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I think of it now as the summer of strange behaviour. I didn't know what to make of it at the time.
A caller came in the early afternoon. I had just returned from a morning of seeing patients and was ready to sit down for a tea. Mrs Hudson showed him up and I greeted him. The man was young, a labourer with calloused hands and scuffed shoes. He seemed very nervous and so I assumed he had business with Holmes.
"Mr Holmes is away for the day. Perhaps you would have better luck tomorrow." I offered.
"I came to see you, Dr Watson." The man said and wiped at his tired eyes. "It brings me no pleasure to relate this sorry business to you, but I felt under the circumstances that you must be informed."
"What is the matter?"
At that moment I heard a great ruckus at the bottom of the stairs as Holmes rushed in and up the stairs, bursting into our sitting room in a comically uncoordinated half skid half fall. At seeing the man standing before me he took nearly two steps back in dismay.
"Mr Watson.” The man blurted out quickly. “Your roommate is possessed with unnatural desires."
Well, I thought, of course he is. I have to admit that at first I thought he was trying to tell me that he believed Holmes was possessed by demons, which half the time seemed just as likely an explanation for his strange behaviour as anything. He chases after the macabre, hangs portraits of killers on his bedroom wall, shoots bullets into the wall when he is bored, performs all sorts of noxious and explosive experiments at the dinner table...
I looked over to Holmes and he avoided my eye. Oh, unnatural desires. Right.
I cleared my throat. "Who are you, and on what authority should I take your word?"
"I am Terrance Huxley. These are my proof." He showed me a notebook. There were pages falling out and folded nearly double. I held out my hand and he passed them over.
“Have you made any copies?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you shown them to anyone else?” I demanded.
“No, sir. I would never show off anything so vile.”
I quickly looked over them. The papers were written in Holmes distinctive and barely legible hand. I, myself, often write out my feelings as a means to sort through them, and this apparently proved Sherlock shared that habit with me. "Have you witnessed this man performing any immoral acts?" I asked.
"No sir. But the letters clearly-"
"Clearly?” I asked. There was nothing even remotely clear about the papers I held. I could barely make out every third sentence. “Did you read these?"
He shook his head back and forth in a vehement denial. "The subject matter made me sick to my stomach."
I nodded. The subject matter was vague, but yes, the letters were obviously written to a male. The content consisted mostly of poetry about flowers, and I found what seemed to be an entire page dedicated to describing the stamen of a tulip. "Of course. So, no one else has seen these?"
"No sir. I thought you would know best what needs to be done. I'm a fan of your stories, sir. Biggest fan."
I had to wonder what he thought would happen to those stories if their main subject were to be arrested.
I lowered my voice. "Do you trust me?”
“Yes sir, as I said, sir, I am a fan of your writings.”
"Then you understand why I shall request that I hold onto these papers. Justice must be carried out, and I will see to it that these papers receive the attention they deserve. But you must not breathe a word of this to anyone." I glanced over at Holmes and then back to the man before me. I placed my arm around Terrence’s shoulder and steered him towards the staircase. "I am willing to take the risk necessary to see this through, but I would hate to think any harm would come to you in the process."
"Thank you, sir." Terence whispered with foul breath.
"I will do everything in my power to see to it that a just punishment will be handed out. For your own safety, do not return here or ever mention you have been involved in this scandal, do you understand.”
He nodded.
"I believe your business is done then."
The man left. I regarded the bound notebook, as the footsteps receded down the stairs and out the door. “Is this what has preoccupied your mind for the last two weeks?"
"Watson, I can explain."
"Please don't. Tell me though, how did he come across it?"
"He was the man hired to replace the cracked glass of my bedroom window."
"I see."
Holmes sat down in the armchair beside the fire and curled up on himself. "Watson?" he asked.
"I don’t know what to say." I finally gave into the laughter I was holding back during the brief meeting with Terrance. “Really, Holmes. Tulips?" I handed the notebook to him.
He opened it and flipped through the pages for a moment before tossing the entire booklet into the fire.
"I'm sorry." I said softly. “I should not be making fun. The young man truly believed you had written something quite deviant. Did he attempt to blackmail you?”
"He made no demands and wouldn’t accept the compensation I offered for their recovery. I believe he was concerned for your reputation."
"He could have gone straight to the Yard."
Holmes sighed and looked up at me. "But what of you?"
I placed a hand gently on his arm. "I have a demand of my own in return for my silence."
“What?”
“If you insist on writing poetry for me, I prefer almond blossoms.”
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