The Pumamouse Website: Stories And Sagas: My Sherlockian Saga Volume One Chapter Eight

After consuming our brunch, we spent an enjoyable day viewing the local points of interest. The highlight of the afternoon, by Miss Trioni's estimations, was a full tour of Scotland Yard, which Holmes had arranged at her request. Her only disappointment was in that she was unable to meet Chief Inspector Lestrade, having read of him in my chronicles. As fate would have it, he was on holiday, and would not be returning to London for a few more days.

Owing to Miss Trioni's encouragement, Mycroft had, once again, departed from his normal daily routine. He had joined us for all of that day, and he returned with us to our flat that evening. "You must stay for dinner, Mycroft. Mrs. Hudson is preparing the fish I caught during our visit to Tobson's Grove," I coaxed.

"Thank you, Doctor, I shall," he readily accepted, delighting in his unscheduled holiday. As we entered the hallway, the aroma from Mrs. Hudson's kitchen foretold that my prediction of the menu for the evening was correct.

"If you gentlemen will excuse me, I would like to freshen up before dinner," Miss Trioni advised as soon as we reached the drawing room. She quickly ascended the stairs to her bedroom. She joined us again just as Mrs. Hudson arrived to serve our meal.

Setting the large covered tray which she carried down upon the table, Mrs. Hudson commented, with a smile, on how lucky we were to be enjoying the fruits of my labours. "I have not seen a bass of that weight at the market for some time," she noted. I did not wish to risk hurting her feelings by correcting her, and I would have said nothing. Holmes, however, wasted no time.

"Mrs. Hudson, surely, you meant to say "trout"," he urged.

"Oh, the trout was quite impressive, also, but the bass was the real prize, wasn't it Doctor?," she returned. Again, I would have said nothing, but Holmes intervened.

"Mrs. Hudson, what are you babbling about? There were no bass," he jeered.

"Really, Mr. Holmes? Then what would you call this?," she asked. Raising the cover of the tray, she revealed what I perceived to be quite the largest bass I had ever seen in my life.

"Good Lord! Where did that come from?!," Holmes gasped, taking the words from my mouth.

"From the same pouch which contained the trout. Really, Mr. Holmes, you do go on," she chuckled as she left the room.

Slowly, I raised my gaze from the fish to meet with Holmes', then, simultaneously, we turned towards Miss Trioni. She smiled and stared intently into Holmes' eyes, but she did not say a word. Finally, Holmes found his voice to ask, "Miss Trioni, what have you done?"

"Only what I told you I would," she answered.

"But...you said that Watson had won," Holmes reminded.

"I agreed that Dr. Watson had "bagged the larger trout", and, indeed, he had," she returned, recalling Holmes' words.

"Do you mean to say, you caught this bass, Mariana? Brava, my dear girl!," Mycroft congratulated.

"Thank you, Mycroft," she replied, still staring at Holmes.

"But, Miss Trioni...our wager," I said, utterly amazed.

"You may clean our next catch, Doctor, if you wish," she allowed.

"Indeed, I shall," I promised.

Her eyes never moved from Holmes' face. "Why did you do it?," he finally asked.

"You needed my answers," she knowingly explained.

"But, you could have refused," Holmes noted.

"Why should I have?," she smiled. "I had nothing to hide. I would have answered your questions even if there had not been any wager. You only had but to ask."

Holmes swallowed hard. Turning his eyes from hers, he admitted, "It would appear I still owe you a debt."

"Yes, it would," she agreed.

"Then, what would you have me do?," he asked, all-too-aware that she was still staring.

"I will tell you, later," she advised.

"Yes, Sherlock, do let us begin," Mycroft encouraged as he began serving.

All through the rest of our meal, as I questioned Miss Trioni on how she had achieved her goal, and she, in turn, gave a full and descriptive account, Holmes remained silent. Although he did eat, it was apparent to me that he could not shake the worry he had of what she might demand as her price. Having given his word, he was honour-bound to meet whatever demands she might make of him...a position in which he was not at all comfortable.

Some time after dinner, soon after Mycroft had departed, she put an end to his torment. While she sat, putting the last few finishing touches on Mrs. Hudson's shawl, she calmly stated, "Well, Mr. Holmes, I believe I am ready to collect your debt to me, now, if you are ready to pay it."

"Of course," he said quietly.

"Dr. Watson, would you please excuse us?," she asked, placing the completed shawl in her canvas bag. The sound of her request caused me to feel a sudden chill. It apparently had the same effect on Holmes. His hands showed the slightest hint of a tremble. Rising from his chair, he quickly thrust them into his pockets to hide the fact. He turned away and walked across the room, then looked out his window.

"Oh. Of course. Of course. It is getting late. I will just say good night, then," I stammered. It was all the conversation I could muster.

"Good night, Doctor," she smiled.

"Holmes?," I asked, not sure whether I should stay or leave.

"Good night, Watson," he replied. He did not turn to face me, but continued to stare out upon the dark evening sky. Hearing the door close, he gathered his nerve, then turned towards her to ask, once again, "Well, Miss Trioni? What would you have me do?"

He could not bring himself to look directly at her. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed upon the floor. However, even without seeing her do so, he knew that she had risen from her chair, and that she was moving towards him. She paused when she reached the lamp on Holmes' end table to lower it until it was but a glimmer in the dark. Feeling even more vulnerable, he removed his hands from his pockets and stood perfectly still, waiting for whatever was to happen next. She again paused as she reached his desk. However, in the dim lighting, he could not see for what purpose. Finally, she came to stand but inches away before him, and he was forced to look upon her face.

"You did promise anything, did you not, Mr. Holmes?," she asked, her lips only a breath away from his.

"Yes, Miss Trioni," he answered. His heart was pounding in his chest.

"And, you are a man of your word?," she urged, taking his hand in hers.

Holmes looked down into her eyes, and felt as though he were falling. "Yes, Miss Trioni," he breathed.

She smiled softly. Then, placing something in his hand, she requested, "Please, sir...play for me?"

Holmes looked down at the violin which he was then holding. He blinked his eyes and sighed heavily before asking, "What would you like to hear?"

"Whatever it is that you feel," she answered, guiding him by his arm back to the hearth rug and sitting directly before him, in his chair.

Placing the violin beneath his chin, Holmes began to play a piece to which he had always been partial. It was a difficult melody, even for a skilled musician, yet his fingering was precise. I remember hearing the familiar sound of his playing that evening, and then relaxing, reassured that all was well in the drawing room below.

He continued to play in an uplifting fashion, until he had nearly completed the piece, then he made the mistake of looking directly at her. The sight of her, sitting there, in the glow of the flickering firelight, overwhelmed him. Slowly, the entire tone of the piece evolved from a light-hearted melody to a bitter-sweet rhapsody. He allowed himself the pleasure of saying in his music all the words he could not bring himself to consider, knowing she could not possibly hear the true meaning that lay there. However, the music poured out of his very soul, thus, transcending all barriers of language. So moving was it that, silently, she began to weep.

Finally, totally drained, Holmes concluded his impromptu concert, and lowered his instrument from his chin. Exhausted from such a complete effort of mind and spirit, he stood before her with his arms hanging limp at his sides.

Standing slowly, she moved towards him, and gently lifted the violin and bow from his hands. After looking upon them with wonder, she laid them upon his end table, then turned again to face him. It was only then that he saw the tears which had been falling while he had played. Due to his surprise and partial disbelief, he touched her cheek to feel if it was moist. Upon learning that it was not an illusion, Holmes opened his mouth to speak, not really sure of what he would say.

However, before he could say anything, she raised her finger to his lips to stay his efforts. Turning his head to the side, ever so gently, she kissed his cheek.

Unable to hide his surprise, he turned back suddenly to face her. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she whispered, then she gathered her canvas bag and moved quickly to exit the room.

Holmes stood, motionless, in the dimly lit drawing room, feeling as though his heart would burst unless he acknowledged the love that was in it. Unable to suppress the truth from his mind any longer, he gave in to his overwhelming need to weep.

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The Personal Journal Of John H. Watson, M.D.
Volume One
A Record Of The Events Which Occurred
March-May 1897

Copyright 1998

CHAPTER EIGHT

The next morning, I woke quite later than usual, but I was still not fully rested. Even in sleep, my mind had been haunted by the images of the previous evening. I wondered what to expect from the day that lay ahead. Would there be more conflict? Would Miss Trioni even agree to continue?

"Poor Miss Trioni," I thought. She did not deserve to be treated so terribly by any man. I wondered if she surmised what I was, by then, convinced of, myself. Holmes was falling in love with her, and the idea terrified him. Why else would he make every possible effort to drive her away?

I debated whether I should take matters into my own hands, and tell her of my suspicions, but I decided it best not to do so. Although I believed myself to be his closest friend, it was not my place to interfere in matters of the heart. The best I could do would be to try to eliminate whatever obstacles I could, and, in the process, try to keep him from hurting the dear lady's feelings beyond reparation.

With this plan of action decided upon, then, I entered the drawing room. I was surprised to find Holmes, still in his dressing gown, fast asleep in his chair. However, I was truly shocked to find Miss Trioni, sitting opposite him, crocheting. Upon hearing me enter, she looked up from her handiwork, and motioned for me to remain silent by pressing a finger to her lips. Slowly, she tiptoed towards me, then she pulled me by my arm back into the hallway.

Ever so gently, she closed the door, then she turned to face me. "Good morning, Doctor," she whispered with a smile.

"Good morning, Miss Trioni," I returned. I found myself imitating her volume, though I did not know why.

"Forgive me, Doctor, but he looked so peaceful, I could not bring myself to wake him," she explained.

"Miss Trioni, after the way in which he has been treating you, why should you give any care, at all, to his comfort?," I offered, a bit shocked by her concern.

"Dr. Watson...you, of all people, should know...he does not mean to be so abrupt," she returned with a smile. "It is just his way of keeping a safe distance from anyone, or anything, that could pose a threat to his vast mental capabilities."

"Miss Trioni, your insight is uncanny," I advised in earnest.

"Not really," she differed. "I have tried his methods, myself, but I found that, by doing so, I would miss too much of what life has to offer. Perhaps someday, he might come to the same conclusion." She looked hopefully at the door, as if she could see him through it, then she asked, "Do you have the time, Doctor?"

"It is nearly half past nine," I answered, breaking my stare to glance at my watch.

"Oh, dear. Mycroft will be arriving shortly," she noted. "I suppose we must wake him. Perhaps it would be best if you did so, alone." Her discretion was impeccable.

"As you wish," I agreed. I opened the door to do so, and again, she caught my arm.

"Gently, Doctor," she cautioned. I nodded my assurance, then continued in my task.

"Holmes. Holmes. Wake up, man. It is nearly time for Mycroft to arrive...Holmes...," I nudged him gently.

He stirred in his chair, then slowly opened his languid, blue-grey eyes, and looked up at me to offer, "Good morning, Watson. What time is it?"

"Half past nine, and you are still in your dressing gown," I scolded.

"Where is Miss Trioni?," he asked with a stretch.

"She is...," I began. I hesitated unintentionally, just long enough for him to observe my uneasiness with his question. He quickly looked around the room and observed her craft, still laying on the chair opposite him. Taking the work in hand, he tossed me a knowing glance, then he rose and hurried to his room. Moments later, Miss Trioni entered with Mrs. Hudson.

"Good morning, Doctor," Miss Trioni called as if for the first time that day, purposefully loud enough for Holmes to overhear.

"Good morning, Miss Trioni...Mrs. Hudson," I returned.

"Good morning, Doctor. Will you be wanting breakfast this morning, sir?," Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Just toast and coffee for me, please," I advised.

"I will have the same, thank you," Miss Trioni added.

"And, what of Mr. Holmes?," Mrs. Hudson inquired.

"I would be grateful if you would prepare two poached eggs, several of your delicious pancakes, and perhaps some bacon. No, no...make that sausage, if it is not too much trouble this late in the morning," Holmes called from his bedroom. He then entered, still adjusting his collar.

"With pleasure, sir! It is about time you started looking after yourself," Mrs. Hudson happily agreed, then she hurried to return to her kitchen.

"Good morning, Miss Trioni," Holmes smiled.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes," she replied.

"Miss Trioni, I believe you mislaid this," Holmes offered. He pulled the nearly finished shawl from behind his back and handed it to her. "Luckily, Mrs. Hudson did not notice."

"But, I see that you did," she smiled shyly as she took the work from his hand and lowered her gaze.

Holmes moved a bit closer to her, then quietly asked, "Why did you not wake me?"

"After last night, you needed your sleep," she said in a whisper.

I cleared my throat loudly, quite uncomfortable with the way in which their conversation was progressing...a reaction which they each found somewhat comical.

"Calm yourself, Watson," Holmes chuckled. "It is not what you think."

"Really, Holmes, I, I," I stammered. I felt the colour rising in my cheeks.

"Watson, would you mind telling Mrs. Hudson that my brother will be joining us?," Holmes encouraged. "I do believe he would enjoy some breakfast, as well."

"Not at all," I said, relieved to have a moment to collect my thoughts. I was not sure what had transpired between them. However, I was feeling quite unneeded at the time. I made my way to the kitchen, leaving them alone.

"Have you done it, then?," she asked with a grin as soon as the door closed.

"I am almost completely satisfied," Holmes allowed. "However, there are still one or two small points which I wish to clear up."

"Do you wish to do so now, or would you prefer to wait for Mycroft to arrive?," she offered.

"Your offer is most tempting, but I believe I shall wait," Holmes declined with a smile.

I returned to find Miss Trioni, seated at the table in her usual place, and Holmes, standing directly behind her, at his window. "Mrs. Hudson said she would be happy to accommodate your brother, as well, Holmes. I suggested she wait until Mycroft arrives to serve us, turning breakfast into brunch," I informed.

"Splendid, Watson," he sighed.

"I took the liberty, Miss Trioni, of changing both of our requests to the full meal which Holmes and Mycroft will be enjoying. I hope you do not mind," I offered.

"Not at all, Doctor. Thank you," she smiled.

Although my curiosity was peaked, I took up the morning paper from the sideboard. Seated next to Miss Trioni at the table, I tried to pass the time that remained before Mycroft was due.

"Ah! He is here!," Holmes called over his shoulder. "And, looking somewhat anxious." He moved swiftly to sit in his chair. Moments later, Mycroft entered.

"Good morning, all!," he offered, a bit out of breath. We each returned his greeting. "Mariana, these are for you, my dear," he explained as he presented to her a small bouquet of violets.

"Oh, thank you, Mycroft! They are beautiful!," she happily declared as she rose from her seat and took the flowers in hand. She breathed their sweet aroma. Then, without any warning, she embraced him and kissed his cheek, causing him to fluster considerably and smile broadly. "I will just put these in water, and return," she called as she hurried out of the room.

"Mycroft...you are three minutes late," Holmes observed, not quite pleased by his brother's actions, nor Mycroft's subsequent reward.

"So I am, Sherlock," Mycroft stated. He smiled to himself, noting Holmes' tone. "I took some time to purchase the flowers on my way. I hope you do not mind the delay."

"It was an unnecessary gesture," Holmes advised.

"But quite appreciated, I would say," Mycroft replied. "You would do well to take note of that, yourself, little brother."

I felt the animosity beginning to build. I was most grateful when Miss Trioni returned, and it quickly dissipated. "Thank you, again, Mycroft," she offered while placing the violets upon the table.

"Do not mention it, my dear," Mycroft smiled openly, delighting in Holmes' subtle pout. "Tell me, how did your outing go yesterday? Did you enjoy Tobson's Grove?"

"Oh, yes. It is a lovely place. I hope to return there again before leaving England," she offered.

"I do hope that will not be for some time, Mariana," Mycroft noted.

"We shall see," she said. Then, touching a delicate bloom, to herself, she repeated, "We shall see..."

"Well, Sherlock? Shall we begin?," Mycroft asked, taking his usual seat upon the settee. Miss Trioni followed his example and sat beside him.

"Indeed, we shall," Holmes answered readily. Turning from the empty fireplace, he continued, "However, first, I have a confession to make, which I would like both yourself and Watson to hear. Last night, I am afraid I forfeited any right I might have had at claiming a victory in this game, by breaking a rule."

"Mr. Holmes...," Miss Trioni began to protest. He held up his hand to stop her.

"What did you do, Sherlock," Mycroft asked with some concern.

"I persuaded Miss Trioni to answer a question which, in turn, led me to my conclusions," Holmes advised.

"This does complicated matters," Mycroft sternly stated.

"It is not true," Miss Trioni interrupted. "Mr. Holmes, I appreciate your efforts to shield me, but I can not allow it. Mycroft, it was I who persuaded Mr. Holmes. The responsibility is mine, alone. If anyone has forfeited their chance of winning, it is me."

"I see...," Mycroft mused, leaning back in his seat and trying to hide his smile. "Well, that is quite a different case. After all, the rule was meant to prevent Sherlock from badgering you. But, if you offered the information freely..."

"I did, Mycroft," she assured.

"Well, then. I do not see as any harm has been done," he allowed. "However, for the benefit of Dr. Watson and myself, would you mind repeating both the question and the answer?"

"Of course," Holmes agreed. "I asked Miss Trioni by what means the fish was transported from the restaurant to the home of Mr. Henry Dobish."

"And, I answered that is was by cart, within its original tank," she added. Their manner seemed to suggest that they believed all was quite said and done.

"Excuse me," I said, visibly confused, "but I fail to see the significance."

"Then, allow me to explain," Holmes offered happily. "When I learned that the fish had been delivered in its original tank, I realized that the fish was not, at all, the cause of the man's death. It was the tank, Watson...or rather, what it contained."

"You know, then?," Mycroft asked with a slight sigh of resolution.

"I believe I do," Holmes smiled.

"Then, would someone be so kind as to tell me?," I urged, totally perplexed.

"Just a few more questions, if you would not mind, Miss Trioni?," Holmes asked hopefully.

"By all means, Mr. Holmes," she allowed.

"Was the cook present when the arrangements were made for the sale of the fish?," he began.

"Yes."

"What reason was given for the necessity of the fish to remain in its original tank?"

"The fragility of the species. It could not be transported by any other means without severe risk of shock, and subsequent death."

"One more question...what colour of decorative stone was used in the tank?"

"Black, Mr. Holmes," she smiled more fully.

"Black! Of course! Well done, Miss Trioni!," Holmes praised.

"Thank you, sir," she softly chuckled.

"Holmes!," I demanded. I could not tolerate being kept so confused for one moment longer.

"Ah, Watson," he sighed. He smiled in his usual all-knowing fashion and lit a fresh pipe. "Again, you have listened, but not heard. Very well, I shall explain." He sat back in his chair and did so with great satisfaction.

"The syndicate which arranged for the heroin to be smuggled was a diversified one," he began. "Drugs were not their only product of export. They took advantage of the opportunity to make use of the fish's tank, knowing that, wherever the fish went, the tank must follow. The original plan was for the cook to persuade Mr. Chin, by some series of events, that the fish should be disposed of. After sufficiently playing upon the old man's superstitious nature, the cook could, no doubt, offer to do Mr. Chin the service of removing the malevolent presence, with ease. However, he could not have foreseen the possibility of Mr. Dobish's appearance in the scenario.

Once he learned of the man's intention to have the fish transported to his residence, the cook took the opportunity to ensure he would have an easy time burglarizing the man's home on the following evening, by slipping Mr. Dobish the heroin-filled capsule that day, at lunch. He needed time, you see, since he could not simply remove the entire tank. It would have been much too big for him to do so easily. Perhaps the cook never intended to kill Mr. Dobish. He may have meant only to render Mr. Dobish ill enough to be hospitalized for a few days, and thus, no threat to his plans. Unfortunately, upon arriving at the home on that fateful Wednesday evening, he realized he could still not easily gain access to the tank, as the man's family was within. Luckily for our fiend, however, Mr. Dobish drowned, because of the drug's effect. The cook and his companions thought quickly, and disposed of the body as you have noted. The cook then waited patiently for the home to be empty, and, on the day of the funeral, he took his first opportunity, capitalizing on the alchemist's presence outside. Knowing of Mr. Chin's arrangements, he went to the home and waited for the servants' attentions to be drawn away, thus, enabling him the time he needed to slip into the house and retrieve that for which he had come, from the tank. Unfortunately for the fish, being extremely sensitive to its environment, the cook sealed its fate by disturbing the water of the tank."

I took a moment to absorb all of what he had just explained. Still a bit bewildered, I asked, "But, what was being smuggled in the tank?"

"Pearls, Watson," Holmes informed. His eyes seemed to dance.

"But, Holmes, the rock was black!," I reminded.

"So were the pearls," he smiled broadly. "Most valuable, from what I understand."

He sat back in his chair and drew a deep breath of smoke. I looked to Miss Trioni, who was smiling at him, and encouraged, "Miss Trioni? Is he correct?"

"Yes, Doctor, in every detail," she advised, then to Holmes, she offered, "Congratulations, Mr. Holmes. You have solved my mystery."

"By Jove, you have, Sherlock. Though, I am satisfied that it took you three days to do so," Mycroft reminded, clinging to what little consolation he could in defeat.

"I believe it would have been much longer, had I not received such an accurate account," Holmes admitted freely. Then, with as warm a smile as I had ever seen him show, he turned to Miss Trioni and offered, "Thank you, dear Miss Trioni, for your honesty and resolution in not resorting to trickery."

"It would have been foolish for me to try, Mr. Holmes," she returned. She rose from her seat and offered, "Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I would like to see if Mrs. Hudson needs any assistance." She began to leave the room, then thought better of it, and stopped abruptly. She moved to stand just before Holmes, who was still seated in his chair. With a hopeful smile, she offered, "Mr. Holmes, I would be honoured if you would please accept this, as a small token of my highest esteem." She then pulled a small satin pouch from a pocket in her skirt, and presented it to him.

"Miss Trioni...I could not possibly...," Holmes began to protest in awe.

"Please, sir, I insist," she urged.

Reluctantly, Holmes took the pouch from her hand and accepted, stating, "Thank you, Miss Trioni."

"You are quite welcome, sir," she smiled, then she turned and swiftly left the room.

For a few moments, I was as dumbfounded as Holmes and Mycroft apparently were by her actions and her words. Finally, I found my voice and asked, "What is it, Holmes?"

"Let us find out," he offered, turning his attention from the door which she had exited to the pouch in his hand. He untied the cord which fastened it, and emptied the contents into his hand...then opened his fingers to reveal three small, lustrous black spheres.

"Good Lord!," I exclaimed as I saw them.

Mycroft muttered something similar. Holmes' reaction, however, was more direct.

"Miss Trioni!," he called loudly. In a flash, he was out of his chair and moving towards the door. "Miss Trioni!," he called again as he opened it. She was standing there before him, with a large tray of pancakes in her hands.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she offered lightly. She moved past him into the room with Mrs. Hudson following close behind. She placed the tray down upon the table, and began setting our places with the encouragement, "Come, gentlemen, before it gets cold."

Though Mycroft and I made an attempt, Holmes could not contain his amazement. "Miss Trioni, I must know...how did you come by these?," he urged, holding the pearls out before her.

She placed her hands over his, forcing his fingers to close over the smooth jewels, and assured, "You have my word, Mr. Holmes, my story was pure fiction. These were, however, my inspiration. Please, say you will accept them?"

"But, surely, they are too valuable...," Holmes tried to protest.

She smiled warmly and interrupted, "There are things in this world far more important than money, Mr. Holmes. Their value to me is not monetary, but in their beauty, and in the fact that, in a way, they made this trip possible." She was still holding his hand in hers, and she squeezed it a bit tighter as she urged, "Please?"

When he looked into her eyes, he found it quite impossible to refuse her. "Again, Miss Trioni, thank you," he accepted.

"You are very welcome," she smiled happily. She released his hand and moved to sit at the table, instructing, "Now, do come and eat."

While Mycroft and I moved to join her, Holmes replaced the pearls in the satin pouch, and walked to his desk. Unlocking the top drawer, he laid the pouch down gently, next to the small wooden box within it. He took a moment to run his finger over the smooth fabric of the pouch, then he locked the drawer and joined us at the table.

Unable to refrain, despite my efforts, as I sat next to her, I was compelled to offer, "Miss Trioni, I hope you will not think it too rude of me if I ask...where did you acquire so rare a gift?"

She took no offense, whatsoever, and informed, "Some years ago, I had occasion to make the acquaintance of an Oriental gentleman. The pearls were a payment from him, for my bookkeeping services."

"A very generous salary, I should say," I noted without thought.

"Yes, Doctor, it was," she returned with a smile. Although I had a multitude of questions, I refrained from asking them.

STORIES AND SAGAS
My Sherlockian Saga Volume One Chapter Eight