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One fall morning Dr. Watson was reading a book while lying in bed when suddenly he heard a terrible noise from the next room. To his surprise, it was not the sound of a violin. Quickly rising, the doctor knocked on the next door. When he didn't wait for an answer he opened it and saw Mr. Holmes quickly putting his things into his suitcase.
- What are you doing?
- Have your logical faculties gone downhill again? - Holmes continued to stuff the things ungraciously.
Watson rolled his eyes. Meanwhile Holmes continued
- I have to go away for a couple of days to see Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.
- How soon will you leave?
- In a couple of minutes.
Holmes grabbed his old suitcase and the jar with the spider and ran down the stairs. Watson went to the window and watched as Holmes jumped into the cab which immediately sped away down the street.
…
Two days later Watson received a letter. He opened it and began to read it.
Dr. Watson.
Due to my being away from Baker Street and to the extent of my stupidity, I forgot important papers in my room. They are in the closet on the third shelf, on top of the books, tied with brown ribbon. I ask you to bring them with you.
With deep respect.
S. Holmes
As it was getting late Watson went straight up to Holmes room. Having started looking through all books on the third shelf he couldn't find necessary papers there. The doctor decided to take out all the books from the shelf to thoroughly check everything. A couple of sheets had fallen out of one book. The doctor leaned under the cabinet for them and noticed a stack of letters, not bound with any tape. Watson took them out and was about to put them away when he noticed the recipient's address on them, Baker Street, while there was no sender's address. Sitting down on the bed, he opened the first dated letter. What can I say, he likes to stick his nose into other people's business.
"Good night, I have to go to bed. You know, I've been thinking about you all day. If I could see you in my dreams... It happened to me a few days ago. I thought I was going back to London to Baker Street. I came into the front room, and I saw you, and I held out my hand, and you started laughing. For some reason it hurt. Maybe because in real life your laughter is as rare as a sunny day in London. I wish I could hear it again, just for a moment. I don't know why I'm telling you this dream. Good night is what I want to tell you."
With each letter he read, the doctor became more and more confused.
Was Holmes really writing love letters? And to whom? He would have to ask Martha tomorrow if any pretty girl lived there.
He would have liked to think about it, but it was already dark outside the window, and the prospect of falling asleep in the carriage did not bode well. Besides, if he did not lie down now he might miss his train. With these thoughts he went to bed.
In the morning he asked Martha to help him find the letters. She found them in fifteen minutes.
When Watson was about to get into his cab, Martha ran up with Baskerville in her hands.
- John, take Baskerville with you, he needs some fresh air!
- But where will he be..." he began, but immediately the dog was shoved into his hands.
- It's all right, let him go in the garden. The poor dog stays indoors all day!
Eventually Watson climbed into the carriage with Baskerville in one hand and a suitcase in the other and set off.
While the doctor was on his way he managed to read two more letters. He hoped that he could find out from Holmes whom they were addressed to.
…
The train stopped at a small station, and the doctor and Baskerville got off. Behind a low white fence a carriage, drawn by a pair of stallions, was waiting for them. Above the green squares of fields and the crooked line of low woods rose a sad, gray hill, topped with a strange crenellated top, which gave the impression of some gloomy, fantastic landscape, visible in the distance, as if in a dream.
Towards evening we rode into an alley, where the noise of the wheels was again muffled by a layer of fallen leaves, and the old trees converged to form a vault over our heads. Baskerville was beginning to tremble as we drove along a long, dark alley, at the end of which a house loomed vaguely like a ghost.
The alley ended in a vast turf-covered square, and we saw the house. A dim light was shining through the frequently-covered windows, and a single stream of smoke was rising from the chimneys on the steep roof spire.
Stepping out of the wagon, he immediately stepped into a puddle of mud. And so, with Baskerville in one hand and a suitcase in the other, he walked toward the manor. The dog broke free of his hand and ran through the mud to the door. When he reached the door, the doctor knocked, but no one answered in 10 or 30 seconds.
Watson pushed the door, which surprisingly opened.
Before he had even taken a couple of steps, Watson saw Baskerville burst into the corridor and rushed away, leaving muddy footprints on the carpet.
- Baskerville... Baskerville! Come here!
But the dog didn't seem to hear him anymore. Watson took a handkerchief from his pocket and quickly began to wipe away the marks left by the muddy paws.
- Dr. Watson?
The doctor rose quickly and looked at the man standing in front of him. It seemed to be the butler.
- Good evening - he grabbed the suitcase
- Please follow me - the butler turned and walked down the corridor. The doctor hurried after him.
We found ourselves in a beautiful room, spacious, high, with a heavy ceiling of old black oak. Logs crackled in the big old fireplace.
Watson was led up the stairs to the bedrooms. After changing into his nightgown, the doctor sat on the bed and looked around. The room had light wallpaper and numerous candles, all of which dispelled the first gloomy impression. It was about one o'clock in the morning, but sleep still did not come, so he decided to read another letter.
"Did I say that all men can be divided into species? If I did - let me be clear - not all. You slip away, I can't place you in any species, I can't dissect you. I can boast that out of 10 people I can predict the behavior of 9. But ten is a mystery to me. You are the tenth."
Unlike the other letters, this one was quite short and he decided to read another one.
"Barely awake, my thoughts fly to you.I desperately try to recreate your image in my mind. Your golden hair and your dark tar eyes and your soft, soothing voice. I wish I had a picture of you.
Who could that be? The doctor thought to himself as he fell asleep.
...
In the middle of the night, the doctor awoke to a strange howling sound. Watson got up and went to the window, he could not understand whether the sound was coming from the house or from the street. The doctor decided to open the window slightly, but a strong gust of wind swung it wide open, and letters flew off the bedside table. Watson quickly shut the window, and shivering from the cold began to collect the letters. Quickly finished, he put them in the table and jumped back into bed.
...
In the morning there was a knock at his door. The sleepy doctor quickly threw on his robe and came to the door. Having opened it he saw Holmes.
- Did you bring them? ? - he leaned forward slightly.
- Yes, yes, come in - the doctor came quickly to his suitcase and took the papers, and Holmes snatched them out of his hands at once.
Holmes quickly thumbed through the papers.
- Thank you. Would you like to have breakfast with me?
- Your parents...
- They have breakfast at nine o'clock, then father goes to the study and mother to the garden.
The doctor looked at his watch; it was 11 o'clock in the morning.
- Give me a few minutes.
Quickly dressed, Watson went down to the dining room.
- What are you standing there for? Come and sit down - Holmes pointed to the chair, as if he thought the doctor would not understand.
For breakfast there were: egg pancakes, pumpkin porridge and Yorkshire pudding.
Holmes ate heavily hunched over his plate, pumpkin porridge smeared all over his chin. Watson saw it and took his napkin.
- Mr. Holmes...
- М?
- Please, turn round - as soon as Holmes carried out his request Watson began to wipe the porridge. Holmes looked down as if ashamed. The doctor tried to find the moment for speaking of the letters; in the result he decided that the canteen was not the best place for it.
-If you don't mind, I'll go for a walk with Baskerville.
-Just don't go off the trail. I'll join you later.
...
The doctor left the house and headed down the road. Yellow leaves covered the paths and showered Watson. A fresh wind fluttered the flaps of his coat. The doctor breathed in the fresh, uncontaminated air. It blew on his face. The doctor could stand like that for a long time, enjoying the pleasant currents of wind.
While Baskerville ate grass, Watson crouched on the low stone fence that once surrounded the house.
- Resting?!
The doctor turned around. Holmes stood a few yards away from him with the picnic basket.
- I've got the food for us," said Holmes coming up to him.
- Oh, thank you.
As soon as they had spread out the bedding, Baskerville immediately ran up and lay down at Holmes's feet. Watson began to take food out of the basket; there were sandwiches, blamange, ginger beer, and a fillet of beef.
Having put the meat into a plate the doctor started to eat but after a while he noticed that Holmes didn't touch his food.
- Why aren't you eating?
- I'm not hungry.
- Well... eat a little, for you have hardly eaten anything this morning.
The doctor put some meat and some bread into the plate and gave it to Holmes. Holmes took the plate but as soon as he had grabbed his fork he twitched his arm.
- Heck!
- What's the matter with you?
Holmes took off his glove with his left hand; under it was a palm scarcely bandaged.
- I burnt myself yesterday.
Watson sighed; Holmes was always some trouble. The detective, meanwhile, took the fork with his left hand and tried to get it into his mouth, but in the end he only pricked his lip.
- Let me do it. Before you poke your eye out.
It was a strange sight from the outside, but no one minded. The doctor stabbed a piece of meat upon the fork and gently brought it to Holmes's mouth. Sometimes Watson opened his mouth as if he was feeding a child; in such moments Holmes began to laugh.
- You know, Doctor, I want to show you something. Come along," said Holmes getting up from the blanket, "We can leave it here.
- Won't they steal it?
- Who would want it?
Holmes led him into the woods. Upon entering the thicket they had been rambling about for about 10 minutes. Holmes kept touching the trees and only after looking attentively the doctor saw the marks upon them which had been made by something sharp. Soon they came to a small meadow. Holmes stopped in the center of it.
- What is this place? - The doctor asked looking around.
Having looked up he understood why was so little light; the ends of trees almost completely blocked the sky and only few sun rays came to the meadow.
- This is my place of solace. I used to come here when I needed to think...when I felt bad and just wanted to...hide from everyone.
Watson listened to this and realized that in those moments when his friend hid under his clothes, he must have been trying to recreate the darkness of this place.
It was getting toward five o'clock, which meant that the five o'clock tea time was approaching. There were various desserts on the table: Victoria biscuit, meringues, chocolate mousse, Gertrude cake, cherry tart.
Doctor and Holmes were already in the dining-room when Mr. and Mrs. Holmes entered it. She was a tall woman with elongated face and blond hair; the man was not tall and had dark hair and dark eyes.
- Mrs. Holmes, Mr. Holmes, I would like you to meet my friend, Dr. John Watson.
- I am glad to meet you," said the doctor kissing Mrs. Holmes hand.
- We are glad to meet you too, answered Mr. Holmes , shaking doctor's hand.
When they sat down at the small table the repast began.
- You know, at first I thought that you got acquainted with Sherlock, like in the story, but then I understood that it was not so.
- Why not?
- After one incident, Sherlock's not allowed in the asylums.
- Mrs. Holmes! - the detective exclaimed in a disgruntled voice.
- Well, Mr. Holmes offered me a lodging when he found I had nowhere else to go.
- I'm glad he has a friend. You know, he was always hard to approach.
Sherlock, who was eating a biscuit with Mr. Holmes, made a disapproving sound.
- There's nothing wrong with that! - said Mrs. Holmes.
- Dear, let the man eat already. - said Mr. Holmes.
Unfortunately, it did not save the Doctor and they spent the rest of the tea party making small talk.
Watson completely forgot about the letters.
...
Mr. Holmes didn't come down for the supper and the doctor decided to bring him the food himself. He took a tray and went up stairs and knocked at the cumbersome door.
- Come in.
Holmes was sitting at the table holding a spider in his hands. Watson tensed slightly.
- I have your supper for you," he set the tray on the table.
- Thank you.
- ...You know, I wanted to ask you about the letters.
- Yes, thank you for bringing them.
- I mean the others.
Holmes looked at him with a puzzled look.
- What others?
- I came across them when I was looking for the necessary papers, - he took the pile of letters out of his pocket. Holmes's eyes opened wide and he snatched them out of the doctor's hands.
- Haven't anyone ever told you, that it's not decent to read other people's letters? - shouted Holmes.
- Don't you dare shout at me!
- Don't overstep your boundaries, -Holmes pointed at doctor.
- Well... well, excuse me - doctor shook his hands
Holmes looked through the letters quickly
- Where are the others? - Holmes breathing became louder - where are the others?
- I don't know... that's all I've brought.
Holmes stared at the letters
- Go away... go away! - Holmes cried out. He sat down on the bed and continued staring at the letters in the dim light.
As soon as the door to the room closed Watson leaned his forehead against it. Holmes worried him, what was that person he loved so much. During several years of his life he had never noticed Holmes interest in anyone but Miss Adler.
…
Waking up again in the middle of the night, the doctor went to the window, the bright moon shining through the window, clearly outlining his silhouette under his nightgown. The moonlight streamed across the floor just below the table, and as he followed it the doctor noticed something strange at the end. As he got closer he realized it was the missing letters, they seemed to have flown away when the window flew open. He decided to read them, hoping that they would reveal the reason for the detective's behavior.
"My dear friend, I am writing to confess to myself and to you. To confess how dear you are to me. How precious every touch you give me as you try to make sure I'm all right. Even more precious are the moments when you smile, and especially when I manage to make you smile. There's nothing better than sitting next to you sipping bourbon or whiskey.
I could go on and on about all the little things. But I want to tell you those three cherished words. "I love you." Unfortunately, I dare not even hope for a response from you, for you will not just stop talking to me, but you will be out of my life forever. And if we do cross paths, your gaze will be cold and distant. What a pity I will never be able to tell you all this."
....The doctor fell into a slight stupor. Why can't Holmes tell the lady how he feels? Could it be that she was married? There were two last letters with later dates. But his eyes were sleepy and he put them off till tomorrow.
…
The next morning when the doctor was about to walk Baskerville, Mycroft Holmes approached him.
-Good morning, Mr Holmes.
-Good morning. Mind if I walk with you?
-No, of course not.
The doctor looked at Mr. Holmes while they were walking. Though the brothers looked like one man (or had looked some time ago) there were so much inner and outer differences between them, as if they were two different versions of one man. Mycroft had a fancy mustache, a beard, and a bit more wrinkles. If when you looked at Sherlock Holmes you saw a strange young man, when you looked at Mycroft Holmes you saw a stately and clever man.
Walking by the forest Holmes began a conversation:
- I would like to talk to you as a doctor, so I beg you not to tell. It does not bode well for him or for me.
- Don't worry, I shall treat it as a doctor's secret.
- The thing is, someone I care about has a disorder. He's a bugger .
After a short silence, the doctor said
- If you're interested in treatment, shock therapy may be quite effective.
- He has a schizoid personality disorder, I'm afraid it will drive him crazy.
The doctor stopped as he slowed his pace. Does it...
- Tell me...is it Mr. Holmes?
But he was met only with silence and staring into the distance. Watson realized that he had hit the mark.
- I will try to study the subject better. I hope you'll let me use your library.
- ...of course.
…
After spending the rest of the day in the library, the doctor found little information. The town library would have been good for it, but alas. The only thing he learned was that base lust does not interfere with brain function.
This time the doctor decided to have a five-hour tea with Mycroft.
- I've read several studies, but I still can't come to one conclusion. Some write that it's congenital and others that it's acquired.
- What about treatments?
- There is...Albert von Schrenk-Notzing's way...he claims to have used hypnosis to manipulate a man's sexual impulses, switching them from his interest in men to a constant desire for women. That's 45 sessions of hypnosis and several trips...to a brothel - Watson pursed his lips.
There were a few seconds of silence between them
- What else?
- "Disgust therapy"-patients are given chemicals that induce vomiting when they look at pictures of their lovers, for example.
Mycroft drifted off into thought and they continued their tea party in silence.
….
At night Watson could not sleep. If Holmes preferred men these letters were most probably addressed to a man. Watson frowned; instead of sweet woman's image the image of a man began to appear. Tomorrow he was to talk to Holmes.
…
The next day immediately after breakfast, at which Holmes was absent, Watson went to his friend's room. As luck would have it, the weather was getting worse every day, making the atmosphere worse.
The recently neat bedroom resembled again the chaos. The doctor put the tray upon the table. Holmes sitting near the window paid no attention to him.
- Mr. Holmes, I wanted to talk about your um... problem.
Holmes' shoulders got tense.
- What is it about?
- Your brother told me about your tendencies and I wanted to ask you... These letters... they are addressed to a man, aren't they?
Holmes grabbed the blanket and quickly got under it, his body trembled.
- Holmes... - Watson began to walk slowly towards the bed - You can tell me... You know, I wouldn't judge you
A few minutes later Holmes calmed down and put his head out from under the blanket.
- This man is very important to me. He has protected me and been by my side... without him I would have died.
- What happened to him?
- What makes you think that something has happened to him? - Holmes stood up.
- Well... you didn't send the letter.
- And how do you imagine that? That I would send him a letter that I am a sodomite! - Holmes stood up sharply, and Watson did the same - that if I disgusted him...he would stop communicating with me!
- How do you know? Maybe he has feelings for you.
- How would you react if someone approached you with an "offer" like that?
- I... I just want to help! - Watson said in an indignant voice.
- I can't be helped.
- Holmes, they cure people like you, they have practice in some hospitals - Watson came to Holmes.
- So you think I belong to the lunatic asylum? - he turned round sharply.
- I'm only saying you can be helped! - Watson exclaimed in a menacing voice.
- and I...
- SILENT!
- ...
- Stop spreading panic, Holmes!
Holmes flopped down on the bed and hugged his head to his shoulders.
- ...I'm sorry... I'm very nervous today..." said Holmes.
Watson sat down on the bed and put his arm around Holmes. Holmes put his head upon his shoulder.
Watson patted Holmes on the back and pulled away.
-You should eat something.
Holmes only nodded his head.
…
In the evening the doctor decided to read the rest of the letters. Opening the first letter his heart fluttered, perhaps he would finally recognize the name of Holmes' beloved man.
"My dear friend, after a long separation it is a real happiness to see you. What can be more pleasant than the voice of a loved one? What can be dearer than his words? Seeing you in your bardic robe I realized that I love you even more, and the surprise on your face when you saw me is priceless. You know I wanted to kiss your lips...your cool and warm lips.
I don't want to lose you. If you only knew how much I need you. I have been remembering our dealings, all the moments we spent together most precious to me."
The doctor opened the second letter.
"My dear friend, I hope we will be around as long as possible. We will support each other in all the troubles that fate may send our way. I am grateful for every time you have saved me. You will ease my suffering, I will help you with yours. Every day I feel more alive. I am confident in your loyalty, and I appreciate your virtues more and more day by day.
I love you. I thought I would heal from it just by seeing you as a friend. I was wrong.
I want to say your name more often, it sounds so beautiful, luckily I have the right to call you in the most terrible situations.
Sometimes I sit and write your name out giggling horribly, but I can't help it.
I'll let me write it to myself one more time
John, John, John.
John Watson.
Dr. John Watson.
My dear, beloved friend Dr. John Watson.
…………
Watson was taken aback. All thoughts flew out of his mind. Was he really the cause of Holmes suffering? God...God...
He urgently needed to talk to Holmes.
Coming out of his room he quickly went towards him.
- Open the door, Holmes!
The door opened.
- Is something the matter?
- I wanted to talk to you about the letters.
- I thought we were done with that.
- About the letters-the doctor took out the last two letters-why didn't you tell me?
There was silence in the room.
It seemed to last forever.
- Excuse me, I must be alone.
Holmes jumped out of the room and rushed down the stairs.
- Holmes! Holmes!
Watson came running after him. A heavy downpour met the doctor in the street. In the meantime the detective was no longer to be seen, but the doctor guessed where he had gone.
Wandering through the dense forest, guided by scratches on the bark, he ran into the thicket.
The rain poured down as if the doctor had been doused repeatedly from a bucket. Drops ran down his face, rolling down his scruff. Soon he came to the same clearing. In the middle of it Holmes was lying curled up trembling heavily.
- Holmes.
The detective rose to his knees and looked at him with red eyes, in which the sea of sorrow was splashing. He went to Holmes and knelt down.
- I am sorry, Holmes said, - I don't know how it happened... I will understand if you stop talking to me and go to Scotland Yard, - his voice trembled heavily- Im sorry....im so sorry...
Watson put his arm around Holmes shoulders and pulled him close to him. Holmes ducked against his shoulder.
Watson pressed the trembling Holmes tighter against him.
…
Back at the mansion, Watson helped the detective change his clothes and sat him by the fireplace, leaving him in the care of the servants. They did not speak any more that day.
The next day Holmes came down with a fever.
He lay in bed with sweat streaming down his face. Watson put down the towel soaked with water and went out of the room.
Mrs. Holmes met him in the living-room
- How is he, Doctor? - The woman asked him anxiously.
- It could be worse. I've already ordered the necessary medicine from London.
- It's a miracle you were there. Thank you .
Watson was silent.
…
…The next morning the doctor decided to invite Mycroft for a private conversation. He was glad that he could talk to him because they were the only ones who knew about Holmes' problem.
- I wanted to talk to you... or rather to discuss when it began. Have you any ideas? - The doctor began gently.
- The first time he told me before he came back. He was drunk that night and he kept rereading your stories.
...
Flashback
- I can't stop thinking... How could I just show up in front of him like that? What would he do? Hit me? Hug me? Or faint?
- Have you been drinking again? Sherlock absinthe is addictive, or haven't you had enough drugs?
- He is clever... brave... and his voice is so... soft... it calms me - Holmes laid his head upon his hands - I want to go home.
Mycroft sighed heavily.
Flashback ending
Watson went up to Holmes to change the cloth. The redness had already subsided a little. Wetting the cloth he scrutinized Holmes face. What should he do next?
As he was about to leave Holmes held out his hand to him.
- Dr. Watson...
Seeing the effort Holmes had made for that action Watson took his hand in his own. The detective looked at him with his sick red eyes. Fifteen minutes later, before he left, the doctor leaned over and kissed Holmes on the forehead.
- Dr. Watson - a faint voice sounded
- I'm here..." the doctor stroked the dozing Holmes on the head.
...
Soon Holmes recovered and they finally went home.
-Good trip. We were very glad to meet you, - said Mr. Holmes.
-I'm Mr. Holmes too, Mrs. Holmes -the doctor tilted his head in respect
-I hope our son will not disturb you. See you soon, Dr. Watson - said Mrs. Holmes
...
In Baker Street, as the sun was nearing the horizon, there was a knock at Watson's door. When he opened the door he saw Holmes there.
- I have something to tell you," he said, stepping into the centre of the room. "I should like to thank you for not turning your back upon me and informing Scotland Yard.
- Oh, well...
- I think the inspector would have been amused.
- Holmes, you're the closest person to me, and I'm afraid that without you my life will become drab and dull again... Because you are an essential part of it.
......
- And you are mine, my dear Watson.
- Call me John.
-...Sherlock.
They stood by the window, watching the rays of the receding sun reflected on each other's faces as they descended across the sky.
THE END