Chapter Text
"Your hypothesis is predicated on a fallacy."
Holmes' voice, as biting and icy as I had ever heard it, cut through the thin wood of the door as if it were made of tissue. I froze with my hand on the doorknob, wondering to whom Holmes was speaking. I had not expected to find him in our room at the inn, but given his tone, I was not surprised that he had retreated there for what was clearly a private conversation.
"I did not invite Doctor Watson to accompany me on this case," Holmes went on in the same frigid, cutting tones. "He volunteered his services. I did not decline them at the time, a decision I now sincerely regret. I would vastly prefer that he was back in London."
My breath caught in my throat. Blindly, I turned from the door and made my way down the stairs to the common-room, forgetting all about the notebook I had meant to retrieve from my bag.
Until that moment, I had never imagined Holmes might not want me with him on this case. In the four years since we had met, there had been some cases he had kept private, and a number of others where he made it clear that he had no interest in a companion. But those instances had been few compared to the overall number, and decreased as the years passed. By now, it was nearly a matter of course that I would accompany him on his cases, a trusted companion and ally against the dangers he regularly faced.
Or so I had thought. I realized I had never questioned my role or his satisfaction in my company. I had thought myself his valued friend, but perhaps I was nothing more than a habit – or a burden.