The Adventure at Baskerville Hall & Other Cases

I let go of them too soon or Holmes fumbled them I do not know, but they tumbled to the ground between us and in the next instant a sprightly gust of wind caught them and whisked them away.
    Instantly Holmes started after them, even as I tried to tell him to let them go. I had no doubt that his appearance heralded the imminent resolution of the case, and so it could hardly matter if my reports (which had doubtless been of little use to him in the first place) were lost to the wind.
    Holmes, however, pursued them as though they were fifty-pound bank notes and, as I watched him, I spotted one of the sheets at my feet. It was less springy than the others, being limp and creased as though it had been unfolded and refolded many times, and doubtless that was why it had not flown away with the rest but stuck to the side of my boot.
    When I picked it up I found that it was the last page of my second report. I re-read it, thinking with chagrin of how I had lingered over it, especially the last line.
    Best of all would be if you could come down to us, I had written at last, after staring at the paper for long minutes.
    Despite all my efforts, I miss you dreadfully, I had imagined writing, even as I knew I never would. And: Overall, despite the fact that I came here to forget you, I cannot allow my own ridiculous affairs of the heart to keep you away and so endanger the life of the people involved in this case.
    But now I was glad I had refrained; having expressed such mawkish sentiments in the face of Holmes's studied indifference then his lack of faith in me would only have put the final touches on my humiliation.
    I could not think why this page in particular had obviously been so closely examined, for there was no essential information contained therein, but before I could pursue the thought Holmes came up to me, his hands full of jumbled pages, and when he saw which one I was holding an odd, almost embarrassed look flitted across his features.
    "I read all of your accounts, but I did linger over that one somewhat," he admitted, the words seeming to spill from him in a rush. "The way the ink has dried told me that you lingered a long time composing that last sentence. I wondered whether ... perhaps ... there was something more that you wanted to say but were reluctant to commit to paper?"
    The intense, hungry expression was back as he tilted his head to look into my face, and the effort of keeping my features resolutely neutral exhausted me. I had a sudden and violent wish to be far away from the moor, Holmes, and this whole miserable situation; not even the imminent resolution of the case that his presence promised was enough to induce me to stay.
    "There is nothing more to say than what is already contained in my reports," I said wearily, before adding, "it really is too bad, Holmes. You have already made it clear that you are content to have my assistance in a case but will not trust me with anything of real importance; to lie to me and try to pretend otherwise ... well, I had thought you a better man than that. I will see you back in Baker Street."
    I turned away from him, intending to collect my belongings from the Hall and make my way to the station and even considering whether, once I was back in Baker Street, I ought to seek lodgings elsewhere, since there seemed to be little doubt that whatever we had once shared was now well and truly extinguished. The idea of quitting my home made my heart squeeze painfully within me, but surely it would be better than living, day in and day out, in such close proximity to someone whom I loved desperately but who was clearly indifferent to me.
    Behind me there was a sharp exclamation – "The devil you will!" – and the next instant Holmes was in front of me, blocking my path and almost forcibly preventing me from retracing my steps back down to the road.
    "Watson, as usual you have things entirely backwards," he declared vehemently. "Now for the love of Heaven, let me explain."
    "I would rather not," I replied, clinging to my self-possession. "I am sure that my useless scribbles have afforded you some small amusement while you pursued your own brilliant investigations, and that you even now have all the threads of the solution gathered into your hand, but just this once I ... I would rather not..."
    My voice had begun to falter and, eager to leave with my dignity intact, I stepped past him. Or tried to: as I moved he stuffed the pages he was holding into his pockets, seized my