Harry: Chapter Twelve
Troubling Doubts
by Liederlady
I
sighed, not realizing I had done so aloud. Sherlock Holmes stirred slightly on
the blanket; his eyes fluttered open and gazed up at me. He sat up, a bit
flustered, and the towel covering his shoulders dropped away.
“I’m
sorry. I must have dozed,” he said.
“The
sun is glorious. I was tempted to do so myself,” I replied.
“You
did not remain long in the water,” he stated.
I
looked over at him.
“How
do you know--”
“The
sun has not traveled far from when I lay down. I estimate little more than a
half hour has passed yet your suit and hair are nearly dry,” he explained.
I
shook my head at him and grinned.
“I
doubt I shall become used to that,” I said.
“What?”
“Your
blasted observing nature,” I joked.
“Oh.
Well, we cannot help our natures, can we?” he reasoned.
My
head jerked toward him in surprise. It was as though he had read my thoughts.
“Is
something wrong, John?” he asked, his eyes widening. For a moment, I was
mesmerized by them … twin black discs surrounded by swirling grey mist.
“No--
well, yes, something has been troubling me,” I admitted.
“May
I assist?” He straightened and offered me his full attention.
“A
man passed by … he was watching you sleep when I came back to shore,” I said.
An
eyebrow arched slightly but he appeared unruffled.
“Oh?”
“He
… said something disturbing … quite inappropriate,” I said, rubbing my palms
against the legs of my swim outfit.
Sherlock’s
eyes followed my motions.
“Can
you describe this man?” he asked calmly.
I
gave him the details of the man’s appearance; I saw no outward reaction.
“Holmes,
the man who owns the cottage, is he an Admiral?”
“How
do you know that?” Sherlock asked, his eyes narrowing.
I
told him what the man in black had said. The grey eyes widened slightly, but
Holmes made no other response.
“You
understand the reason for my concern,” I told him.
He
nodded fractionally.
“Do
you know this … Admiral?”
He
shook his head.
“No,
he is an acquaintance of a relative as I mentioned earlier,” he said. His voice
sounded perturbed.
“The
man who was here, does he sound familiar to you?” I asked.
Sherlock
glanced out toward the sea, his grey eyes now mirroring the turbulent waves.
“He
does not resemble anyone I would know,” Sherlock said, his brows furrowed in
irritation.
“From
what he said, this man may have known the Admiral. Perhaps he knows your
relative as well?” I asked.
“Unknown,”
Sherlock said curtly, glancing back toward me. His eyes narrowed a bit—the old
suspicion darkening them. “John, I doubt there is reason for concern. Perhaps
you misunderstood.”
“I
did not misunderstand,” I huffed.
“Or
the man may have been joking. Either way, there is nothing to what he said.
There is no reason for you to be troubled,” Sherlock said, flashing his quick
smile, but it did not reach his eyes.
I
had my doubts … about the man and about Sherlock’s response, but my unease was
fueled solely by intuition. I could hardly accuse the young man of lying.
“Sherlock,
please understand. I am concerned for you. I worried that he may have been one
of those who … hurt you,” I said earnestly.
He
flinched slightly, but rapidly covered it. The gaze the boy now turned upon me
was one of affection, the earlier suspicion now blinked away.
“I
do understand. And I thank you, my friend. But there is no reason for such
concern, I assure you. All is well.” He laid his hand on my arm; it felt cold.
I
nodded.
“Shall
we have something to eat?” Sherlock asked, now with a hopeful gleam in his
eyes. It was obvious he wished to change the topic of conversation.
I nodded again. He smiled and turned toward the picnic basket.
