The Statehouse Affairs

The Roof Where It Happens

It was a dark and moderately stormy night in 1787, and a man in a suspiciously modern overcoat was standing on the roof of the Pennsylvania State House. A shorter man in a powdered wig with pale blue streaks stepped forward, laying a hand on the taller man's shoulder. It was a gesture of sympathy, but the taller flinched away from the seemingly innocuous touch.

"Sherlock," the short man sighed, letting his hand fall limply as the wind howled around the two, whipping their hair back with almost painful force.

"I've never been one for queen and country, Paul, but this tests even my limitations," Sherlock spoke suddenly, acutely aware of the traitorous Patriots writing the United States Constitution beneath his very feet.

"Love cannot be confined to one country or another, my darling," Paul replied, his face twisting with years of agony. "Britain and the United States may be split, but we don't have to be."

"Love? You speak to me of love?" Sherlock turned abruptly. "It's a chemical defect. It was my mistake with Moriarty- I can never allow that to happen again, Paul, not even for you."

Suddenly he paused, reaching out with gloved fingers to brush a streak of blue hair that had blown wildly away from the rest of Paul's wig.

"Blue... why?" he pondered.

"Because of your eyes," Paul half-sobbed, fixing Sherlock with a pleading gaze. Sherlock tore his hand away as if burned, but Paul continued, "I love you, ardently. And if you feel the same, you must have the courage to say so. I beg you, for the sake of your soul and mine."

"Souls are not remotely relevant- think! I'm of another country! I'm promised to another- the wedding date is set!" Sherlock exclaimed as frustration flashed across his face.

"Then leave the bastard at the altar. I can see in your eyes that you do not love him," Paul fell to his knees, taking Sherlock's hands in his own.

"I- apologize," Sherlock muttered, turning away and running back towards the building, leaving Paul Revere kneeling in the rain, hands outstretched towards the empty promises of a future that might never come. Lightning flashed as Sherlock darted back inside the door, then impermeable darkness fell.