Sherlock Holmes - Youthful Indiscretions
Title: Youthful Indiscretions
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: Holmes/Watson (ouchily one-sided) past Holmes/Victor Trevor
Disclaimer: I am not over 100 years old. Yet.
Summary: In the aftermath of The Boscombe Valley Mystery, Holmes has a confession to make.
Spoilers: Just for The Boscombe Valley Mystery.
Warnings: Ends on a sad note.
Word Count: 830
Author's Notes: I thought that as I was complaining about the lack of activity, I should probably create some myself.
“How do you take this case, Watson?” Holmes startled me out of contemplation of exactly this question as we sat on the train back to London.
“I hope McCarthy is acquitted. I also hope that he tells young Miss Turner the truth about his marriage, before it becomes a similar secret to the one their fathers were keeping. I shouldn't like to see his father sent to prison for a crime committed so long ago, and he in such poor health, so I can only hope that your involvement will be enough.”
“I should hope so as well.” Holmes pulled his knees up to his chest and steepled his long fingers in front of them. “What of the marriage, Watson?”
“McCarthy's first? An understandable mistake of youth. We all make them, though they're usually not quite so permanent.”
“Ah, by McCarthy's wasn't. He only thought it was.” He rested his chin in the crevice where his knees were held together. “I wonder if that particular kind of youthful mistake is almost universal. I hardly know a man who didn't find himself in a situation he thought was much more serious than it turned out to be.”
“I'm afraid I didn't engage in any secret marriages as a young man.” I paused, realising that Holmes might well be making a confession of exactly this. “You're not about to tell me that you did, are you?”
Holmes sighed heavily and moved his legs to reach into the pocket of his coat, producing a slightly worn, folded piece of paper that appeared to be a letter. “In a manner of speaking, Watson. Though it was as legal as McCarthy's, if not much less so.” He hesitated a moment, peering at me intensely, and then handed the letter over. I opened it to find it addressed from a Mr. Victor Trevor, who I had heard Holmes speak of before, though in the most clinical of terms. I hadn't thought they were still in contact.
The letter told first of a move to Australia to farm sheep, which I thought particularly appropriate for a man of Norfolk extraction, and a mention of discovering Holmes' current address through my own writings on his cases. It moved on to apologise for his actions, and for breaking his promise. The tone seemed unusually stilted. Awkward, as though he were pausing after every word to be sure he didn't use a wrong one. I had seen similar patterns in other letters Holmes had received; without fail, they endeavoured to hide some scandal that they couldn't afford to even hint at through the postal service.
However, in the context Holmes had handed me the letter, I was at a loss to explain its contents. There was certainly no mention of a marriage.
“I see I have confused you, Watson. Though I think that with a few moments' thought, you may discover at least part of the answer for yourself.” He curled back up elegantly and came to rest again.
“Holmes, whatever I may suspect of your... preferences, I think you'll agree with me that you cannot marry a man.”
“Certainly not,” he agreed. “I married a woman, Watson. At least, as far as assorted witnesses and a magistrate were concerned. Victor really does make the most striking woman, given a little time and a good make up kit.”
To this, I had no idea what to reply. Of all the depraved things I'd known Sherlock Holmes to do in his time, this was by far the strangest and most reckless of all. And yet, I could not find it in myself to fault him. His manner now suggested that it wasn't something he regretted, and if he had done it for love, then I would not wish him to feel ashamed of his actions, no matter how illegal.
“Your silence on the matter worries me, Watson. I should explain that I was rather besotted at the time, and would have done anything I could to make Victor happy. He never asked me, but I knew that one of his great regrets in life was that we couldn't marry. Sometimes, my imagination gets me into no end of trouble.” He smiled a small smile that I might have called sheepish on any other man.
“I'm not sure I understand the letter, all the same,” I commented, not wanting to remain silent and leave my friend thinking I was disappointed or upset with him.
“I received it shortly before you yourself were married. You will excuse me, I trust, for saying that I think it a particularly cruel twist of fate that I should be released from my obligation to Victor just in time for it not to matter. So if I was a little more eager than was wise to help the boy and keep his secret, perhaps you have your answer as to my behaviour.”
Author: ladylovelace
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: Holmes/Watson (ouchily one-sided) past Holmes/Victor Trevor
Disclaimer: I am not over 100 years old. Yet.
Summary: In the aftermath of The Boscombe Valley Mystery, Holmes has a confession to make.
Spoilers: Just for The Boscombe Valley Mystery.
Warnings: Ends on a sad note.
Word Count: 830
Author's Notes: I thought that as I was complaining about the lack of activity, I should probably create some myself.
“How do you take this case, Watson?” Holmes startled me out of contemplation of exactly this question as we sat on the train back to London.
“I hope McCarthy is acquitted. I also hope that he tells young Miss Turner the truth about his marriage, before it becomes a similar secret to the one their fathers were keeping. I shouldn't like to see his father sent to prison for a crime committed so long ago, and he in such poor health, so I can only hope that your involvement will be enough.”
“I should hope so as well.” Holmes pulled his knees up to his chest and steepled his long fingers in front of them. “What of the marriage, Watson?”
“McCarthy's first? An understandable mistake of youth. We all make them, though they're usually not quite so permanent.”
“Ah, by McCarthy's wasn't. He only thought it was.” He rested his chin in the crevice where his knees were held together. “I wonder if that particular kind of youthful mistake is almost universal. I hardly know a man who didn't find himself in a situation he thought was much more serious than it turned out to be.”
“I'm afraid I didn't engage in any secret marriages as a young man.” I paused, realising that Holmes might well be making a confession of exactly this. “You're not about to tell me that you did, are you?”
Holmes sighed heavily and moved his legs to reach into the pocket of his coat, producing a slightly worn, folded piece of paper that appeared to be a letter. “In a manner of speaking, Watson. Though it was as legal as McCarthy's, if not much less so.” He hesitated a moment, peering at me intensely, and then handed the letter over. I opened it to find it addressed from a Mr. Victor Trevor, who I had heard Holmes speak of before, though in the most clinical of terms. I hadn't thought they were still in contact.
The letter told first of a move to Australia to farm sheep, which I thought particularly appropriate for a man of Norfolk extraction, and a mention of discovering Holmes' current address through my own writings on his cases. It moved on to apologise for his actions, and for breaking his promise. The tone seemed unusually stilted. Awkward, as though he were pausing after every word to be sure he didn't use a wrong one. I had seen similar patterns in other letters Holmes had received; without fail, they endeavoured to hide some scandal that they couldn't afford to even hint at through the postal service.
However, in the context Holmes had handed me the letter, I was at a loss to explain its contents. There was certainly no mention of a marriage.
“I see I have confused you, Watson. Though I think that with a few moments' thought, you may discover at least part of the answer for yourself.” He curled back up elegantly and came to rest again.
“Holmes, whatever I may suspect of your... preferences, I think you'll agree with me that you cannot marry a man.”
“Certainly not,” he agreed. “I married a woman, Watson. At least, as far as assorted witnesses and a magistrate were concerned. Victor really does make the most striking woman, given a little time and a good make up kit.”
To this, I had no idea what to reply. Of all the depraved things I'd known Sherlock Holmes to do in his time, this was by far the strangest and most reckless of all. And yet, I could not find it in myself to fault him. His manner now suggested that it wasn't something he regretted, and if he had done it for love, then I would not wish him to feel ashamed of his actions, no matter how illegal.
“Your silence on the matter worries me, Watson. I should explain that I was rather besotted at the time, and would have done anything I could to make Victor happy. He never asked me, but I knew that one of his great regrets in life was that we couldn't marry. Sometimes, my imagination gets me into no end of trouble.” He smiled a small smile that I might have called sheepish on any other man.
“I'm not sure I understand the letter, all the same,” I commented, not wanting to remain silent and leave my friend thinking I was disappointed or upset with him.
“I received it shortly before you yourself were married. You will excuse me, I trust, for saying that I think it a particularly cruel twist of fate that I should be released from my obligation to Victor just in time for it not to matter. So if I was a little more eager than was wise to help the boy and keep his secret, perhaps you have your answer as to my behaviour.”