Chapter XI

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The Brothers Holmes

* Baker Street Station
As Holmes and I boarded the Kentish train from Charing Cross I still had considerable misgivings about barging in on his elder brother - not to mention his brother's intimate friend - on a Friday night when they would most likely be looking forward to a quiet evening together.  Still, if Holmes was desirous of confronting his brother tonight, then there was absolutely nothing to be done about it.  Once his mind was made up, nothing I could say, nor anyone else for that matter, would change it.

Not even here in my private journal will I name the station that we alighted at, but after a brisk half hour's walk we came to the end of a very quiet road and found ourselves outside the padlocked gates of a private estate.  I could see nothing but trees and darkness beyond the gates, however, the wall surrounding the property must have been a good fourteen feet high.

I was just wondering how we were to gain entrance when Holmes glanced about him to ascertain that we were quite alone before walking over to the wall on the right of the gate.  As I watched he counted five bricks up from the ground and six from the gatepost before proceeding to carefully remove a broken piece of brick.  From the small opening he extracted a silver key before replacing the piece of brick again.

"I, and now you, Watson, are the only other people besides my brother and his friend who know the location of this key.  Not even the housekeeper knows of it."

"What key?" I queried in mock-innocence.

"Hah!  That's my Watson!"

We entered the gates, padlocked them behind us and traversed the long, steep, winding driveway up to the house.

The house itself was an unprepossessing two-storey villa of the style built about forty years ago and considerably smaller than many of the larger villas in the area.  The only light I could see shone dimly through the curtains of a downstairs window.

When we reached the front entrance Holmes proceeded to ring the doorbell in a most curious fashion; two short rings followed by a long one and another short one.

As I watched this strange ritual in some perplexity he murmured, "Remember it in case you should ever need it."

From within we heard the voice of Mycroft Holmes calling out, "It's all right, Mrs. Galston, I shall answer it."  The door was opened by none other than the elder Holmes brother himself.  Not surprisingly, he seemed quite astonished to see us.

"Sherlock!  This is most unexpected!  I had heard that you were back in London but I assumed that you had gone to Baker Street.  I..."

At that moment he became aware of my presence.  "Oh, uh, Watson, isn't it?  Good to see you.  Come in, gentlemen, come in."

He ushered us into the foyer and as I removed my gloves and hung up my hat and coat I saw him take Holmes aside.

"Sherlock, have you taken leave of your senses?  By bringing your colleague here you place me in a most invidious position.  What am I to do?"

"Nothing, my dear brother.  Do you understand?  Precisely nothing!  Watson has been privileged to hold the most confidential information, some of which would surprise even you, brother mine.  I begged that he accompany me here tonight so that, together, we might apprise you, and your friend, as to the shape of future events."

The elder Holmes sighed.  "Very well, Sherlock.  I trust that you have informed your friend of the consequences."

"Indeed.  Watson understands only too well."

"Very good.  Come in, come in then, both of you."

We were ushered into a cheery well-lit drawing room.  On the floor were thick maroon-coloured rugs of a Persian design and the windows sported heavy drapes of a matching colour.  The furniture was expensive but well-worn and there in front of a cheery fire burning in the hearth sat two very comfortable and well-padded armchairs between which was a low table laid out with a chess board and, from the looks of it, a game that had been in progress for quite some time.

My gaze was drawn to the occupant of one of these chairs who now rose to his feet and came to greet us.  Not even here in my private journal will I name this distinguished gentleman, although his face was familiar to me for I had seen his picture many times.  He had about him an air of great dignity and authority as befits a person of his noble stature and bearing.  I tried to contain my shock at this gentleman's identity but my facial expression must have betrayed me.

Mycroft performed the introductions with great aplomb.  "Harold, Sherlock has come to visit us and this is his friend and colleague, Doctor Watson."

The older man shook my hand warmly.  "So pleased to meet you, Doctor Watson, and please call me Harold.  We are on a strictly first name basis here."

Sincerely, I returned his smile.  "I am most honoured to meet you, sir, and it would please me greatly if you in turn would call me John."

"Very well then, John it is!  And you simply must call me Harold."

After some rearranging of furniture so that Holmes and I could sit nearer the fire, we settled down to enjoy Cuban cigars and some fine French cognac.

Holmes began by apologising for our unannounced arrival on their doorstep at ten o'clock at night.

"I must beg you both to forgive this intrusion into your privacy at this unseemly hour but what I have to say must be said to both of you, and I vowed that I would speak of it at the very first opportunity."

Mycroft and Harold exchanged a look of perplexity before Mycroft again turned to Holmes.

"Apology accepted, Sherlock, but pray tell us just what it is that is so urgent that it could not wait until morning."

"Very well, dear brother.  You asked and you shall have an answer."

Holmes turned to me once more and gave me the tiniest of smiles.

"My dear brother, and you, Harold, induced me to go to Europe on a so-called matter of national importance which was so secretive and so urgent that it was necessary for me to devise a plan to fake my own death and keep the most grotesque of secrets even from Watson.  I will admit at first that I was not averse to this plot since it coincided with my own plans to rid the world of the evil influence of the nefarious ‘Professor' Moriarty.  He was nothing that I could not handle and was merely incidental to the main plot, that being that I ‘die' in order to undertake this assignment for you.  I will admit that disposing of Moriarty's right hand man presented a more considerable challenge than disposing of the professor himself. However, as you both know, I prevailed, and before the day was out both Moriarty and his confederate lay at the bottom of the Reichenbach Falls, although I might add that it was my life or theirs.  I was forced to kill both of them."

Mycroft gazed at his younger brother intently.  "You changed clothing with the confederate so that when his body was found at the base of the falls people would mistake him for you."

"Correct.  It was fortunate that we were of a similar build, however, it was a most unpleasant business.  It was in the course of faking my own death..." he paused and took a deep breath, "...that I first became aware of the painful consequences of my actions."

Our eyes met and I had never been more proud of him.

Strangely, Mycroft appeared genuinely puzzled.  "Sherlock, what are you talking about?  What ‘painful consequences'?"

It was Harold who answered.  "Come, come, Mycroft, you are the most astute and keenly observant man I have ever known.  Perhaps it is because Sherlock is your younger brother that you are blind.  A six year old child could see that he is in love and, if I am not mistaken, I believe the feeling is reciprocated."  He turned to me.  "Is it not so, John?"

Stunned by the man's perceptiveness, I could only nod my head.

Mycroft stared at Harold as if the man had taken leave of his senses before turning to gaze from Holmes to myself and back again. Without warning he seemed to suddenly turn pale and Harold turned to him in concern, as did I.

"Drink your brandy, my dear," Harold commanded.  "We can't have you fainting on us."

As I was about to rise to see to Mycroft's well being, Harold waved me back to my seat.

"Don't worry, John.  He will be all right in a moment."  He turned to Mycroft once more.  "Won't you, my dear?"

Mycroft swallowed some more of his brandy.  "Sherlock," he began haltingly, "I have known of your tastes for years, of course.  After all, we are not brothers for nothing.  However, you always impressed on me how John here was one for the ladies.  Must confess that I thought it rather a waste.  After all, here you were sharing rooms together.  Can this really be true?"

"Yes, Mycroft," Holmes answered steadily.  "I loved John Watson long before you bade me disappear.  For six interminable months I have lived apart from the person I love and, worst of all, John believed me dead!  You, who knew nothing of our love," he glared at both of them accusingly, "would have kept us apart for years.  My dear John has profoundly grieved for me, mistakenly believing that I was dead when all the while you two had schemed to manipulate me to serve you, the British government, and I was gullible enough, and witless enough, to fall for your little scheme!"

Holmes turned to look at me and covered my hand with his own in a gesture that was both affectionate and possessive and that would leave the other occupants of the room in no doubt as to his sincerity.

Once more he turned back to Mycroft and Harold.  "What I endured without John's love and support is nothing to what he endured believing me dead."  Again our eyes met.  "I could not bring myself to part with him in London so I begged him to accompany me to Europe. For that I have no one to blame but myself.  As events transpired, I was forced to perpetrate a monstrous deception on my dearest friend in order to fake my own death.  The enormity of my actions only began to dawn on me when, from my hiding place at the top of the falls, I was forced in mounting dismay to watch my dear John search for me in vain."  He closed his eyes briefly in remembered pain before our eyes met again.  "John, in turn, was almost destroyed because he blamed himself for abandoning me in my hour of need when he believed - and rightly so - that together we could have prevailed and I had therefore ‘died' needlessly."

He stared accusingly at Mycroft and Harold.  "For the past six months I have attempted to communicate with John by letter, by telegram, even by special messenger," I turned to look at Holmes in shock for I had believed - wrongly, it now seems - that he had not attempted to communicate with me because of the secrecy of his work, "but your agents cleverly saw to it that every attempt I made to communicate with my dearest friend was thwarted.  This is intolerable, Mycroft, and I demand to know what became of my communications!"

"Please forgive us, Sherlock, but we truly believed that it was in the country's best interest."  Mycroft glanced briefly at Harold, who nodded, before continuing.  "All your communications to your friend were intercepted and destroyed.  Sherlock, you must understand that in our position we have to put Britain's security first and, after all, Sherlock, you did agree to go along with our little plan, did you not?"

"Indeed, and for that I shall never forgive myself!  Yes, I agreed to ‘die', but I never intended for John to be hurt, and he has been hurt most grievously.  In any case, all my communications were most discrete; I disguised my handwriting, used a false name and gave no clue as to my location or the work I was engaged in."

It was Harold who spoke up now.  "We know, Sherlock, but we still feared that your communications to John, should they fall into the wrong hands, might somehow be traced back to you, and even to us," he exchanged looks with Mycroft, "and there were... other reasons.  We can only beg forgiveness from you both.  However, I will put this question to John."  He turned to me.  "Would you have been able to write such a convincing and moving account of Sherlock's death if you had known that he was still alive?"

I forced myself to answer as honestly and truthfully as I could. "I would have to say possibly not quite as convincing, but it is more likely that if I had known Sherlock to be alive and in hiding, I would simply not have attempted such a story at all."

Holmes again stared at Mycroft and Harold accusingly before turning to me.  "You see, my dear Watson, they wanted you to write the story of my ‘death' at the hands of ‘Professor' Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls!"

It was my turn to gaze on Mycroft to Harold, stunned by their complete avarice, even if it was for Queen and country.

"Yes, indeed, Sherlock, that is quite true," Harold continued.  "In fact, it was essential to our purposes that John write a totally realistic account of your death for we were hearing rumours from Europe that many people were not entirely convinced of your so-called ‘demise'.  John's wholly genuine account of your death put an end to those rumours once and for all."

"Indeed!" Holmes muttered sarcastically.

It was then that I truly perceived how Holmes and I had both been betrayed.  We had been used and manipulated like puppets on strings, and this realisation was most disheartening.

My expression must have betrayed me for Holmes covered my hand briefly with his own and his look of concern warmed me.

Mycroft spoke up again.  "Anyway, Sherlock, you have hardly upheld the family honour by your impetuous and ill-timed resignation!" he accused.

Holmes glared at his elder brother.  "Honour?  You dare to speak to me of honour, brother?  What honour was there in the gross deception I was induced to perpetrate on my dearest friend?  What honour was there for me in faking my death?  I shall now be a laughing stock and when I do eventually die no one will believe it.  What honour was there in John's needless suffering?  What honour was there in knowingly allowing him to write a false account of my death when you knew all along that I was alive?  He will be lucky if anybody believes his accounts of our future cases.  And what honour was there in having my communications to John intercepted?"

He heaved a deep sigh and calmed somewhat.  "Much as I love this country I have no taste for ‘cloak and dagger'.  For me there is no honour in it," he gazed sternly from his brother to Harold and back again, "and I will never again be induced to sacrifice my honour - or what's left of it!" he added with bitter sarcasm.

He leaned back in his chair and puffed his cigar.  "As for my ‘impetuous and ill-timed resignation', I resigned, dear brother, because I had received no communication from John for six interminable months and I had long been convinced that somehow he had not received my messages and, worse still, perhaps even believed me dead.  Alas my deductions proved all too damnably correct.  Anyway, I had completed my assignment."

"Yes, but there were many more assignments that Harold and I wished you to undertake, Sherlock, and I find it most disappointing that you have adopted this churlish attitude after agreeing to accept the post with the diplomatic corps in the first place."

"Poppycock, brother mine!  A six year old child could have done it! You do not need me at all.  My place is in Baker Street with John by my side, as Harold is by your side."  Meaningfully, his eyes travelled from one to the other.  "My work is here, and here I shall remain and you shall never again persuade me otherwise!"

A ringing silence ensued broken only by the crackle of the fire.  I became aware that a silent communication was taking place between Mycroft and Harold as, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harold reach out to cover Mycroft's hand with his own and nod at him reassuringly.  They were the actions of two people who have a most intimate and long-standing acquaintance.  After a few moments Mycroft rose and came to stand before Holmes and I.

"My dear Sherlock," he gazed at Holmes and seemed genuinely moved, "and you, John, I can only beg your forgiveness for the wrongs we have perpetrated on you both."

Harold rose to stand beside him.  "Yes.  We can only ask forgiveness for our insensitive and callous treatment of you both. Had we but known..."

Mycroft turned to scowl at Harold.  "My dear Harold, if we had but known of the nature of Sherlock and John's relationship after the fact, would we truly have acted any differently?"  He shook his head. "I fear not.  You and I have served our country for so long that we will let nothing and no one stand in the way of Britain's security, not even the welfare and happiness of a younger brother who, God knows, has never had much joy in his life, or his intimate friend here."

Harold briefly glanced down at his boots.  "Mycroft is right," he admitted.  "I can not in good conscience admit that we would have acted any differently had we but known."  He turned to Mycroft.  "You and I have become grey in the service of queen and country and I believe we have served both well, but when did we become so insensitive, so utterly callous that we literally manipulate other people's lives like so many toy puppets," he gazed sadly at Mycroft, "and, worse still, leave them with hearts broken in grief?"

It was with some measure of satisfaction that I realised Harold's thoughts echoed my own.

Mycroft appeared stricken and Harold put his arm around his shoulders.  "Come, come, my dear Mycroft, we are not so old that we can not learn from our mistakes and," he turned to Holmes and myself, "perhaps there might be some small way in which we can at least try to make reparation to you both.  In the meantime all we have to offer are our most humble apologies and a warm bed for the night."

Mycroft nodded vigorously.  "I could not agree more."  He glanced at Harold, who nodded.  "We offer our most sincere apologies to you both, especially to you, John, for the suffering that you endured.  If there is any way in which we can make amends to both of you, you must tell us.  In the meantime you will spend the night as our guests. No," he corrected himself, glancing once more at Harold, "as family."

"Yes, as family," Harold agreed, grinning broadly.

Holmes smiled and nodded sagely at me as we rose to our feet before turning to smile openly at his brother.

"Brother mine."  He held out his hand.

"Oh, Sherlock, little brother, I would not have hurt you for the world.  I truly believed that you would enjoy playing cloak and dagger.  I never sought to harm you in any way and the thought of hurting John simply never occurred to me.  Indeed I have always held you in the highest regard."  Hesitantly he reached for Holmes's outstretched hand.  "Can you forgive me, Sherlock?"

Holmes grasped his hand warmly.  "All is forgiven, dear brother. Is it not, John?"

"Oh, yes!  Absolutely," I agreed, offering my hand to Mycroft in a gesture of forgiveness, "and, after all, Mycroft and Harold did not know of our true relationship."

Mycroft grasped my hand and held it for a moment longer than necessary.  "Thank you, John," he murmured sincerely.

Holmes continued to gaze at his brother.  "An oversight on my part, brother."

Mycroft shook his head.  "Never mind all that, Sherlock.  That is the past; we must look to the future, and you and John will always be welcome here."

"Yes, always," Harold agreed as we shook hands warmly.

Mycroft rang for the housekeeper and shortly thereafter we were ushered upstairs to a large guest room where an immense and sumptuous bed had already been made up for us, clean night-shirts laid out and a cheery fire burned in the grate.

While Holmes completed his toilet I was left alone with Mycroft.

"You are the first guests that we have ever had and we have stayed here on weekends for twenty-two years now," he explained, "but our housekeeper is excellent and keeps all the rooms spotless, even ones like this that are never used.  It is good to have family here."

"Thank you, Mycroft."

"It is I who must thank you, John, for your care of Sherlock.  He is strong-willed and careless of his own health.  He needs someone to look after him.  He has always distrusted women and frankly I had despaired of him ever finding anyone to look after him.  However, I could not ask for anyone better than a doctor and I thank God he found you."

"I shall always endeavour to care for your brother to the best of my ability," I vowed, "and I am so glad that Sherlock has a brother like you."

"Thank you, John."

After Mycroft had left the room I realised that I truly meant it. Mycroft and Harold were decent and honourable men.  What they had done, they had done for the sake of their country which they had both served so well for so long.  Yes, I could forgive them - indeed, had forgiven them both.  The joy in my heart at my dear one's return and our marvellous reunion had truly eclipsed the black grief and guilt which had hung like a heavy mantle over me for so long - but that was over.  Thank God it was over, I thought, as a bright, shining future in the form of my resurrected and remarkable lover came striding lightly through the bedroom door on his long legs.

The fire was burning brightly, casting orange shadows about the room as we climbed between crisp, clean sheets and covered ourselves with a beautiful violet and green quilt.

Holmes was nuzzling my ear.  "You see?  I told you all would be well and we would spend the night in a sumptuous bed, did I not?"

"Yes, Sherlock, you certainly did."

He pulled back to look curiously at me.  "You have never called me ‘Sherlock' before."

"No."  I reflected that to each other we had always been just ‘Holmes' and ‘Watson'.  "Perhaps it is because everybody is on a first name basis here.  Do you mind?"

He shook his head.  "My brother is the only one who ever calls me Sherlock, but it is right that you should call me by my Christian name too.  After all, you, too, are family."

"Your brother said the same thing to me.  He said that it was good to have family here."

I watched Holmes smile.  "Dear Mycroft!  He was more of a father to me than my own father ever was.  He took up a government position to pay for my university studies, though I doubt that he ever believed he would have to pay for it for so long!"  He chuckled warmly.

"Your brother is very special, and so is Harold."

"Indeed.  It is fortunate that the country is run by such men."

"Yes.  I gather they have been together for over twenty years now."

"Almost twenty-five years, since shortly after the death of Harold's wife.  They are a perfect balance for each other," he kissed me lightly, "like you and I, dear friend."

"Mm, yes, like us."  I kissed him back.  "I am puzzled though; Mycroft said that they have never had guests here before.  Have you never visited them here?"

"Seldom.  This is really the only chance they have for privacy.  On Sunday morning Mycroft goes back to his lodgings and Harold to Whitehall and they have little contact throughout the week, so weekends are precious to them."

"I see." I thought how sad it was that Mycroft and Harold could not be together as Holmes and I were, and said as much.

"They manage, and they have grown used to the routine.  Perhaps one day when they are retired they will have more freedom to spend time together."

"But what if some foreign crisis develops when they are alone here?"

"Besides myself, and now you, the foreign secretary and one other senior official are the only other people who know of this house."

In sympathy I shook my head at the extraordinary secrecy Mycroft and Harold had to employ, but something else was bothering me.

"Holmes, I am curious; how did you find out about them?  I mean, did they... tell you?"

"Hah!  I wondered if you would ask me that!"  He chuckled good-naturedly.  "Back then Mycroft and I were sharing lodgings in Montague Street.  One day I came home from Barts unexpectedly in the middle of the afternoon."  He gave a sly smile.

"Oh, Holmes, you don't mean...?"  He nodded.  "In the... bedroom?" He shook his head.  "Surely not the living room?"  Again he nodded.

It was my turn to laugh.  "Your brother and Harold in flagrante?"

"Um hm."  He smiled at the memory.  "It was a cold day and they were on the rug in front of a blazing fire, though I dare say the fire in the grate was as nothing to the blaze of their passion."  He gazed at me fondly and ran teasing fingers lightly through my hair.  "We know that feeling well, do we not, my dear?"

"Oh, yes!"  Our lips met in true affection.  "So what happened?"

He chuckled.  "Watson, I do believe you are possessed of a most prurient nature!"

"Agreed.  So tell me what happened!" I persisted.

"Oh, very well."  He chuckled to himself.  "I had unfortunately barged in at the most thoroughly inappropriate moment possible."

I chortled.  "Oh, no!"

He grinned broadly.  "Oh, yes!"

Unable to prevent it, I laughed outright.  "Lord, how mortifying!"

He chucked broadly, his laughter shaking both of us mightily. "Indeed.  To this day I am not sure whose face was redder, mine or theirs!"  We both laughed.  "Up until that moment they had really been most discrete.  You know how observant I am and I had noticed nothing out of the ordinary about my brother or his friend, Harold, who was not yet even a junior minister.  Of course, they had intended to inform me but were uncertain as to how to manage it.  In the interim fate took a hand, but I'm not sure if they ever forgave me for my consummate act of coitus interruptus, unintentional though it was."

"Oh, dear!"  I was obliged to wipe tears of laughter from my eyes. "And were you pleased for them?"

"Oh, indeed, once I overcame my surprise.  Mycroft had had no one in his life, save a younger brother who was preoccupied with his studies, and a brother is no substitute for an intimate friend."

"Indeed not, and we are most intimate," I whispered.

"Mm, yes, my intimate friend," he went back to nuzzling my ear and I felt his teeth as he gently nibbled the lobe, "and together we are most romantic."

I ran my fingers through his soft hair.  "Romantic friends?"

"Oh, indeed!" he murmured in his caressing voice.  "That is exactly what we are."

"Oh, Holmes!"  I hugged him, pressing the length of my body against the length of his, his very nearness intoxicating me.  I marvelled that my mind had so easily accepted his sudden, unexpected reappearance in my life.  Then I remembered the dreams that I had been having of late and wondered for the first time, was Holmes's extraordinary reappearance in my life truly unforeseen?  Or perhaps had my mind somehow known and my dreams in some way reflected this prior knowledge?

I ventured to tell Holmes about it and he asked me to give him as many details as I could remember about the dreams that had haunted me so much, especially in the last two months.  We came to no conclusions that night but our minds were left open to possibilities, although we now had more questions than answers.

"My dear John, all I can tell you is that for the last six months every day I vowed to return to you at the very first opportunity, my work in Europe be damned.  All I thought of was you.  All I longed for was you.  I dreamed of the day when once again I could hold you in my arms."  He hugged me shamelessly.  "Oh, yes!  And taste your sweet lips..."  He kissed me lightly and lovingly.  "Mm... sweet indeed!" He gazed into my eyes.  "I could not sleep at night without you to hold me," he sighed, "so I procured morphine which in turn led to cocaine."

"Hush."  I stroked him soothingly.  "That is over now.  You are back where you belong, in my arms.  We are together again and you will have no need of drugs from now on, I promise you."

"Mm, yes!  You are far more stimulating than any drug and twenty times more addictive!  Forgive my morbidness, but I missed you so, my dearest, and without you, existence seemed trivial."  He rolled over and lay lightly on top of me, looking down into my eyes.  "The last six months have taught me a most painful and valuable lesson, my dearest John; that my life is meaningless without you to share it with."

"As mine is without you, my dearest Holmes."

He began to kiss and touch me in all the ways that I remembered; all the ways that he knew pleased me.  As he worshipped me with his fine hands I writhed with pleasure and twisted beneath him, the room now filled with the sounds of soft moans and needful cries.  Holmes's face was an ecstatic mask of lustful delight, and we were as they say ‘lost in the lists of love', giving all to each other and receiving it back tenfold.

If our first reunion had been somewhat frenzied due to our long separation, this then, our second reunion, was all the more heart-felt and delightful.  We enjoyed each other to the fullest, our whispered cries and endearments proclaiming our love, our adoration each of the other.  We prolonged our pleasure until our bodies throbbed with the heated pulse of lust through our veins.  With every breath we breathed fire and every touch added fuel to the flames.  Our rapture was sweet agony in our loins when, with one final delectable touch of our tongues, we simultaneously convulsed, drinking deeply of each other with all the joy and happiness in our reunited hearts.

When I eventually fell asleep it was to the soft sighs of his breath, his dear head resting trustingly on my shoulder and our limbs entwined.

*   *   *

The following morning after sleeping disgracefully late we hurriedly dressed and went downstairs to be greeted by Mycroft and Harold who had apparently been up for hours.  I caught them exchanging a knowing look and evidently Holmes did too for I perceived the slight rose colour on his normally-pale cheeks, and which was no doubt a match for my own.  Mrs. Galston, their excellent and most discreet housekeeper, proceeded to lay before us a sumptuous breakfast which we devoured with unmannered zeal.

Before leaving the house in Kent we had to promise Mycroft and Harold that we would return soon to spend another evening with them.

Together we journeyed to my surgery in Kensington where my assistant was doing an able job and there seemed to be few patients on that Saturday morning.  Holmes helped me to pack my belongings and together we returned to 221B Baker Street.

Holmes used his key to enter and dear Mrs. Hudson almost fainted when she saw him in the vestibule but he put his arm around her and patted her soothingly as she gasped with joy at his return.  After we had unpacked she brought up a bottle of excellent champagne and together we toasted Holmes's return from the dead and our return to our old lodgings.

Later, when we were alone, my dear Holmes wrapped the grey shawl around me and kissed me.  That night, not withstanding our excesses of the previous day, we privately celebrated our return to our old lodgings in the only manner befitting this momentous occasion.

*** * ***