“You say the two things like they go together. That you love me, and that you have to go. Do you understand how—I have no idea what to say to that, Holmes.”
“Come with me,” I said. “I never said I didn’t want you to come.”
I loved her like you would the person you’d always wanted to be, and in return I would have followed her anywhere, excused any action, fought to keep her hoisted high on her throne.
I woke up one morning to find I was content. I would feel this forever, I told myself, stretching my arms above me in the bed. I could be alone. I could stop being a creature made of want.
The sun was rising in the distance, pulled up by its lazy, invisible string, and the sky was shot through with color. Her hair was washed in gold, her cheeks, in gold, and her eyes were as knowing as a psychic's.
In that moment, I would've followed her anywhere.
Holmes was perched at the end of my bed. Actually, she was perched on top of my feet, effectively pinning me in place. It might have been sexy, except she was wearing a giant t-shirt that read CHEMISTRY IS FOR LOVERS, so it was insane
“Can I forgive you a little now?” I asked. “And then a little more tomorrow, and the next day? If there is a next day?”
“Yes,” she said, quickly, like it was more than she had asked for. Like I might take it back.
“Do come home soon. It won't be London without you.”
“You never knew me in London,” I said, smiling.
“I know.” Holmes looked down at me with gleaming eyes. “I intend to fix that.”
I miss you too. I miss you like breathing. Have I already said that? I do, though. I miss you like naan pizza and builder’s tea. Like you’re the home I never knew I had.
“I hope it was worth it.” He swept a hand across the room. “Did you find what you needed?”
“I always do.”
Watson's eyes crinkled at the corners. He didn't pry further. How glorious that was; it gave my mind time to sort and contextualize what I'd found.
A good fifty percent of my work was mimicry. Twenty percent, as Watson would say, was magician's tricks, and the rest was forensics and dumb, dumb luck. Except for the one percent that was entirely reliant on the ubiquity of Starbucks locations and their public restrooms.