Once we were presentable, we gathered up our baggage and departed the train. We soon found a cab at the station, then left for the hotel. Watson looked out on Paris and remarked that we should still tour the city, since we have not been here together in years. I wished to keep this fragile peace between us, so I agreed. It seemed a harmless enough indulgence at the time.

As we rode, Watson asked me if I wished to still use the name Sigerson to keep my anonymity. I said yes for now, and reminded him that when we got back to London, he could publish a tale of my return, to tell the world I am alive.

"Oh! Yes." Watson had apparently forgotten, since I had made the promise in the midst of our argument with his German doctor. "Thank you, Holmes." He beamed at me and kissed my cheek. "Then you shall have more cases and no longer be tempted by drugs."

"Yes," I said. I also hoped that perhaps we might be able to return to our former patterns of behaviour if we were always busy with work. Though I would miss it if he stopped kissing me or calling me darling. If only there were a middle ground between the old days when Watson was pure, and now, when he expressed his love, however corrupted. I could not imagine never touching him again. Never being allowed to sidle up close to him in a hansom.

He said, "I shall write it quickly and have Doyle publish it as soon as possible." His excitement faded after a moment, and he spoke more softly, "You said before that you didn't want people to know about how you had deceived me for three years. But do not worry, dear. It'll be all right, and I'll tell them how happy you've made me by returning."

He called me "dear," and it made me tingle in the way that "darling" had. He also took my arm when we arrived at the hotel, and did not let go even as we went inside, with the bellhop following. Watson started to ask the desk clerk for two rooms, but I protested. "One room, but two beds." I reluctantly let go of him for the moment.

Watson raised an eyebrow, but nodded and signed our names in the register. I am sure the clerk still thought we were immoral as he looked at us.

We took the room key and headed upstairs together. Watson noticed my tension and asked me if I was sure about sharing a room.

I told him, "Yes, we always have before."

"I know, but that was during your cases. But now..."

I considered whether I still trusted him now, with his madness. But I have trusted him with my life so many times. "They were our cases," I said, ignoring his question. "Ours." I have given him my whole self. My heart.

He looked in my eyes, but said nothing further until we arrived in our room. I soon paid the bellhop and closed the door so that I might take Watson's arm again.

"I missed you," I said finally. "All these months without you, missing you, needing you home, I couldn't even sleep." He joined our hands together, but held me back from a kiss. I continued, "I fear irrationally that if I sleep without you near, I might wake in the morning and find you gone again. I don't want to be parted from you."

"And that's why you want one room?"

I nodded.

He murmured, "What shall you do when we are back in Baker Street? Sneak into my room again?" He regretted his words and said, "Never mind." Then he let go of my hand and turned away, asking me which bed I wanted and grabbing our bags.

So I selected a bed and sat down on it, while he unpacked for us. How I longed to kiss him again, but he seemed to think it unwise here.

Still acting nonchalant, Watson said, "Holmes, will you order us a cab, so we can go to lunch?"

"We're not dining here?"

"No, I told you, we're dining at the Eiffel Tower."

"Why are you so keen on the tower?" Many Parisians had mixed opinions on the iron monument.

"I think it's impressive, like the new Tower Bridge in London. And as I said, you could use some fresh air."

"Very well." So I ordered a cab, and reflected about his new-found appreciation of towers. I recall that at the time the bridge was completed in London, he took me to see that too, with patriotic pride for such a feat of British engineering. He told me he was glad that I had returned to him in time to see it finished, so I think he may associate it now with my return from the dead.

Breaking into my thoughts, Watson asked me if I'd ever been to the Eiffel Tower before, given all the time I spent in France.

I told him I had been busy working on my cases. I had little time for tourist diversions since the Tower was completed in 1889.

"Then we should certainly visit it now, before it gets torn down."

"Very well." There was no need to hurry, but I supposed that I could not picture myself lingering in France again without a case, and I did not know if Watson would tolerate le Villard, if I brought him with me. I might be busy with managing them, as well as the case, I thought.

When Watson was ready, we went downstairs and found the cab waiting for us. At the tower, he took my arm again and paused a while to gaze up in wonder at it. When he had satisfied himself admiring the structure from different places, we finally climbed the stairs. At the restaurant on the first platform, we asked for a table and soon were enjoying a glass of wine as we awaited our meal.

Watson stood up to look out on the view of city, and he was most pleased. "Paris is magnificent from here."

"Indeed. A pity this tower shall be torn down someday."

"Yes. At least we shall keep our marvel in London." He sat down again as our meal was served, and we ate in companionable silence. After a sip of his wine, he spoke wistfully, "You know, the last time we travelled through Paris together, we were fleeing from Moriarty, and you said we could not risk being so exposed to air gun fire."

I frowned anxiously, to hear him speak of that trip, the prelude to my false death.

He looked at me reassuringly, though, and squeezed my hand. "We can reverse it now, my dear. Replace the memory with something better. Then I can take you home to Baker Street. Home, where you belong with me."

"Yes," I said, for of course I belong with him, and he with me. Living without him has been the worst misery I have ever known. I nearly kissed him, but he restrained me again. I was astonished that I had forgot myself in public, most especially in a country where the permissive sodomy laws would suggest we were sinners instead of deeply in love.

Watson moved his chair back a little and changed the subject. He asked me what I had done when I had been in Montpellier in disguise as a chemist working on coal tar derivatives. Why had I not tried to contact him then, since Moran was already back in London?

I explained that Moran had learned too well from Moriarty how to cover up his illegal activities. I still could not find any evidence of crimes that could put Moran in prison, and I dared not risk Watson's safety by contacting him until the moment I had some proof.

"But you had the wax bust already prepared before Adair's murder." He asked me if I had revealed my identity to the sculptor when I modelled for him.

"No, I merely told him I was an actor in a play about Sherlock Holmes, and I needed the bust to use as a stage prop."

He chuckled heartily and said, "You know, Doyle wants to write one of those."

"Heaven forbid he mangle me as he mangled you in the Angels of Darkness script."

He laughed, and thereupon we lamented the faults of his literary agent, so quick to mingle facts with fiction. It felt strangely comforting to converse like in the old days. However, our conversation was soon interrupted by a startled cry.

Le Villard suddenly bounded over to our table and pulled me out of my chair. "It is not--! It is!" He exclaimed in French excitedly and kissed both my cheeks before I could stop him, much less pretend that he was mistaken.

I glanced at Watson worriedly, but he seemed to be calm, observing for himself that le Villard's kisses were innocent, and nothing like our own.

I pulled away as le Villard gestured to his companion at another table and fired off questions about how I could be alive. I asked him to please be quiet and show some decorum, lest we all be thrown out of the restaurant.

Le Villard finally calmed and apologised. He also turned to greet Watson at last, shaking his hand firmly. "Dr Watson, it is so good to meet you at last. He has told me so much about you."

"Thank you," Watson said, and attempted to disguise any jealousy when he said, "He told me about you as well."

"I can hardly believe--Oh this is Denis," he said, introducing his confused dining companion to us. "I need to explain things to him, and certainly I should not intrude on your luncheon anymore. But Holmes--"

I hushed him and corrected him with "Sigerson."

"Ah, very well," he nodded, then produced a card and wrote on it. "I am in town for a few days celebrating--it's nothing, a case. Will you both drop by later and please explain this marvellous miracle? Or if you prefer, you may write to me instead."

I looked to Watson, who surprisingly agreed and took the card. He even suggested, "Tea, today?"

"Yes, certainly." Le Villard even dared to kiss both Watson's cheeks before he withdrew with a polite bow. He could be heard whispering to Denis at their table elsewhere.

I stared at Watson, who was still reading the card. I sat down and said rather helplessly, "I'm sorry."

He looked at me reassuringly. "No, it's fine. You had no idea he'd be on holiday here, much less come to the same place for luncheon. Anyway, I don't mind it. I think I'd actually like to talk to him in private."

I still could not fathom his puzzling behaviour. "Hence, tea?"

"Hence, tea." He nodded.

"Not to be rude to him?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. But we should explain this to him." He smiled. "I'm actually pleased to see that you did not tell him that you were alive, unlike Mycroft."

"No I hardly had time for idle chats then."

"Indeed." He still smiled and squeezed my hand warmly before he suggested that we pay our bill and go for a walk.

I agreed and numbly did as he wished. Though I still glanced at le Villard's table before we left. I asked Watson if he was no longer jealous, and what he wanted to talk to le Villard about, other than my false death, but he only answered incomprehensibly. "He seems happy I think. I miss being happy."

"Do I make you so miserable?"

He gazed at me deeply. "You're beautiful."

I wondered if he might dare to kiss me, and if I would dare to let him even in public. Perhaps he would understand then that I would risk anything for him, do anything except--

But he simply turned away and laughed casually. "Aren't you even going to compliment me for deducing who he was before he introduced himself?"

"I--yes."

We walked on, till he hailed a cab for us and led me on a tour of various sights in the city until it was time to visit le Villard.

Little did I know what would actually happen at that tea.

---

We arrived at le Villard's hotel and found that his friend Denis was still with him. He looked less confused this time, and greeted us warmly, shaking our hands.

"François told me everything. Well, as much as he knew! I am so glad to find you are alive and well, Monsieur. He had so mourned the loss of his great teacher."

"I hope you did not announce this news to anyone else," I said. I noticed that he used le Villard's first name, and he Denis's. Of course I did. I thought perhaps they might be brothers, or other familial relations, and was too anxious about Watson to pay attention. "I have promised Watson the privilege of announcing the news first."

Le Villard smiled as he set out the tea on their sitting-room table. "Oh, I understood you must be incognito if you were using an alias. Then Denis reminded me of that Norwegian Sigerson, and I thought, 'No wonder the explorer disappeared!"

Denis invited us to sit and began pouring for us.

Le Villard continued, "Then I wondered why you would fake your death, and go travelling so long alone. But then I realised you were waiting for your Watson to be free to join you." He looked to Watson. "Doctor, I had heard of your wife's death, and thought of sending you condolences then, but I dared not, lest you still be angry with me for all the cases I worked with Holmes, up to the end. It was why I did not attend Holmes's memorial, because I did not want you to think of all the time with him that I stole from you."

"Stole?" I inquired with some concern.

Le Villard looked at me, and apologized, "Excuse me, of course, I do not mean to suggest something improper. Dr. Watson, I had realized you were jealous of me, but I assure you that we only worked as colleagues. I would never steal your lover from you. Why, I have Denis after all, and we are faithful to each other."

I choked on my tea, and could not speak.

Watson looked surprised, but not nearly as upset. He patted my back, then asked le Villard, "Holmes told you I was jealous?"

"No, he did not have to say. But I could tell from the way he spoke of you or wrote of you in his letters, making excuses for why you could not come meet me, or accompany him to France. When I realized this, I understood that I was beginning to succeed in applying Holmes's method of deducing facts."

"I see." Watson nodded and left his hand on my back. "You could tell that he loved me then? You could see it?"

"Yes of course. He was always very much in love with you. He never forgot you for a moment whenever he came to France. Always talking about you writing stories about him, and always mentioning fights you had had about his health. When he overworked himself on the Maupertuis case I tried to check on him for you and make sure he ate and slept, but he told me I had no right, that he only tolerated such things from you."

Watson looked at me. "I wish you had told me then."

I stared at him, unable to understand his calm. I told le Villard, "We are not lovers."

Le Villard looked startled and confused then. "You--? But he--"

"I love him purely and chastely. Don't sully that by suggesting unnatural... acts." I looked between him and Denis, "You and he--?" I stood up and began to pace. "All this time you've been a deviant?"

Denis was becoming upset too. "François, what's going on? Why is he talking like this?"

"I-I don't know!"

Watson rose and explained to them, "Holmes loves me, but he doesn't want us to be intimate. He apparently did not know about you and Denis either."

They still did not seem to understand this, and le Villard asked me, "But you love him?"

"I do."

He turned to Watson incredulously. "And you love him too?"

"Yes. Though I did not understand the source of my jealousy at the time. Only lately have I discovered a physical desire."

"Watson, please," I said, not knowing why he should reveal such secrets to them.

Watson looked at them and said, "He considers sodomy a crime and a sin." I could not understand why he continued to speak about me this way.

"François!" Denis became anxious that their affair was found out and would be denounced by me.

Le Villard hurried over to me to beg my silence. "In the name of our friendship--"

I made a dismissive motion. "Oh, I do not care about your immoral relations. I will tell no one, lest the Sûreté lose a brilliant detective."

He looked relieved, remarking, "Though sodomy is legal here, there can still be discrimination and harassment against such relationships."

"Which is all the more reason why you shouldn't risk your career this way! I am quite shocked, le Villard. Shocked and disappointed that you could behave this way! You, a rational, sane man!"

Le Villard's face changed from supplication to surprise and even disdain. "What, you think me irrational to love this way? To participate in a crime and a sin?" He walked back to Denis and patted his shoulders comfortingly. He looked between Watson and myself, then said, "I am shocked at you as well, Mr. Holmes. You, a rational man. A logical and scientific man who lives a truly unconventional life--and death--yet you possess such parochial morals."

"Parochial?"

"Yes." Le Villard was strangely cold to me and analytical. "But I suppose I should not be surprised considering what you English have just done to Oscar Wilde."

"That man is an arrogant bastard who brought punishment on himself with his libel case!"

He came forward, insisting, "Yes, but he sacrificed himself instead of fleeing to France when he had the chance to do so. It takes some bravery to be a martyr, do you not think?"

I scoffed, and Watson suggested, apparently in my defence, "I think Wilde's love for his young man made him irrational. But what a speech he gave."

Le Villard smiled as if sharing a joke with him. "The love that dare not speak its name." He turned back to me. "And it is a love, Holmes. Not a sin. It is only love, criminalized by your laws and reviled by others, but it is love nonetheless. I do not consider myself irrational to crave love. No, it is the thing that keeps me sane."

"Oh your Continental morals are all very well, but how can you say it is not a sin?"

Le Villard scoffed at me. "You take the church's preaching to heart, then? You, a scientific man? The church once said it was immoral to teach that the earth goes around the sun. The church is saying these days that evolution is immoral and untrue, but you don't believe that, do you?"

I blinked and could not form a suitable answer. Indeed I believe the proofs of evolution, but am also aware that science too, has been flawed before, as I know from my work in forensic science and from the reading I did on astronomy when I needed to understand Moriarty's paper on the Dynamics of an Asteroid. I saw that Watson was listening raptly as well.

Le Villard went on. "There are German doctors these days who write that homosexuality is not a sin or a mental illness to be cured. But I don't need scientists or clergymen to tell me that my love is right or not. I know what is in my heart, and I would not give it up for God or man." He returned to Denis and shared a brief kiss before squeezing his hand. He said more softly, "I am sorry that you do not know such joy with your doctor, but I assure you, it shall not deter myself and my love."

Watson looked at them almost fondly, and then he came over to me. "Holmes, perhaps we should go now."

"I--yes," I answered numbly. I needed time to consider le Villard's arguments, and I was still confused by his reference to German doctors. Dr. Klemperer had seemed sincere in trying to cure Watson.

Watson took my arm and led me to the door. He smiled on the lovers and said, "I shall publish the story of how Holmes survived Reichenbach soon, so you may read the explanation there. Good day, gentlemen."

"Good day, doctor."

"And good luck with Holmes."

"Yes, thank you." He bowed his head and pulled me out the door.

I stared at him outside. "He wished you luck in..."

"In changing your parochial morals."

"I see." I said.

Watson patted my arm and said, "Should you like to return to our hotel for a proper tea, then? We hardly had any here."

I sighed and shrugged. He led me downstairs to a cab, and as we drove away I asked him about the German doctors.

Watson answered, "Yes there is a contingent of doctors who argue for homosexuality as normal and healthy, calling it a third sex and the like. I read some of their papers in the medical journals I brought to Baker Street. I never mentioned them to you before because they were irrelevant. I needed to find a cure for my desires." He met my eyes seriously. "You see, I love you enough to give up my feelings, if only to make you happy."

I raised an eyebrow and stared at him. "You would give up your unnat--your desires?"

"Yes, my darling."

I tingled again, and clung to his arm. "But back there, you seemed to approve--"

"I was happy to see they were happy. Just as I wished Murray to be happy. I agree with them that I don't think their love is a sin, or that such passion is irrational and unnatural. I wish you would not argue with me about sex being filthy, for instance. My love for Mary was not at all like that. But as for our own love, I know you do not want such things, Holmes, and I only want us to be happy. It doesn't matter how, as long as I know that you do love me."

"I do," I whispered.

He smiled and held me close to him.

We were silent for a time, until I asked, "What did you want to speak to le Villard about? Did you know already of him and Denis?

"I was not sure about them. Whether friends or lovers, they looked happy. The way we used to be. Mostly I wanted to hear from him about your time in France, about how you spoke of me. He told me that himself, when he assumed we were lovers."

"I see."

"If you want, I can write a letter to him to explain your feelings better, how you dislike all sex, not merely sodomy. Perhaps he will understand then, and not be so outraged, though I don't think he will change his mind about his own love."

"I suppose not." I stared at him in wonder. "You really are not jealous any longer?"

"I think now I am only jealous of Mycroft knowing you were alive and deceiving me. But I suppose it doesn't matter, since you do not love me like a brother."

"No, indeed." I kissed him softly on his lips, but then it occurred to me that this was not dissimilar to the kiss le Villard had given his lover. I puzzled over this all the way back to the hotel.