Chapter XX
A Fond Farewell
Upon glancing over the initial entry of my first private journal I feel only immense gratitude that I had the courage to confront Holmes on that singular day in 1887 for it marked the most momentous turning point in our relationship and indeed significantly altered the course of our lives.
When I wrote those words my dearest Holmes was three-and-thirty and I six-and-thirty. That was nigh on twenty-five years ago when we lived lives of excitement and danger in the heart of London. The miracle is that we are still together and have survived to tell of those heady days. With Holmes great brain and myself always there to back him up we prevailed over many evils and unravelled many mysteries that had baffled lesser men.
Having retired from private practice myself I had been urging Holmes to also retire, but, of course, he would not hear of it. Of late, I had found the bustle of city life wearing increasingly thin. The population of London had more than doubled since Holmes and I first went to live in Baker Street and, since the advent of the motor car, the streets had only grown increasingly noisy, our own motor car also contributing to the cacophony around us. While it was true to say that the streets were much safer than they had been back in ‘81, it was also true that some things never seemed to change, especially the poor of this great city. Each day, rain, hail or shine, you would see them on the streets, the ragged men and women whom society shunned, and their children, the street urchins who grew up with nothing and if they were fortunate enough - and ambitious enough - rose high in the criminal underbelly that would always be there as long as society was divided into classes.
So it was that, increasingly, I dreamt of Holmes and I living a quiet, rural existence of peace and comfort in some little place that did not require too much looking after and that was not too distant so that, if we wanted, we could drive to London for the day.
This was how things stood when one day some four months ago, much to my surprise, I saw an advertisement in the paper for Willow Grove, the lovely little villa that Harold had owned in Kent where he had shared weekends with his dear Mycroft for so many years. The price was more than reasonable - in fact I was surprised that it was so low - but it would still take most all of my savings. I hoped to be able to bargain with the agent for I wanted to purchase it on my own as a surprise for Holmes for I knew that he would be thrilled if I could get it.
On visiting the agent in Piccadilly Circus I gazed in the window searching for the property I wanted, shortly ascertaining that it was still for sale.
At first, not wanting to seem interested in that particular estate, I casually looked at pictures of several homes before settling on the only one that concerned me. The agent insisted that the price was very reasonable and I inquired as to why it was so low. His reply rather surprised me.
"Well, sir, to tell the truth, it is somewhat in need of maintenance - and, of course, it's a bit out of the way you know. A shame too. Lovely little place it is. Extensive grounds. Lovely little horseshoe-shaped lake too. Quite unique."
"You say it's in need of maintenance, is that why the price is so low?"
"Oh, aye!"
"But why is it so neglected? When did it last have tenants?"
"Oh, now let me see..." He drummed his fingers on the desk in a show of trying to remember. "That would be ‘bout a year back."
"That long ago?"
"Oh, aye! Doubtless because it's out of the way you see."
"I see. And has it had many tenants in recent years?" I inquired.
"Oh, a few!" he replied, his manner too casual to be true.
"But why have none of the tenants wanted to stay in it?" I pressed. "It looks like a charming little place."
"Well, you'd have to ask them, sir, but I believe one family left because the husband changed jobs and it was too far from his new job. Another one decided that it was just too isolated."
"And the present owner? Why does he choose not to live in it?"
"Now that I couldn't tell you, sir. I only deal with the family solicitor and he will not reveal the name of his client."
Of course not. Harold's distinguished family were most reclusive and would have the family solicitor take care of all matters legal. However, I had the distinct feeling that there was something the man was not telling me. I decided to bide my time for now.
The man was only too eager to show me the place and as we drove the well-remembered route to that lovely little house my heart leapt at the thought that I might be able to buy it for Holmes and myself to live in. Memories came flooding back of the many happy times that we had spent there in the company of Mycroft and Harold.
As the man unlocked the heavy padlock on the gate I wondered if the silver key was still concealed behind the broken piece of brickwork in the wall. As we drove up the long, curving driveway I was dismayed by the state of the grounds. The once-manicured lawns that stretched down to the lovely horseshoe-shaped lake where we had once gone boating and swimming and the lovely flower beds and rockeries showed at least six months worth of neglect in the waist-high weeds and long grass that grew everywhere. The willows were still there, however, including that one particular one that held so many happy memories for me. All the garden needed was tender, loving care, I reasoned, and it would once more look as it had years ago. The important thing was the state of the house.
Like the garden, the house, too, was showing more than a trace of neglect with its shuttered windows and peeling paintwork. As we walked through the front entrance the odour of musty, stale air hit us. Once inside, the agent began to open the shutters to let in some light and as I took the covers off the familiar furniture I saw that nothing had really changed at all. There were the two armchairs in front of the fireplace where Mycroft and Harold had sat, Mycroft always on the right and Harold on the left. There was the settee where on our third visit Holmes had fallen asleep with his head in my lap in front of our hosts. Everywhere I looked there were familiar sights and I endeavoured to control my emotions less the agent see just how much this dear place meant to me.
The agent showed me the downstairs rooms and the separate suite for the housekeeper, which I had not previously entered, before leading me upstairs. The first room he showed me was the master bedroom on the far left of the landing.
Admittedly, it was with some trepidation that I entered this room. The memories were still vivid and always would be of the scene we found when Mycroft opened the door on that fateful morning when both Harold and Mycroft had died, but I did not wish to appear reluctant before the agent. He showed me the lovely, big four-poster and the view of the lake which I dutifully admired. Not withstanding the neglected grounds, I was grateful that the view had remained unchanged and that there were no new houses in the immediate vicinity. No doubt the location really was too remote for most folks.
As I stood at the window enjoying the view I was surprised to feel a firm hand rest on my shoulder. I turned around thinking that the agent must have done it, but he was standing over by the door. A distinct shiver ran up my spine and I felt my hair stand on end. Odd, I thought, and dismissed it, once more turning to admire the scenery. However, as I stood there I once again felt that same hand rest firmly on my shoulder.
Turning suddenly on my heel, I stared at the agent in accusation, however, he was still standing over by the door almost as if he was hesitant to enter the room further.
My sudden action rather startled him and he almost jumped. Really, the man was very nervous.
At that moment I realised that this phenomenon that I had just experienced might possibly be the answer as to why so many tenants had refused to stay here. Was it possible? I wondered. Could this place possibly be haunted? Could that possibly be the explanation for all the disappearing tenants? To my knowledge, it had never been haunted during all the years that Harold and Mycroft had occupied it. If it truly was haunted, then Harold and Mycroft were, in all probability, the spirits responsible, I reasoned. After all, they did both die in this house. Perhaps they had deliberately driven away other tenants in order that Holmes and I might one day find our way back here. Now there was an illuminating - if fanciful - thought!
Next the agent showed me the bathroom, which appeared to be in good order, and the three large guest rooms, the first of which had been the one that Holmes and I had always stayed in. Memories were revived of pleasant nights spent in this quiet room with its lovely views of the garden and the surrounding hills.
As we left the third guest room and the agent closed the door after us my gaze was drawn to the far side of the landing and the door to the master bedroom. I was positive that the agent had closed the door after we had inspected the room, yet as we now strode across the landing toward the stairs it quietly opened - of its own accord. There was no breeze, no draft, for we had opened no upstairs windows, yet the door had simply opened by itself.
Both of us stopped in our tracks as we saw it, the agent visibly shaken. He glanced furtively over at me to see if I had noticed it, and saw that I had.
"Must be a draft!" he muttered.
But as we once more passed by the door to the room that Holmes and I had shared on our many weekend visits and which the agent had also shut after we had inspected it, it, too, opened of its own accord as though welcoming us.
Again we paused as we beheld the sight of this second door behaving as oddly as the first.
"Tell me the truth," I demanded. "What happened to the other tenants?"
The agent promptly grabbed me by the arm and proceeded to propel me down the stairs at great speed.
"Well, sir, to tell the truth there's something odd about it," he gasped as we once more stood in the living room. "All the previous tenants left..."
I stared at him. "Go on," I prompted. "Why did they leave?"
"Well, some of them said the place was... you know, haunted. Silly, isn't it?"
"Some of them?" I queried.
"Uh, most of ‘em," he muttered with considerable reluctance.
"What did they say?"
"Well, to be honest they said that the place was haunted and they'd never go back to it. The house has earned quite a reputation in the area and no one will go near it." Sorely distracted, the man ran his fingers through his thinning, grey hair. "To tell the truth, Doctor Watson, I am at my wit's end with it. I can't rent it out and I will be extremely lucky to sell it at any price."
"I see," I muttered. "Tell me about these so-called hauntings. What happened?"
"One tenant said he heard doors banging half the night and saw lights switching themselves on and off. Another said much the same and in addition insisted that clothing disappeared from one room and reappeared in another. They all said that that room in particular," he indicated the general direction of the master bedroom upstairs, "seemed to be the worst and none of the tenants were able to sleep in it."
"Indeed? Not such a bargain after all," I remarked with feigned disappointment.
"Look, I'll take five hundred quid off the price! What do you say?"
The man was grasping at straws and we both knew it.
"I say it sounds like a dubious proposition."
"Eight-hundred!" I shook my head. "Make it a thousand!" the agent begged.
"Oh, I'm not so sure," I remarked thoughtfully, pretending to have serious doubts.
"Make it fifteen hundred!"
Again I shook my head. "I'd like to be able to live in it. It's not going to be much good to me if it truly is haunted. I have heard tales about such places you know."
"I'll take two thousand off!"
The door to the dining room unaccountably banged shut, startling us both.
"I'll think about it," I muttered.
We both turned at the sound of repeated squeaking to see the door leading to the drawing room slowly swinging back and forth on its hinges. I found myself gazing at it in utter fascination, the agent in dismay and growing apprehension.
"Make it twenty-five hundred! The plumbing's sound," he added hopefully. "So's the wiring."
"Hm. Well, even at that, I'm not sure that I'm getting such a bargain. The place needs a lot of work and certainly seems to have its peculiarities."
I was still watching the door swinging gently back and forth, as was the agent.
"Three thousand quid. That's my limit. What do you say?"
"I'll consider it."
On the way back to his office we bargained some more and after getting him to drop the price by four thousand pounds as well as agreeing to repaint the premises, fix the roof and get a gardener in to start work on the grounds, I finally agreed to the purchase, at which point he promptly telephoned the owner's solicitor. So keen were they to dispose of the estate that they immediately agreed to the considerably reduced price and the agent had the necessary papers prepared within four hours. As per my instructions, the title deed was made out in Holmes's name, not mine.
As I handed over the cheque I felt like I had taken the first step of the rest of my life - and I knew that Holmes would be thrilled. To celebrate, I purchased stalls tickets for a concert that very night at the Albert Hall and booked a table for two at Simpsons.
That evening I dragged Holmes away from his chemicals, announcing that it was a splendid night and we were going to dinner and a concert. He could never resist the lure of good music, no matter the state of his foul-smelling experiments, so we set off to enjoy a lovely evening's entertainment together.
When we returned to 221B Holmes thanked me for a splendid evening, but I informed him that there was still more splendour to come.
"More splendour?" He glanced at me slyly. "Just what did you have in mind, my dear?" he inquired, his eyes raking me from head to toe, the subject of his thoughts more than obvious.
"Later, my sweet. Right now I want you to sit down and close your eyes."
"Watson, what is this? You are being most mysterious!" he protested, but none the less did as I requested, sitting on the settee and closing his eyes.
After ensuring that his eyes really were closed, I went to my desk where I had earlier concealed the envelope containing the deed of purchase and withdrew it from its hiding place. In a state of nervous excitement I sat on the settee beside him and placed the envelope in his hands, informing him that he could now open his eyes.
Genuinely puzzled, he peered from the envelope to me and back to the envelope again. "But what is this?"
"Open it, my love," I whispered nervously.
As I watched keenly I saw his eyes grow huge as he read the address on the title deed and saw his own name on it. He gazed from the paper in his hands to me and back again.
"John, my sweet, what have you done?" His voice betrayed his sheer disbelief.
"It is yours, my dearest," I murmured.
"You... you purchased it for me?" he inquired, the brightness of his eyes, the rose tinge on his cheeks and the catch in his voice displaying his growing excitement. "You bought Willow Grove?" I nodded. "For me?"
"I knew that you loved it, as I did. I saw it for sale and I... decided to purchase it."
"John!" he cried, jumping up and pulling me to my feet with great enthusiasm. "Oh, John, I never dreamed that we would ever be able to return there, let alone live there! Dearest heart, you are the soul of generosity and romance!" he proclaimed, whirling me around exuberantly and covering my face in grateful kisses. "You have been there? You have seen it?" I nodded. "Oh, do tell me all about it!" he begged.
We sat down once more and I told him of my visit there that very morning with the house agent and about the general neglected condition of the place.
"But the lake and the trees are still there?"
I smiled. "Of course."
"And our very special tree?" he inquired anxiously.
"Is there, waiting for us."
"Oh, John!" He leaned over and as our lips met once more I contemplated the romantic heart of my chosen love. "My heart, my dearest, how can I ever thank you!"
I laughed. "You can pay for the repairs!"
"I shall indeed!" he declared. "And the housekeeper. Do you suppose that Mrs. Galston would come back there to work for us?"
"We shall see."
For a moment he appeared pensive. "It won't be the same without Mycroft and Harold."
"Oh, I'm not so sure about that!"
As he gazed at me curiously I told him all about the strange happenings that I had observed there and the tales that the house agent had told of the previous tenants and how they had literally been driven out of the place in fright.
"Well, well, well, a haunted house! We shall have to investigate this, my dear!"
"All I know is that I saw things there today that I can't explain. The poor agent was so jittery I was sure he was about to jump out of his skin!"
"Hah! And you believe it to be my dear departed brother and Harold?"
I shook my head. "All I know is that I saw what I saw - and I didn't imagine that touch on my shoulder in the master bedroom either!"
"Wonderful! A mystery to solve! We shall get to the bottom of this, my dear!" He hugged me again. "Oh, my sweet, I can't thank you enough!"
We toasted the late Mycroft and Harold and Willow Grove, before Holmes raised his glass and gazed into my eyes.
"To you, my dearest John, for giving us a place to truly call home."
Our lovemaking that night was a celebration of our lives together and of all we held dear to our hearts.
Four nights later we lay in bed, tired and melancholy. As much as we anticipated moving to Kent, departing our dear old 221B was one of the saddest days of our lives. We had spent so many happy years there and set off on so many adventures from these homely rooms that leaving them was painful indeed. However, the time had come for us to make a change and we both knew it and had indeed been putting it off for far too long.
How well I remember our last night in 221B. Our belongings had finally all been packed and we lay in my comfortable bed where we had spent countless nights together in years gone by, only now we clung to each other for solace. Even though it was a warm spring night we felt chilled as we lay there together in our favourite position; I on my back and Holmes with his head on my shoulder, face buried in my neck and long limbs draped around me. It was the way we had slept on that first special night that we had spent together in this same room so many years ago now.
"Holmes?" I whispered.
"I know, my love, I know," he whispered. As always he answered my unspoken thoughts.
"Oh, Holmes!" I hugged him, running my hands over his back in comforting circles, as much for my own benefit as his.
"Dearest John," he murmured. "So many memories in this one small room."
"I know, my dear, I know, but we will take them with us and we will make new ones."
"Hm, we will indeed! Are all of our private journals packed?"
"All 56 of them - and they are only the highlights!"
"Hah! My lustful and lecherous doctor! I had not realised that we had accumulated quite that many!"
I chuckled and kissed the top of his head. "I remember you called me that on our first night together in this room."
"I remember, my darling, I remember." He kissed the skin of my throat and I rocked him a little in my arms. As he lifted his face for a sweet kiss I could see that there were tears in his eyes.
Oh, God, now my own vision was blurred too! I reached down and pulled the old grey shawl up around us and hugged him, kissing his gentle lips and whispering my adoration.
"Darling John," he murmured and kissed me again before once more resting his head on my shoulder and nuzzling my neck as he so loved to do.
In this humble room in the heart of London we had first become lovers, and on that night I had loved him dearly. In this same room we had spent our wedding night, and on that night I had thought that I could not possibly ever love him more than I did then - and yet I did.
As close as we had been then, the ensuing years had only brought us closer. Long gone were the times when Holmes would disappear for days on end without telling me where he was going or what he was working on and I would have to spend lonely days and nights without him wondering where he was, but, oh, the reunions that took place in this very room when he would beg my forgiveness and spend all night ‘apologising' to me. Of course, I would forgive him his tardiness and secrecy for it was part of his nature and I could never stay mad at him for long. Besides, his ‘apologies' were so irresistibly sweet that it was impossible not to forgive him.
But came the day that he was injured while off on his own on a case and it was only good fortune that he had been found by a passing policeman lying unconscious in a filthy alley in Rotherhithe. By that same stroke of good fortune the policeman who found him was the very same Constable McPherson who had recognised the picture Holmes had shown him in Godolphin Street during that business of the Second Stain so that, even as dirty and dishevelled as Holmes had been, the policeman had recognised him, had had him taken to hospital and called me.
It was fortunate indeed that Holmes had only suffered a mild concussion and various contusions. He was able to come home with me that same night and the ‘discussion' we had the following day with regard to his going off on his own without bothering to notify me, his wedded partner, of his destination was a memorable one. As stubborn and intractable as Holmes could be, I was insistent that from that time onward if he simply had to go off on his own, he was not only to inform me where he was going but what he was working on and when he intended to return, not to mention why he had to go on his own in the first place. In the end he had capitulated, though not without sulking in his own bed for two nights by which time he missed me so badly that he had humbly begged my forgiveness and promised that from then on he would always let me know his whereabouts. Ah, what an unforgettable reunion that had been!
That episode had marked another significant turning point in our lives. It seemed that each turning point had meant a change for the better, I reflected, cherishing the memories of our years together.
Now, as I gazed fondly down at Holmes's head resting gently on my shoulder I felt only incredible gratitude that our love had not only survived all these years but had simply grown stronger.
"Any regrets?" he enquired after a while.
Smiling, I shook my head. "No, except that perhaps we should have become lovers straight away."
Astonished, he leaned back to gaze up at me. "You mean when we first agreed to share rooms?"
"Yes. It would have saved a lot of time."
He giggled in his infectious way. "Quite right, my dear!"
"And a lot of cocaine?" I could not help but add.
We both chuckled.
"Hah! That also!"
He gazed at me thoughtfully. "What would you have done had I come to your room on our first night here?"
"I'm not sure. Back in those days I suppose I thought that I would eventually marry and settle down once my health recovered sufficiently."
"Hah! You did that anyway!" he chuckled.
"Yes, but back in ‘81 I never dreamt that I would one day marry my eccentric genius of a fellow lodger. Still," I mused, "I was very lonely, my health was exceedingly fragile and I had no one that I could call a friend. If you had come to my room and offered mutual pleasure in a gentle manner I think that perhaps I might have accepted your offer, even if only out of curiosity."
He shook his head. "In those days I was so obsessed with learning everything that I could about my chosen profession that it simply would never have occurred to me to seek a sexual liaison with anyone."
"I know. You saw it as weakness and despised weakness in anybody, especially yourself."
"I had much to learn back then and you, my heart, have taught me all that I know of love. Your acceptance freed me to be my true self, my dear, and I shudder to think what my life might have been like had I not met you."
"And I!" I hugged him. "Anyway, we needed to become friends first," I added, "and to learn to trust one another."
"True." At that moment he glanced over at me and I was sure I detected a familiar wicked gleam in his grey eyes. "Shall we make one last memory to take with us to Kent, my dear?"
As if I could ever say no to him! "My dearest Holmes, you are impossible!"
"Always!"
"But are you not too tired? We have done a lot of packing today."
"Too tired for love? Never!" he proclaimed in his usual brazen manner.
After all these years as lovers we knew each other so intimately that each gasp of pleasure, each sigh of delight was as a well-choreographed ballet, superb in its craftsmanship and exquisite in its execution. Each touch of sensitive fingers, each caress of loving hands on bare skin was unbearably sweet. Each kiss of soft lips and exploring tongues bespoke an affection so great that it was beyond mere words to express and could only be communicated through the heart-felt language of loving touches.
As I used my hands now to stroke over his ribs and belly while he smiled boyishly up at me and sighed his pleasure I thought how privileged I was to know him so very intimately, as no other did or most likely ever would. It mattered not to me that I lived always in his shadow for I knew the private man behind the detached - even arrogant - public persona; knew him and loved him to the depths of his magnificent soul. Our love was a living thing and we nurtured it carefully and what we had done a thousand times and more was still wonderfully, exhilaratingly splendid. I may have freed him to be himself, but he had also bestowed on me that same marvellous sense of freedom. To hold him prisoner in my arms whilst I worshipped him with hands and lips and he murmured yearning endearments gave me the greatest sense of freedom and delight that I had ever known.
As I stroked easily down his legs, my fingers travelling delightedly over his pale, hairless skin and firmly muscled flesh I knew that I could never grow tired of feeling their smooth and powerful length wrapped sensually, possessively around me, as they so-often were, and I kissed them and leisurely trailed my tongue over them, prolonging our pleasure. As I worked my way higher he lifted his hips that I might cup his buttocks and squeeze them repeatedly. He loved me to do this and would positively wriggle in delight whilst urging me on with fervid expressions of his ardour. When my fingers ‘accidentally' strayed over the tiny pink-brown rosebud he would freeze, then push down, literally sitting on two of my fingers so that they were pushed far inside him. Then he would sit up and embrace me heartily, as he did now, thrusting his long and lively tongue into my mouth whilst my fingers stroked inside him as deeply as I could reach, feeling the smooth walls of his rectum and gliding repeatedly over his prostate whilst he groaned, helpless in the throes of a passionate abandon that filled me with a sense of power, and yet humbled me with the total trust he bestowed on me.
With hands that trembled with desire he took up the bottle of oil we kept on the bedside table and coated my standing manhood. I turned around to sit back against the propped up pillows whereupon he enthusiastically straddled me, holding my eager member in just the right position and sinking down onto it with a great sigh of pleasure, his own impressive manhood proudly jutting out over my belly.
"My darling! My own dear love!" I groaned excitedly, sheathed to the hilt in him as he pressed down harder, gripping me rhythmically, joyously in his heat, whilst he ground his hips in circular movements, stimulating both of us to an extreme of elated bliss.
With my fingers I enveloped his lovely prick, circling the tip and spreading the lovely silken moisture there; bringing some to my mouth to taste before taking more on my finger and holding it to his lips so he could lick at it and greedily engulf the length of my finger, stroking it with his tongue as I stroked his full erection with my other hand. All the time he watched me avidly, his large, beautiful eyes darkened with passion as he witnessed my own rapture. Without even having to thrust, I came in infinitely sweet manner, pouring endlessly into him, filling him deeply, divinely, as he so adored whilst he pressed down hard, anal muscles squeezing every last drop from me and calling me his beloved and his darling.
He leaned forward to cover my face in kisses of gratitude before I grasped his still-full manhood and demanded that he fill my mouth. My member gently slid from his body as he lifted up and moved higher, pushing his hips forward so that I could grasp him and lick at the delicious tip before swallowing him deeply, my hands stroking over his ribs and belly, then around to the backs of his thighs and firm buttocks as he grasped the bed-head and thrust gently. When I inserted a finger into him to feel the slippery moisture there he moaned his approval and promptly filled my mouth with a creamy salt musk which I greedily devoured, holding him tight and sucking hard on him; taking the most intimate part of him into me in a sharing that was beauty itself in its simplicity, reflecting as it did the profound love in our hearts.
After cleansing ourselves we settled to sleep for the last time in my old room. I pulled the bed covers over us before taking a last look around the room. Almost everything had been packed now and the walls were bare. It already had an empty feeling and I turned out the lamp, not wanting to witness it like this.
"The end of an era," Holmes remarked softly, gentle hands stroking me as I lay with my head on his shoulder, listening to the noise of the traffic outside.
"I know, my sweet, I know, but it is also a new beginning for us. Besides, we can always drive up to London whenever we want."
"And we will!" he enthused.
"Certainly, my love! But I do love our new home. In a way I feel as though I am not leaving home, but going home."
"Oh, yes! And to think I was sure that we would never see Willow Grove again! We are so fortunate, my love!"
"Mm, yes, and it's such a lovely place and there's that wonderful little lake. I know we'll be happy there, haunted or not. Just think, you'll have a whole room you can set up as a lab."
"Yes, I must confess that I am looking forward to that."
"Oh, Holmes, I know we have made the right decision. I know we'll be happy there, my sweet, just as Harold and Mycroft were."
"Yes, we will, but..." I pulled back to look at him, concerned at the sudden note of melancholia in his voice "...it is sometimes difficult to admit that youth has passed us by."
After turning the lamp back on I reached up to stroke his face, gazing on his beloved features. Yes, there were more lines there now and a few grey hairs, but we also had a lot of years left in us.
"Sherlock, look at me. While it's true that neither of us is in the first flush of youth any more, by the same token we are wiser, happier and more knowledgeable men than we were then. We are not retiring and will still lead full and active lives. The only difference will be that, living in Kent, at least we shall not have would-be clients and Scotland Yarders ringing the doorbell at the most inconvenient times."
"Hah! True!"
"And we will have more time to do some of the things that we've always wanted, like travel," I continued. "You've always said you wanted to see more of the world; now, thanks to an occasional wealthy client we can do that if we wish. Don't you see, my dear, we will have time now to enjoy ourselves, to be free as air, to do whatever we wish!"
"Strange," he mused, "I could have sworn that we have ‘enjoyed' ourselves quite a bit over the years."
"Oh, don't be obtuse!" I retorted. "You know what I mean."
My dear Holmes took my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing my wedding ring. "Forgive me, dear heart, I do know what you mean. You are always my beacon in the darkness. I know I am being ridiculously maudlin and, God knows, it is a weakness I despise in other people; I loathe seeing it in myself. I know that you're right and I know we have made the right decision, and yet I... feel the loss... keenly..."
In the dim light filtering through the curtains his troubled gaze sought mine as I hugged him and pulled the shawl up around us. "Shh, my love," I soothed. "You are not losing anything. You are gaining - we are gaining - a lovely home away from the fogs and grime of London, not to mention our freedom, and we will lose nothing." I stroked his cheek. "Not to mention it will be good for our health to breathe clean country air."
"And lie under a willow sharing strawberries, wine and lofty pursuits?"
I chuckled. "‘Lofty pursuits'? Is that what we've been doing all these years?"
"My dear, we excel at ‘lofty pursuits'!" He kissed my cheek. "Dearest John, you are so wise! Oh, what would I do without you!" he exclaimed, proceeding to cover my face in heart-felt kisses. "I know it will be all right. I know it will. Perhaps I just need to be reminded. Just give me a kick in the rear when I get like this."
"Now that might be fun, and occasionally there are still times..." I let the threat trail off, before looking at him slyly, "but I can think of much more interesting things to do to your rear than kick it!"
He laughed delightedly. "True, my dear, true, and making love with you is endless fun, but you are quite right - we have everything to gain and nothing to lose. Time for new beginnings, what say you?"
"I say yes!" I heartily agreed.
"Very well then! Let us move to our lovely villa in Kent with light hearts and a spring in our step!" he proclaimed, giving me a long, soul-deep kiss that embodied all of his great affection for me as well as our hopes for the future.
"A new tomorrow!"
"Yes, my lawfully wedded partner! And with all the time in the world to devote to love!"
"And crime!" I could not help adding.
"Of course!" he avowed in his usual vain manner.
I cuddled him close. "Now that's my Holmes!"
* * *
And so we said farewell to our dear old 221B Baker Street and went to live in a haunted villa on the outskirts of Kent; the very same house where we had spent so many pleasant weekends with Mycroft and Harold in days gone by. Their old housekeeper, Mrs. Galston, was only too happy to return to keep house for us. A wonderful lady and a great cook, she looked after us as well as our dear Mrs. Hudson ever had. In return, we paid her handsomely and gave her all the days off that she ever needed.
*** * ***
