In the Doorway

It's twilight, the sun is barely seen with the smog, the air cooler now that the night is coming on.

I hear footsteps on the stairs. Familiar ones. Ones from years past. Slower, but still recognizable.

Removing myself from my chair I turn to look out the window. Staring at nothing. Refusing to look at the visitor.

"Hello, John."

"How did you know it was me?"

"Your footfalls, a bit slower, but yours nevertheless."

"It's been a long time"

"Sixteen years and twenty-four days to be exact."

He's staring out the window not turning to talk or look at me.

Surveying the flat, I see the sofa is new, a dark maroon.

My chair, the one I always sat in, is gone, and in place of Sherlock's chair is a reclining brown leather seat, a maroon plaid throw casually lain on it.

A small table holds a book, reading glasses, a cup and saucer.

"Happy Valentines Day, by the way," rather awkwardly.

"Since that's never been a holiday we've acknowledged, John, why are you here?"

"Um, Rosie is off to university, I've put the house up for sale"

His body half turns to me, still at the window, "You want to reside here again."

A statement.

I can see the lines of age on his face, his curls still there but not in such profusion. His hair has thinned as has mine.

"You stopped coming over to visit Rosy and I."

"You stopped solving cases with me."

How thick the air is with unspoken words.

"Many years ago, if you recall, we were standing beside an airplane on the tarmac-"

"I recall it all too well."

"You said, and I remember the exact words even to this day."

"John-"

"No, I will finish."

"John, there's something I should say. I've meant to say always, and then never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again; I might as well say it now. [long pause] Sherlock is actually a girl's name."

The dead air between us. The bottled up conflict having to slowly climb up out of its hiding place and shout itself out.

Sherlock twists around, facing me. Our eyes lock onto each other.

"What did you mean to say instead of Sherlock is a girl's name?"

At first, he looks away, turning to look into my eyes.

"John Hamish Watson, I love you."

I inhale deeply and let it out, whistling low.

"And I would have answered then as I answer you now. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I love you."