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One glance at Holmes’ violin was enough to tell Watson that something had to be done. It wasn’t entirely unusual for Holmes to put down his violin without wiping rosin from the strings, especially if he was thinking or frustrated. That wasn’t necessarily a sign of trouble.
This, though, looked like a full night’s accumulation of rosin, the area between bridge and fingerboard caked white. And not just the strings, either. A layer of dust had settled on the body of the violin itself.
At present, Holmes was lying on the settee swathed in his favorite blanket, eyes closed tightly and jaw clenched. His short hair stuck up at odd angles, ruffled in a way that said that he’d laid down on his other side earlier and hadn’t bothered to smooth it down.
All these factors combined said that Holmes had sunk deep into melancholy after his recent, extremely successful case. And thankfully, Watson had the perfect idea to cheer him up.
First, though, he tended to the violin. He gently scrubbed the caked rosin off the strings, then collected a different cloth and wiped down the body as well as the stick of the bow.
Once he’d stowed the violin and bow in the case, Watson turned his attention back to Holmes. In the last few minutes, there had been no change at all, save that Holmes somehow looked even more miserable.
“If I help you get ready, will you come with me for a short outing?” Watson asked, pouring coffee.
One of Holmes’ eyes cracked open, just a slit. “What sort of outing?”
“A fun one.” Leaving it a mystery would make Holmes more interested, and it was necessary to keep him interested in order to pry him off the settee. “It’s a surprise, old man.”
Holmes sighed, but sat up. He looked absolutely miserable, as if there was nothing in the world that could ever be fun or surprising again..
Nevertheless, he drank the cup of coffee that Watson offered him, then cooperated as Watson helped him prepare for his day. Holmes was in such a state of lethargy that he made no move even to shave himself, or to brush his hair.
Watson took care of both activities, not trying to engage Holmes in conversation just yet. After all their years together, it was easy enough to tell the difference between a bout of lethargy when Holmes would wish to engage in stimulating conversation, and the sort of utter despair when Holmes was too overwhelmed by the world to endure it.
This was clearly the latter. He had been avoiding physical contact for days, since shortly after the Wessex Cup, and even now he flinched each time Watson touched him. After a particularly dramatic flinch as Watson brushed his hair, he twitched a sad, small smile of apology.
“Almost done, old man.” Watson finished as quickly as possible, then stepped back. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. “It’s very painful for you to be touched today?”
Holmes shrugged, expression still tight. “At times. At others, it is merely uncomfortable.”
His voice was wistful, and Watson’s heart wrenched. Holmes struggled with touch a great deal sometimes, but often craved it to some degree when he was upset. It was a cruel twist of his nature that being upset also made it still more difficult for him.
So perhaps this would be a good idea after all. If it wasn’t, though, it might worsen his depression even more.
Watson shook that worry off and fetched Holmes’ clothes. Once he was dressed, they collected their hats and canes, and ventured outside.
Holmes was still unusually quiet, at least until they neared their destination. Then he gave a soft snort. “Watson.”
“Yes, old man?”
“Are you taking me to the stables?”
Astonished, Watson stopped walking. “How did you guess?”
“Watson. I never guess.” Eyes a little brighter now, Holmes shook his head and gave a disappointed click of the tongue. “There is nothing ‘fun’ down this particular street save the stables for many of our usual cab horses. Given that you are well aware that I am exceedingly fond of horses, and that you wish to cheer me up with an outing, it is the most likely destination. Hardly surprising, really.”
“Oh. Well, when you put it like that, it sounds so simple.” Watson smiled, and was encouraged when Holmes rolled his eyes. “Yes, I thought that a trip to the stables might cheer you up. I know you’ve been awfully depressed of late, and the happiest I’ve seen you in weeks was when you were with Silver Blaze.”
“I was happy because I had solved a case, Watson. Not because of the horse.” A faint smile twitched onto Holmes’ face as they stepped into the stables together. “Although, I must admit that Silver Blaze has a particularly delightful nose.”
“Yes, indeed.” Watson had certainly not missed observing how much time Holmes had spent petting that delightful nose, nor how relaxed he had looked while doing so. Throughout all their years of friendship, he had often watched as Holmes took every possible opportunity to pet the horses they encountered.
Despite Holmes’ low mood, he wasted no time whatsoever in hurling himself into petting every horse in the stables. The cabmen, who were very well acquainted with Holmes as well as Watson, merely smiled and tipped their hats in acknowledgment. Holmes often visited them for information about one case or another, and as they knew he loved their horses, the cabmen were quite fond of him.
Holmes certainly did love the horses. He picked up a chunk of alfalfa and devoted himself to feeding pieces of hay to the eager creatures who watched him over the fence. Holmes had a certain mastery that tended to make horses behave themselves, and so there was no shoving, biting, or pinning of ears. They all simply accepted what he gave them.
This was clearly already helping, at least to some degree. Holmes had scarcely smiled in recent days, but a faint smile had now settled firmly into place, sometimes even becoming a grin as he fed, petted, and played with the horses. Watson patted them as well, enjoying their company, but mostly he just watched.
“It’s not troubling you to touch the horses?” he finally asked, curious.
“Hmm? No, no.” Holmes flashed another brighter smile at him, fingers stroking gently across the nearest horse’s pink nose. A grey horse was intent on eating Holmes’ hat, and Holmes didn’t seem to care in the least that it kept getting nearly knocked off. “I am never troubled by horses.”
The grey horse finally succeeded in knocking off Holmes’ hat, then snuffled the side of his head until his hair was sticking up again. Holmes gave a long suffering sigh and patted that horse too.
“Well, I’m glad you aren’t troubled by horses at least,” Watson said with a chuckle, bending to pick up the hat. “I know it’s difficult when you’d like some affection, but can’t tolerate it from me.”
“Oh, it is no slight on you, Watson.” Delicately, Holmes patted him twice on the shoulder, then returned to stroking the horses. “I find touch from anyone intolerable at certain times. Anyone human, at least.”
“I know, old man. I didn’t take offense.” Amused, Watson watched as the grey horse began trying to eat Holmes’ ear. “I’m just glad that this is something you can still enjoy.”
Holmes flicked a smile at him, but did not reply. Instead, he perked up as one of the cabmen led in another horse. “Does she need to be groomed?”
She did need to be groomed, and Holmes leapt at the task with the utmost joy. Watson soon found himself pressed into service as well, handed a brush and told to start with her neck.
He did so, brushing the mare’s liver chestnut coat, which was coming in thick as the autumn temperatures dropped. Holmes flitted around with great enthusiasm, tackling his self-appointed job with all the dedication that he would show for any case. Once the mare was quite shiny, and any scrap of bedding or straw removed from her body, Holmes moved on to combing out her long tail.
His expression had grown more thoughtful as he worked, and at last he glanced at Watson over the mare’s rump. “Do you know, Watson, I think you may have had a point about horses making me happy.”
Watson chuckled, heart aching with fondness. “It wasn’t exactly a difficult deduction, old man.”
“Well, perhaps not. But I fear that earlier, I was so glum that I could not even conceive of enjoying anything. The world seemed a very dark, very unfriendly place.” Although Holmes was no longer grinning, he still looked quite happy as he groomed the mare. “I fear that I still rather miss my old friend, the cocaine bottle. It has been difficult to endure the long, tortuous stretch between cases without it.”
He had hardly been able to tolerate time between cases even with it. Small wonder that he was struggling so much now. “I presume that it’s even more difficult after so exciting a case as locating Silver Blaze.”
“Quite.” Holmes flicked another smile at him. “That was exceedingly helpful for melancholy, but I fear it came with a rather horrible decline in mood once complete. I could not sleep last night, unable to bear the tedium. Nothing helped.”
“Well, I’m glad that being with horses seems to be helping today.” Watson patted the mare’s neck, watching as Holmes returned his full attention to her tail. “Perhaps we ought to make a habit of this, then.”
“I should like that very much.” This time, Holmes didn’t look up, fully absorbed in delicately working at a small tangle in the horse’s tail. But nevertheless, he flashed another smile. “Thank you, Watson.”
“You’re welcome, Holmes,” Watson said softly.
After they finished grooming that mare, Holmes promptly asked another cabman about his gelding, and lit up with excitement at the man’s amused acquiescence. It looked as if this might not be so short an outing after all, especially with horses constantly coming and going. Holmes seemed as if he would be happy to remain here at the stables for the rest of the day.
And so, Watson was happy to remain too. The times between cases were indeed always difficult, but it seemed that horses might be the key to helping Holmes to escape his gloom, at least for a little while.