16 November 1922, London
Tired, hungry and thwarted, Sherlock Holmes arrives at his brother’s rooms on Pall Mall the evening of Thursday, November 16th, 1922. He can only hope that the sumptuous meal Mycroft is sure to offer will be worth the mental sparring that awaits as he tries to keep the nature of his recent activities from his brother. Mycroft’s deductive powers exceed even his own, and it will take all his wits to deflect and obscure his brother’s penetrating gaze. An entertaining game if he didn’t so often lose.
Sherlock remains standing in the sitting room, listening as Mycroft dismisses Mr. Sosa, his longstanding secretary, for the day with a directive to contact to the prefecture of police in Paris first thing in the morning. Both gentleman direct their attention to Sherlock as they enter the room, Mr. Sosa nodding curtly as he takes his leave, while Mycroft extends a large, soft hand to Sherlock, “Brother, an unexpected but fortuitous visit.”
Sherlock is immediately on his guard, fully aware that Mycroft probably wants to send him to some far-off land to be his eyes and ears. Mycroft may concern himself with all dimensions of the British Empire, but he prefers to do it from the comfort of his rooms. Sherlock responds with a drawl, “Fortuitous for me or for you? I’d hoped to impose on you for a meal and a bed but perhaps you’re more inclined to embroil me in some matter of international intrigue.”
“Fortuitous for both of us, I think. I’ll have Mrs. Cowper prepare another plate at the table.”
“In exchange for my services?” challenges Sherlock. “The price may be too high.”
“An exchange sounds so transactional,” soothes Mycroft. “A holiday in Paris. You could bring Mary. And there will be danger. Think of it as dessert.”
Mycroft would, naturally, use an analogy to food. Where Holmes sees the necessity of it, Mycroft has an almost obscene appreciation and seems to gain in girth with each passing month. With eyebrow raised in irony, “I’m slimming,” retorts Sherlock.
“Come, come. You look as trim and fit as ever. Married life suits you.” A pause, as the two brothers assess each other. “Or the pursuit of your spouse, at any rate. You’ve lost your wife again. I could help you find her,” goads Mycroft. “You just missed her.”
Less than one minute and Sherlock is already regretting his choice. He should have stayed at Russell’s flat and tolerated an hour of pleasantries with her housekeepers, the Quimby’s, rather than risk Mycroft’s scrutiny. The fact is, Sherlock doesn’t know where his wife is and had been looking for her all day. The question is how Mycroft knows this. “I haven’t lost her, Mycroft. I just don’t know where she is. There’s a difference you know.”
Sherlock looks intently at his brother, who remains silent. “Ah, but you do know. ‘Just missed her.’ So say a surprising number of Russell’s acquaintances.” Sherlock takes another pause to consider his brother. “Did Russell also tell you to point me toward Paris?”
With a low chuckle and a shake of the head Mycroft responds, “No, little brother. Mary left no other clues with me.” He continues in a conciliatory tone, “And I stand corrected, hidden but not lost. It would, however, be convenient if she accompanied you on this little errand. Two errands, actually. I can make some inquiries if you’d like.”
“No, Mycroft” Sherlock replies coolly and firmly. “That won’t be necessary.”
“There is some urgency to the Paris affair. Do you think you’ll be reunited in time for the 7am from Victoria Station?”
Not willing to concede to his brother that he was hard pressed to produce his busy, independently minded, and currently missing wife by morning, Sherlock responds with nonchalance “That’s more than a little urgency, brother, and hardly enough time to prepare for a trip abroad. We do have obligations here, you know.”
“Obligations you could put on hold, I think. Dinner for three tomorrow evening then. We can discuss the details over beef bourguignon. Between Mary’s appetite for fine cuisine and yours for high stakes puzzles, I’m confident you and Mary can be persuaded. Do you still desire food and lodging tonight or are your ‘obligations’ too pressing?”
Sherlock considers his options. He doesn’t have much time to locate Russell, but he can do little before morning. He may be able to get some information out of Mycroft. Ignoring the smile curling his brother’s lips, Sherlock replies “Oh no, I’m famished. And your lodgings would be most welcome. I’ll just go wash up.”
Sherlock leaves the room knowing that once again he’s been out manoeuvred by his brother but damn if he’s going to show it. Instead, the two will play their roles for the evening. Mycroft will offer polite and innocuous conversation over a leisurely meal, avoiding any further mention of Russell or the urgent and dangerous task in Paris. Sherlock will feign complete disinterest in his brother’s political machinations while the minutes tick away that he is not solving the minor mystery of Russell’s location. Sherlock will go so far as to prolong the evening’s idle conversation by insisting on a smoke and port after the meal in the hopes of goading his brother into a revealing slip. Mycroft will refuse to take the bait and remain elusive about if and when he last saw Mary or his plans for Paris. Although engaged in a duel of wits, neither will show anything but an easy and languid façade. So continues the childish rivalry between the two astonishingly capable and accomplished brothers.
At long last, Sherlock retires to the room prepared for him and turns his full attention to the pressing issue of reuniting with his wife. Holmes and Russell have been married now for three months shy of two years. The immediate thrill of those early months together as husband and wife have settled somewhat into a semblance of routine; Russell often away at Oxford tutoring and continuing her research, and Holmes using their home in Sussex as a base for his research and investigations. But it would be an overstatement to say that their passion for one another had waned. Holmes never ceases to marvel at his good fortune, having had a teenage girl stumble into his life just when he thought it was winding to a close, and is now determined to discover and savour every dimension of the most extraordinary woman she’d become. He knows Russell feels equally blessed to have found such a willing partner in him, ready to match her youth, strength and curiosity with his experience, intellect and offer of adventure. The thought pleases him that both find the other infinitely interesting; a veritable playground for mind, body and soul. They are, and here Holmes chuckles at his use of a word he had scorned for so long, quite simply, in love.
Be that as it may, their respective vocations, consulting detective and theologian, draw them away from one another regularly. Even when they are together, the actual minutes can be rather cantankerous, depending on how either of their respective pursuits is progressing. Worst of all is when Russell is busy, and Holmes is idle. The solution Russell devised is equal parts obvious and brilliant; a game of hide and seek. Russell hides while Holmes seeks. Holmes is of course famously very good at this game. Russell may not be as famous, but she has been doubly motivated to become quite creative and accomplished in her own right. First, she needs to get her work done. Second, Holmes is most excited, and exciting, when he has a problem to solve. There is a gleam in his eye and a passionate intensity that Russell finds irresistible. Holmes finds the game just as stimulating and can be quite creative too, gauging the reward he’ll exact against the difficulty of the hunt. This is a fact not lost on Russell, adding yet another motive for giving Holmes a true challenge. Of course, none of this has been openly discussed between the two of them. If asked, they would surely say it was merely a useful exercise to keep their skills honed.
This particular round of hide and seek has been especially challenging, with Russell eluding him for 3 days already, although he has only been officially looking since that morning. In light of Mycroft’s request for their help, Holmes could bring an abrupt end to the game. All he would have to do is place a veiled ad in the morning paper to call the game off and Russell would present herself directly. But Holmes is disinclined to do so, partly because he has a need to prove himself to his big brother, but mostly because this is, after all, his favourite game.
Three days ago, Holmes, bored and restless, had left Sussex to visit Russell at Oxford. It was a Monday and she was busy, of course, either meeting with her students or buried behind a stack of books, doing research for her book about Sophia or Hohkma or Sapientia; Wisdom incarnate, apparently. Holmes tried to interest her in some ‘real’ wisdom, as he called it. In this instance, it was Landsteiner’s technique for typing blood into 4 distinct groups and its potential use in criminal investigation, but Russell was inexplicably, to his thinking at any rate, disinterested and annoyed. She had, in fact, progressed to that point of irritation where she spoke through clenched teeth, her head in her hands, and fingers buried in her hair. Her vexation was curiously beguiling, he thought, even beautiful. Intrigued, Holmes wondered just how many interruptions it would take before he would command her full furious attention. However, her sudden realization that she was late to her seminar brought that line of inquiry to an abrupt end. He tried to intercept her at the end of her tutoring only to discover that the woman wearing her hat and coat was in fact not Russell at all. Tricky. He searched unsuccessfully for the remainder of the afternoon, which was at least diverting. Acknowledging that Russell really didn’t want him around, and in deference to matrimonial harmony, he resigned himself to returning to Sussex on the last train of the day.
To the relief of everyone in a 10-mile radius, a letter for Holmes arrived with Wednesday’s afternoon post. After careful study of the envelope, he deduced with a smile that although not in her hand, it was most certainly from Russell and was surely an invitation to a round of hide and seek. He further surmised that Mrs. Hudson, having grown quite desperate with him underfoot, must have placed a call to Russell with a plea for help. It was no doubt Russell’s recommendation that he be sent into town on various domestic errands while she figured something out. Mrs. Hudson would have made the call Tuesday morning when she had thrown him out of the house to tend his bees. That gave Russell a scant 24 hours to have put the game in place. This should, he thought to himself, be easy.
The envelope contained a 4-inch square of silken cloth and a note in Aramaic. The piece of fabric meant nothing to him; clean, odourless, not from Russell’s wardrobe or in any reference to place or case that he could call to mind. Similarly, the note was unrevealing; just four words on an unremarkable scrap of note paper. Although fluent in Arabic, he was not as confident of his Aramaic, and couldn’t be sure his translation was accurate. His first move required a visit to Oxford to obtain a translation. Upon arrival, he checked her rooms at college and the Bodleian library as a matter of thoroughness but did not anticipate finding her so easily. The contacts he made assured him he’d just missed her but not where she was going. He checked her tutoring schedule to discover her next session wasn’t until the following day which was considerably longer than he was willing to wait. Besides, she had eluded him the last time. Just where had she gone that afternoon, anyway?
Holmes tracked down Duncan, Russell’s colleague and fellow tutor at Oxford with whom she’d collaborated on a paper the prior year, just as the young man was entering his seminar. Duncan regretted that Holmes had just missed Russell but would be thrilled to assist the Great Detective Sherlock Holmes in any way he could. The two met 90 minutes later at the Eagle and Child. Fortunately, Duncan was easily able to shed light on the note Holmes had received; “Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin”. Unfortunately, he was unable to hide his shock that the husband of Mary Russell failed to recognize the famous handwriting on the wall quote from the biblical tale of Belshazzar’s Feast. Never pleased to be shown his ignorance, even in realms of knowledge he deemed irrelevant, Holmes nevertheless took his humiliation in stride to receive a thorough lesson in the Book of Daniel.
Holmes couldn’t help but smile to himself in appreciation of Russell’s opening gambit, having used just four words to deliver a threat, a jibe and a riddle. As he learned from Duncan, Belshazzar’s Feast is a cautionary tale of the arrogance of man; the handwriting on the wall a portent of doom. The quote was a subtle threat that his own hubris would lead to his failure. The fact that he needed a theologian to understand the clue was a not so subtle jibe from his former pupil that her studies had practical value too.
Holmes was confident that beneath the chide and warning, however, lay a clue in how to find her. Duncan explained that the biblical phrase is actually a play on words. When read as nouns the words are monetary units; mina, shekel and parsin or half-shekel, which was exactly as Holmes suspected given the phonetic similarity between mene and mina, tekel and shekel. When read as verbs, however, the words mean numbered, weighed and divided. As the story goes, Daniel interprets the words to mean that king Belshazzar’s days are numbered, that he has been weighed and found wanting, and that his kingdom will be divided. It took a single filling of his pipe, smoked in a quiet corner of the pub after Duncan took his leave, to make the connection between the biblical pun and the swatch of cloth. Russell had made her own play on words; numbered, weighed, and divided could be generalized to any act of measuring and cutting. Coupled with the fabric swatch Holmes deduced that Russell was pointing him to the tailors in London who created the bespoke outfits that she preferred.
Holmes hopped the next train to London, only to find the shop had closed early due to, according to the sign on the door, a wedding gown emergency. Thinking he might be able to circumvent the clue and catch Russell unawares, he went to her lodgings; first her club, the ridiculously named Vicissitude, and then her flat in Bloomsbury. In both cases he was assured that he’d just missed her, which had become really quite annoying. A quick glance at the ledger showed that Russell hadn’t been to the club recently. Likewise, a few pointed questions hidden in polite conversation with the Quimby’s revealed she hadn’t been to the flat for at least a fortnight. So where is she?
By then it was late, and the obvious course of action was to wait until morning to visit the Elves, the talented couple who fashioned Russell’s practical yet elegant clothing, just as she had intended. Sherlock considered his options for the night. With Watson out of the country, the nuisance of the Quimby’s at Russell’s flat, and the relative lack of comfort of his bolt-holes, an overnight at Mycroft’s seemed the best choice. He also thought that it was just possible to learn something of Russell’s whereabouts through careful questioning of his brother. He should have known that Mycroft would deduce his predicament and use it to toy with him. Were they ever to grow up?
After bidding Mycroft goodnight, Holmes retires to the guest room and spends the remainder of the evening carefully reconsidering Russell’s disappearing act Monday, her current location and how he might convince her to leave her work long enough to dine at Mycroft’s. He also decides to set into motion the necessary arrangements for a trip to France, even though it remains to be seen whether Mycroft can convince them to take up his ‘errands’. After several phone calls and two pipes worth of contemplation, Holmes settles in for a sound night’s rest, thinking it might be his last for the foreseeable future.
Fortunately, the Elves are early risers and happily usher Holmes into their shop at 7am the next morning, Friday. They promptly share that he had just missed his wife, to which he replies with extreme annoyance that it hardly seems likely since they have just opened the shop and they should stop wasting his time. They are both quite taken aback, telling him with stony faces and business-like efficiency that unless he plans to order a suit, he best move along as they have plenty of work ahead of them. Holmes realizes his mistake and spends the next hour expressing his sincerest apologies, charming his way back into their good favour, and standing still as a statue as they fit him for a new winter suit of the finest wool in the shop.
That hour is not wasted as he uses the time to learn something more of Russell’s movements. She had, in fact, been in the shop Wednesday, apparently at her leisure before an appointment to have her hair done. She had spent her time browsing through fabrics and lace, chatting away about going to the theatre that evening with their long-time friend Doctor Watson, and wondering what they recommend she wear. The evening engagement was of course a ruse, since Watson is away, but a lie she had intended him to discover. She did not purchase anything but did seem to linger over one particular bolt of fabric. Fitting complete, Holmes asks to see the fabric she favoured and notes the missing corner that matches the swatch in his pocket perfectly. Feigning the crimson embarrassment to be expected of a dignified Victorian gentleman, he confirms that this was the sort of fabric most suited to a woman’s undergarments and requests they design something suitable for a husband to present his wife for Christmas.
Holmes leaves the shop with a wry smile, fully aware that Russell is playing with him like a cat with a mouse. Clearly, he needs to step up his game and find her quickly before he suffers any further embarrassments. He knows exactly where she intends him to go next; his storage room bolt-hole. Oh, how she loves her puns. A bolt of fabric, the mention of Watson, the theatre, and getting her hair done are a clear reference to her very first visit to one of his bolt-holes, dressed as Watson, on the run from the daughter of his arch nemesis, Moriarty. The question is whether the clue she’s left there is worth the time it would take to retrieve it. By now he is quite sure that she is back in Oxford, possibly returning there before he’d even left for London.
Standing on the curb outside the shop, Holmes breaks into a broad smile as he flags down a cab. “Well played, Russell” he says to himself. He directs the driver to the train station and practically rubs his hands together with relish, because now it’s his turn to set his trap. That bolt of fabric held another clue that Russell may or may not have intended. The only way she could have eluded him so soundly that Monday afternoon was if she had a bolt-hole of her own. He plans to find it, and her, with time to spare before dinner with Mycroft back in London.
Holmes uses the train ride to contemplate exactly where Russell would establish a bolt-hole at Oxford. With over 30 Colleges and Permanent Private Halls, some in existence since the 13th century, the number of forgotten nooks and crannies hidden among the buildings would be countless. Her bolt-hole would have to meet her unique requirements. It would of course be in close proximity to where she spends her time, generally unknown and accessible at all hours. Unlike his own bolt-holes, where survival was paramount, privacy and discretion would be more important to her than safety or self-sufficiency. Holmes acknowledges ruefully that Russell’s greatest need so far has been for a refuge from him where she can work uninterrupted. With that in mind, she would surely add comfort to her calculations. A room at or near the library, her lodging or her classroom, minimally large enough for a table, chair and wash room, and wired for electricity. Although not strictly required, she’d prefer a space that could accommodate a sofa or bed, natural light and easy access to a hot meal as food preparation was not her strong suit.
Russell’s Friday seminar is in the early afternoon and she would need a bite to eat first. It is an easy matter for Holmes to work his way backward from there to identify the most likely location for a bolt-hole. It occurs to him that Russell might accuse him of cheating, waylaying her on her way to work, but feels the discovery of her bolt-hole would be sufficiently within the spirit of the game to secure an honest win and exact his reward. Holmes circumnavigates the outside of the building where Russell holds her seminar and realizes that there used to be a breezeway running along the ground floor of the southern wall. It had been subsequently walled in such that the exterior facade now appears to run flush from ground to roof. Striking a professorial demeanour, he enters the building as if he belongs there and quickly discovers that the original ground floor wall remains, confirming his suspicion that there is substantial space between the original and new exterior wall.
There are 3 large and heavy oak doors, two to the left of centre and one far to the right. All are locked and bear signs on the doors indicating they are storage spaces. Of the three, only the right most appears to have been accessed recently. Suspicious that Russell may be behind the door, he very slowly and quietly picks the lock, slides into the room and closes the door silently behind him. Although pitch black now with the door closed, he had seen enough upon entering to know the room is crowded with old furniture, paintings, rolled carpets and piles of boxes. This is obviously not her bolt-hole, but he is sure it must be near. Holmes runs his fingers along the wall behind him to the left until he comes up short against the corner after just a few steps. This makes the room half the size he originally suspected. He stands still as a statue, eyes closed, listening intently for a full three minutes before he hears it; the scratching of pen on paper.
He’s found her, more or less, but now what to do? He doesn’t know exactly how to get in and it is definitely too risky to bumble about in the dark. Holmes knows better than to raise Russell’s defences and be at the wrong end of her knife. Safer to wait hidden for her to leave, let himself in, and await her return, but there isn’t enough time if they are to return to London that day. And it is intolerably dull to simply make himself known. As it turns out, Russell makes the choice for him, deciding at that moment to leave her hideaway for some lunch before class. Holmes hears the scraping of a chair, the gathering of books and the dull kick of a rug before a shaft of light appears on the floor behind a dresser set about 18 inches in front of a door to his left. Swiftly, he presses his back against the wall to the right of the door. Russell flicks out the light and pulls open the door leaving them both temporarily blinded.
Holmes seizes that moment to spin around through the door, using his momentum to continue the turn so that Russell and her armful of books end up sandwiched between him and the wall inside the bolt-hole. Holmes anticipates her reaction, swivelling out of the way as she raises her knee and seizing her left wrist before she can grasp her knife, and pins her arm above her head. Keeping her body and books pinned between him and the wall, he remains completely still for a full 10 seconds, giving her a moment to think. Holmes can feel her recognition of him as she relaxes against the wall. Only then does he lean back just enough to ease first one, then another book out from between them, letting them slide to the floor in a heap. As each book slides away, Holmes gives his wife a kiss, on her temple, her cheekbone, just beneath her ear and down along her neck. With no further books between them, he presses himself directly against her, left hand sliding down her hip to reach behind her, while his right hand releases her wrist and slowly slides along her inner arm, lingering on her neck as he kisses her deeply and then slides over her breast and abdomen, eventually meeting his other hand behind her.
Only now does Russell make a move. Lowering her left arm and raising her right to rest on his shoulders. “Holmes. Why are you here?”
“Were you expecting someone else?” availing himself of another deep kiss.
“No. No secret liaisons. But you, husband, seem to be taking considerable liberties considering you cheated.”
Sliding his hands back over her torso, his thumbs lightly grazing her breasts, he reaches behind her neck, to kiss a trail across her brow, down her cheeks and back to her mouth for a long minute of playful kissing. Pulling away for a breath, he says “I did not cheat. It’s not as though I sat in your classroom waiting for you. I found you hiding in your lair.”
Gently pushing him back a step she replies, “That’s not what I meant.” She steps to the side and reaches for the light. “Watch your eyes.”
Holmes blinks for a moment as his eyes adjust before turning around to survey the space. “Good Lord, Russell. Is this it?” his eyes darting from the rickety table and stool, the bucket of water and small pile of clothes. “This is worse than my storage room.”
“Any harbour in a storm, Holmes.”
“More a cliff side perch than a harbour. I was sure you’d have created a refuge with some comforts in mind. You could hardly last more than a few days here.”
Russell glances around the room thinking to herself, she’d be hard pressed to last more than a few hours. Turning away from Holmes to gather her books, “Sorry to disappoint your aesthetic sense, Holmes. My requirements are not quite as elaborate as yours. You are welcome to take your leave at any time.”
“Dismissed so soon? I have been searching for days.”
With a snort, Russell reaches into his pocket and pulls the square of fabric from his pocket. “Hardly. You didn’t start before yesterday and didn’t get any farther then the Elves before you showed up here.”
Startled by astute accuracy of that comment, Holmes studies his wife for a long moment. “My purpose was to find you. It is more expedient to anticipate where your prey will be rather than follow a trail of riddles placed for the purpose. Surely I’ve taught you that lesson? But this is not where you intended me to find you. Where then?”
“That hardly matters now, Holmes. Your enthusiasm has made for a rather unsatisfactory result. You’ve had your kiss, and now I’ve work to do.”
“Meagre recompense for a new suit.”
Russell looks at him and bursts out laughing. “Good heavens, what did you say to them?”
Sharing in her laughter, the smile crinkling the corner of his eyes, “I may have been a touch impatient. It does get tiresome to be told over and over that I’d just missed you.”
Russell can’t help but giggle, “That part was rather fun.”
Holmes grunts. “You could have kept Mycroft out of it. You knew he’d make the most of it.”
“I wasn’t at all sure you’d seek him out. Just being thorough. Another one of your lessons” she says wryly.
“In this case, you may rue your decision. He is expecting us for dinner.”
“What? No. Absolutely not. There’s still a few weeks left to the term. I have obligations, you know.”
“So I told him. But in his understated way he seemed quite keen. He’s offering you beef bourguignon and me the threat of danger.”
“Keen, indeed. What’s it to do with?”
“Oh honestly, Russell, how should I know? You know Mycroft, his web of informants. He hears intrigue, smells conspiracy and sees opportunity. I can’t possibly be expected to know what he’s up to now. Besides, I haven’t given it any thought.”
Russell suspects Holmes is being deliberately evasive. It must mean a lengthy engagement. A trip abroad. With a sigh Russell asks, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks. Where to this time, Holmes?”
Feigning great offense, Holmes affects the stance and voice of a queen, “Moi? Twice now you treat me unjustly.” And then with a cajoling tone, “France perhaps. But for now, Russell, just to London for dinner. We can decide once we’ve heard what he has to say. Besides, you can still meet with your students and catch the 3:40 train.”
Russell resigns herself to her fate; missed lunch, a trip to London and then who knows what. “And you, Holmes? Will you meet me at Paddington Station?”
Curling his lip in mock disgust as he surveys the room, “I am tempted to stay and make improvements to your bolt-hole. I really am most disappointed, Russell. But it will have to wait. I have my own matters to attend to. We’ll reconvene at Mycroft’s.”