Sherlock Holmes, Holmes/Watson, waltz
"A-ha!" my companion expostulated, springing to his feet and narrowly avoiding a collision with Inspector Lestrade, who had just come into the Brigadier General's house. Holmes did not seem to notice; his dark eyes held that familiar triumphant gleam which meant that he was close upon the scent of some discovery.
For my part, I failed to see what was so enlightening about the stretch of carpet, and didn't mind to say so.
"Oh, come come. To you, Watson, this may be just a fancy bit of rug, though perhaps a rather fine Oriental specimen at that. But to the observant eye, it tells a most elegant story! Look here. If you will pardon me, Inspector?" With these words, he knelt down at Lestrade's feet, his nose nearly pressed to the thick weave of the rug. "It is the footprints, of course. You see the imprints of the soles have left their undeniable marks. Here, the lady's shoe, and a fine expensive one, if I may judge from the shape of the toe. See how very small her foot?"
"It must be the Contessa," said Lestrade, nodding. "She's a tiny one, no doubt about it."
"Yes. And here, the man's. A clear-cut gentleman; just look at the depth of that tread. Only an aristocrat might carry himself with such deportment."
Holmes stood again, placing his feet upon the man's footmarks and grinning. "But! What gentleman walks from one end of his drawing room to the other--like /this/?" He followed the prints, moving with a curious spinning gait to the other end of the room.
"They were dancing!" I cried.
"Yes, my dear Watson. And not only that." I was standing against the wall where the footsteps began, and two long strides brought Holmes to my side. "If you will permit me?" Without waiting for my reply, he laid one long hand upon my waist--as though I were the diminutive Contessa. With a flourish, he assumed the role of the Brigadier General, and led me through the precise dance maneuvers that were echoed so quietly upon the carpet. He laughed as we danced, quite caught up in his own deduction. I may be reckoned light on my feet, but it seemed to me the whole room was set to spinning.
Turning round and round, he exclaimed over his shoulder at Lestrade, "So you see it was clearly a /waltz/, Inspector."
Lestrade's expression had changed from one of dubiousness to one of utmost respect. "A waltz! Well that does it. I declare, Mr. Holmes. I think you may just be on to something."
We came to the end of the carpet, and Holmes released my hand but did not step away. Something tempered the usual fires of satisfaction in his smile, upon a mystery solved. "On to something, indeed. I hope you will forgive my terpsichorean foolishness, Watson?"
Breathlessly I assured him that it was of no consequence, and that if I was laboring a bit, it was certainly just that I lacked practice for such vigorous dancing. He lingered by my side a moment longer, and then it was up to the sitting room to confirm his hypothesis.