even my most seasoned Irregular. And an Irregular isn’t comfortable enough around me, a bit too deferential, for this particular piece of play acting. You and your easy familiarity are required. Besides, time is short, and you’re already dressed for the role”.
Hmm. Urgency but lacking in specifics – using evasion to peak my interest? And a rare, rather overblown compliment? Cajoling from Holmes always raises my suspicions. A girl then, well dressed. And someone close to him – maybe a family member? “Am I to be your adoring daughter at some intrigue filled gathering of societies elite?”
“Obedient yes, daughter no.”
I took a moment to study Holmes a little more carefully. Hair darkened to hide the gray, moderately priced clothing, the style au courant for a man in his 20’s but off the rack and a little rumpled. He noticed my appraisal, dropped his shoulders, slouched to one side, stuck his hands in his pockets, and shot me the mischievous grin of young man trying to impress a girl.
“Oh Holmes – your girlfriend?” I said a bit deflated. I’ve played many roles for Holmes; son, daughter, servant and comrade. But a love interest? Perhaps evasion was less to peak my interest than to hide the truth.
“Yes, a ‘girlfriend’ in your modern vernacular. And a somewhat more enthusiastic one than your current grimace suggests?”
Feeling a bit chagrined, I replied “Sorry, it’s not the role, it’s the timing. Without me along Ronnie will be stuck with her brother as a rather awkward third wheel.”
“I hardly think your social calendar takes priority over an investigation?”
“Your right. You do hardly think. It’s your investigation, Holmes, not mine?”
“But a perfect opportunity for you to expand your repertoire. This particular act is a standard ruse for anyone trying to observe without notice. With your lack of worldly experience, I should think you’d be eager to hone your skills.”
“Holmes, as to my experience being worldly or not, you assume too much.”
With an annoyed shake of the head “Come now Russell, I don’t assume.” Followed by a taunting question and demeaning reassurance, “Perhaps you worry you’re a bit out of your depth? Let me reassure you that I will not take undo liberties.”
Between his condescension and coddling, I almost missed it. He doesn’t assume. He observes.
“A lesson, Holmes, with reassurance it won’t be too hard on my sheltered sensibilities? I do wonder what makes you so sure of my naiveté. Perhaps you have made use of your irregulars to keep watch? Say Miss White – wasn’t she the one tailing me as I went to sort my will.” A startled expression from Holmes, quickly erased.
Trembling with fury, I continued. “You’ve had me followed here, at college, today. You knew exactly where I was going and with whom. Enough. Too much. It’s paternalistic, stifling and humiliating. If you can’t allow my independence – in all dimensions of my life – then you can’t have my partnership.”
Cold silence from Holmes. Tense, calculating. And then a decision.
“All dimensions, Russell? Do you presume my interest in your college day flirtations?”
A calculated insult to provoke an irate response as if I were the very child he treated me as, proving his deduction, and paving the way to continue much as he has been. But I decided I would be better served by taking him by surprise to get his undivided attention.
I strode aggressively across the room, raising my hand as if to strike, acting the part he expected. He stepped back, but with the dresser directly behind him, ended up half sitting, precariously off balance with his head at shoulder height. Having to look up to drill his challenge to my eyes, he braced for the sting of a slap. Instead, I paused with my right hand a breath away from his cheek. I leaned in and over him, further setting him at a physical disadvantage, hips pressed firmly against him to hold him in place. But instead of the anticipated assault, I ran my thumb slowly along his brow, my fingers grazing his hairline and then tracing his jawline from eye to chin. My left hand rose to his hips, folding my fingers into his pants to grab tightly to his belt. My right hand reached behind his head grasping the nape of his neck. Thus pinned firmly between me and the dresser I lowered my lips to his upturned face, grazing them gently, once, twice, a pause and again. Keeping my lips a hair’s breadth from his, I extended my tongue to brush across his lips and then began to kiss him more deeply, parting his lips with my tongue, exploring his mouth in short unhurried forays, alternating with light kisses, teasing his lips with my tongue just enough to awaken desire before venturing another kiss, deeper than the last.
Until this point, Holmes was sufficiently stunned to be virtually immobilized, hands planted behind him on the dresser. His first movements were, I suspect, involuntary. Raising his head slightly to kiss more deeply, a hardening in his pants. But when he shifted slightly to gain stability and free his hands for motion, I took that as my cue to lean my torso back, slowly releasing the hold on his neck and pants but keeping him firmly pressed to the dresser. I put my hand on his chest for a few moments and then pushed, releasing my hold and taking a small step back to scan his body and face.
Holmes’ hoarse voice managed “Mary, I” before I cut him off with clinical precision.
“Elevated heart rate, dilated eyes”, followed by a glance at his hips without verbal comment. Cold and triumphant, “It seems I finally have your attention.” Before he could respond, I drove my message home. “I repeat, you ‘assume’ too much. This particular lesson with its chauvinistic overtones are unnecessary. It seems your surveillance is transparent, and as incomplete as it is unwise. Tonight partner, you can make due with an Irregular.” And with that, I turned and walked out the door.
Not willing to leave any room for doubt that my actions had been motivated by cool calculation rather than a rage fueled arousal, there was no pause in the hallway to gather my wits. I proceeded normally down the stairs, gave Mr. Thomas (another Irregular, no doubt) a polite inquiry as to his family. Social niceties satisfied I bid him a genial good evening and proceeded to my rendezvous with Ronnie and my date with her brother.
Holmes for his part, stayed in my rooms for no longer than a few minutes, as evidenced from the half-smoked cigarette stub he left behind and to be confirmed by a quick inquiry of Mr Thomas. He left a brief note on my desk, ‘Gone hunting’, and walked out the door and out of my life, at least for a few days.
I couldn’t help but be deeply satisfied by the whole event. I have learned at least two of the bee keeper’s lessons well. Rule One: remain calm. Rule 2: be cruel to be kind; the cruelty obvious, the kindness to our future partnership. Beyond being a capable actor in my own right, I demonstrated that I am no child and that I should not be underestimated.
But it has put me at a potentially dangerous disadvantage. I showed more than one hand tonight. I revealed a weakness in his defenses, but he will be not taken off guard a second time. I also revealed that I’ve known about his surveillance and have until now simply played along. His choice is to either pull his hounds and trust me or, go further underground, applying the full force of his formidable mind and resources to the problem of this most unwilling apprentice.
I giggled. My god, he was startled. If only he could have seen his own face. But no, by morning the full force of what I’ve done will be upon me. My actions may have been warranted, but they were cruel; I noted his desire and dismissed it, a far greater blow than if I had struck him. Will he take this little event as lesson learned or will his defenses come crashing down – distancing himself and putting our relationship into a discrete box that can be put on the shelf as need requires? Or worse, will he dismiss me entirely, the balance tipped in favor of his proven and solitary method over partnership with an inexperienced and willful accomplice.
I really do wish I smoked a pipe – allowing my mind to sort through this complex web of actions and possible reactions. But for now, too little information. What he does going forward remains to be seen. “Gone hunting.” That simple two-word message tells me more than that he will proceed with this particular investigation without me. Telling me where he is now also tells me that he will be back. He hasn’t simply disappeared, and my little stunt hasn’t driven an irrevocable wedge between us. At least I hope it hasn’t. “What is your next move, Sherlock?”
Nov 22nd, 1918: Holmes regains composure.
Holmes, still half sitting on the dresser, looks intently at the door Russell just closed behind her. His shock has slowed his thinking down to a crawl and virtually silenced that rational, analytical part of his brain that usually holds court in his thoughts. He starts with a simple observation. “My God, Russell just walked out that door”. Little more than a reaction, that is where his brain seems to stall, unable to assess any implication or draw any conclusion.
Unaccustomed to being so slow on the uptake, he decides to treat himself as he would a client and walk himself through the simple sequence of events. He’d arrived in Russell’s rooms to request her assistance. Meeting resistance he did what he usually does, appealing first to the obvious logic and then insisting with clear authority. Normally he has found this to be the most expedient way to get what he wants, inspiring a predictable emotional outburst, quickly followed by the realization of defeat and the acquiescence of the conquered. Instead, Russell kissed him and walked out the door. He should have expected the unexpected from Russell.
Without moving from the dresser, Holmes raises his hand to his face, rubs his mouth and chin, and refocuses on the door to ponder this most unexpected development. “Russell, my Russell, kissed me the way a woman kisses a man, skillfully, confidently and seductively.” With equal parts pride in Russell and disgust with himself, he acknowledges that he was just bested by his own student, quite literally taken to school. She clearly has acquired a new weapon to her already sizable arsenal; a dangerous weapon though that must be wielded with precision if not to endanger her. Which, of course, she had. It took 30 seconds, hardly more, to completely disable him and convey her message. Three messages. Four. She is no child. She is quite capable. She deserves her independence. And she requires him to behave accordingly.
Still glued to the dresser, he steeples his fingers against his lips, closes his eyes, and searches for that other lesson, the most important lesson, that he knows is there. With his mind’s eye, he returns to the kiss. He relives how completely she took him and how wonderfully, dangerously, excited he’d become. He feels the glorious precision of her seduction, her dominance and firm grip exhilarating, her lips, her smell, her gentle touch intoxicating. There it is, lesson number five. “Mary, my sweet Mary, I kissed you back.”
His mind racing, he regrets that closed door with new intensity. Looking now at his hands he marvels now at how wonderfully differently things could have progressed had he simply remembered his hands. He could have prevented her from stepping back. He could have buried his hands in her hair to kiss her deeply, passionately. He could have maneuvered himself around and over her to better execute his own seduction. His eyes darting about the room, he can see it all in rapid succession, from exquisite exploration to final consummation; clothes discarded here, a lamp knocked over there, a move to the bedroom where, both quieter and more proper, he could explore her warmth and gently come inside her.
It occurs to him that a girl’s dormitory is not ideal for passionate rollicking. There are plenty of better options at his disposal. A bolt hole for one. And that there would be blood, which might be awkward for Russell what with laundry and Mrs. Thomas. These simple practical considerations bring him fully back into the present and renewed consideration of that damned closed door. Lesson five is a simple one. Holmes wants Russell in every way, a partnership in every sense; intellectual, emotional and physical. Hadn’t she said so that very first day; a true relationship for Holmes would be all encompassing; heart, mind and body. And it’s Mary. He wants Mary. Yet here he sits, in an empty room looking at a closed door.
Holmes rises from the dresser, runs his hands through his hair, smooths his pants and tugs at his shirt cuffs. He walks across the room, presses his ear to the door, and carefully listens. “My God, Russell is downstairs exchanging pleasantries with Mr. Thomas and I’m up here plotting the best place to take her virginity.”
He reaches into his pocket, removes a cigarette, lights it and inhales deeply. “Russell, what have you done now? Do you have any idea what you’ve started here?” First, she crashed into his life much too late, a girl child apprentice charming her way through his defenses, bringing challenge and delight, and becoming precious, invaluable to him. Now she’s done it again, only this time a woman, shattering what remained of his defenses and awakening his craving desire for her. It’s much too soon, he thinks, before she’s fully come into her own and has fully considered it. If she’s considered it at all, acknowledges Holmes.
Two more deep drags on the cigarette. With a smile, slipping into a libidinous grin, he thinks, “Reckless. She’s so damned unpredictable and reckless.” He knows there’s much more to consider here. There are unanswered questions and unexplored implications, for him, for Russell and for their partnership. But for now, he has business to attend to. And then, he’ll need his pipe and long hours of solitary contemplation.
He stubs out his cigarette and routes around on her desk for a scrap of paper and a pen. He knows his student well enough that she’ll imagine the hurt she inflicted and fear disapproval, or worse yet, dismissal from him. He scribbles a note, ‘Gone hunting’, to let her know that he’s gone for now, but not forever, and that there is a way forward.