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Winter in London - Part XIX 
11th-Aug-2010 10:32 pm

Part I
Part II,
Part III,
Part IV,
Part V,
Part VI,
Part VII
Part VIII 
Part IX
Part X
Part XI
Part XII
Part XIV
Part XV
Part XVI

I may never have felt it so abruptly or keenly before, but the shift from delight in disguise to spiritual nausea at it is not new to me – in fact, strange as it sounds, it is one of the charms of the exercise. One takes a holiday from oneself and finds one does not, after all, wish to stay away forever. The relief that flooded me as I turned towards home at last, plucking off my goatee on the way and tossing it into a gutter, was so intense that by the time I reached our rooms I was in a curious, elevated, slightly frenzied mood that resembled happiness from some angles.  After all, I had everything I needed, and I knew what I was going to do. Looked at from certain standpoints even the bleakness of this case and my own entanglements struck me as remarkably funny.

"You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?" I demanded, a little too ringingly as I strode in.

Watson’s expression at this, was, I am afraid, extremely amusing. "No, indeed!"

"You'll be interested to hear that I am engaged."

My poor friend, looking utterly bewildered, blinked and then actually began to congratulate me. I don’t know what I was thinking, confusing him so. Conscience-stricken, I hastily explained myself.

Watson’s honourable sensibilities were much dismayed and he was not as impressed as I thought he should have been by my protests that poor old Escott, had he only existed, would have been in far worse danger of having his heart broken than Agatha was. 

I concluded we might as well change the subject. “I mean to burgle Milverton’s house tonight,” I told him.

Of course I knew he would be shocked, but I was unprepared for him to look quite so aghast. His breath caught, and he went pale. "For Heaven's sake, Holmes, think what you are doing.”

“I have given it every consideration,” I said, both alarmed and slightly needled.

“If Milverton catches you,” he pleaded. “Your career, your life, Holmes . . .”

“My dear fellow,” I said, beginning to feel rather guilty, but it was not as if I could turn my back on my plans or my client now. “Let us look at the matter clearly and fairly.”

Sometimes I am so very dense. I got Watson to admit it was morally justifiable. I went rattling on about how important the enterprise was, how villainous Milverton, how piteous the lady’s plight, and how much my sense of honour was bound up in it – I even pointed out that he had been willing to commit assault and battery for the cause already, and yet it truly did not occur to me what I was talking him into until he sighed and said, “Well, I don’t like it, but I suppose it must be. When do we start?”

I stared at him.

“You are not coming,” I said. This seemed quite obvious to me, from any number of perspectives. I could not think how he could be confused upon the point.

"Then you are not going,” said Watson vehemently, looking quite as dangerous as he had when brandishing that chair. Still, I had just time to flatter myself that he had no way of stopping me doing that or anything else I wished to do, before he said: “I give you my word of honour – and I never broke it in my life – that I will take a cab straight to the police-station and give you away, unless you let me share this with you.”

I fear my mouth fell slightly open. I thought for a while. "You can't help me,” I told him, more softly now.

"How do you know that? You can't tell what may happen.” His face had turned soft and anxious again for a moment, but then it set into an absolutely implacable expression. “Anyway, my resolution is taken. Other people beside you have self-respect, and even reputations."

 My first instinct was to be irritated – I am so very accustomed to getting my own way. Besides, he was making the duty of keeping him from further harm unnecessarily difficult. Now I was going to have to divert my limited time and harassed energies into somehow making him drop the idea, when of course I should have liked more than anything to have him with me.

And then it occurred to me that I could not remember when I had heard anyone say anything so wonderful.

“My dear fellow,” I said again, a little incoherently. I could have embraced him.  Well, given the chance, I could have thrown myself at him and done any number of more irretrievable things, but I contented myself with making a joke about us sharing a prison cell, wincing at myself a little, and clapping his shoulder.

Watson sighed again, but this was a sigh of a particular character which I knew very well, though I had not heard it for a while. It sounds put-upon and long-suffering, and in reality is nothing of the sort. It is his usual response to being dragged into some scheme that he would not miss for anything. It is generally accompanied by a short roll of the eyes heavenwards, and followed by a slow smile.  To my delight, it was so on this occasion too.

I knew I was taking him into danger. I knew that even if I succeeded the morning would bring back the grim consciousness of the kind of future that awaited the Blackwell sisters, even at the best. But at that moment all I could care about was that I was going to confound Milverton, I was at last about to test my hypothesis that I would have made a highly efficient criminal, and that Watson was coming with me.

 “See here,” I said, practically levitating across the room in order to show off the neat little collection of tools in my desk drawer, “I wouldn’t dream of going on such an expedition unprepared. I have a first-class, up-to-date burgling kit.”

I couldn’t get the damn grin off my face. I must have looked a fool, though Watson’s reaction – a widening of the eyes, a clutch at his hair, and a groan of, “Oh, Christ, of course you have,” – was very satisfying.

Then we discussed disguise.  “I can make a couple of masks out of black silk,” Watson volunteered.

I was too giddy with happiness at the mere prospect of his company to pay this remarkable claim the attention it deserved at the time.  I think I imagined something in the order of a bag over the head with eyeholes, and, after he had disappeared to his room while I carried out my own preparations, I dismissed a vague chill at the memory of the masks of the prisoners at Wandsworth.

 I did not expect the deftly constructed, rather beautiful things Watson produced within a mere forty minutes. The silk, I believe, had once been intended to reline a hat, and Watson had cut it into broad bandanas to be tied at the back of the head. The edges and the oval holes for the eyes were hastily but neatly hemmed. There were small darts on either side of the nose to accommodate the contours of the face securely and comfortably. I turned over mine thoughtfully.

  “This is an unexpected and mysterious addition to your catalogue of talents, Watson,” I said.

He laughed. “What, that I can sew? It is not mysterious at all. Really, Holmes, this is no challenge to you.”

“Well, indeed, a military man must be able to patch up his uniform and a doctor, of course, must stitch up skin.”

“There you are,” he said.

 “But really, this is different,” I said, examining the soft, glossy band I held.  “This is next door to . . . millinery.”

“Well,” Watson said cheerfully, “if all else fails I shall have that to fall back on.”

I suppressed a small flinch; I had remembered Gilfoyle’s hideous speech about what my friend could fall back on.  But it was not as hard as it might have been to put it out of my mind. Watson had not stopped smiling. “I thought it wouldn’t do to have them fraying into our eyes,” he said.

 “There must be some further explanation,” I insisted. “You were the costumier of your school play. The nurses in India used to lend you their sewing to occupy you on the veranda. Your grandmother was a dressmaker and you have needlework in the blood. Come, out with the truth.”

I suppose I do not often admit to Watson that he has baffled me. He looked quite complacent. “You will have to remain mystified,” he said.

“That is not to be borne,” I protested.

“Then I await your deductions.”  He held up his own mask to his face – black silk framing blue eyes and skimming across straight cheekbones – and looked at me. I hardly dare describe the effect. I just managed to look back impassively, though Heaven knows it cost me a considerable effort.

* * *

By the time we reached Hampstead, Watson’s misgivings had so thoroughly and visibly dissolved – in fact, he looked so shockingly eager to begin – that I could not resist teasing him about it:  “For a man who claimed he did not like the prospect of initiation into crime, you have a decided spring in your step, Watson,” I said.

“There was no question of letting you go alone,” he replied rather crossly, and I was a little abashed. There was a pause. Glancing at him as we walked, I saw his expression grow thoughtful.

“I know I have been neglecting our work – nonsense, of course I have,” he added, as I began to protest this way of putting it. “Lately I have not felt so . . . keen to observe the criminal world from close quarters,” he admitted.

I had slowed so as to keep an anxious watch on his face. Watson noticed.

“But then you kept coming in and out at all hours in that get-up,” he said, smiling, “and I could not help but reflect that whatever you were up to, it must be much more interesting than what I was doing. Sitting indoors with a periodical and when one might be running about London in disguise began to seem intolerably dull.”

We stopped for a moment, looking at each other. I permitted myself to smile only briefly; we were near Milverton’s house now and I could not indulge in any further transports, though I glowed at his calling it ‘our work’.

“We might put our masks on here, I think,” I said.


* * *              

God, when I think what might have happened -- Perhaps after all “efficient” is not the word for the kind of criminal I would make, if  I were to go on choosing targets with as many enemies Milverton had. I thought I had taken a number of eventualities into account –I was prepared, despite Agatha’s account of Milverton’s regular hours, for the man to walk into the study before we were finished, and we were safely concealed behind the curtain in when the veiled stranger entered to meet him. I had only just coaxed the safe open and had not been able to close it properly in time, but I doubted Milverton would notice, and was confident that Watson and I could handle matters even if he did. I wrapped my hand around Watson’s to try and promise him as much;

I had not considered that someone might choose that night to deal with Milverton in a far more thorough and straightforward way.

 I felt Watson’s jolt of shock at the first crack of the gun, and then he started forwards automatically on compassionate instinct. I loved him for it, and pulled him firmly back. There was nothing he could have done for Milverton, and justified as the murderess might be I was not having my friend jump into the path of an agitated killer. To my intense relief, he went still immediately, as if he had read my very thoughts. The woman vanished as if she had not been a human being but an avenging spirit out of Greek myth.

I ignored Milverton’s corpse and sprang over it to reach the safe.  There were a few other items within besides papers– a small tin case which proved to contain bundles of hard cash,  a couple of jeweller’s pouches resting on top of a stack of leather-bound notebooks. They did not concern me. I heaped the letters into the fire, armful by armful, as the house burst into life around us. Instead of creeping unseen through the dark as we had come, we had to sprint for our lives.


Watson must have been a remarkable athlete before his injuries to be capable of such speed even after them; he was only a little behind me as the servants chased us across the gardens. But our pursuers were swift too, and as I cleared the wall at the edge of the grounds, I heard a shout and the sounds of violence breaking out behind, and realised that one of them had caught him.

I started back toward the wall in utter horror, Oh, God, I thought. He’ll be arrested for murder.  I had time for the most appalling visions of  what I had done by bringing him there – trial and imprisonment and even the gallows – before a voice that was not my friend’s grunted in pain and there was the  thud of somebody hitting the ground,  and then Watson emerged over the top of the wall. He had no time to judge the landing carefully and fell headlong;  I dragged him up, aware that even a sprained ankle would be disastrous now, but he seemed sound enough and we ran for the Heath.

The shock of it gave way to a sense of bitterness that I could not seem to outpace by running. I thought of the veiled woman. I admired and envied her fiercely. I will free the world of a poisonous thing. Why had I not done that, I asked myself. What had I even accomplished after all of this? I had ensured no future blackmailer would get his hands on those letters, but it was none of my doing that the immediate danger to my client was past. And now there was nothing between her and that obscene contract of a marriage and I would never really have helped her at all.

 “Holmes,” called Watson, behind me.

He was flagging at last, I realised, turning back.

He stumbled up to me and took hold of my arms as if to steady him or to keep me from running onwards. “It’s all right,” he panted. “They’re not following. We’re safe. I’m sure of it.” 

He was right; the heath was utterly silent around us except for the shrilling of the wind. But there was something odd in his voice, more than shock or fatigue or even pain. “Are you all right?” I asked.

The wind was scouring the wet clouds away from a half-moon. The light caught his face and I saw that his eyes were wild and shining. “God,” he gasped, and now I understood what the strange note in his voice meant. “God, that was –” He sounded as if he were about to say some word like wonderful.  He laughed. “What can be wrong with me?  That was cold-blooded murder we witnessed, however wicked he was, I should not...” he shook his head and gave up trying to talk himself out of exhilaration. “But what a night!”

“I thought that gardener had you,” I muttered.

“How did you know he was the gardener...?  Never mind. I need to discuss something with you,” Watson said, trying without much success to look sombre.  “Milverton mentioned forcing women to turn their diamonds into paste . . .”   He reached into his breast pocket and drew something out -- a small velvet pouch.  “Is this morally justifiable, would you say?” he whispered, and tipped a little heap of glittering stones into his hand.

For a long moment there was only the sound of our breath and the wind in the dark. “Watson!”  I cried softly at last.

“I know,” he said, looking down with a humorous, self-conscious little twist of the mouth, as much like him as robbery was out of character.  “I know we said we’d take nothing except what was used for an illegal purpose. But then – everything in that safe was acquired illegally. Everything in that house must have been bought with the proceeds of his trade. The jewels would only have gone to his heirs, whoever they are – and I think they’ll do well enough out of that pile already.” He reached for my hand, and clapped the stones into it.  “You could try to find the original owners,” he suggested.

The jewels clinked in my palm, glinting dimly in the moonlight. I didn’t want them there; I could not think what we were to do with them. I could not make any very exact examination in that light, but they must have been prised from their settings in a number of different pieces, being of various shapes, sizes and colours.  “It will be all but impossible,” I said. “The victims will have acquired convincing replicas, and will never have been able to admit the loss. If I had not burnt the letters one might have tried...”

Watson nodded. “That is what I thought.  So I thought perhaps, in the circumstances, one might send them to Lady Eva, as a wedding present. Or to make use of as she saw fit, even if the wedding should happen for any reason to be delayed.”

Another silence, and then I began breathlessly to laugh.

“What do you think?” he inquired.

 I could not answer him. I was thinking that it was becoming almost impossible not to kiss him. Watson laughed with me, surveying my masked face.

“You look,” he said, fondly, drawing closer to me, “like a highwayman.”

“You are the thief here,” I said. “I have come away with nothing.”

He took hold of my arms again. “Holmes,” he murmured.

His fingers on my left arm flexed subtly; his hand drifted up towards my shoulder. I glanced down and watched its progress for a moment, then closed my eyes. Several layers of fabric separated his skin from mine, yet this was enough to start me trembling. “This –” I began. “You don’t want –” another false start.  I compelled myself to look at him. “This is not you—”

“Yes it is,” he said, and as if to remove literal doubt of who he was, stepped back a little and dragged off his mask, leaving his hair sweetly dishevelled. More hesitantly now, his hand lifted and came back to rest lightly on the join of my neck and jaw, then stroked up over my cheek towards the mask I still wore. I felt his fingertip slide under the edge of the silk.

And that was all I could stand. I caught hold of that hand with some notion of pushing it away, but instead I pressed my lips first against the inside of the wrist and then, dragging him to me, against his mouth.

And his lips parted for mine at once; he strained me even closer with one arm tight around my waist, the other hand at the back of my head, on the knot of the mask amid my hair.  There was almost as much desperate force to the way he held me as that first time, but this time I was kissing him just as fiercely, this time his tongue skimmed with knowing skill over mine, this time I couldn’t have dreamt of telling him to stop.

I lowered my lips to the pulse racing below his jaw and whispered helplessly, “Oh, love,” against the warm skin. And he said nothing but kissed my temple through the silk, then the bare skin of my closed eyelid – and though I wanted this and more so much, it was terrifying too; I seemed to see a hundred possible outcomes and most of them were devastating to both of us – but then his lips found mine again and I could not care. 

If we had been indoors, or if it had been summer, I have little doubt how things would have escalated, but as it was icy wind raked across us and we both shivered, and went still, catching our breath against each other’s faces. But we remained pressed close together for a while, grateful for the warmth.

“Let’s get home,” I murmured at last.

We walked close to one another, but no longer touching and in silence. I knew that when we finally reached home we would both be exhausted, that we would not continue from where we had left off, and nor would we speak of it, and I tried to prepare myself for awkwardness and regret and worse. But instead I seemed to feel an odd kind of normality folding around us. Well, after all how many times, after some strange or violent end to a case, had we walked homewards side by side in the middle of the night?

We mounted a rise and looked down at a darkened London; I could just see lights on the river in the far distance. Watson reached over, plucked off my mask, and folded it together with his own.  “Holmes,” he said, “I never made anything of the kind before in my life. But I thought it would not be very difficult, and I was right.” He tucked them both into my breast pocket, and smiled at me. “I suppose I have a strong natural turn for this sort of thing.”

 >>Part XX

11th-Aug-2010 10:13 pm (UTC)
Oh. OH. You'd backed off so much from the initial simmering tension that I couldn't see how they might come together again and then all of a sudden, oh here it comes! I have been loving this so much. You say you have a lot on, and I think it must be very hard to pace a WIP but this never feels rushed,always measured and such lovely use of language. Thank you.
13th-Aug-2010 05:18 pm (UTC)
Thank you very much!

I felt it was very important for Watson to get back into the detectiving game; I wanted to use a canon story and was thrilled when I realised Milverton was the only one that really worked, but it did take a lot of set-up. Though you've no idea how difficult it's been keeping these two from snogging each other for ages now!
11th-Aug-2010 10:35 pm (UTC)
*squawking* Was on my way to bed when I saw that you'd posted not just one but TWO new instalments! & then of course it was a forgone conclusion that I'd be unable to sleep unless I stayed to read them. Oh, this was lovely. I LOVE that Watson took the diamonds for Lady Eva, 'in case the marriage should be delayed for some reason'. YAAAAY! And that kiss on the Heath! Glorious! & Holmes already fretting that when they get home they're never again going to refer to this kiss, & preparing himself for 'awkwardness and regret and worse'. Oh, *Holmes*. Not if Watson has anything to say about it, I would bet...

This series is so beautifully written, such lovely pacing & development. Each section is an absolute joy to read, & leaves me longing for the next one. Thanks so much for posting this, it's wonderful.
13th-Aug-2010 05:26 pm (UTC)
Thank you! (Hee - squawking.)

You've no idea the struggle it's been keeping these two's hands off each other. (Heh, well, or maybe you do.) It's been like...

Watson: Oh, please, please, can’t I just tell him I love him? Look at him! He’s lying in my goddamn lap. He doesn’t need to know in what sense I mean it – I don’t need to know in what sense I mean it. It wouldn’t take a minute. Please?

Holmes: I second this, and I promise I will rationalise it away and pretend it never happened if you want.

Waid: No. No declarations.

Watson: But it needn't be that big a deal -- he already knows I love him in some way! I’ve made that pretty bloody obvious what with one thing and another.

Waid: Aha! Just so. He knows, thus no new information would be imparted, therefore it would be redundant. NO.

Holmes: Fine, I’m going to tell him I love him.

Waid: You most certainly are not.

Holmes: But... when I’m checking on him after the chloral... when he’s asleep and can’t even hear me?


Holmes: You’ve got to give me something, I’m dying here. Can’t I kiss him? It doesn’t even have to be on the lips... look, he’s got his hand on my chest, can’t I kiss that? *sneakily does so*

Waid: *DELETES* THAT’S ENOUGH OUT OF YOU, MR WON’T-PLAY-NO-GRIEG. You will kiss him when it becomes literally inevitable and NOT A MOMENT BEFORE.

Holmes: I shall explode. I shall honest to goodness explode right here.

Waid: Fine. You may hug him and kiss his hair. Just a quick peck, mind, and I don’t want lips touching actual skin.

Holmes: \o/

Watson: That’s not fair. How come he gets something and I don’t? Do I not deserve it? After all I have been through?

Waid: Oh don’t give me that look. You already got off the leash, shoved him up against the wall and snogged him. Now you will sit quietly and wait your turn.
11th-Aug-2010 11:51 pm (UTC)
EEEEEP!!!!!!! Two chapters in a row! :D :D :D
Ohhh, I loved this SO much. Especially Watson's unexpected mask-making skills, which made me squee a great deal. (Former costume designer...can't help it!) Also, Holmes' helpless attraction to Watson, and efforts not to show it - I just love SO much we see it from his point of view (especially since most stories are from Watson's) - you really have his voice just perfect, and yes, I do love most of all how sweetly, helplessly in love he is.

Oh, and Watson in this - I just love them both so much! Stealing the diamonds - eeee!!! I am so glad, I wanted a happy ending for Lady Eva as well - oh Watson! I think his sheer goodness really comes through here. And then the romantic moment - so believable and so moving - I am loving so much that you are having this happen at a slow pace, not having it rushed and forced. Also, kissing in the masks...GUH. I love it! If only I could draw fanart - because this needs to be illustrated!

Just wonderful and brilliant once again. <3 <3 <3
13th-Aug-2010 05:33 pm (UTC)
Thank you!

I do not understand why more has not been done with those masks. I really don't. I mean, good heavens, Watson -- you can make what out of what?! And everyone knows they snogged on the heath while wearing them. It's just objectively true. Doyle knows it, the veiled mystery woman knows it, Milverton knows it, and he's dead.
12th-Aug-2010 12:09 am (UTC)
*FLAILS* You've killed me with this update. It's so perfect I actually died.
13th-Aug-2010 05:34 pm (UTC)
Oh dear! That's a rather severe unintended consequence. Hopefully you are only mostly dead, like Westley, whose Dread Pirate Roberts mask I rather had in mind at times in this.

Anyway, thank you!
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13th-Aug-2010 05:42 pm (UTC)
Thank you! God, I've been looking forward to getting to that kiss. I've both been struggling to keep both characters from jumping each other ahead of schedule while also having to wade through all this set-up if I wanted to get them here.
12th-Aug-2010 03:49 am (UTC) - Eeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
Oh you did it you did it! Glory, glory, glory, what an ending, what a kiss, what a marvelous mask maker and mask taker-offer is dear John Watson! (Oh, and you *did* take up that note from two installments back, about him undoing Holmes's disguise!)

Also, this --
"plucking off my goatee on the way and tossing it into a gutter" --
made me laugh hard.

So many thanks to you for this wonderful story. I'm saving for tomorrow the pleasure of re-reading the whole thing from the beginning.
12th-Aug-2010 02:14 pm (UTC) - Re: Eeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
And to reply to myself: it belatedly occurs to me that though I read this as the ending, it could conceivably not be. Em, well, if you *were* to get them back to the flat and engaged in invert-type activities, I wouldn't complain one little bit.
12th-Aug-2010 03:51 am (UTC)
Breath-taking. Perfectly lovely in every way. I adore the voice of your Holmes, he is utterly convincing and so sympathetic. The diamonds were a brilliant touch, as was the bit about the Earl visiting the virgin-brothel.
13th-Aug-2010 06:32 pm (UTC)
Thank you! I was so pleased when I thought of the diamonds, to be honest, my initial intention was just to give Lady Eva a strong, selfless reason to get married to that bastard Earl, not to then get her out of it, but then it was all OMG WHAT AM I THINKING IT IS SO CLEAR, especially since much as I love Milverton, it had always bothered me that they don't really do anything after all those delightful preparations.
12th-Aug-2010 05:14 am (UTC)
Eeee! I. Loved. This. I was on the edge of my seat and then bam! romance! This is so well done and lovely.
13th-Aug-2010 06:35 pm (UTC)
Aww, thank you! I've SO been looking forward to getting to that kiss, but I'm thrilled if it was tense too, considering how much is basically lifted from canon.
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12th-Aug-2010 07:18 am (UTC)
OH MY GODDDDDD. I love the stuff about Watson's unlikely talent for mask-making, and the kissing made me make flaily hands at my screen. Lovely!
13th-Aug-2010 06:57 pm (UTC)
Thank you! \o/ I was so looking forward to this bit, it's taken such a time to get here! I'm glad you like my playing about with the masks, because the "hang on -- what?" of that bit in canon is so deliciously intriguing. And everyone knows they kissed on the heath; it is just a fact.
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13th-Aug-2010 06:59 pm (UTC)
Thank you! I've SO been looking forward to the kiss so much that I actually deferred RL work to get this up, ahem. Plan is to pick up more like... a few days, a week after? But I hope you'll like that too.
12th-Aug-2010 08:45 pm (UTC)
Great Holmes voice and beautifully paced. Watson is such a hero here in so many ways, snd your last paragraph? Perfect.
13th-Aug-2010 07:03 pm (UTC)
Thank you. As I've felt my way along in this thing (I've always had the same end-point in mind, but there've been quite a lot of surprises along the way), I got to thinking that the trade-off for doing something so horrible to Watson at the start ought to be not just having Holmes be very nice to him, but letting Watson himself DO something awesome later. So I was very pleased when I worked out what that could be. (And in the context of astory in which he says "other people besides you have self-respect!" And that was the only canon story that would have worked! WHEEE.)
12th-Aug-2010 09:16 pm (UTC)
Lovely, lovely, LOVELY. Complete triumph. Now I will miss these characters as you wrote them; Holmes's compelling narrating voice, Watson's hidden resources of will. MOAR! MOAR!
13th-Aug-2010 07:04 pm (UTC)
Aww, thank you very much!

My Holmes never shuts up.

Moar soon, I hope (we're still not finished with this damn thing!)
13th-Aug-2010 08:01 pm (UTC)
I am so glad that this isn't finished! It just seemed a little too open ended, but I'm glad you confirmed it. But that's just because I want to read more ;) This has been so perfect right from the start! And you are right, it is a FACT that they kissed (while wearing masks) on the heath!
14th-Aug-2010 10:13 pm (UTC)
Thank you very much, anon!
14th-Aug-2010 12:14 am (UTC)
EEEE what a lovely update. Or is this the end? Watson, I want to hug you and your black silk masks. Waid, you're amazing.
14th-Aug-2010 10:20 pm (UTC)
Thank you! I was terribly looking forward to posting this bit. And Watson is rather a dear, isn't he?

And no, it is STILL not finished (!!! ???? Aiieee.) When it is, I shall not only write END in big bold letters at the bottom, I shall shortly afterwards post an incoherent and exhausted and slightly hysterical entry going OMG I DIDN'T MEAN TO WRITE A FREAKING NOVEL. There may even be gifs.
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