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“…belongs there…goes into both of their entries…Should I put this under the daughter or son?”
Holmes’ muttering carried across the room, refusing to let me focus yet again. I wanted nothing more than to read in peace for a few hours, but apparently Holmes could not update his notes quietly.
“He needs a new entry…I can add that in a minute…What about that embezzling case?”
Going upstairs would do nothing when every word carried through the floor, I had nowhere to go this late at night, and putting wax in my ears would only frustrate me. I knew better than to muffle my surroundings when my sole focus tracked everything around me. The unease I had battled all day would only take over if I dampened my ability to hear.
“Leader…lieutenants…members…lowers. Now for the individual entries.”
But what about if I eliminated it?
No.
It would work, though, the thought continued. I still had the bottle of numbing agent I had used on Holmes, and two drops in each ear instead of the one I had used on him would remove my ability to hear even Holmes’ grumbling for just over two hours.
But a lingering unease had settled in my reflexes. An inability to hear could worsen that.
I could see the door, however. We had no reason to expect anyone tonight, and Mrs. Hudson rarely came upstairs after supper. I doubted Holmes would want my attention, either, considering the attention he devoted to his notes. I should be fine in my chair, but if the silence proved too disconcerting, I could always go upstairs.
“Need to…”
That settled it. The day’s unease could barricade my bedroom door if the silence caused a problem, and I wanted some quiet time. Holmes’ search for a missing paper prevented him from noticing me dig through my bag, and twenty seconds after returning to my chair, his grumbling faded to utter silence. Much better.
And rather fun. Several seconds enjoyed watching his movements as if through a glass wall. His lips moved, papers scattered across the floor, and the occasional index thumped the rug, but while I felt some of his actions through the floor, I could hear none of them. A faint sigh escaped even as I lost myself in my book.
Pages and minutes passed with a speed Holmes’ grumbling had denied all day. The characters met, grew attached, and parted again. Enemies proved themselves allies. Allies betrayed the main character, and the adventure tale I had grabbed from the free section of a closing bookstore unfolded a truly fascinating story. I lost all track of time, but the main point of view wandered through a field of historical significance when a particularly strong vibration in the floor caught my attention.
Holmes still sat among his mess, however, and the doorway remained empty. I ignored the interruption.
Until it came again. A glance confirmed Holmes still on the floor, his left shoulder toward me. He did not stare at me as if awaiting a reply, and a large tome sat on the floor in front of him. He must be throwing his indices around again. I never could understand how he had not destroyed years of effort with one careless toss.
Not that I would say as much now, when I wanted only a few hours of quiet. A fraction of my attention noticed him stand and start shuffling through his shelves as I lost myself in the story once more. From learning their history to correcting the lies others had told them, the chapter quickly drew me back into the universe, the scenery, the tension. The main character chased after an endangered teammate when I realized Holmes no longer shared the room.
No matter. He had probably gone to the washroom. Did she save her teammate?
Yes, and an unexpected ally as well. The three decided to work together for the moment and found—
Ambush!
Long fingers came into view inches away, aimed straight at my face. I dodged but found another hand in my path. My book slapped them away to let me trip the legs trying to pin me in my chair. The side table prevented my attacker from hitting the floor, but the near-fall at least got him far enough away to give me a moment to think.
And stop reacting. I scowled at him as I reclaimed my chair.
“You know better than to sneak up on me. Go back to your indices.”
I spoke without thinking, using muscle memory to modulate my volume, but Holmes immediately frowned. One hand on mine kept my attention as his lips moved.
“Still can’t lip read,” I answered shortly. The bottle of numbing agent remained on my desk. He should be able to deduce what I had done, and I reopened my book without elaborating.
Only to lose it the next moment. “Holmes.”
His lips moved yet again, but concerned realization bloomed when I merely frowned at him. Hurried movement thrust a scrap of paper into my hand a moment later.
“When did you lose your hearing?”
“For another forty-five minutes or so,” I said with a glance at the clock. “Now give me back my book.”
“How did you lose your hearing?”
Frustration underlined “how” several times, but I rolled my eyes. “The same way you did. There’s some on my desk if you want a couple hours of silence as well. Or you could just stop mumbling.” A sudden lunge retrieved my book before he could block me. “Now go away.”
His lips moved yet again. I ignored him, however, already pulled back into the climax of my novel.
Considering the amount of time he spent inspecting the small bottle on my desk, he would probably have a few questions as soon as I could hear them.