The Case of the Displaced Detective

by Stephanie Osborn

  For certainly she would have had to stay behind, to operate the tesseract. I was right. Her own life is meaningless to her now. No, it will not do, he thought determinedly. This cannot be allowed to continue.

  So he added, “And the continuum’s deterioration has been stopped as well, and I have every confidence we will be able to permanently stabilise it tomorrow.”

  “I wish I was so confident,” she sighed miserably, burying her face in his shirt as she continued to cry quietly. “I’ve messed up everything I’ve ever done, I think. Sometimes I wish I was d…” She broke off. He felt her swallow hard again, and this time a shudder ran through her frame before she continued. “Sometimes I wish I’d never been born.”

  He pulled back, staring at her in shocked disbelief, seeing the agony of pain, misery, and uncertainty that was etched into her face. He had heard her completed statement, knew as well what statement she had aborted—he was too good a detective not to deduce so simple a thing, and knew her too well to think he had been mistaken. So horrified was he at the revelation of her thoughts, that he reacted in a way he had not done in several years—purely on instinct.

  “No, my dear, never,” he whispered, responding to her thought as much as to her statement. “Never let go. You swore to me you would not,” he reminded her—just before he covered her lips with his own.

  The kiss went on for nearly a minute, both reacting with equal intensity. When he finally broke it, it was only to tuck her head beneath his chin and cradle her for long moments. She nestled into his chest, seeming unsure what was happening, but welcoming the comfort and the caring, needing it badly. As she pressed close, Holmes breathed a single sentence into her ear, scarcely aware he said the words hammering in his mind.

  “I love you,” sighed past his lips.

  But as soon as he’d said them, he caught himself. Damnation, he thought, shocked at what he’d done, I had not meant to admit that to her as yet. I had intended to court her longer, convince her of my continued, and renewed, interest. This is far too soon. What if she does not believe it? What if she no longer wants it? I may have just ruined everything.

  Deeply worried, he raised his head and gazed down into the sapphire eyes. Tears no longer flowed from them, but he could discern no expression of emotion in them whatsoever, not even that of surprise.

  Certainly, I deserved this, he thought sadly, waiting for a reaction, any reaction, and getting nothing. She once declared her love, and I pushed her away. Now the situation has reversed, and she has her own back. Dear God, help me.

  “I…forgive me, Skye,” he whispered, miserable and defeated, turning away and starting to stand, even as something within his chest threatened to shatter irreparably.

  But small fingers caught at his hand—a meager yet powerful force, which prevented him from rising—just before lacing themselves with his own fingers. He glanced back at her, uncertain. She met his eyes with a slight, wistful smile.

  “Don’t go,” she murmured softly.

  He turned back toward her, hesitant and uncharacteristically unsure. “What do you want of me?”

  Chadwick lay back on the sofa, gave him a pleading look, and held out her arms to him.

  Holmes immediately went into them.

  * * *

  He cooked dinner that night: Steak, with salad, baked potatoes, and steamed asparagus drizzled with balsamic vinegar, served with a delightful Australian shiraz, and a trifle for dessert. Unbeknownst to Chadwick until mealtime, he also fished out the good china, silver, and crystal, serving everything on a linen cloth spread on the kitchen table. Her grandmother’s silver candlesticks finished off the presentation. The candles’ flames danced in the dim light as Holmes led Chadwick to the table.

  Their afternoon had made it plain that the candles were not the only fires in the room at that moment, and Chadwick allowed herself to be seated, then watched silently as her companion seated himself, not across, but alongside. Holmes acted the host, serving Chadwick solicitously as they ate their way through the delicious three-course meal.

  Afterward, he led her into the den, where a fire was laid in the fireplace, for the autumnal evening was growing chilly. He set a match to the kindling, and soon the logs blazed, warming the room and its occupants. Little Anna wandered out from whatever hidey-hole she had occupied, to curl on the hearth as Holmes poured two glasses of brandy, then joined Chadwick on the sofa.

  “Here you are, my dear,” he murmured, handing her one of the glasses. Then he held up his glass and gazed directly into sapphire eyes. “To my bonny, brave comrade in arms, The Woman who saved my life and quite possibly my sanity, not to mention the universe as a whole.”

  Holmes started to clink his glass to Chadwick’s, but she drew it back.

  “And to my handsome, brilliant detective,” she added, “who stuck by me and kept me going through the middle of my own personal nightmare, whose heart is far bigger than he knows.”

  His lips quirked slightly, pleased, and this time they did clink glasses and sip from them. Holmes kicked off his shoes and tucked his feet under himself, and they both settled into the couch, content to enjoy the fire and each other’s company as twilight fell outside the windows.

  * * *

  Several of the erstwhile ranch hands were in the back yard, working on repairing the gate into the pasture; Silver Blaze, in his enthusiasm to greet his adored detective, had leaned on it too hard two days prior, and damaged one of the hinges. Huggins happened to glance up at the main house, and his eyes grew wide.

  “Wang!” he hissed. “Quick! Look!” He nodded at the picture windows overlooking the deck and the ranch, and the others glanced in the direction he indicated.

  Inside the house, silhouetted against the flickering orange light from the fire, could be seen two heads protruding above the sofa, one tall, one less so. The long, wiry arm of the taller person crept along the back of the sofa, past the other head, then disappeared downward. Shortly thereafter the heads drew closer together. The shorter one tilted, coming to rest partly hidden by the couch.

  “Ooo,” Hargreave grinned, “she’s got her head on his shoulder.”

  “Bloody marvelous,” Wang breathed, delighted. “Now c’mon, old chap…take the next step…”

  As they watched, the other head turned until it was visible in profile, though still silhouetted. The first head fully reappeared and tilted up to meet the second, which bent and merged with the first.

  “Woot!” Wang exclaimed softly. “Goal!”

  “Oh my,” Huggins murmured, watching. “They’re disappearing behind the sofa…”

  “Maybe we oughta leave now, boys,” Hargreave muttered, face turning red. “This gate can wait ‘til morning, don’t ‘cha think?”

  “I do think,” Wang agreed immediately, averting his face. “Quiet and double time back to the barracks, lads. Quick march.”

  Within seconds, the back yard was empty.

  * * *

  The pair resumed their nuzzling and kissing from the afternoon, content to remain so as the evening wore on. Bedtime approached, and Holmes finally rose to stoke the fire against the night’s chill.

  “Come, Skye,” he said softly, holding out a hand. “Tomorrow will be a busy day, and it is time you were in bed.”

  Chadwick stood and took his hand, walking with him down the hall into the northern wing of the house. There, she turned toward her bedroom door, pushing it open and walking through, all the while refusing to let go of his hand. Holmes’ eyebrow rose, but he allowed himself to be led into her bedroom. She turned to him and smiled, still gripping his fingers securely.

  “Did you like the blue nightgown?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes,” he whispered, meeting the sapphire eyes and reading her intent there. Chadwick nodded, her smile growing deeper.

  “Okay,” she said, finally releasing his hand and turning toward the dresser. “I’ll get it out while you turn down the bed.”

  He simply stood there, looking at her,
for several moments. Finally he observed, “My own accoutrements are across the hall…”

  “Okay,” she shrugged, coming up with the satin gown. She closed the drawer and shook out the fabric, smiling to herself.

  “Perhaps I should go and…” Holmes gestured somewhat vaguely at the door.

  Chadwick stopped, staring down at the silk and lace in her hands, as the smile on her lips faded. Abruptly her shoulders slumped.

  * * *

  “Oh. Okay,” she murmured, her tone expressing her defeat. “I understand now. It’s all right. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” She glanced up long enough to shoot him a wobbly smile that tried to be reassuring and failed, then stared unseeingly down at the top of the dresser. “I know you’re trying to take care of me, get me through this, but you didn’t have to go that far with it. I kept going the first time; I’ll manage this time, too. And after tomorrow, if…if you want to go to London, or Washington, or wherever you wanna go, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  Holmes made no reply, and after several seconds Chadwick heard the bedroom door close softly. The silk nightgown slithered through her hands, unheeded, to the floor. She bit her lip hard to hold back the tears, and clutched the top of the dresser with fingers whose knuckles whitened under the force of the grip. She tried to laugh, a bitter sound, but it broke at the end, becoming a gasping sob instead. She drew back a fist to punch it blindly through the mirror, but it was caught firmly, as an arm wrapped around her from behind and pulled her back into a strong chest.

  “Don’t do that,” a quiet, English accented voice murmured into her ear. “It will send blood and glass everywhere. I should not like to have to dig glass slivers from your lacerated hand, or worse, rush you to hospital for stitches and a unit of blood.”

  “You don’t have to keep up this little charade,” Chadwick gasped and choked out, trying to be sharp, and failing. “I already told you, I’ll be fine.”

  “I have been playing no charade. And this is only secondarily about ‘getting you through.’ I am here, Chadwick,” he paused, corrected several years of habit, “I am here, Skye, and you will have to tell me to leave…if that is what you wish.”

  “Bu-but you,” she stammered, struggling to hold back the tears, “you said you wanted…your things were across the hall…”

  “Merely because it occurred to me that a fresh mouth and a close shave might be appreciated, given your apparent intent,” came the mildly amused response. “My foresight was rather lacking in that regard, else I might have had grooming matters more readily in hand.” He turned her to face him, tilting her head back to look into her eyes. “Besides, it is your decision, Skye. I meant what I said this afternoon, but I fully realise that, after all this time, you may no longer want it.”

  Chadwick searched his face intently, startled to see his expression was completely open and unreserved, nothing hidden from her scrutiny…including his uncertainty. She drew a deep, shuddering breath, then let it out slowly.

  “Sherlock, do you remember—it’s been years—not so long after you moved in here, we had a conversation about modern morals and relationships?”

  “Ah, yes,” Holmes teased, “the ‘birds and the bees’ lecture.”

  Chadwick shot him a glance that somehow managed to simultaneously convey mischief and reproof, then chuckled in a slightly wobbly fashion.

  “Yeah, that one. So I take it, you do remember it?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you remember asking me about my own stance on relationships?”

  “Yes,” he breathed. “You said you only intended to have one man, and marriage was to involve the husband, the wife, and their Creator.”

  “And a piece of paper, or the presence of clergy, didn’t necessarily make a marriage.”

  “Yes, I remember,” he said, grey eyes gazing steadfastly into blue.

  “So maybe you’ll understand when I tell you…you’re that one man, and as far as I’ve been concerned, I’ve been tied to you from…” Chadwick paused, eyes going distant as she thought back, then shook her head. “I dunno, Sherlock. Maybe from the moment you set foot in this continuum. Or maybe from the instant I set foot in yours.”

  Holmes’ breath caught, and he stared into her earnest face.

  “You have loved me from the first?”

  “I think…I did,” she admitted hesitantly. “I just didn’t know it initially. I know you didn’t…might not feel…the same. But I…ever since…that night, you’ve been the man I think of as…as…my…”

  Unable to continue, she dropped her head, and he pulled her into his chest, understanding that she couldn’t meet his gaze in that moment of intimate confession. They were silent for a long moment.

  “So,” he suggested finally, allowing the faintest hint of whimsy to creep into his voice in an effort to lighten her intense mood, “this is less a ‘starting over,’ and more a reconciliation between spouses, would you say?”

  “Maybe a little of both.” Chadwick gave a watery laugh. “If…if it’s what you want, too.”

  “Very well, then. But I do have one question.”

  “What?”

  “Might I go across the hall and get my toothbrush and razor first?”

  A peal of laughter burst from Chadwick’s throat. Holmes pulled back, grinning, and gazed down into glowing sapphires. THERE, he thought in immense satisfaction. There is my dear Skye, back once more. She has been gone for far too long.

  “Go,” she ordered, still laughing. “But hurry up with it!”

  “Heavens above,” Holmes retorted, turning for the door. “Is that what I sounded like to poor Watson, in another place and time? Surely I was not so autocratic in my dealings!”

  “GIT!” Chadwick exclaimed, lunging and swatting at his posterior, and only missing when Holmes executed a last-instant deft hip twist. “You’ve got five minutes!”

  “I go, and stand not upon the order of my going!” Holmes shot back, headed through the door.

  * * *

  Some time later, the pair curled in bed together. The room was dark, save for the odd slice of moonlight filtering between the curtains at the windows. Chadwick had donned her blue satin nightgown, and Holmes wore the pyjama pants to which he had grown accustomed since coming to this continuum. He turned over in bed to face her, his concern expressing itself in the shadowed aquiline face.

  “Skye, I know what you want tonight. But tomorrow is a momentous day, my dear, and rest, not intimacy, must be the priority. No, no,” he soothed, seeing her face fall, “I swear to you, Skye, this is no charade. I do intend to hold you close tonight, and I have little doubt but that this will shortly prove to you my sincerity in the matter.”

  And he gathered his companion into his arms, cradling her against his body. Chadwick sighed in mingled capitulation and pleasure before snuggling into his side.

  “You’re warm,” she murmured, taking comfort.

  “Mm. As are you.”

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Chadwick said reproachfully, “Aw, Sherlock.”

  “What?”

  “You really were serious.”

  “Yes.” He sighed into the darkness.

  “That’s gotta be torture. Are you gonna be able to relax and get any sleep?”

  “That is not important.” The arms around her shrugged. “Tomorrow, the spotlight belongs to you. I will assist, of course, but it is unlikely I shall be doing much more than what is required of a…I believe the term is, ‘glorified go-fer.’ You are the one for whom sleep is essential.”

  “Oh, no, no. That won’t wash. You’re much more than that in the Chamber, and you know it. You’re my other set of eyes and ears, my extra brain, the one who double checks my calculations and settings and does it as fast as I can.”

  “No matter. You know I am quite capable of high function, even without sleep.”

  “No, Sherlock, that won’t do.”

  * * *

  Suddenly she ducked
under the covers.

  “Skye, what— Oh.” Holmes’ grey eyes dilated as the room about him appeared to brighten, then they fluttered closed, and he settled into the mattress with a soft groan.

  “Do you…like it?” Chadwick’s uncertain voice was muffled under the blankets.

  “Yes…”

  “Good.”

  Holmes lay quietly, his respiration quickening until it came in sharp pants. He opened his eyes for a moment, staring dreamily into darkness, ecstasy filling him.

  “Skye,” he breathed, yearning. Once more, eyelids fluttered closed over silver orbs.

  “Shh…” came her soothing response from beneath the covers. “Relax and enjoy.”

  * * *

  He gasped, then suddenly cried out her name. His body stiffened, then arched, and only gradually subsided to the mattress. Unhurriedly, Chadwick’s head emerged from beneath the blankets, and she gazed at his face. His eyes were still closed, but his lips curved in an almost otherworldly smile. She brushed a kiss against the corner of his mouth, breathing in his ear.

  “I love you, Sherlock. I always have, and I always will. No matter what.”

  He never opened his eyes, but long arms wrapped around her, gathering her close.

  “I believe I can sleep now, my dear spouse. Can you?”

  “As long as you’re here, yeah, I think so.”

  “And I am not going anywhere,” he informed her, opening shining silver eyes to her sight. “So lie back and take your rest, my dearest. I give you my most solemn word, I will be here when you awaken.”

  Chadwick drew a long breath. She tucked her face into Holmes’ shoulder, and felt his cheek come to rest against her hair. She sighed contentedly, and heard its echo above her head.

  Within a quarter of an hour, they were both asleep.

  * * *

  The next morning they took their time arising, as much because Chadwick dreaded the day as because alarm clocks were, finally, properly and duly rung. Though this latter did not occur without intense consideration.

  “Really, I should much prefer you did not risk exhausting yourself before today’s important procedure, Skye.”