Holmes shot her a sharp look, but said nothing. The appeased expression on Skye’s face, however, told him she considered the matter settled by that one look, and he knew she would do her best to hold him to it. He trusted their guards, but still found the concept disturbing. After all, the intent had been for the clandestine guard unit to provide outside defense, while Holmes, already an occupant in the house and intimately familiar with its layout, furnished internal protection. If he left to go down to the Springs, one layer of protection vanished.
In the which case, Sherlock, you had best damned well have a solution by dinnertime, or be prepared to leave her to the sole protection of Ryker and his men.
“Are we sure he doesn’t have any hidden safes or anything?” Skye interrupted his musings to wonder.
“Jones assures me not, and in any event, my observations did not encounter any such possibility. Had he a private dwelling, instead of living on a government facility, I should be convinced of it. But his quarters were not set up with an eye to occupants making such structural alterations. This ‘cinder-block’ would be notoriously difficult to alter in anything remotely approaching a clandestine fashion, if for no other reason than the neighbors could hear attempts to breach the material.”
“What about the furniture?”
“Military issue. Not conducive to hidden compartments.”
“Okay. I’ll shut up and let you think.”
“Thank you, my dear. Your queries, however, are greatly appreciated. They mirror my own thoughts, and clarify my mind on the matter. It is a decided boon to have an…intimate companion…possessed of such intelligence and imagination.”
A gratified Skye wandered off, coming back a few minutes later with Holmes’ pipe, tobacco, and slippers. He stared at her, surprised and pleased, as she plopped the slippers on the floor in front of him and offered him the pipe.
“It’s trite, I know,” she grinned, “bringing my man his pipe and slippers, but I had a suspicion you’d be wanting these.”
“You are a positive treasure, my dear,” he said softly. He kicked off the athletic shoes he wore, eased his feet into the slippers, and tucked his feet underneath himself. Taking his pipe, he packed it with tobacco, tamped and lit it. Then he settled into the corner of the sofa and grew silent. Skye ensconced herself into the opposite end of the couch with the latest copy of the Astrophysical Journal.
* * *
They were quiet for a very long time. Holmes went through no less than four pipes, mentally reviewing Thompson’s quarters and work area in minute detail. Skye worked her way through most of the journal. As tea-time approached, she glanced at her companion, seeing him still deep in thought. I wonder if he’ll even want tea. I don’t want to disturb him.
* * *
“Yes, my dear, tea would be appreciated,” Holmes anticipated from her gaze and expressions, coming out of his reverie with a sigh. “Although it can, perhaps, wait a bit.”
“Having trouble?” she wondered, noting the frown on his face.
“Yes and no,” Holmes decided as Skye put aside her journal. “Determining likely hiding places presents no difficulty. As yet, however, I have not determined THE hiding place.”
“Well…what would you have done back in Baker Street if you were having trouble solving a problem like this?”
“A divertissement. To allow the subconscious to do its work. I would have ascertained what was being performed in the local venues, and Watson and I would have decamped for an afternoon—or evening—of music. Barring that, I would have made my own, with my violin. But as I have access to neither…” he sighed again.
“Well, now wait a minute,” Skye protested, getting up and going to the entertainment center. “I’ve got a nice stereo, and a collection of classical music, and I don’t make use of them nearly as much as I should, for how much they cost.” She picked up a handful of CDs and searched through them. “Do you feel like Wagner, Tchaikovsky, Vivaldi, or Haydn? I’ve also got…lessee…Bach, Holst, Beethoven…”
“Vivaldi.” Holmes’ eyebrows rose.
“Will the Four Seasons do?”
“Capital.”
* * *
Soon Skye was smiling at Holmes, who reclined happily in his corner of the couch, long legs curled beneath him, eyes closed in a blissful fashion, one hand languidly conducting. Without opening his eyes, he held out his other hand in invitation, and Skye accepted, snuggling into his side. After a few minutes, she stretched up to brush her lips against his cheek, desiring to express her affection, and hoping to do so in a non-distracting fashion.
* * *
But Holmes felt the motion and anticipated it; he turned his head and caught the kiss with his lips. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, and content to savor the moment.
* * *
Skye leaned into him, enjoying the gentle, quiet intimacy of being held and kissed by this man she adored.
They kissed and nuzzled for almost an hour while Vivaldi played softly in the background. Then Skye felt Holmes give a sudden start.
“Mmph,” he mumbled, breaking the kiss. “Of course.”
“You got it?” Skye asked eagerly, seeing the light of triumph in the grey eyes.
“Yes. Excuse me one moment, my dear,” Holmes said, easing her aside and rising. “I must get this inquiry on its way.”
He stepped through the back door onto the deck and signaled Ryker, who had just emerged from the barn.
* * *
In moments Ryker joined them right inside the door.
“Yes sir?” the undercover agent queried.
“Contact Colonel Jones,” Holmes instructed, “and ask him, ‘Did you look ABOVE the kitchen drawer, affixed to the underside of the countertop?’”
“Right away, sir,” Ryker said with a pleased grin. “Do you want me to report his response?”
“You may provide it in the evening report,” Holmes decided.
“Very good, sir,” Ryker grinned again, shooting a knowing glance at Skye, who still reclined in the center of the couch, watching with interest over its back.
She blushed, and the corners of Holmes’ lips twitched in amusement.
“That will be all, Mr. Ryker,” he murmured. Ryker nodded and left.
* * *
Holmes promptly returned to the couch, installing himself in his former position.
“I see Vivaldi is still playing,” he observed.
“I set it to repeat.”
“Ah, excellent. Quite one of the best divertissements I can remember. You do quite well at that.”
“At what?”
“Providing divertissements. Now, where were we?”
“Do you want tea?” Skye wondered, as Holmes drew her back into his arms with a smile.
“Later…”
* * *
They never did have tea. After dinner, Ryker swung by to report, informing them all was well on the ranch, although some activity was observed on the hills to the north. A casual inquiry directed at Skye’s northern neighbor indicated some hikers with the local club had been in the area for a couple of days. Ryker and Holmes thought it vaguely suspicious, but little could be proved, and nothing could be done.
In addition, Holmes was gratified to discover Jones’s people had not looked for a hidden platform in the kitchen cabinetry prior to his recommendation. He was even more gladdened to learn they had found the missing cellphone stashed there. Data mining was already underway.
“And that, my dear Skye,” he pointed out as they sat on the couch watching television, “is how proper initial observation, combined with an excellent memory, can enable the prudent detective to solve a puzzle without ever leaving his armchair.”
“Or couch,” Skye corrected with a grin.
“Or couch,” Holmes nodded agreeably, “as the case may be.”
* * *
That night, as they crawled into bed, Holmes turned to his companion.
“Skye, my dear?”
“Yeah, Sher
lock?”
“I was wondering…If you wanted to demonstrate your…fond regard…to me, what would you do?”
Skye gazed at him for a long moment, concerned.
“Do you need me to?” she asked, anxious. “Have I not—”
“No, no,” Holmes protested, a hint of color tingeing his cheeks. “I am merely…gathering data, shall we say?”
She understood then: This wasn’t about Skye demonstrating her affection, it was about Holmes exploring new ways to express his own. He had never bothered to consider such matters before, she realized; but now he had taken a lover—and she knew full well by now he would never have taken her into his bed casually, so “mate” was a much closer definition—the issue assumed some importance.
Nevertheless, rather than trying to figure out how she might want him to do it, she decided to answer the specific question he had asked: How Skye would demonstrate her affection to Holmes.
Skye mulled awhile before replying.
“I think I can show you easier than I can tell you.”
* * *
Holmes caught the glint in her eye and raised an intrigued eyebrow.
“Then by all means, show me.”
So she did.
Whatever Holmes had been expecting, this wasn’t it, he decided after only a few moments. He had expected to be straddled, or perhaps pulled atop her, or otherwise erotically gratified. This, however, while incredibly sensual, was altogether unique in his experience—and totally delightful into the bargain, without the need for Holmes to do one thing—save lie there and enjoy every instant.
For Skye began by kissing his lips…then his nose, eyelids, cheekbones, temples. And after each caress was deposited, she whispered, “I love you.” When his face had been thoroughly adored, she moved to his throat, repeating the process. A kiss to his Adam’s apple was followed with, “I love you.” Kisses trailed down the cords in his neck. “I love you.” A lingering caress in the pulse point at the hollow of his throat. “I love you.”
Down his length she went, taking her time, refusing to omit a single body part anywhere on her beloved detective’s frame. Each received its due kiss and declaration of love. Holmes was overwhelmed.
When she had completed the circuit of adoration, she returned to his mouth, kissing him for long, delicious minutes before snuggling into his side.
“I love you,” she added softly for good measure, curling up in his arms.
By the time Skye finished, Holmes’ entire world had changed.
And it had nothing to do with spacetime continuums.
* * *
The next day Holmes was in the barn, talking to Ryker, when Caitlin arrived to see Skye.
“Um, William sent me to see if you needed anything,” she announced when she got into the house, and Skye realized Caitlin was a courier for General Morris. “How’s it going?”
“Okay, I guess,” Skye shrugged, closing the front door. “Just trying to finish getting well while we figure out what’s going on.”
“Yeah, I bet. Listen, I’m here to do something specific, hon.” Caitlin dropped her voice. “I was talking with Morris and Jones this morning, when I mentioned this cleared paper you’re working on. It suddenly hit all of us: maybe this is a bad time to be writing a paper. Who knows what kind of data the spies have already got, that unclassified info might help ‘em put together into a big picture?”
“Oh, shit,” Skye whispered, horrified. “You’re right. I didn’t think about that. I’ve been working on it in my spare time.”
“So they asked me to run up here and get your notes and your laptop and bring ‘em down. Jones will scrub your laptop, and he’ll keep a backup and the notes in his personal safe, then send the laptop back to you when it’s sanitized. That way, later on when all this mess is straightened out, you can maybe go back to it and finish the paper.”
“Sure thing. C’mon and let me get the stuff. My notes are in my filing cabinet; I keep it locked when I’m not in it. All the electronic files are in one folder on the hard drive, so it’ll be easy to find…”
* * *
It was while she was hunting through the desk drawers for anything she might have overlooked that Skye found it: an antique English gold sovereign coin, made up with a bail and clasp to be a pendant or fob of some sort. It had been placed in a small, padded display case and tucked away in the very back of the center drawer. She stared at it in confusion for several seconds, recognizing it instantly.
The coin Adler gave him. The one he’s worn ever since then as a watch-fob in memory of the case, and of her.
Skye shook her head, bewildered, for she hadn’t noticed it missing from his watch-chain before. Indeed, she could have sworn it had been there that very morning.
But why did he remove it? I’d have thought…his habits don’t change very much. Well, until lately, anyway, she hid her lustful grin. Huh. He’ll tell me when he’s ready, I guess.
She continued her documentation search.
* * *
They hid the laptop and all of Skye’s notes in a box, covering the lot with a pile of foodstuffs Skye had intended to donate to some less-fortunate families in Divide. Caitlin promised to make the donations, and meanwhile it made good cover—literally—for the technical info.
Then the pair sat down in the den for a short visit.
* * *
Holmes exited the barn and walked up to the house. Caitlin’s car, in front of the house, was hidden from his view, so when he entered the side door, he was unaware they had company; and as they knew Caitlin, Ryker’s men hadn’t thought to mention her arrival. He brushed down his clothes and washed up in the mudroom; he’d rearranged the hay bales in the barn loft after his conversation with Ryker.
“Skye?” he called, booming the name through the quiet house as he walked into the southern hallway.
“Yeah, Sherlock?” her voice responded, and he heard pattering feet as she came to meet him. “Do you need something?”
“Not especially,” he grinned as she arrived in front of him. “I simply wondered where you were.”
Skye walked up to him, laying her palms against his chest. In turn, he slid his hands around her waist and up her back to her shoulders, preparatory to drawing her into an embrace. His head bent with the intent to kiss her—when he became aware they were not alone in the hall. He stiffened in alarm, looking up to see who spied on them.
* * *
Caitlin Hughes stood there, gawking at the couple, forest-green eyes wide. It certainly appeared she was witnessing a greeting between lovers, and she struggled to grasp it. After all, the Skye she knew had essentially ceded the field where love was concerned; and the man whose arms were around her was emphatically not known for his romantic inclinations.
I mean, he’s SHERLOCK HOLMES. He doesn’t…didn’t…what the HELL is going on?! Caitlin wondered.
“Skye?” she muttered, astonished.
* * *
Skye froze, having momentarily forgotten about Caitlin in her solicitousness to see to Holmes’ needs. She looked into his face, noting consternation. She swallowed hard and pulled away, turning to her friend.
“Yeah, Cait?” she asked in a soft, husky voice.
“Are you…and Mr. Holmes…?”
Skye’s brain churned in an effort to come up with a reply that would keep faith with both Holmes and Caitlin.
“We’ve…become very close, Cait,” she tried to explain, leaving the exact nature of that closeness undeclared. She shot an uncertain glance at Holmes before returning her attention to Hughes. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s part of the family now. And it isn’t like I’ve got a lotta family left,” she tried to joke.
* * *
Holmes looked down at The Woman with uncharacteristically soft eyes. She is trying to protect me, keeping our relationship private even from the woman she considers a sister, because she believes that is what I wish. Warmth filled him. It is hardly right that the guards should know more than Skye’s b
est friend. Holmes slid a possessive hand around Skye’s waist, tugging until Skye was tucked against his side.
“Yes, Dr. Hughes, we are. And as…‘part of the family’…it occurs to me that Skye’s ‘sister’ should not be using honourifics when addressing me. Do call me Holmes, please.”
* * *
Caitlin’s jaw dropped, and she goggled for several seconds. Then her green eyes lit up, and the plump woman launched herself at the couple, hugging them both and laughing delightedly. Holmes was taken aback, but Skye considerately buffered Caitlin’s enthusiasm, giggling happily as she interjected herself between Caitlin and Holmes for the tightest hugs. After a few minutes, the women’s happy laughter became contagious, and even Holmes found himself chuckling.
“Well well, this is an unexpectedly enthusiastic welcome,” he noted, his grey eyes crinkling at the corners. “May I take it, Dr. Hughes, that you approve of our relationship?”
“Do I! You’re just what she needs! I’d about given up on her. Besides,” she added cheekily, “now I KNOW you’ll take good care of her on these cases of yours!”
“I would have done, in any event, even had we not become…intimate. I would no more have allowed harm to Skye than I would Watson.” Holmes nodded.
“Well, all I can say is thank you, Holmes. I haven’t heard Skye laugh like she just did in…over a year. She’s happy with you, and I couldn’t ask for better. Oh, and quit with this ‘Dr. Hughes’ nonsense. I’m Caitlin, or Cait if you’d rather.”
“Thank you, Caitlin. Might I suggest we repair to the kitchen and put together a bit of tea? I know it is a trifle early, but I am famished after working in the barn, and celebration is, perhaps, called for at the moment.”
“We can do that,” Skye agreed. “Can you stay, Cait?”
“For a little while,” Caitlin concluded judiciously, glancing quickly at her watch. “I have to get back down the mountain with your laptop pretty quick, though, so Jones can take possession of it.”
“Okay. We’ll make it snappy. Sherlock—”
“I have the kettle,” he said, moving through the kitchen door to the stove, Skye on his heels. “Tell me where you put the tea after this morning’s breakfast, and I shall ready the pot. Do you get out the food, and when the teapot is ready and the kettle heating, I will assist you.”
The Case of the Displaced Detective Page 50