The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

  “Skye?” Caitlin finally ventured. “You and Holmes…you aren’t mad at us, are you?”

  The newlyweds kept looking at each other. After a moment, Holmes replied.

  “No. We are not angry.”

  * * *

  Skye saw the glimmer in the grey eyes and smiled.

  “No, Sherlock’s right. It’s hard to be angry when your friends just want to share in your happiness.”

  “Good! Let’s go eat!” Ryker declared enthusiastically. “Tea time was a long time ago for some of us!”

  * * *

  The wedding reception Sherlock and Skye didn’t know they were going to have was happy and enthusiastic, and went on for several hours. The wedding cake was a confectionery dream, the food delicious, and the champagne plentiful. When the bouquet was tossed, few were surprised when Tina Tyler caught it, and—upon Skye’s private recommendation—Holmes frankly and unabashedly aimed Skye’s garter directly at Billy’s chest, much to everyone’s amusement. Finally Mrs. Morris ventured, “Skye, dear, hadn’t you and your handsome groom better change and get going? Surely you’ll miss your flight, or hotel reservations, or…whatever…”

  “Yeah, best get going on that honeymoon,” Jones grinned boyishly.

  “What?” Holmes murmured to Skye.

  “Wedding trip,” Skye muttered an explanatory aside to Holmes.

  “I am aware of the definition of the term, Skye,” he chuckled. “I was simply surprised, given the level of intrigue regarding the wedding, that they are unaware of our plans in this respect, as well.”

  “Huh?” Jones said, confused.

  “We’re not going anywhere, guys,” Skye explained to their guests. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. We wanted to spend our first ever Christmas together at home.”

  “Oh,” Caitlin said, then, “OH!”

  “Oh,” Jones said as well, suddenly realizing, as a chorus of “Oh! Oh, yeah…” ran around the room.

  “Well, then I guess it’s time WE all got going, isn’t it?” General Morris declared. “The happy couple has had a really busy day and needs some quiet time, I suspect.”

  “What you said, General,” Ryker agreed cheerfully. “We lot have late flights back to Heathrow tonight, anyway, to get home by Christmas ourselves. Happy Christmas, everyone!”

  And abruptly, amid calls of congratulations and hearty Christmas wishes, the guests all departed. Holmes shook the minister’s hand, discreetly pressing several large bills into his palm, and thanking him for his assistance as he, too, made his departure.

  Then the detective found himself alone with his new wife.

  My wife. MY wife. What an…odd…sensation that evokes, he considered. And it is certainly not a thought I would ever have associated with myself. But hardly a disagreeable one.

  * * *

  He’s adorable, Skye decided, sneaking a stealthy glance at her groom. He’s puzzling over what he’s gotten himself into, but…he doesn’t look worried.

  They glanced around the kitchen, finding that even in the midst of departing, their guests had courteously and efficiently put away all the perishable food and tidied up for them. So the couple wandered into the den and stood side by side for several long moments, simply thinking over the evening. Both were intensely aware of the plain white-gold bands now adorning their left hands.

  “Do you regret it, Sherlock?” Skye asked after a few minutes, needing confirmation of her earlier observation.

  “Are you saying there is a reason why I should?” Holmes asked with his characteristic dry wit.

  “No. I just…” Skye glanced away, uncomfortable.

  “Hush,” he murmured, taking her hand and turning her to face him. “The time for regrets, had there been any, is long since past.”

  Skye smiled, then reached up on tiptoe, aiming for his lips with her own. But Holmes pulled back. “One moment, my dear.”

  Skye watched, puzzled and unsure whether or not to feel hurt, as Holmes moved to the large picture windows on the eastern wall of the room. To her amazement, he very deliberately began closing all the curtains. “Blow out the candles if you would, my dear,” he added over his shoulder as he worked.

  “O-kaaaay,” a curious Skye muttered, turning and complying, wandering around the room and extinguishing all the candles. “Do you want me to turn out the Christmas tree, too?”

  “Only if you are ready to go to bed,” he noted, returning to her side.

  “Not yet. I need to wind down first. Mind telling me what that was all about?”

  “It is very simple, my dear.” Grey eyes sparkled drolly. “Did you not observe that, while our guests all departed the house, we have yet to hear the sound of a single automobile engine starting? This, despite the fact that there are vehicles clustered around half the house, and I was easily able to hear several arrivals from the guest bedroom?”

  * * *

  Skye gazed up at him, and her blue eyes suddenly grew round.

  “You don’t suspect…?”

  “No, I do not have to suspect—I know,” Holmes said, grinning. “Especially when, while closing the curtains, I noted a small red light in the juniper bush halfway down the hill from the barn…a small red light exactly like the ones on the hand-held radios Ryker’s team uses. And, as I am certain you know, natural junipers in their native habitat do not generally come equipped with Christmas lights.”

  “Ah! Those sneaks!” Skye exclaimed, then burst out laughing. “They were going to try a high tech charivari, complete with surveillance!”

  “Yes, it would appear so.” Holmes chuckled. “But I believe we have now thwarted them.” His arms slid around Skye, tugging, and she leaned into him. “If we are quiet for several minutes, they will lose track of where we are within the house, let alone what we may or may not be doing, and will in all likelihood give up.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Skye murmured, smiling mischievously, azure eyes growing heavylidded. “I might have a hard time being quiet for that long. You know how chatty I can be sometimes.”

  “Then I shall simply have to keep you quiet, my dear,” Holmes informed her with a smile, before his lips came down on hers.

  * * *

  Outside in the juniper bush, Stevens crouched in the snow, watching the windows of the den. He could see the shades of the other wedding guests gathered in the driveway, and knew they were trying hard not to laugh.

  “Okay, here they come,” he murmured into his radio, snickering to himself with anticipation. “I’ll let you know when…”

  Several of the shadows in the drive raised large pots and spoons, poised to take advantage of their spy’s information regarding proper timing.

  “Yeah, there they are,” Stevens observed, intent on the two silhouettes in the windows. “They’re moving into the center of the den…now they’ve stopped, and they’re looking at the fireplace…okay, he’s grabbed her hand…she’s turning to look at him…get ready…”

  But to Stevens’ surprise, the pair broke apart. Stevens watched as Holmes moved to the windows, while behind him Skye blew out the candles. Holmes made a point of pausing, full in the center window, and staring directly at the juniper bush before firmly closing the curtains. Stevens stared up at the house in chagrin. Seconds later, all the window curtains were closed and there was no longer enough light in the room to tell where the couple was, or if they were even still in the room.

  “Damn,” he sighed into the radio. “The game’s up. They must’ve spotted me. I swear Holmes looked right at me. Curtains closed, lights out, folks. Show’s over.”

  Several soft groans of disappointment came from the vicinity of the driveway, and Stevens hauled his baffled posterior up the snow-covered hill to join his companions.

  Five minutes later, the outside of the house was deserted.

  * * *

  Skye giggled into her husband’s mouth.

  “There they go,” she muttered, listening to the disappointed groans and the sounds of various automobile engines start
ing outside the ranch house.

  “Indeed,” Holmes replied, not bothering to break the kiss. “Finally.”

  “You sound glad to get me to yourself.”

  “Why should you think that?”

  “Oh, I dunno,” Skye grinned against his lips. “Maybe because Caitlin brought us a wedding present you might like to investigate…”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Silk sheets.”

  “Ah.” A pause. “And are they already on the bed?”

  “They are.”

  “Intriguing.”

  “Not to mention,” Skye added, loving her detective’s single-mindedness as he continued to kiss her without interruption, “my new nightgown. Or rather, the new one I intend to wear tonight.”

  “What colour?”

  “Pink.”

  “Hm.”

  “Wanna see?”

  “I suppose,” Holmes decided laconically, finally breaking the kiss. “You are, after all, so insistent, I really have no choice.”

  Skye giggled again.

  * * *

  The silk sheets met with their approval, and Holmes observed that the pink of the satin and lace negligée duly contrasted with Skye’s eyes, making them appear an even more vivid blue than usual. But the nightgown didn’t stay around long. The lights went off moments after; and soon enough the hidden artistic nature had emerged in Skye’s groom. Sighs and soft moans punctuated the darkness as they kissed and caressed.

  “Mrs. Holmes?” a deep voice breathed into the blackness.

  “Yes, Mr. Holmes?” a soft, teasing voice answered.

  “Are you…quite ready…for your husband?”

  “Mm…” came the mischievous response. “Maybe my husband should ask if he’s ready for ME.”

  A low growl was her only reply, and seconds later a delighted gasp sounded. After a minute, Skye’s voice panted, “I guess…he is…”

  * * *

  Christmas Eve

  2:14am

  The deed is done. MRS. Holmes now lies sleeping beside me. She is curled on her side facing away from me, evidently in a subconscious retreat from the light, notwithstanding the fact I have the lamp set low. Yet, though she is turned from me, her back is pressed against my side, as if she cannot bear the loss of contact. The touch is warm and oddly comforting in a way I have never before experienced.

  She is a bonny thing, is my wife. I do not know what I expected, but when she appeared in her wedding gown! I never gave consideration to such trivial matters before, but I am beginning to suspect my favourite colour is pink.

  And the morrow is Christmas, our first ever together. I used always to see Watson upon Christmas at some point, even when he no longer dwelt in Baker Street; either he came to visit, or not infrequently after his marriage, he and Mrs. Watson invited me—and often Mrs. Hudson as well—to dine with them. This will be the first Christmas in many a long year that I have not seen him. But then, had my original plans come to fruition at Reichenbach, I should have been unable to do so in any event.

  And as Sister Caitlin privately remarked to me at our decidedly unanticipated wedding reception, it is not as if Watson—and Brother Mycroft—were not here tonight. Although, while I have no objection to the proverbial “cloud of witnesses” to the ceremony, I do hope they had the decency to observe a proper sense of decorum with regard to events following.

  * * *

  The next morning was Christmas Eve. Alarm clocks rang several times before the pair rose for the day. Holmes offered to make his way through the cold morning air to the barn to feed horses if Skye would have a hot breakfast waiting upon his return. The deal was struck, and the pair temporarily split up.

  Skye had a mammoth breakfast waiting for her new husband upon his return, having found a wedding gift from the two companies of MI5 agents: A refrigerator stocked with all the holiday feast components they could wish.

  The ingredients for a full English breakfast were there, most of it already prepared and only needing to be heated. So Skye fired up the stove to cook the sausages and eggs, while the rest—bubble and squeak, porridge, black pudding, and kedgeree—warmed in the microwave. By the time Holmes returned from the barn, everything was waiting on the table, along with orange juice, toast, Dundee marmalade, strawberry jam, and hot breakfast tea with cream. They sat down together and enjoyed the morning feast.

  The rest of the day was spent snuggled into the sofa before the fire. Skye did observe a number of new gifts under the tree, and she pointed out the fact to Holmes, who nodded.

  “Yes, I had noticed. I suspect they are wedding gifts from our erstwhile guests.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Open them now, or wait until tomorrow?”

  “Oh, I think…let us wait until tomorrow. Since they were placed under the tree, it is obviously expected that we should wait.”

  * * *

  They ate reception leftovers for lunch, content to spend the day relaxing and enjoying the Christmas music Skye put on the stereo. As the day went on, the couple turned on the television so Skye could show Holmes some of the classic holiday movies she remembered from childhood. At the mention, Holmes hesitated, then turned to his new spouse.

  “Skye, there is a small but important matter we should discuss. It should likely have been discussed some time ago, but I was reticent to bring up the subject.”

  Skye paused, hearing the seriousness in his tone.

  “What is it, Sherlock? Is something wrong? Or do you have a new case?”

  “Neither,” he offered her a reassuring smile. “It is simply a little matter of our future together. I was wondering…” suddenly he found the words difficult to form, “if you wanted…children.”

  “Oh,” Skye said, smiling happily as she leaned into him. Holmes twisted in the corner of the sofa and pulled her against his torso, allowing her to snuggle into his body. “Before I answer, I probably ought to ask you how YOU feel about it. We haven’t had occasion to be around very many children together so far, so I don’t even know if you like kids.”

  “In my day, offspring would have been a foregone conclusion.” Holmes shrugged. “It would only have been a matter of time between a duly intimate, healthy couple. But such matters are more controlled now, and I find I am uncertain how to approach the subject.”

  “I think you did fine,” Skye grinned. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

  Holmes raised an eyebrow in mock rebuke at her impertinence.

  “I had an entire cadre of children of nearly every age about me, boy and girl, when I lived in Baker Street. They were smart and quick-witted, in every sense of the term, and more often than not, I found them a delight. On any number of occasions I had all I could do to restrain my laughter at some impish prank until they were out of earshot, and if things were quiet for too long, they positively reveled in trying to pull the wool over my eyes. I suppose they found it a challenge. Had it not been for Mrs. Hudson feeling overwhelmed, I should likely have had the lot of them report to me on a regular basis, instead of denoting Wiggins as their lieutenant. As it was, I kept in close contact with them until…”

  * * *

  “Until you fled England to avoid Moriarty, and ended up here,” Skye finished for him. “Sherlock?”

  “Mm?” His eyes held a distant, affectionate smile, and Skye knew he was remembering the Irregulars; each time the grey eyes flickered, she suspected a different face crossed his mind’s eye. She waited until his eyes resumed a present light and focused on her before continuing.

  * * *

  “Sherlock, I know you’re…” she paused so long that Holmes could not mistake the fact that his bride was struggling for the right words. Finally she settled for, “Are you happy?”

  He said nothing, but allowed the twinkling grey eyes to crinkle at the corners. Skye drew a deep breath and nodded.

  “Good. I know I’m not…I mean, Watson and Mycroft…I…” She swallowed and turned her head, though not fast enough to
keep him from seeing tears sparkling in her azure eyes. But before he could respond, she blurted, “Are you happy enough here with me to halfway make up for all you lost?”

  Sharp grey eyes were allowed to soften. Holmes cupped her face in his hand and turned her to look at him, gazing into twin sapphires.

  “Skye, I will not insult you by telling you I do not miss them—the lot of them. But we both know I cannot return, even were the tesseract reconstructed. Nor,” he confessed, “would I do so, if you could not go with me. And so I am building a life for myself here, quite a comfortable one, I might add, and you are an essential part of it. I am far from unhappy, my dear.” He leaned forward and deposited an indulgent kiss on her forehead. “Consequently we come back to a factor in the building of that life: Do you desire children?”

  * * *

  Skye studied the calm face gazing down at her, reading the barest traces of the various emotions contained there: contentment, satisfaction, comfort, and yes, love and happiness. She took a deep breath and relaxed into her spouse’s body.

  “Yeah, I think maybe eventually. But not for awhile yet. I sorta enjoy being able to pick up and go with you. A baby would tie us down, and you’re trying to get the consulting detective business established, so we need to be free to do whatever’s needed.”

  “But we are no longer so young, Skye. I will be forty in a fortnight, and you turned thirty-nine last month.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not worried. The women in my family are generally able to have strong, healthy kids until fairly late in life. And my doctor monitors my hormones pretty closely, and he says I’m showing the same tendency. I figure we’ve got a good ten years to play with.”

  “Very well.” Holmes chuckled. “As that is your province, I shall take the matter as settled. Sometime in the next ten years—but not straight away.”

  “Practice is always nice, though,” she murmured suggestively, eyes twinkling devilishly.

  Holmes laughed aloud.

  * * *

  Much, much later, the couple lay quietly on the sofa, cuddled together beneath a woolen blanket. The den was completely dark save for the banked embers of the fire and the multicolored lights from the Christmas tree, which scintillated gaily.