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To those whose work and very reason for being dwelt in the deepest recesses of shadow, such as Watson and myself, the darkness of night proved a worthy and welcome ally. It was at night that movement was safest, the shelter between dim street lamps granting us easier passage. It was at night that we followed our prey, studying their forays into the murky depths of urban life.
It was also at night that we challenged those who had oppressed humanity for so long, myself with my wits and Watson with his knives. It was at night that we made the world a better, if bloodier place.
This inherently led to a certain nocturnal lifestyle, and one which served us well when we were on the hunt. In between the hunt, however, it could become a little more problematic.
I rolled over once again and sighed, for this was becoming exceedingly tiresome. “Dear me, dear me. I am not fond of insomnia. This little bout becomes more dull with each passing day.”
Watson, presently beside me in bed but equally unsuccessful in sleep judging by his breathing, cracked an eye open. “Wouldn’t that be each passing night, Sherry?”
I chuckled despite my frustration with the present situation. “Regrettably. I should much prefer to be stalking through London listening to the slither and drag of tentacled limbs.”
“As would I, but that would require a feasible target.”
Again, I sighed. “I am fully aware of the lack of a target. It is why we are condemned to both idleness and wakeful nights.”
Watson hummed in agreement, snuggling close to me. He wrapped his arm across my torso, keeping it low enough to avoid my breasts, which were presently unrestrained in futile hopes of sleep. As Watson and I were the closest of friends and had formed our own unique little partnership, I was largely comfortable with his touch anywhere on my body, yet that part of my anatomy annoyed me somewhat.
That annoyance was worse when I did not have the distraction of a hunt, a play, or indeed anything with which to occupy my mind. After our most recent successful assassination, Moriarty’s surveillance had escalated to a level which prohibited any immediate activity. We could not act against our foes with a hope of success until things quieted somewhat.
As a result, Watson and I had been temporarily banished to the distant countryside, and were taking shelter in a cottage which my brother Mycroft had acquired for the Cause. There, deprived of the ordinary nightly pressure of one hunt or performance after another, I had little to do save roll from one side to the other while becoming increasingly irritated with my breasts flopping about whenever I adjusted.
“I am glad to see that you, at least, are enjoying yourself,” I said to Watson, perhaps a little unfairly. “No doubt you are enjoying your cuddles and my undivided attention.”
“Your attention is as divided as ever, my dear chap. It is just that it now concentrates upon how annoyed you are with our circumstances rather than how to successfully isolate our prey.” Somehow, Watson snuggled even more closely. Then he grunted and adjusted his legs. “I am certainly enjoying the cuddles.”
“I thought as much.”
“And yet, I am not fond of insomnia either.” Again, Watson shifted his position. “I suggest that we simply return to our ordinary schedule of sleeping during the day. It cannot possibly be any more dangerous than it is in the city.”
I did not reply immediately, for it was necessary that I contemplate this suggestion in thorough detail. While I was true that we usually maintained odd hours in comparison to most of humanity, our sleep was often in staggered shifts. Watson took the odd work as a doctor in order to make money for us to live, while I often had either rehearsals or research to conduct. The sort of routine which Watson and I shared was so erratic that simply calling it a “routine” was enough to goad Mycroft into arguing with me over whether or not the term could be said to apply at all.
Yet with all those irregular hours, it was rare for both Watson and I to be asleep at the same time, at least for very long. I did not trust the daylight hours, with the brilliance of the sun threatening to reveal our secrets despite the many hidden corners of an urban environment. The thought of both of us simply slumbering through the day in the unfamiliar countryside filled me with a certain horror.
“Well, well, we shall have to alternate our sleep to some degree if we wish to avoid being murdered,” I said, and Watson chuckled despite the truth of my statement. “I confess, I believe myself to have been defeated by insomnia for the present, and I am exceedingly restless. The moon is a mere sliver of crimson tonight, and the darkness pleasant. Would you care for a walk, or is your leg troubling you too much?”
“How on earth did you know my leg was troubling me?” Watson asked.
“The way in which you are continuing to shift your legs even as we cuddle. Ordinarily, you become quite boneless.”
Watson chuckled and moved back easily if somewhat slowly. “It is true, my leg is quite achy, but the pain is always worse when I am too idle. A walk in the dark sounds wonderful, my dear Holmes.”
As I thought it sounded quite wonderful too, I rose and shrugged out of my nightshirt. Even the isolated countryside did not render us immune to prying eyes, and so I once again bound my chest before dressing. The darkness aided in the concealment of many secrets, including the natural shape of my body, yet it was best to exercise caution.
Once Watson and I were both attired for our walk, I passed him his cane and took his free arm. We proceeded outside, his limp far more pronounced today than it ordinarily was. It seemed the idleness, in conjunction with the restlessness of insomnia, was proving most unhelpful for his pain.
“Perhaps I ought to design an exercise regimen,” I said as we stepped onto the path leading away from the cottage. “It is necessary that we should stay in shape, of course, and it would keep your poor leg a little more limber.”
“And planning something would be of great aid to your mind,” Watson said, giving me a loving smile in the dim crimson moonlight. “Perhaps that is the solution to your idleness, Sherry. You could devote your time to coming up with ways to make our stay here as pleasant and useful as possible.”
I laughed, although the idea did cheer me somewhat. I must have some occupation, for my mind was a racing engine which burned down to a complete wreck when it lacked fuel. “Well, well, I suppose it would be better than simply tossing and turning all night.”
Simple plans for exercise and sleep schedules would not be enough to keep me from increasingly acerbic melancholy, yet it was certainly a start. Research on useful topics could be conducted here, and once Watson began to write his next set of plays, I would have something to rehearse as well.
And in time, when surveillance for us had lapsed, we would return to our old hunting grounds of shadowed alleys and hidden corners. For the moment, it was enough to stroll arm in arm with my beloved Watson through the darkness of a peaceful night.