The Seventeenth Step - Some Further Notes on the Roylott Matter, Part 2

About the characters: they are far too good to be mine.
Rating: PG




He returned at around five in the afternoon and entered the room without a word. I leaped up from my throne of cushions and grasped him by the hand. It is a necessary skill of men with regrettable tempers that they be able to make pretty apologies when called upon, even when they are in the right. I am usually in the right. But in this case, I knew precisely what the trouble was about, and it had both nothing whatever and everything in the world to do with Watson.
 
"My dear fellow, forgive me. I am barely tolerable at the best of times, and I pity those who see the worst. If you would prefer it, I shall engage a second room for the evening, as it must feel to you like sharing a chamber with a wild boar."
 
"I am not afraid of wild boars," he said warily.
 
"Stout fellow," I smiled. Then I recalled what I had to do, and I felt the smile drain away. "My dear chap, I must have a word with you. It is a matter of some urgency, and has to do with the case this evening."
 
"Well?" he said, sitting expectantly. "What are we to do?"
 
"Do you know, Watson," I said, drawing a very deep breath, "I have really some scruples as to taking you tonight."

"What do you mean?" he questioned me, looking suddenly fearful.

"I mean that I prefer you to return to London.  There is a distinct element of danger."
 
I said it as firmly as I could, and when that occurs, I sound positively imperial. It is an asset lost on those who know me well, which makes it fortunate that I can identify only two such men, one of them a sibling.  Mycroft generally laughs when I attempt the maneuver.  Watson narrowed his eyes at me thoughtfully. They had turned the colour of the designs on Mrs. Hudson's best china.
 
"Can I be of assistance?"
 
"I prefer to work alone tonight, my dear fellow.  It is the best course for all of us."

"You imagine me a liability?"  He was making every effort not to sound hurt, and failing extravagantly.
 
"Of course I do not.  But I do not wish you to accompany me."

"You invited me.  And I had asked whether or not I could be of assistance, not about your wishes," he pointed out.
 
He would accept no explanation other than the true one, and I had known it for hours.  It would take most men decades to know me, and it had taken John Watson, a near-invalid medical man with no exceptional skill at logic, a mere six months.  I could lie to him and prolong it, I thought, or tell the truth and be done. I am not a coward, but I felt like one at that moment.
 
"Your presence might be invaluable."
 
"Then I shall certainly come."
 
"It is very kind of you, but I am afraid you shall do nothing of the sort."
 
"Holmes, what on earth is this about?" he demanded. "My dear fellow, are you all right? You look as if you've taken ill."
 
"I am not ill," I said quickly. I picked up a leaded paperweight from the desk and tossed it from hand to hand. I set it down again. I felt very ill indeed.

I must not give the impression that I had never felt a passion for anyone before, but before the passion was always well worth the risk taken. Risk had been nothing to me once, which is the reason I had given it up.  I wanted Watson safe--safe from vipers, and safe from me. I felt so tenderly toward him that I could scarcely breathe.

"You will forgive me, my dear fellow, but the risk to your person outweighs the benefits to the operation in question. It is my case, and my client.  I appreciate your help, but it is out of the question."

"If you appreciate it, it is at your disposal."

"Simply because you are generous does not require you to be foolhardy."
 
"You speak of danger. If it is too dangerous for me, it is too dangerous for you," he argued, beginning to look very anxious.

"I will be fine, I promise you."

"If you cannot guarantee my safety, how the devil can you feel so assured of your own?" he cried, rising and approaching me.

The Doctor employs logic at the most inopportune times.  I would also be lying if I said that the effect he had upon me, standing there with his heart in his eyes and his arms crossed over his chest, was...significant.  "The responsibility for resolving it lies in my corner, while you would merely be throwing yourself in harm's way purposelessly."

"You imagine I think it purposeless to share the danger with you?" he inquired breathlessly. 

Watson hovers very near perfection, but confound the fellow, he has a habit of forcing points.  It has to be now, I thought, or he will do it himself and rob himself of the choice. 
 
"That is the other trivial matter I wished to bring up," I exhaled. You comprehensive fool, I reflected. Small wonder I had said never again to the softer emotions. Little wonder I had shut myself up like a penitent in a monastery. Watson once wrote rather unkindly that grit in a sensitive instrument would be as upsetting as a strong passion in a nature as aloof as mine. He was unwittingly quite accurate, for grit in sensitive instruments worries me exceedingly.  But this degree of consternation was altogether unprecedented.
 
"What matter?" he whispered. His face was open and honest and trusting and to me it looked quite fragile.
 
"I feel that I must warn you," I said slowly, "that my regard for your safety, and your...person...is as important to me as--that is to say, more important. You mean more to--I am going without you. I must put a stop to this. But at my own risk, not yours."

I will never forget what he did for as long as I live.  He closed the gap between us and stood perfectly still.

"What is it that you want of me?"

"You can't guess?" I laughed.  It was a bitter laugh, but I pride myself it was the last of them.

"I have been making an effort to work it out," he said simply.

"As have I," I conceded.  Watson's hand grasped my arm just above the elbow.  I shook him off, but gently.  The worst was over, but I would be damned if I could not get through it myself.  "I want a number of things.  I want you to be utterly safe from the laws of this wretched, glorious country.  I want you to be happy here.  I have watched you recover and have developed an equal enthusiasm for the project, so I desire you to remain safe from physical injury.  I also want you in every other conceivable sense."  I had reached the truth, and it is the approach to truth which is painful, not the actual event, and so I looked straight into his eyes.  "I want to protect you, and to endanger you.  I am at a loss how to explain it any better, my dear fellow, and for that I apologize.  I want you to belong with me.  You do belong with me, after all.  I want you to forget every man you've ever known.  I can--"

Saying that much to Watson, dragging him into an illegal liaison in such a manner, was difficult for me, even painful, no matter that I had said it first and allowed him the power to accept or reject me.  But I was given to understand from his reaction at that moment how difficult my previous meanderings had been for Watson.  For when he kissed me by way of interruption--and I would likely have gone on far past the point of efficiency otherwise--I understood everything.  I am not slow of study.  He had loved me.  I had noticed everything about him save that.








As we walked together down the darkened path to the Manor, I mused, not for the first time, upon the disadvantages which accompany intimate relations.  Before he had kissed me, there were tools at my disposal which could prevent the Doctor from standing guard in an evil, deadly room; after he had kissed me, he simply refused to listen.  It was all very irksome.  Still more so when I thought of his hand reaching up to the back of my neck, pressing me down harder against his mouth.  I would not lose that hand for anything, and yet I was no longer the captain of the vessel.  It was a ludicrous position, and the timing of it could not have been worse.  I could only hope the waters ahead were relatively smooth.

The wind in our faces helped me somewhat in recovering my clarity of thought.  I had just worked out an appropriate speech when he spoke softly.

"Shall you tell me what we are lying in wait for?"

I swept some stray weeds out of our way with my cane and drew a deliberate breath.  "You have your revolver, I trust."

"Of course."

"You, Doctor, are going to do exactly as I tell you."

"Naturally."  There was a smile in his voice which I ignored entirely.

"That room is a death trap, and I intend to rob death of its sting.  Your pistol will be useful only if Dr. Roylott proves disagreeable, but that will occur after our vigil.  Our attention is to be fixed upon the ventilator, and I shall be the one to deal with what will emerge from it.  You will remain where you are.  You will not venture close enough to shoot it unless I signal you to do so, for there will not be enough light to draw aim.  Am I perfectly clear?"

"I am yours to command, my dear fellow."

The newly recovered clarity of thought fled once more.  I had broken away after the first two minutes of aching kisses had threatened to develop into more concrete events, as there were a number of activities I adamantly refused to enact in a public house, with an unknown and potentially vocal partner, with our names loudly printed upon the register.  I am no stranger to postponing satisfaction.  Pleasure deferred is merely pleasure enhanced, after all.  Instead, we had had a very remarkable conversation.  I cannot imagine, in fact, trading that conversation for anything in the world.  The things we had not yet done, however, left a seared mark like a brand upon my brain in a way no other half-consummated encounter ever had.

We made it to the grounds of the Manor, easily accessible through the ruined stone wall.  Creeping noiselessly along, we glided through the trees as we headed for the window of that horribly situated room.  Just when we had nearly reached our goal, a hideous creature like a leering gargoyle darted across our path, and I flung my arm out to seize Watson's wrist almost without thinking.

"My God!" he whispered.  "Did you see it?"

I had, and I laughed softly.  I pulled the Doctor close to my side and put my lips directly against his ear.  "A nice household," I murmured.  "It is the baboon."  I then dropped his hand and completed my journey to Miss Stoner's window. 

It was not a subtle revenge, but it was an elegant one. 

I felt sick at heart even entering that room, but I am not one to dwell upon tragedy where none yet exists.  My senses would have to be alert, my mind focused as sharp as the tip of an arrow, and thinking about snakes, or about Watson, would accomplish neither.  After I had situated the lamp as I wished, I drew his head near to me with the length of my body against his, and whispered very softly in his ear, in earnest this time.

"The least sound would be fatal to our plans."

He nodded, and put a hand against the small of my back.

"We must sit without light. He would see it through the ventilator."

He pressed me against him to show that he had heard.  I think if I were to put a fiscal value on how badly I wanted to be alone with the Doctor in any room on earth other than that one, it would have come to over ten thousand pounds sterling.
 
"Do not fall asleep; your very life may depend upon it. Have your pistol ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of the bed, and you in that chair."

I placed a long, thin cane upon the bed beside me, along with a box of matches and the stump of a candle. Then I turned down the lamp, and we were left in darkness.

It was absolutely wretched.  I cannot say precisely how Watson felt about it, but I do not believe he enjoyed it any more for his ignorance of our foe.  When Roylott at last lit his dark lantern, I fancied the grueling wait was over, but for half an hour more I sat in the dark, the only force between the Doctor and a venomous beast.  Finally, I heard it before I saw it, for I had been listening with all my might.  There was a low hiss, and then the scrape of downward movement against the wall.

I was up in an instant, thrashing at it like a madman.  Watson insists I struck a match first, and that I cried out whether he saw it, but I imagine that portion of the brain normally reserved for recording memory was entirely blotted out in my frenzy to kill the wretched yellow thing for good and all.  It was terrible to look at, thick and bloated yet supple in its strength, its diamond visage glaring malevolently at me as it reared its neck back to strike the thing that was beating its body. I landed a blow across its head and it thought better of attacking me, though it curved back upon itself as if it would lunge.  Just then a low whistle sounded and it slithered with a swiftness I would hardly have given it credit for back up the bell-pull.

"What was it, Holmes?" Watson asked, his face aghast.

I made no answer.  We waited in silence for a moment.  Then a scream of deepest agony assaulted our ears.

"Quick!" I shouted, and we were in Roylott's room in an instant, Watson two paces behind me with his revolver.  I dropped the stick with a clatter when I saw Roylott's head, the eyes empty and staring in horror, wreathed with a sickly yellow crown.

Watson very kindly writes that I whispered, "The band!  The speckled band!"  In truth, I muttered, "Bloody hell," lunged for the dog leash in the dead man's lap, procured the snake, which looked back at me balefully, and threw it from three yards distance into the safe, which I at last shut upon it.  I then collapsed into the nearest chair.

"Holmes!  Holmes, are you all right?" Watson demanded.  He gave me his flask, and then a look of panic marred his handsome features.  "Dear God, Holmes, you were not bitten? Please--"

"No, no, no, no." I gasped.  "Be still.  I'll be all right in a moment."  I took a sip of the brandy and the world began to resume its usual shape.

"Holmes," Watson said more gently.  He was crouched before me with his hands on my knees, his countenance pale from the gruesome ordeal, his blue eyes wide with concern. 

"Roylott is quite dead, I imagine."

"Yes, quite.  I cannot think of anyone who will mourn his loss."  Watson is far from callous, but he was very worried at the time.  "My dear fellow, you must tell me what is wrong.  I have never seen you look like this, and it is frankly terrifying me."

"I'm terribly sorry for it, but it will pass," I replied with great impatience.  "Kindly step back and give a man some air.  I do not require an audience."

Watson's face suddenly cleared and darkened all at once.  He seemed to measure his words with care.  "Holmes, have you a fear of snakes?"

"Of course not!" I snapped.  "Don't be ridiculous.  I simply cannot abide being near them."

"Ah," he replied slowly.  "I understand you.  You are not afraid of them at all. You merely harbour an intense hatred for their kind."

"Precisely so," I murmured.  "That was a swamp adder.  Roylott perished in ten seconds.  You wanted to come along, and it was a swamp adder.  Christ in Heaven, what could have happened...."  I dropped my head between my legs and lifted my hands to support it.  Mere seconds had passed before there were very warm, gentle fingers in my hair.

"I'd no idea you felt this way, but you are in the right, my dear fellow.  It was a loathsome creature."

"Don't speak of the snake.  Speak of anything but the snake."

"Of course."  He paused for a moment.  "When you are feeling more yourself, we had better alert the local constabulary."

"Yes, that is undoubtedly necessary," I breathed. 

"You are known to them, of course?"

"I very much doubt it, but Miss Stoner likely enough has had dealings with them on behalf of the late Dr. Grimesby Roylott."

"Sadly, I imagine you are right.  Shall I tell her, Holmes?  She is awaiting news, and no doubt Roylott's scream terrified her."

"No," I sighed, sitting up again.  "I am much better, thank you.  Let us go." 

"You need not hurry," he said soothingly.  He placed his palm against the side of my face.  Watson has a surgeon's hands.  They are rather exquisite, in fact.  "I can go in your stead.  I can remain here.  Whatever you like, but you needn't overtax yourself when you've just--when you've witnessed so dramatic an event as this."

I had normalized my breathing by then, and I was willing my pulse into its usual rhythm.  The Doctor had insisted on danger twice that evening, and at least one of the choices had ended in our favour.  Perhaps the other would go as well.  I looked deliberately at the ceiling and emptied my mind of all things reptilian.

I rose and offered him my arm.  "We will go together," I said.  And so we proceeded down the hall.









These are the events as they actually occurred at Stoke Moran, and while I would certainly pale at the thought of this narrative in the public view, I feel that much of what Watson left out was the more important subject matter.  I do not mean to say that he does not inject hints at our actual conversations into his stories, some of which tempt me to blush when I recall their true contexts.  Three excellent examples include:

"I am here to be used."

"What steps will you take?"

"I do not see the point."

I fear I digress.  We spirited the quietly sobbing Miss Stoner away to a relation's residence by train to Harrow, after Watson had assisted in her packing to the degree it was discreet, and I conducted a lengthy conversation with the local Inspector.  I insisted the safe remain closed during this interview.  Blessedly, I did not know the combination, and the fact I can crack a safe in a matter of seconds was not information I volunteered to the Inspector.  At last, at close upon ten the next morning, we boarded a train for London and locked ourselves into a private compartment.  I settled myself in the corner and soon was treated to the unprecedented sensation of Dr. Watson's head resting on my shoulder.  I am five inches taller than he, and it fits perfectly.  It could not have fit more perfectly if both statures had been designed so.  Perhaps they have.

"Holmes."

"What is the matter?" I asked.

"Why didn't you approach me before?" he asked softly.  "I had thought I was going mad at times.  The way you looked at me from the beginning, and you never said a word.  Two years I was waiting.  Surely you knew I...?"

"Well, yes, my dear fellow.  I knew that much."

"It isn't obvious, is it?" he started.

"Of course it isn't.  You are speaking to a highly trained professional.  In both arenas.  But certainly, my boy, I knew all along.  You were every bit as convinced of my own depravity, I've no doubt.  It was ill-concealed, after all."

A word on that subject, as I draw to a close.  I am not a publicly demonstrative fellow by nature; and in my case, to be so would be tantamount to breaking the windows of office buildings every time I stroll down the street, or openly beating hapless strangers.  It is not impossible to tell, however, in the privacy of my own home, that I harbour certain affinities, even if I am proud and abrasive.  If I spent every day lost in meditation, or awash in cocaine-induced melancholy, or making ironic remarks about my flat-mate, he would doubtless be a very unhappy soul.  I do all three of these things on occasion, but even throughout them I am absolutely devoted to him.  Watson saw the value of crafting a personality very like my own, distant and supercilious, and publicizing it--he has even been asked by old army acquaintances how he has tolerated me so long.  His portrait of me, for our benefit, is the one point of true artistry in his writing.  I wish to state for the record that it is an unparalleled achievement. 

"Then why?" he inquired again, although he sounded already half asleep.  "You didn't want me?"

This was laughable, and my chest moved involuntarily, but I managed to divert it into a slight cough.  "I thought I could look without reaching," I corrected him.  "Desire is a wonderful sentiment, but I am well accustomed to taming it.  I suppose I could have looked without reaching, but then I began studying.  I could not study without admiring, and soon enough I could not admire without adoring, and that is a different thing from a casual affair.  Affairs are simple, and often enough anonymous.  This could ruin us both." 

"I know I am very tired, but I fear I do not follow you."

"Love is dangerous," I told him.  "You are very dangerous, John Watson."  He is still dangerous, of course.  If someone were ever to use him to get to me--but I cannot think of that.  It isn't worth the nightmares.

"That is absurd," he whispered, his voice leaden with sleep.  It is a baritone, with a rich, soothing timbre.  It is a voice other doctors would pay for if they could, as it would earn them an extra hundred quid a year.  "I would never hurt you."

"No, I don't think you would.  I don't imagine you are capable of such."

"Then why did you not--"

"You don't know why I left University," I sighed.  "No, it wasn't that," I assured him when his eyes raised up to mine in alarm.  "I was never found out.  I am thought far too cold-blooded for such activities.  I am also rather clever, you may have noticed.  But he--he was found out," I finished very quietly.  I realized I had never spoken of it before.  Whom could I have told?  "I left soon after, without having completed my studies entirely.  It mattered but little, for there is no independent consulting detective course at Oxford."

"What happened?" he asked, taking my hand.  He was already appalled on my behalf, I mused, and he only knew the half of it.

"Must I?"

"No, of course not.  But I am grieved you went through it nevertheless."

He deserved to know, I reflected.  "He was discovered on the grounds, and I suppose I ought to thank my stars every morning, noon and night he wasn't found with me.  That said, I am afraid it did not strike me so at the time.  It struck me very differently, in fact.  It was the most agonizing stroke of good fortune I've ever had.  He was sent to South America where he later died.  I sent myself to London, where I live as you have seen."

"My dear Holmes," he said to me.  Watson says my name when he desires to be comforting.  He does this without thinking, like a mantra, as if saying my name will improve my mood, or condition, or situation, which of course it does not.  It does not even make me feel any better, but it is another reason I love him.

"It's all right, my boy--it was simply a profound blow to my pride.  We were never close enough for it to strike any deeper, but I confess news of his death struck me as an overly harsh punishment for the crime committed."

"I could not agree more," he stated.

"I do not reflect upon it overmuch, but it sobered me, I will confess.  Sobered and humiliated," I added in an effort to lighten the mood.

"I cannot imagine a man who could have you would ever waste his time with lesser creatures."

"My blushes, Watson, but don't be absurd."

"I was not.  You are breathtaking."

I am not breathtaking.  I look like a Dickensian undertaker, though to be just I am not hideous either.  I am tall, and gaunt, and raven-haired, and pallid, with eyes the colour of tin.  I have already pointed out, however, that the Doctor's perceptions are deeply tinged with romanticism.

"Very well, then--if I am breathtaking, I will be spared the experience of sharing you with an Irish-born rugby player with a deep affinity for Keats.  He was expelled as well, of course."

I was jesting, but for once Watson did not laugh.  "It must have been horrible.  If that is the reason you did not at first desire this, I swear to you I would never--"

"Cease speaking," I advised him.  "I imagined nothing of the kind.  But we live together.  I could inadvertently do you harm, and that would be far worse."

"Is that truly what worried you?" he said fondly. 

"Of course it was.  We must keep upon our guards at all times.  I've no desire to risk your freedom."

"You think too much." He slipped his fingers between my longer ones.

"Do I indeed?"  I was slightly nettled by this remark.  "I do not call it over-thinking when I spend a number of months considering making a vast change in both our lives.  A change that may well cause us both great harm, at that.  I also would argue, Doctor, that the instant I realized my position clearly, I took steps to make it equally lucid to you.  In any event, if I am not allowed to think more than most men, my only perceivable asset goes flying out the window.  Thinking is my sole day-to-day skill, for the opportunities to engage combatants in single-stick are few and far between, and I have largely given up boxing.  I can play the violin, for what it is worth to you.  Surely you are not labouring under the delusion that I am handsome, or amusing, or wealthy for that matter?  I require a second income to pay for my digs, you recall.  If you are not drawn to my brain, I fear I have nothing left to offer."

"You battled a swamp adder for me," he murmured.  "No one has ever done such a thing in my life.  I am in your hands.  I am yours entirely."

I sought a reply to this remarkable statement for several minutes, but by the time I had formulated a coherent response, he was fast asleep.  Logic had clearly abandoned the Doctor in the newness of our intimacy.  (To be fair, as I have sworn to be, he is still rather less than logical where I am concerned--at times he is stark mad--but as it is nearly always in my favour, I have given up attempting to show him reason.)  Of course I had battled a snake for him.  It would have been monstrous cowardice to allow him anywhere near the thing.  I made up my mind not to press my advantage too far where the Doctor was concerned, when I could help it.  He had clearly been cursed with inferior partners in the past, and was now impressed by the merest trifles.  Or perhaps it was simply another facet of his generosity to be so moved by nothing. 

I sat marking his breathing, and thinking of home.  It seemed more like a home than it ever had on that journey, as the mile posts flew past us.  I still have not worked out why Watson should have been so moved by a course which would have been obvious to any gentleman, but if an inspiration strikes me, I will lose no time in adding it to this narrative for posterity.  In the meantime, I shall chalk it up to his being the best man in London.  For so he still remains, and I can see no end of it in sight.