November 29th, 1918 – Holmes Considers
It’s been a week since Holmes last saw, kissed, Russell. It takes five days of tedium and discomfort, intermixed with occasional bursts of hot pursuit, to finish his case and present it neatly wrapped in front of Scotland Yard’s finest. He returns to Sussex, hungry and exhausted, dutifully eats the hearty meal Mrs. Hudson prepared for him, and too tired to even bathe, drops himself in bed for a few hours of unconscious oblivion. From long experience, he knows his sleep will be too brief to be restorative. Instead he will awaken in the dark pre-dawn hours and face the painful reflection that whatever he solved was too late and never enough. Although his role for the moment may be finished, there will be no lasting resolution. Like Sisyphus, a new day will provide that same rock, different only in color and texture, that he will once again need to push up the hill. The only real question is whether this time he will resort to chemical relief. Not since Russell has he needed to do so. But she is, obviously, not currently at hand.
Imagine his surprise then, when he awakens to the sun high on the horizon, shining through the window and bathing him in warm, blinding light. Hearing the front door close as Mrs. Hudson leaves to run errands, and smelling the now stale scent of breakfast long past, his other senses confirm what his eyes have already told him; that it is, remarkably, mid-morning and fully 12 hours since he’d gone to bed. Even more noteworthy, he feels neither drained nor in despair. Instead, warm and cozy under the covers, he is feeling not just content, but downright chipper. In no hurry to dispel his mood, he does the unheard of; he lingers in bed, awake but relaxed, and allows his mind to wander.
Russell. She’s done it again. This time in the form of some most vividly delicious dreams. Decidedly inappropriate imaginings for a master of his pupil, it’s quite obvious there is no going back for Holmes. He cannot undo his newly discovered lust for Mary nor is he inclined to. They are, after all, well suited. Her mind like his own; quick, analytical and voracious. Her heart is ever as loyal and self-sacrificing as his own and her spirit just as courageous and adventuresome. As to body, between years of familial proximity and the revelations of this most recent singular event, he has no doubt that they will be well matched in that regard too. It’s true, he is 39 years her senior. But never at a loss for confidence he is quite sure that, with an opportunity to experiment and a little creativity he could make Mary very happy. Indeed, relishing the thought, pleasing Mary will be a most diverting and lifelong project.
Hearing Mrs. Hudson’s return, he reluctantly rises from bed lest she worry unduly for his health and safety. He showers and shaves and skips down the stairs. He finds Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen, engages her in polite and good-humored conversation and offers to make her tea, all the while preparing his own breakfast of eggs, rashers, toast and jam. Initially quite wary of Holmes unusual behavior, she ultimately decides to enjoy it while it lasts, and sits back to keep him company right through breakfast and cleanup. Thereafter he heads outdoors to walk the grounds, checks his bees and makes inquires of Patrick about preparations for the winter months. Returning inside, Holmes takes up his violin, playing first scales and then single notes, sometimes held for long seconds, sometimes plucked in rapid succession, as he tries to predict exactly the pitch, tone and timber Russell will sing at her moment of sexual climax. Most diverting indeed.
Eventually Mrs. Hudson enters with an offer of afternoon tea and an irritable plea that Holmes play an actual song or two if he must continue with his violin. Feigning chagrin, Holmes offers an apology and a request for a robust spread as he is still catching up from his last case. He sets his violin aside and finally settles into his easy chair by the window and lights his pipe for a good, long think about his last encounter with Russell and what he’s learned.
He starts with a review of each lesson in turn, checking his analysis, considering alternative conclusions and itemizing unanswered questions. Only then can he ponder implications and formulate his next steps. Russell’s first 2 lessons are undeniable and, dare he say it, elementary. Lesson 1; she is most definitely a woman. Russell’s body had been to him simply the suit she wore and of no more consequence to him than his own; a housing to be maintained, occasionally disguised, but nothing more. Now that his attention has been drawn, and the precise, tantalizing dimensions thoroughly surmised, it occurs to him that her physical form is no mere shell. It has presence and depth and will not be easily ignored. The implication is profound. His attraction to Russell has not merely expanded to a new playground, it has been fundamentally altered. Her womanhood is just as much ‘Mary’ as her intellect or emotion and his desire for one aspect cannot be teased apart from any other. He will have to be very careful if he’s to maintain the façade of paternal, pedagogic and most definitely platonic interest.
Lesson 2, Russell is exceptionally capable. She had remained calm and seized control through expert tactical skill, using surprise to unbalance and completely disarm him. She brokered no response, deftly silenced him at “Mary, I”, robbed him of his customary last word, and secured her triumph. She had been cruel but only insofar as was necessary to gain his attention and sufficient to make her message heard. Although he might claim some credit for developing those particular skills, she also demonstrated a new skill set for which he could claim no responsibility. Oxford, it turns out, has much to offer beyond book learning to such a capable young woman ready to explore all life has to offer. He may be her best, but not her only, teacher. No longer can he control what she learns, when she learns it, nor from whom. The implications for him are twofold; it is essential that he neither under- nor overestimate Russell. When she still lived in Sussex he could anticipate her transformation and even hope to guide it. Those days are over and, lest he be taken to school again, he should approach with caution. However, although she is competent enough to be dangerous, lethal even, she still lacks the nuance of experience. Being a good shot is a far cry from knowing when to shoot or how to manage once you have. That pretty piece of seduction proved quite handy a week ago, but is she advanced enough to judge when she can safely wield it. He will have to pay careful attention so as to adapt to her new skills while continuing to guide their application.
Lessons 3 and 4, to recognize her autonomy and respect it, may be obvious, perhaps, but not so easy to accommodate. Logically, self-determination requires one to make decisions, act independently and take responsibility for the consequences. Without autonomy, she cannot realize her potential. Emotionally she’s ready, itching for her freedom. Holmes can understand both the necessity and her longing better than anyone, but he also understands the risk. He may be loath to admit it, but the fact remains that luck has kept him safe when his skills couldn’t. Where Russell is concerned, however, he’d never trust in luck, hence his unrelenting training of her and his covert surveillance. Only not so covert, it turns out. If Russell will not, and should not, be constrained, and if he cannot trust in luck, his only recourse is to trust in her. Trust in her abilities and also trust that she has the good sense to know her limits and turn to him when she needs to. What she needs from him now more than his tutelage or protection, is a counterpart. Partnership.
Lesson 5. This is the sticky wicket; the unexpected, game changing, and likely unintended lesson. That is of course, the first question. Did Russell intend to seduce, consciously or unconsciously, or merely startle? If he were a gambling man, he’d put money on the later. But Holmes doesn’t gamble, he deduces. He needs more data but cannot simply ask her without suggesting something that she may not yet be ready to entertain. A subtler inquiry is required; an inquiry that is not directly related to him or their relationship, but that would prove his hypothesis while remaining under Russell’s radar. In the unlikely event that he’s wrong, and Mary is interested in him physically, then it would be merely a matter of how interested. He’d not have her until he was convinced her interest matched his own. The prospect of what it would take to be fully convinced nearly derails him from his analysis. It takes a shake of his head and a conscious return to an awareness of his surroundings; the waning afternoon light, the untouched food and cold tea on table at his side, before he can continue to the more likely answer.
Far more likely is that his original supposition will stand; Mary has not yet entertained the notion that she and Holmes could be lovers. Although prompted by her actions, he is the first to foresee what their future together could be. He will need to wait for Russell to come to it, to him, on her own. The implications are daunting. His passion awakened, it will be more than tedious to keep it contained and hidden, it will be grueling. And, of course, it is possible that she may not come to it at all. Holmes is not a jealous man, so sure is he of his superiority, but he was also just soundly reminded not to assume. He knows that few men, if any, could offer Russell the intellectual stimulation and adventure that he can. However, he has to admit that a great deal of their time together is spent in open battle; stimulating in its own way but not particularly romantic. Does Russell require romance? Could she be sufficiently exhausted by him to be derailed by a young, handsome and easier man? There are any number of young men at Oxford and clearly at least one has been interesting enough to engage Russell recreationally. Better to learn a bit more about Miss Beaconsfield’s brother and just how attached Russell has become. For his part, open courtship is completely out of the question and he imagines Russell would assume it was some kind of joke or test. Nevertheless, it may be advisable to occasionally engage Russell in a less aggressive, confrontational and task oriented manner. He can be quite charming, he knows.
By now the darkness is gathering on the downs and Holmes has completely polluted the room with smoke from his pipe. His afternoon tea remains untouched and his hunger is beginning to gnaw. Pleased with his progress for now; assured of his analysis and resolved in how to proceed, he stands and takes up his violin. Perhaps a high G, he thinks, or G sharp? He plays them back and forth, first long and fat, then short and crisp, using the bow on strings much as he might use his hands on dear, sweet Mary.
After at most ten minutes, Mrs. Hudson can stand it no longer. “Sherlock. A song. Is that really too much to ask?” Startled from his reverie, Holmes rakes the bow across the strings, making a most unpleasant sound and thoroughly dispelling his mood of a moment before. Turning on some lights, Mrs. Hudson continues “It’s dark as night in here and you can hardly breath. And look at your tea! You said you were hungry.”
Not bothering to turn around and face her, Holmes responds, “Mrs. Hudson, come to my rescue again. A hot meal then, to complete the deed.” With that, he resumes his violin, this time with a song, a dirge, as he follows Mrs. Hudson, heavy tray in hand, out of the study into the hall. Muttering her vexation, Mrs. Hudson proceeds to the kitchen to prepare the meal while Holmes takes up the phone for the laborious process of calling his brother in London. Finally getting through, and given the connection, using as few words as possible, he asks Mycroft to secure two tickets to the upcoming choral performance of Verdi and Puccini and to make discrete inquiries into the Beaconsfield family, particularly the children. Citing the connection, he refused to explain himself any further to Mycroft and promptly rings off.
Holmes returns to the study, waving his arms about in the haze and cracks a window. He turns his attention back to the room, eyeing the stacks of papers and overflowing drawers, trying to recall exactly where he put that monograph he’d read years ago. There are at least four possible locations depending on how he’d sorted it at the time; German chemists, pending lab experiments, theoretical stratagems, or, comprising the largest piles, in need of further consideration. His search is interrupted by a much needed if not entirely welcome meal, and he is just returning to his study when the phone rings. With a crash of papers and books and a sharp curse, Holmes bellows to Mrs. Hudson to answer the infernal machine.
Mrs. Hudson dries her hands and takes up the receiver. After a short pause, Holmes hears Mrs. Hudson delighted reply. “Mary, so wonderful to hear from you. You’re coming for the weekend? Of course a visit would be convenient. You don’t want Patrick to pick you up? Alright then, tomorrow afternoon for tea. I’ll have some hot scones for you. Oh, no trouble at all to cook for you, dear. I know you at least will actually eat it. Oh, his usual self, I suppose. Although he did get a long night’s rest, slept right through the morning. Seems to have softened him a bit, he actually cooked himself breakfast. I was as surprised as you, but you know he made a decent job of it. All that time in his laboratory worth something I guess. Alright then, until tomorrow.”
Settling the receiver back on the hook she nearly jumped out of her skin to find Holmes looming directly behind her. “You know, Sherlock, if you wanted to know who it was, you could have answered the telephone yourself.” Rather than an appropriate apology, Holmes scolded his reply to hide any notion of interest on his part. “Is it really necessary to recount how long I slept or what I ate to just anybody who calls. Doyle’s fantastical accounts of my cases are bad enough. I insist you refrain from indulging in this mundane drivel. The next thing I know the papers will be reporting my personal grooming habits and my enraptured fans will wonder what secret lies behind which sock I choose to put on first.”
Dumb founded by this outburst, but hardly for the first time, Mrs. Hudson replies “It wasn’t just anybody, Sherlock. It was Mary. She’s coming for a visit. Do try and behave yourself when she comes. I’ll wager she needs a rest and a good hot meal, not a badgering old curmudgeon.” With that, she turns on her heel and heads back to the kitchen, entirely missing the slightly upturned corners of Holmes smile.
Holmes returns to the study to continue his search, finally locating the manuscript in the middle of a pile of other esoterica he planned to study in the leisure of his retirement. He reads it over quickly with a nod to himself that it will serve his purpose tomorrow nicely. Scanning the study, he can see nothing that requires or inspires his attention. Certainly nothing that will be as engaging as what awaits him in his slumber. He completes his usual routine of checking the windows and doors, turns out the lights, and mounts the stairs to his bedroom. He tosses his clothes aside and practically dives into bed, burrowing deep into the warmth under the covers in sweet anticipation. It took some time to still the grind of his thoughts, but eventually he allowed his dreams to take him, and Mary, to a variety of secluded locations for some most absorbing and enjoyable carnal explorations. Come morning he awoke not so much rested as energized. Fascinating. Perhaps he should write a monograph.
November 30th, 1918 – Russell travels to Sussex.
Having chosen the commuter train, the one that makes every stop, Russell trundles her slow way back home to Sussex. She stares out the window, lost in thought, hardly noticing as passengers move about her; gathering their possessions as the train slows or stowing them away as the train leaves the station. She is on her way to face Holmes for the first time since she so brazenly carved a line in the sand.
Can it really be just over three and a half years since she’d met, nearly tripped over, Sherlock Holmes? In that short time, she has changed so much; grown in body from child to woman, and in spirit, well, immeasurably. Robbed of her family, crushed by guilt, she was ill-defined, powerless and vulnerable; little more than a lump of clay to be molded by whatever came next. She shudders as she considers what might have become of her had she not fallen under the gaze of an extraordinary man in need of a project. But now, thanks to Holmes, she can feel her power as she comes into her own with the world at her feet.
Thanks to Holmes. She smiles at the thought of him. Stunning in intellect, he’s captivating to watch. Trying to learn his craft, matching her thoughts to his, has been nothing short of enthralling. And infuriating, with his near constant mockery and scolding, demanding she be smarter, quicker, more observant and always more careful. Thus reminded, Russell pauses to take a quick but thorough scan of her fellow passengers, notes her progress towards Sussex, and only then relaxes back into her thoughts. ‘Yes, extraordinary, wonderfully and maddeningly so. He saw my potential, set aside his solitude and sacrificed his time. He even opened his heart to me, no less so than a father to daughter, trusting that I would rise to his challenge. And I repaid him with what? A dismissal. And a demand that I choose when or whether to be available to him. Such hubris, Russell!’ With a snort, she acknowledges, she probably learned that from him too.
Gazing out the window to collect her thoughts she wonders how it had come to this; a direct challenge to his authority, her future unknown. ‘Sure, he practically forced my hand with his surveillance, his presumption and condescension. But what lies behind it. Habit? Or perhaps he’s having difficulty keeping up? I go off to school and reappear transformed.’ She smirks as she recalls his shocked reaction to her dress at her last birthday. And then she frowns again with chagrin. ‘Did you just accuse Holmes of being too slow? Now that would be an unlikely first.’ A nod to herself, ‘Unwilling, then.’ She toys with this idea. ‘More comfortable with apprentice than partner. That’s certainly consistent with his solitary nature and his need to protect. But when had Holmes denied logic to linger where it’s comfortable? More likely his assessment deems me not yet ready to run without a leash. And displays like that last week will have done little to disprove that supposition. He had underestimated her, but her actions had been more like those of a rebellious adolescent, certainly not those of an equal in maturity and wisdom.’
Which brings Russell back to where she started. Whatever the cause, Holmes’ assessment is outdated, probably with respect to her abilities and certainly with respect to her sensibilities. Watson may be content to be a sort of tag along, manipulated to do Holmes’ bidding. But not Russell. She was justified to assert her independence, of that she has no doubt. But she inflicted a wound. Possibly a grievous one. She knows she’s been reckless with something, someone, very precious to her. What remains is the question of how Holmes will respond.
She wonders, ‘What was it Holmes was going to say that night? Mary, I… What?’ A cutting sneer of disapproval? ‘Mary, I expected better of you?’ or ‘Mary, I think you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.’ Or a continuation of the argument, ‘Mary, I hardly think this proves your point?’ He could have simply dismissed it, ‘Mary, I don’t have time for this,’ a prelude to a more permanent dissolution of their arrangement. His tone suggested something kinder. Perhaps an apology, anticipating her morning after anxiety and giving her pardon. ‘Mary, I am sorry if I goaded you into this?’ But what then? Right back where she was, a child to be soothed, or worse, discounted?” With a frustrated shake of the head, Russell once again takes stock of where she is and her progress towards Sussex. She’s getting close now, and trying to predict Holmes is getting her nowhere.
The best she can do, she realizes, is to prepare herself for whatever might come. With this reunion, she will need to be careful. Careful with him, not to add salt to the wound, but also careful to demonstrate she is worthy of all this bother. She will be apologetic, but not obsequious, so as to show her genuine regret without sacrificing the point of her growing independence. If he’s inclined to ignore the issue all together, leaving her in a state of intolerable limbo, better to force the subject with him, directly and maturely, then to leave it undiscussed but ever present. He would be fully in his right to treat her harshly. But Holmes does not strike her as vindictive. Guarded, quick to go on the offense, but not vindictive. She’d best be prepared to parry his attack, but without losing control. She decides to let him make the first move and, if necessary, to try again to make her point, only this time in a manner befitting a mature and equal partner.
Nov 30th, 1918 – Russell visits Holmes
After a delightful night’s rest, and a satisfactory tuck in of another hearty breakfast, Holmes considers how to organize his day. Having listened in to Mrs. Hudson’s side of the telephone conversation, Holmes noted Russell’s anxiety, in that she asked permission, and her deliberation, in that she chose the slow train and opted to walk rather than a more expedient conveyance. Pleased that she’s approaching with caution, but approaching nevertheless, he calculates when she would likely arrive and asks Mrs. Hudson to have a meal worthy of Russell’s appetite for about an hour later, giving them plenty of time to talk. As Russell will not be arriving until mid-afternoon he still had plenty of time, too much time, to catch up on the newspapers and get some exercise and fresh air.
The day seems to crawl by despite his roundabout walk into town, two pints at the pub, and an equally roundabout return back home, but finally her anticipated arrival time is here. A mild late November day, Holmes decides it is best to wait for her with his bees. The setting is private but not intimate. The task at hand, adding a layer to each of the hives, is sufficient to focus his mind, but not engaging enough to actually distract him. He sees Russell now, about a hundred yards away and just a tick later than he’d calculated. Her slow but steady gait tells him that, whatever anxiety she might have about this coming encounter, it has not kept her from enjoying her walk across the Sussex downs; using her muscles, stretching her legs and lengthening her spine after being hunched over her studies at Oxford.
At twenty yards now, she’s close enough for him to see the flush to her cheek, slightly out of breath, and her hair in minor disarray. She flashes a quick smile as she spots him, and Holmes is suddenly hit by what feels like a blast – a tingling at the tip of every nerve, an ache deep in his abdomen and chest. Slightly lightheaded, he quickly looks back to his bees, and wrestles his mind back into control. Holmes knows this will not do; he can’t be undone by the mere sight of her. He’s going to have to control himself much better than that if he’s to play the long game.
Russell joins Holmes by the bees rather than first stopping to greet Mrs. Hudson. This location suits her well too; out of doors and out of earshot, well clear of the warmth and intimacy of Holmes’ study. But now that she’s here, it’s a bit hard for her to know what to say.
“Holmes.” Neither a questioning tone nor jovial greeting, a simple statement of his name. Sufficiently unsure of where she stands and committed to let Holmes have his say, that is all Russell is willing to venture. Holmes, for his part, thinks her greeting is both clever and a bit unfair seeing as how she started this whole awkward development.
Glancing quickly in her direction and then back to his bees, Holmes reciprocates, “Russell. A pleasure to see you.” Holmes wonders whether she’ll catch the irony of ‘pleasure’ in that statement.
“Pleasure, Holmes? I wasn’t sure you’d feel that way.” Of course she noticed, this is Russell after all. And despite her intentions, she’s raised the issue immediately, clearly prepared to face whatever consequences her actions had provoked. That’s my Russell, he thinks, quick and courageous.
Unwilling to reveal his approval and wanting to throw her off balance, Holmes straightens his back to his full height and looks down his nose to her as he drawls, “It is a customary form of greeting Russell, perhaps not intended to be taken quite so literally.” But before Russell could read too much into that imperious look, Holmes continues. “However, it is good that you’ve come. I think we have one or two things to talk about.”
Russell, at once pleased that Holmes is going to get right to it, but fearful for what comes next, can’t help but cringe as she braces herself for the onslaught. She looks toward the ground, and then angry at herself for acting a cowering child, looks back to see his intense gaze upon her. He holds her eyes for a moment and then turns his attention back to the hives. “I have found this monograph that I think might interest you. The author, a German, Gustav Jaeger, died last year, but he proposed a most interesting idea. He suggests that animals can produce chemicals within their body that can work outside the body to change the behavior of animals of the same species. Anthropines he calls them, and I wondered what experiment you’d suggest to test the hypothesis in these bees.”
Holmes, looks over to Russell to see a completely blank stare. Not quite hiding the curl of his lip, he redirects his gaze back to the hives and continues. “Or if that disinterests you, Russell, there are the more basic questions of how these anthropines would be conveyed, whether they are intentionally emitted, and whether the intended recipient needs to be chemically receptive in order to receive them?” Russell’s brow furrows in utter confusion, and asks with considerable irritation “What on earth are you going on about?”
Holmes straightens again and turns to directly face her. “Come now Russell, has your mind been completely turned to mush by your time at Oxford? Perhaps we should return to idle pleasantries? How was the music?” Russell, now completely at a loss, responds incredulously, “What music?”
Holmes considers. Had Russell been pre-occupied with Ms. Beaconsfield’s brother, surely a mention of music would have recalled her date and called a blush to her face. No, Ms. Beaconsfield’s brother is of no serious consequence to Russell and therefore to him. He has also now successfully planted the seed for further inquiry into Russell’s intentions and whether she’s yet considered him a potential lover. Holmes, quite satisfied with this initial gambit, decides to bring this particular line of inquiry to a close. “Russell, this conversation is strikingly like speaking with Watson. Are you simply unable to keep up, or” speaking more slowly and with raised eyebrow, “perhaps you had a rather different topic of conversation in mind?”
Russell and Holmes appraise each other for a moment before first Holmes and then Russell’s expressions relax into the smiles of the prankster and the one who just got the joke. “Okay Holmes, I deserved that little tease. But since you ask, yes, the concert was excellent and the evening most diverting, thank you.”
“And the experiment, what are your thoughts on that?” asks Holmes.
“Oh, the man and his anthropines are real?” Ever the student, Russell pauses to consider, “Well, in that case, it rather depends on the purpose these chemicals are supposed to have?”
Ever the teacher, Holmes replies, “The manuscript is in the study, so you can read it for yourself. But to summarize, the chemicals are to communicate a need or possibly a desire, for the purpose of calling another to action. It could be an alarm, directing the recipient to flee or mount a defense. Or it could be an invitation, perhaps sexual arousal to initiate courtship and mating.” Holmes carefully observes Russell as he speaks, looking for any sign that she catches the subtlety to this topic and how it might relate to events of a week ago. If Russell’s intent had been to convey a sexual desire for Holmes, she could hardly miss it and would surely react. But no, he sees nothing but Russell applying her intellect to the problem of an experiment on bees.
“Given that,” says Russel, “you would have to create a need in one bee or group of bees that was unknown to the intended recipient. A threat maybe, to the queen, that would require her to call the workers to new action? Or better yet, since the queen can’t be easily observed, a threat that the worker bees perceive and would have to convey to the queen in order to receive instruction. Such as a loss of food or a rival hive?”
Holmes responds appreciatively, “Excellent Russell, I had been thinking along those same lines.” Gazing now across the fields, Holmes suggests, “Come spring, I could have Patrick mow down the wildflowers? Or to be absolutely sure, burn the field.”
Russell looks at him aghast. “Holmes! Mrs. Hudson would have your head!” He looks back at her. “Quite. Your quite right, Russell. Well there’s nothing to be done this late in the season, regardless. I’m just about done here and then we can head to the house for tea.”
As Holmes resumes his efforts with the bees, Russell ponders what to do next. They have yet to broach the issue that brought her here in the first place, and it would be far better to discuss it here, in the out of doors, and now, rather than have it hanging over them. How will they regain their comradery and return to business without clarifying where their partnership stands? Holmes has let her know he still thinks her an able student, but is he willing to keep the door open and allow her to grow beyond apprentice to true partner?
“Holmes? I think we should discuss what happened last week.”
Holmes abruptly pauses what he was doing and without looking at her states, “As I recall, you hardly left room for discussion, Russell.”
“No, no I didn’t. I am sorry, Holmes. I was rash and cruel.”
Holmes straightens, takes a step over to the pile of empty flats, turns to comfortably lean against them and gives Russell his full attention. The silence between them lengthens and Russell realizes that Holmes is prepared to listen and is waiting for her to continue.
Russell grits her teeth but doesn’t back down. “I am sorry. But you can be so irritating, Holmes. For all your extraordinary powers of observation, it’s incredibly difficult to get you to listen to me. To have you listen and really hear what I’m trying to tell you.” Starting to get angry all over again, she takes several steps and pantomimes her rant. “I could hit you over the head for all the good it’s going to do. You’d probably just turn it into a lesson on immobilizing an assailant.” Catching herself she looks back at Holmes with his raised eyebrow and her arms drop back to her sides deflated. “No doubt you’d also point out no less than five alternative approaches to achieve the same end.” She takes deep breath. “Again, my apologies, I surely could have found a better, kinder and less awkward way to make my point.”
Holmes remains uncharacteristically silent, exuding passive receptivity to anything else that Russell may have to say. And so, she continues. “The point is, Holmes, you have been my mentor and, given your vast knowledge experience, you will always have something more to teach. But my interest is not idle and, as the Simpson case demonstrated, my use to you not only theoretical.” Again, warming to the topic, the words continue to spill, “I’m not the child of 15 you first met. Your careful tutelage has created a considerable force. Not to mention I’ve continued to learn and grow at Oxford despite your doubts. I deserve to be trusted, to make my own decisions and act independently. Partnership requires autonomy. I’ll be of little use as an obedient sidekick doing only as I’m told.” Russell continues on in this vein for at least another 2 minutes, supplying ever more colorful language to say essentially the same thing; that she is capable, formidable and independent, and that Holmes would be best served to realize it. Which, of course, is the lesson she already taught much more expediently a week ago.
Holmes continues to lean against the flats, silently following Russell with his eyes as she drones on and on. Finally, having exhausted her words, she turns to Holmes and says, “For god’s sake, Holmes, this is hardly a discussion. Don’t you have something to say?”
Holmes raises an eyebrow again and drawls, “I rather understood I was supposed to listen.” Not to be so easily goaded, it’s Russell’s turn to wait silently if not patiently for Holmes to continue. “I believe you thrice apologized for your treatment of me at our last meeting and to that I graciously accept. You were, however, quite right to teach me a lesson and did so in a way I couldn’t fail to notice. In less than 30 seconds you managed to make your point, just like a schoolmarm with her ruler. Well, not exactly like that, but with equal efficiency. As you have so eloquently reiterated over and over this afternoon, I have failed to appreciate how much you’ve advanced, especially over your months at Oxford, and to factor that into my calculations of our partnership. For my part, I will endeavor to take this new information into account and attempt to accept that I should ask rather than assume or manipulate, and trust the wisdom of your decisions.”
Russell stands blinking at him, struck that this was the most direct response Holmes has ever given her. And exactly what she hoped for. She did not fail to notice his qualifiers; ‘to endeavor’ and ‘to attempt’, but she could hardly expect more of this man almost 40 years her senior, and appreciates the honesty of his response. He really is a most extraordinary man.
With this matter so succinctly put to rest, Russell feels infinitely lighter. Holmes greets her broad smile with one of his own and the two turn towards the house to walk side by side, not quite close enough to touch, but comfortably and companionably. Just when he thought it was safe to relax, Russell asks, “Holmes? What were you going to say that night?”
Holmes stiffens slightly and attempts to dodge the question, “Say? There wasn’t anything I could say, Russell.”
“But you were going to. You started, ‘Mary, I’. But then I cut you off.”
Holmes knows he’s in dangerous territory. He can hardly say what he would have then, “Mary, I want you. Every bit of you. Just like this. Starting right now.” But he can’t risk an outright lie lest she catch him in it. And he can’t pretend he had nothing to say. Russell knows he always has something to say. He stops walking and waits for her to turn back to him. “Russell, it’s not so mysterious. I’ve already said it today. It was just, ‘Agree’. I was going to say, ‘Mary, I agree.’”
Mary takes a long moment to look at him, absorbing the words, searching for some hidden meaning. Deciding that if there was another meaning it was too subtle for her, she replies with a satisfied nod, “Good. That’s settled then.” Resuming their walk toward the house, Russell says, “You know, Holmes, I’m famished. Do you think Mrs. Hudson will have something ready for us yet?”
“Of that, Russell, I’m sure. And thereafter you can take a look at that manuscript.”