A CASE OF DOUBLE VISION

Chapter One~Breathing Easy

He should have thrown it in the fire the second after he'd read it.

He truly didn't understand his need for courting disaster, for any scrap of paper Irene Adler touched was full of the devil's script, her brand of apathy always disquieting and legally balanced uneven on the periphery of ethics. But he was addicted to it now, this odd correspondence that had grown between them, flowering like a mushroom into something thick and plump, seeming harmless but occasionally poisonous. The paper she had written her letter on was thick and heavy, like the cotton type used for official government documents and could well have been from such a supplier. Her ink strokes were bold and solid, every curve of her script made with a confidence that one rarely found in people who were not great leaders. She had proven herself formidable. Her influence could be felt as clearly as a kiss upon certain international decisions and she molded history itself as she murdered her way through one country after another, a secretive hired gun that left political mayhem in her wake. She had no qualms about her work, claimed she slept well every night and possessed no regrets over any of her actions. This was a source of fascination for Mycroft who, with the slightest perceived notion that he may have offended another in an unknown degree, would toss and turn and bemoan his words or decisions for years, the guilt occupying every thought until he managed to bring the world into karmic equilibrium once again, usually through an unnecessary apology.

The guilt over these letters was insurmountable, however, for he did not wish to stop receiving them and he did not wish for Lestrade to know about them, and it is this that causes that periodic sleepless night full of pacing and the occasional wheeze as stress gets the better of both his soul and his ill lungs. Thankfully, the latter problem has been alleviated thanks to their current summer spent at Holmes Manor, his family home situated in a small village near Bath The clean country air scrubbed his inner lungs and even his skin took on a ruddy complexion indicative of good health, a feat that no surgery could muster. Every breath he now took was without effort and filled his veins with sparkling molecules of oxygen, giving him a feeling of health and vigor that he couldn't possibly experience in London with its poisoned Thames and crowded streets, the facades of every house stained black with coal belched out of every chimney.

He could not give up his cane, however, which was always with him, for those unexpected periods of vertigo would still assail him even here and he would lean heavily on it for balance more than true physical support. This morning it was propped against the empty chair next to him, conspicuously absent of Lestrade's messy bulk, a small trail of crumbs left behind on an empty, flowered plate imported recently from France via his cousin Emigene, who was also absent from the breakfast table, and in fact had never shown up for the repast at all that summer. She was not at the Manor when they arrived a couple of weeks ago. She was busy 'elsewhere', Mrs. Healey told him, though a specified country or region hadn't been telegraphed to them yet. As a biologist with a specialization in obscure sparrows he could only guess that she was at least still on the continent, though one never knew with Emigene. She could just as easily have left port for Africa. Women were free to travel unaccompanied all over the world these days. Some of them could do whatever they liked.