Objectivity (12A)

The exact description of the man on the doorstep would have been hard to pin down. There was something about the face which suggested nobility, but if it were so, it was certainly a nobility which had long run itself into ruin. There was definitely something of the cad in those haughtily arched eyebrows, and the smirking line of the mouth suggested a disgraced elder son – a spoilt wretch who had snuck off with the fortunes, to fritter them away at cards, and leave elderly relatives shaking their heads in his wake.

Raoul DuBois was none of these things, but the assumptions were a source of constant delight for him.

The elderly woman who answered his insistent ring clearly formed an equally dim view of his person. She took in his disheveled appearance with a pursing of the mouth, and an uptight little sniff of disdain. It was true, Raoul reflected, he was looking a little worse for the wear, even by his own low standards. His jacket and his left shoe had long since been claimed by the Thames, although his trousers thankfully remained. His cufflinks had been forfeit to the dare, so his once pristine white, and now very dirty sort of grey shirt hung loosely around his arms. His tie he kept, but he felt it silly wearing it when the rest of his person was in such disarray, so he had untied it, and it was currently flapping around in the breeze much like his quickly-drying blonde hair. Raoul knew he looked terrible, but like everything else he did, he aspired to do his utmost best at it.

He flashed the landlady his best ‘I’m a charming young rascal’ smile, which usually had winning effects on maternal types.

“Good morning Madame. I am here to see Dr. Watson. Is he in?”

“Indeed he is not!” the prim old lady replied haughtily. “Dr. Watson is working at his surgery.”

The emphasis on ‘working’ was difficult to ignore.

“Ah. How unfortunate. But I’m sure he won’t mind if I wait for him here.”

The landlady, who had not relinquished her hold on the door, tightened her grip at this, and looked perfectly ready to slam it in his face. Quick as lightning, Raoul skipped up onto the threshold, and placed one arresting hand on the door.

“Please Madame, I am at your mercy. Surely you can see some unfortunate event has recently befallen me?” he gestured to his still dripping clothes and missing shoe, but she eyed him warily as though she were imagining his wet muddy footprints all over her carpet.

She said nothing, but if anything her frown only increased. Raoul found himself saying a silent prayer of thanks that she had not been his school-marm. He could charm his way out of most situations, but there was a certain breed of woman whom he simply couldn’t touch.

“Honestly Madame, I am a good friend of Dr. Watson. He would be most upset that you left me upon his doorstep. But…” Raoul racked his brains for some reason why he should be there, and as quick as a flash it came to him. He tried his hardest not smirk. “But, it is not truly him I need to see. Watson told me of his flatmate, a man who could solve any problem. And believe me Madame, I have a problem most definitely in need of attention.”

He saw the old woman waiver. Ah, he had her now. Clearly this other lodger held some kind of sway over her. She seemed to be considering, and flashed a look at a maid who stood behind her at the parlour door. The two of them conversed in looks as to whether or not admit this disheveled client into their home.

Eventually the point of Raoul’s entry was decided not by the landlady at all, but by a disembodied voice floating down the stairs.

“If that’s a client Mrs. Hudson, for God’s sake let him in!”

Raoul took this for all the permission he needed, and swooped through the door before the landlady could protest. He stopped before the maid, about to pass her his hat and gloves, but realising he had neither, he very solemnly unwound his tie from his neck, and pressed it into her hands. He gave the landlady a surreptitiously rude wink, and ascended the stair. The voice that had come from above had been silky and rich, and his memory suddenly served to remind him that Watson was half-mad in love with his fellow tenant. The afternoon’s wait for his friend’s return need not be so boring after all.

The tall man dressed entirely in black had his back to him as Raoul entered the room.

“Good morning sir, I trust you did not have to travel far?”

“Hardly that.”

At his laugh, the man span round from the window to look at him, and Raoul suddenly had the impression that he was being studied, much in the manner in which an insect is studied by a schoolboy before he employs the magnifying glass in his hand to burn it.

“Ah.” the man remarked, and the disappointment in his tone was so evident that Raoul felt the beginnings of a very strong resentment towards this friend of Watson’s. “Your name sir?”

“M. DuBois. But yours? I am afraid Watson did not mention it.”

But the man ignored his question.

“I regret to inform you M. Dubois, that I do not take kindly to time wasters. You may sit and wait for Watson if you wish, but do not expect me to take any further interest in your affairs.”

Raoul could not help it. He felt the smug smile spread completely across his features. He may not have liked the man’s attitude, nor his pale cadaverous appearance, but anyone who could so swiftly evaluate his purpose in one glance he had to admire.

He shut the door behind him firmly, and slipped across the room, and into a wicker chair next to the window. He could not help leaning forward, resting his chin in his hands, and smiling hungrily.

“Now, you’re an interesting creature.”

This was clearly not the response the tall man was expecting. Perhaps he imagined Raoul would be surprised, protest, or effect affronted dignity. He certainly hadn’t expected the man to confess fascination. With a frown, the man sat down into the chair opposite him.

“Well. The deduction is an obvious one. Even if I did not know the differing muds of the Thames by exact shade, which of course I do, I can tell the Embankment by the smell alone. You are missing your cufflinks, but the abrasion where they have been is quite uniform in pattern, suggesting you usually only wear one pair. They are special to you then, and since you are away from home, this suggests a leaving present, one that would not be lost lightly. Certainly you removed them after your dip in the Thames which smacks of a lost bet or dare. I very nearly made the mistake of assuming you were a victim of a mugging when I saw you upon the doorstep, but there are no bruises about your person, so I can quite clearly see that whatever has befallen you, the blame rests firmly on yourself.”

Raoul leant back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Oh, yes. Quite brilliant. I can see why he adores you so.”

The man in the chair frowned, and coughed slightly.

“I’m sorry?”

“Ah, but there are gaps in your knowledge! What a pity.”

The tall man frowned, angrily.

“There are by necessity gaps in my knowledge. I cannot hold everything in the world in my mind. I make a point of ignoring all that does not pertain directly to my work.”

“Now that is fascinating.” Raoul replied, cocking an eyebrow. “Because from his talk, I was under the impression that Watson was quite heavily involved in your work.”

“Of course Watson is involved in my work. You dare call him a liar?”

“But you make a point of ignoring him!”

The man leapt to his feet, quite flustered.

“I certainly do not! Admittedly I may sometimes… forget him a little, when my work takes over, but I never ignore him! His concerns are always at the forefront of my mind. It falls to me to balance them out with the gravity of our quest, but several times I have deviated simply to accommodate his needs, although he does not see it!”

Raoul lifted his eyes to stare at the man towering above him. He was long and thin, and did not look like the type of man who was capable of physically dominating others, although Watson had hinted to the contrary on occasion. However, Raoul was perfectly aware that he was himself a mere slip of a man, and his physique was far more suited to draping himself attractively over whatever was to hand, rather than settling any dispute like a man. So he decided against squaring up to him, and preferred to remain seated.

“Calm yourself. Sit back down. It seems quite obvious from your outburst that Watson is equally capable of ignoring your own needs.”

The man sat back down, warily.

“I assure you, I do not have any ‘needs’ that Watson ignores.”

“Is that so?” Raoul could not help drawling “Because from my vantage point it appears that Watson is being equally blind.”

“What possible vantage point could you have in reference to my relationship with Watson? You have only
just met me, you do not even know my name, and I have reason to suspect that you are more of an acquaintance than a friend of Watson.”

Raoul performed a perfect verbal shrug.

“Objectivity.” he replied, with a smile.

“Really.” the man retorted, clearly unimpressed. “Well, if you would like to demonstrate this objectivity which you possess, I am all ears.”

Raoul could not help it. He was not by any means attracted to the man, and despite his obvious intelligence, and rather beautiful voice, he was actually vaguely annoying. Watson was a friend, and he knew he shouldn’t intrude, but if he didn’t do anything to upset the status-quo, he could see this rather sorry state of mutual-igorance going unchecked.

“Ears?” he said in his best silkily seductive voice. “As you prefer.”

He slipped off the chair, and found himself sitting on his heels before the man’s pinstriped legs. He looked up with a grin at the man’s shocked face, as he slid two manicured hands over his knees, and up his legs, thumbs caressing the inside of his thighs. The man’s expression was priceless.

“What the Deuce do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

“Demonstrating your needs.” Raoul replied, wearing his best ‘I’m an innocent little angel’ face.

Tension was in every line of the man’s body, as Raoul straightened up, leaning in. He could feel it in the muscles of his legs, that they were ready to spring, or kick him away. But he could also feel the man trembling beneath him, and see the quick rise and fall of his chest that suggested he wasn’t entirely against the experiment. Raoul judged himself safe enough to slide between his legs, wrap his arms around the man’s thin waist, and breathe a series of feathery kisses up the man’s neck. The man gasped, and lifted his head involuntary, giving Raoul easy access to his jugular, where a clear evidence of tacchycardia beat against the thin skin there. Raoul paused only to give it a little nip, before rising up to nibble at the man’s ear, tracing an outline of the helix with his tongue, and sucking gently on the lobule.

“What’s your name?” he purred happily.

The man’s voice shook with the tension.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“How long has it been, Sherlock?”

“How… since what?”

Raoul drew back to gaze quizzically at the quivering wreck he had created. Genuine confusion was in the man’s voice.

“Surely… ah mon dieu… surely not?”

Then, suddenly, they both leapt in their skins as the front door of the house banged beneath them. Raoul thought he had never jumped away from another man as quickly and guiltily as he did upon hearing Watson’s step on the stair. He managed to position himself in a chair on the other side of the room with one bound, and had the satisfaction of watching Holmes attempt to compose himself.

“Morning Holmes! Guess what, I’ve no other…”

Raoul knew it was cruel to laugh internally at the obvious flashes of emotion that crossed Watson’s face, but he couldn’t help it. First recognition, then fear at seeing a patron of his club in his own sitting room, and then horror at Raoul’s state of undress.

“Ra- DuBois! I had not imagined to see you sitting there.” Watson’s laugh was badly forced, and if Raoul could easily tell, he wondered what Holmes would make of it. “What on earth has happened to you?”

“Nothing that cannot be easily deduced in a blink of an eye, it seems.” he replied, resisting the temptation to wink at Holmes. “I was in the area, and I wanted to see if I could borrow a fresh suit, for obvious reasons. If you’ll kindly provide, then I can be on my way, and stop dampening your sofa.”

Watson, a half-confused and half-panicked look upon his face, nodded, and turn to run up the stairs to fetch the aforementioned articles of clothing. Raoul grinned happily, and turned to face Holmes, who was staring rather pointedly out of the window.

“He wishes to limit the damage.” Raoul observed, to no-one other than himself. “But I think can quite proudly say it has already been done.”

FIN