The Adventure at Baskerville Hall & Other Cases

characters did not, however, lessen my reaction at hearing their threats, particularly when they were directed at the man who had recently become my lover and the chief joy of my life.
    "Of course I was," I answered, still feeling residual anger running through me and setting the poker back in the rack of fire irons with undue force. "I would be a poor suitor indeed if I were content to stand idly by while you were threatened by that ruffian."
    Holmes turned his face away to look into the fire, but I saw the corner of his mouth curl in an irrepressible smile even as he pointed out, "Since your suit has been successful, my dear chap, I don't believe you can technically be called my suitor any longer."
    Amused, I stifled a grin. It was typical of Holmes's precise nature to correct a fellow on a point of semantics even when on the receiving end of an affectionate declaration; it was one of the things that, I must confess, I found quite ridiculously endearing about him.
    "You're quite right," I agreed blithely, coming to stand before him, my back pleasantly warmed by the fire. "So I suppose that this makes me your spouse."
    Flushing with pleasure, Holmes reached out a hand to draw me down to his lap, and I went willingly. The eighth step on the stairs to our rooms creaked loudly, we were out of sight of passers-by in the street below and, since the capture of the notorious criminal Sebastian Moran, there was a dearth of clients who wanted to rent the house opposite. That last was especially gratifying to me, for it meant that we could permit ourselves the occasional small indiscretion in the middle of our sitting-room.
    Curling long, sensitive fingers around the nape of my neck, Holmes tilted my head down for a kiss. I reciprocated ardently and, after a few minutes of the slow, sensuous glide of his lips and tongue against my own, I was forced to pull back, breathing hard and feeling my trousers begin to grow rather snug. He gazed up at me, his mouth slightly open and his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, as a hand traced my jaw line and began to wander down my shirtfront. I intercepted it before he could begin to tease me and brought it to my lips to press soft kisses to each of his knuckles, scarred from various fistfights and chemical experiments.
    "What did Mr. Dixie want?" I asked, striving for an even tone.
    Holmes smirked at me. "I was wondering when you would ask me. I suspect that that little display of bluster was linked to this."
    With my free hand I took the note he passed me, and as his other hand began to gently massage my leg – for the cold made my old war injury ache abominably, for all that I tried not to show it – I read:
    Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes
    I have had a succession of strange incidents occur to me in connection with this house, and I should much value your advice. You would find me at home any time to-morrow. The house is within a short walk of the Weald Station. I believe that my late husband, Mortimer Maberley, was one of your early clients.
    Yours faithfully,
    Mary Maberley
    The address was "The Three Gables, Harrow Weald."
    "How intriguing," I said, setting the letter aside.
    Holmes made a small noise of disagreement. "I think it's more likely that an elderly lady has bought a house with a colourful history, and now fancies that every mislaid teaspoon and sudden draught are signs of something more sinister. I wasn't inclined to take it, Stevie's visit notwithstanding. It is sure to be tediously commonplace, and today is hardly a day for gadding about outdoors on wild goose chases. It is absolutely freezing outside."
    It was a fair enough point, but from the way Holmes continued to rub the damaged muscle of my thigh I knew he was thinking of my old injury and the way it pained me in cold weather. He had more tact than to say so, knowing that the fastest way to make me attempt anything was to imply that it was beyond my physical capabilities, but even so I stood decisively.
    "We are not quite in our declining years yet," I said dryly, holding out a hand to him. "The fresh air will be bracing and you have not had a case in three days, which is always a sure harbinger of one of your more noxious chemical experiments."
    Holmes's thin lips quirked in a smile and he consented to bestir himself, letting me pull him out of the chair and nudge him in the direction of his bedroom to don his heavy winter overcoat.
    * * * *
    It was a short train ride to the Weald station, where the stationmaster confirmed