He Loves Us Both
Author: Silverearthelf
Recipient: geekpenguin
Title: He Loves Us Both
Rating: PG
Warnings/additional pairings: John Watson/Mary Morstan-Watson
Summary: Confrontation is good for the soul, but can Holmes accept the offer of friendship and something stranger from his best friend’s wife?
Beta LadyLoveLace
Disclaimer: All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older. I own NOTHING regarding
Author's Notes: This was written for the exchange over at hw09_exchange and was written for Geekpenguin. I hope you like what I’ve written Geekpenguin!
**
Part 1
It was a Monday the first time I had a visit from the young Miss Morstan. I was sitting up in the window ledge mixing a combination of chemicals in the light so I could observe their physical change when combined when the light tap on the door interrupted my focus. I turned to glower at the door, my mood as dismal now as it had been most days in the last three months since Watson had left Baker Street for the last time.
"Mr. Holmes, you have a visitor." Mrs. Hudson called through the door and my foul mood grew darker.
"I thought I told you I was not going to be accepting any cases as of yet, you interfering old woman!" I called back, a bite lacing my tone, before turning away from the door once more ready to pour.
"I am not a client, Mr. Holmes," a quiet, fairly feminine voice from inside my rooms said.
I turned, ready to snarl and insult the invading female but came up short at the sight of Miss Morstan, standing tall, an umbrella held in one hand, a handbag in the other.
"Miss Morstan. Watson isn’t here, if that is why you’ve come," I said shortly, wanting her to leave as swiftly as she’d come, my lip curling into a snarl.
"I know John isn’t here, Mr. Holmes, and looking for John is not my purpose in coming today; you are." She smiled slightly, before turning to Mrs. Hudson and murmuring quietly, "My dearest Mrs. Hudson, would you mind bringing some tea for Mr. Holmes and myself? I fear I’ll be here for a while."
"Of course Mrs. Watson." Mrs. Watson. Of course. I’d forgotten again, which is strange since I was AT the bloody wedding. "Would you like afternoon snacks as well or cakes? I believe have some leftover from my Sunday afternoon ladies gathering," The landlady asked pleasantly and I was slightly taken aback at the friendly attitude she had for the young woman. Mrs. Hudson obviously liked Mary Morstan-Watson.
"Afternoon snacks are fine, Mrs. Hudson. Please don’t put yourself out on our account." Miss Morstan… no Mrs. WATSON, replied before coming further into the room and set herself on the settee, setting the umbrella behind her feet under the seat and the handbag beside her before demurely folding her hands in her lap before looking up at me at my place up by the window, the two chemicals still in each of my hands, frozen in time from my surprise at seeing Watson’s young wife making herself at home in my living area. "Are you not going to come down and greet me like you should, Mr. Holmes?" she asked with an inquisitive arch to her brow. I wish I could have slapped the infuriating look off of her face. She’d won, even if she didn’t realize there was a competition going on. What more did she want from me?
"Mrs. Watson, as you have come into my living area and made yourself at home without my permission or welcome, I shall do as I like." I growled and slowly, slowly, as if I was some decrepit old fool, forced my hands to work and place the dangerous chemicals aside before I killed someone, and knowing my luck at the moment, I’d kill myself and NOT Miss Morstan.
"As you like, Mr. Holmes, but keep in mind that I will remain in this chair until you come down and speak with me," She explained before pulling a crime novel from her handbag and sat quietly reading as I puttered around, pointedly NOT looking at the irritating woman. I went through my mail while lighting my pipe not caring if she liked the smoke or not.
We waited for Mrs. Hudson to return in awkward silence. Well awkward on my part. Miss Morstan looked like she was perfectly content to sit on my settee and read that confounded book as long as she wished.
I gritted my teeth as Mrs. Hudson came back with the tea and she set it on the table. Miss. Morstan thanked her and smiled at the landlady and I gritted my teeth. She’d NOT been invited: how dare she order tea and act as if she’s lady of the house?
I watched as she poured tea for the two of us, placing sugar in my cup while cream in her own. She knew how to make my tea, too. Did her complete rule of my life not even exclude the smallest of details?
I reluctantly took the cup from her and we sat in complete silence for quite a few minutes before the air around me began to thicken and impair my breathing to the point I could not stand it any longer.
"Mrs. Watson, is there a particular reason you’ve darkened my door this particular day, or is there some special occasion I should be aware of?"
She looked up at me with a cool look before placing her cup onto the table between us. "I’m going to make this very plain, Mr. Holmes. I adore John, and anything that harms him, harms me. I know you love him. Why you’ve not done anything before now is beyond me, but when I came into the picture, which was far after you realized your own feelings for him, you supposed you lost your chance, but still took every opportunity to interfere with our relationship. The notion almost every 10 year old has of ‘if I cannot have him, no one should’ comes to mind when I think of our first meeting, Mr. Holmes. I know you were purposefully trying to run me off with your deductions and obvious insults, but you didn’t realize that I do love John dearly, and neither God nor you can do anything that will change that." As she made her speech, my face grew more and more stony before finally asking,
"My dear, if you’ve deduced all of this, I wonder why you’ve taken the trouble to come and inform me of all of this besides to rub your good fortune into my face." My tone was as icy as my tea had become as I placed the still full cup onto the small table.
"You misunderstand me, Mr. Holmes. I’ve not come to gloat, I’ve come to bargain."
"Bargain? What in the name of all that is holy would you have to bargain with me, Mrs. WATSON?" I asked, my tone turning from cold to infuriated.
"John’s love, Mr. Holmes. You know I love John, and I know you love John, the only thing in question, however, is John’s love. John is a passionate man, Mr. Holmes, and in these past three months, I’ve discovered several things; one: John is quite miserable without your company, two: he is quite worried about your general health without him there to monitor it, three: he will go through the elaborate ruse, that is unnecessary might I mention, to dress as if he is going to his club as opposed to going to your fights that he keeps secret from both you and I, and finally: John will mutter your name in the middle of the night right along with my own. This has given me the logical conclusion that John Watson is as much, if not more, in love you than he is with me," She explained, ticking her points off on her fingers all the while looking me square in the eye.
I will have to admit that I was quite speechless for a few moments before a scornful look crossed my face. "My dear, that does not say anything for his feelings for me besides that of someone who adores someone they consider a sibling. Your conclusions are inconclusive and devoid of any and all real evidence."
"Mr. Holmes, I would have John’s happiness be the first and foremost above all else. He loves you, call it woman’s intuition or not if you like, but I would not have you dismiss my ideas out of hand in some sense of pride or revenge for some perceived slight. I’d rather us be friends and partners in this rather than enemies on opposite sides of the field with John in the middle. All I wish to do is have the simple but binding understanding that while he is with me I will guide him back to you as long as you will do the same. I do not want John at some unforeseen time in the future, to realize his feelings, if he has not already, and cannot resist his attraction to you and leave me alone because he can’t resist you or leave you altogether because of his sense of duty to me. It would destroy him, Sherlock Holmes. You know this as well as I," she explained, her voice never raising or altering in any way as she explained her case. I have to applaud her quite profoundly: for someone to face my ire and not flinch or even blink is someone quite deserving of my respect, and for someone to face my scorn as Miss. Morstan did when we first met and stood up to my insults by splashing wine in my face and correcting me so exactly, was someone who had my regard and was worthy of John Watson. However, I am being asked to place all of my faith and hopes onto the shoulders of a woman who is married to the object of my desires. She could destroy me. She could be lying, or attempting to separate me further from Watson.
But why? Why would she want to when she already has him mind, body, and soul? I’d not seen my friend since their wedding. I knew he was busy, what with his honeymoon, setting up for his practice and then getting acquainted with his new wife, but I still felt the pang of hurt that he’d not even come to see me, despite the letters he’d sent keeping me apprised of the goings on. I knew he’d come to help with a case if I asked, but did she begrudge me that? Or was her presence here truly honest? Was it truly as she said: she only wanted my cooperation?
She had everything to gain in both instances. I had everything to lose and everything to gain at the flip of a coin. Could I leave so much to chance? I was a logical man. I’d relied on my instincts, intellect, and abilities to guide me through my everyday life. Could I honestly give this over to luck and chance?
I looked Mrs. Watson in the face and saw her calm expression and smiling eyes as she watched me muse over my options. I knew she wasn’t a cruel woman. She was an honest woman who made an honest living. She seemed to be the calm, demure woman that society demanded, but to be married to the likes of John Watson she would have to be more than the exterior exhibited. John Watson was a passionate man; passionate about medicine, passionate in his attempt to keep me healthy, passionate in almost everything in his life and she, as a result, would have to be equally as passionate in her own right to keep up with him. I knew that she was.
She had enough backbone to stand up to me.
She loved teaching.
She had a temper.
Yes, Mrs. Mary Morstan-Watson was perfectly attuned to what Watson needed.
So what could I offer to their relationship? Even if Watson DID love me, which I seriously doubted, I didn’t think that I would have anything to offer to their relationship besides the occasional romp which would no doubt leave Watson hating himself later and wanting nothing to do with me for several months, when we would start the whole cycle over.
"Mrs. Watson, while appreciate what you are saying, and even what you are trying to do, I would not ask you to share your husband with me. If you are worried about John Watson’s fidelity to you, I would not. You are a good match for him and if, or when, he is with me, I will guide him back to you as you’ve asked, but I will not ask you to do the same."
"Mr. Holmes, I am not doing this because I think John will be unfaithful. Nor am I doing this to hurt you in some way, as I’m sure you think I am. I am doing this because there is a conflict in John’s heart that could cause a major choice that I don’t think I’ll win. Even if I walk away from this with John as mine, eventually I’m going to lose him anyway. Not through adultery, instead I’ll lose him though bitterness and regret."
"I seriously doubt that Watson is going to leave you, you stupid woman. He’s left this house and life for you, and if think that he will come back for the likes of me, you are delusional. Go home. I assure you, you have imagined his regard for me."
"And what about you? Are you planning on keeping yourself in your room for the rest of your life? Are you ever planning on taking another case that doesn’t pertain directly to the police? Your addiction to your medications will get worse, and God help you if you kill yourself with the accursed stuff, not to mention what you might do to John because of it."
"My business is none of yours, Mrs. Watson. Now, if you’ve finished your tea, I think it’s time you should leave and rejoin your husband at home," I replied, knowing that her words had hit their mark, but not willing to admit that to her.
As gracefully as one would expect from a lady, she nodded and stood, placing the cups back onto the tray, putting on her coat, placing her book back into her bag and then her bag on her wrist before lifting her umbrella and the tray before turning from me at to the door. "I will see you later Mr. Holmes," she said as her goodbye and all I could think was that it wasn’t likely.
**
I hate it when I’m wrong. I really do. I fully expected that one meeting with the infuriating Mrs. Mary Watson would be the last. She would take whatever agenda she had and throw it out the window with the trash.
So when she swept through the door the next Tuesday to say I was surprised was quite the understatement, but as I said: I hate it when I’m wrong.
I’d had quite the long night, and long few days before that so I’d been sleeping off the effects of my self-medication when she came in and raised a single eyebrow in a lightly reproachful way before going over to one of the drapery covered windows and throwing them open. I yelled in pain at the sudden addition of light to the room.
"You do realize that it is three in the afternoon, and long after you should be awake, even if your were out until four working on some kind of case?" she asked as she moved to the next set of windows.
"You touch that window drapery, I will personally see to it that you never see your beloved husband again." I growled at her as she gripped the edges of the coverings. She simply raised the other eyebrow and ripped them open.
"You wouldn’t be like this if you’d taken John’s offer of his help," She replied as she came over to where I lay on a bundle of blankets in the middle of the floor. "Get up and get dressed. Mrs. Hudson is coming up with tea. Some kind of sustenance would do you well and I’m sure that your state of undress, while it may not come as a surprise to her, will most certainly turn her stomach. Where is Gladstone? I can see if you’ve permanently killed him this time while you clean yourself up."
"This is MY home, in case you’d forgotten. You are not allowed to order me around as if you are the lady of the manor, Mrs. Watson. If you want someone to order about please go home and do so to your husband."
"No, it isn’t my home, but it DOES belong to Mrs. Hudson, who gave me leave to come and go as I please. So, I am here, as I please. And if I want to bother someone, I’m exactly where I need to be. Your stubbornness keeps me coming back," She said with a smile. "Now, where is Gladstone?"
"Probably seeking out scraps from Nanny. Why don’t you go and find out?" I glowered contemptuously while she simply looked on in amusement.
"I’m sure he’ll come up when the tray does. He is a dog after all, they follow their stomachs."
WHY was this woman so infuriating?! Yes, she’d taken Watson from our home, yes, she’d invited herself in my home without permission, and yes, she had also proceeded to worm herself into my own life somehow without any want on my part, but was that really why I thought she was so maddening? Why couldn’t I get rid of her? Why did she insist on the things that she did?
I watched as she sat herself down on my settee once again and open another mystery novel. Why could she not be like any other vapid woman in the world? I rose and went to my bedroom and debated just laying down, going to sleep and ignoring the fact that Watson’s wife was once again in my sitting room reading, and waiting to speak to me about, I suspected, a topic I already knew.
"Here you go, Dearest. I threw a few extra sandwiches on the plate for Mr. Holmes. He’s been eating so sporadically lately, and I was hoping that you’d be able to get him to eat a little more. Doctor Watson was always able to, maybe you might have the same luck," I heard Mrs. Hudson’s muffled voice through the door say and glared at the woman through the piece of wood. She had no business talking of my eating habits with a guest.
"I’ll do my best, Mrs. Hudson, but you know as well as I that if Mr. Holmes will do as Mr. Holmes likes. My only wish is to bring together two friends who are, as of late, ignoring each other. I can see the strain that this separation is having on the both of them. Watson may be a fantastic physician, and Holmes may have every deduction in the world going for him, but they seem to be… incomplete without each other. I do not wish for there to be more strain on the both of them than there must be."
I heard Mrs. Hudson respond with a small affirmative noise and then the door close obviously leaving Mrs. Watson alone.
Mrs. Watson’s response surprised me. I thought for sure she would jump at the chance to order me about again, but she did seem to genuinely be concerned for Watson and I both, and not just because Watson is her husband and I: the must be friend.
I dressed quickly and re-entered the sitting room and found her still reading and sipping at a cup of tea. "Oh, you decided to come out. I thought for sure I was going to need to come in, dress you, and drag you out myself," She mused as she set aside her novel.
"No need to be vulgar, my dear Mrs. Watson; if you did that you’d be no better than a common ruffian. Now, what brings you darkening my door this week?"
"It would be no different than getting Charlie up some mornings. And the same thing that brought me last week, and the same thing that will bring me next week, and week after until you realize that I am quite serious about my words and expectations and finally take my advice and go to John."
"Mrs. Watson, nothing will convince me that John Watson is in love with me in any way besides brotherly affection, if even that."
"Eventually you will realize, Sherlock Holmes, and when you do, I fully expect there to be an understanding and maybe a little friendship between us as the only thing preventing a relationship between you and my husband. I’ve already told you that I would support the two of you as long as you would do the same. We’ve been through this last week, so I do not wish to rehash the same material again and again. Think on what I’ve said and in the meantime, tell me of this case that you are working on that has driven you to such distraction. Maybe a second opinion, or simply discussing it out loud will help something come loose in the brilliant mind of yours."
I continued to be surprised by this woman whom nothing seemed to phase. I had nothing to say to her announcement so I simply did as she asked and told her of my case and its baffling twists.
**
Over the next few months Mary Watson, formally Morstan, continued to come to my home once a week, remind me of her intent, and then discuss all sorts of topics running from cases, opinions on politics, travel, and many other subjects.
As a man who is seldom surprised, Ms. Mary continued to be just that. I was used to women, besides Irene, being vapid, self-absorbed, hopeless romantics while she consistently was intelligent, practical, and selfless. She genuinely wanted everyone in this relationship to be happy, and if it meant she had to share her husband with a controlling man such as myself, she was going to do it. Of course that was a flaw of hers: she was as stubborn as I.
Over those months, I self-medicated less, and had an outlet that I didn’t mind as much as I probably should. I should have known that it would have never lasted, and what Watson would have thought of his wife disappearing for hours on end once a week. Any man in his right mind would think such a thing of his wife if she kept the same schedule as Ms. Mary did. I should have seen it coming because I am the detective, and any detective worth his salt would have immediately seen the precarious situation I’d found myself in.
Part 2
I knew it probably wasn’t the best way to handle my suspicions, but I knew that if I came to Holmes with the suspicion that Mary was bring unfaithful, he would jump at the chance to discredit her. And with Sherlock Holmes on the case I could be sure that I wasn’t going to be wrong about any deduction I could make. Honestly at the time, I probably wanted him TO tell me she was unfaithful so I could go back to the easy way we used to interact.
Holmes woke in surprise to his pulse being taken and looked blearily up at me who was instead staring at my watch in concentration.
"I am in perfect health, old boy, not that my word is going to mean anything to you."
"No, it’s not, so hush." I replied replacing my watch in my pocket and manipulated Holmes’ sleeve up his arm to inspect the needle marks on his arm. The wounds I expected were there, but not as severe as I was expecting. Was there some case he was working on that I wasn't aware of? I hadn't heard of any cooperation going on with the constabulary. His usual behavior when he had no interesting case to speak of was well known, yet the telltale behavior was, for the most part, absent.
"I was just asleep, Watson. There’s no reason to be so dramatic. Now, if you’re quite done, perhaps you can explain to me why you’re in my home, in my rooms at," he pulled watch poking out of my waistcoat and checked it before slipping back into its home. "7 in the morning, when you could be poking someone who might actually pay you or still in bed with your wife?" Holmes asked as he looked up at me and I could feel my face grow dark and scowling.
Holmes raised his eyebrows. "Trouble in paradise already?" he asked as he rose and I almost snapped at him how it must make him so happy, but instead scowled at him more.
"I need your help. I have reason to believe that Mary is being unfaithful."
He froze from his movement to reach for his robe for a moment before returning to his task. I watched as he slipped the comfortable garment on and wondered about his small misstep. Most wouldn’t have even noticed it, but I’ve perfected the art of watching Holmes. He had been startled by the announcement, frightened even.
"Is that so? Any particular reason for your deduction? Besides her leaving the house?" he sneered, and I was surprised immensely. I had assumed he would immediately jump to damn Mary, but instead he seemed to be scorning me instead. Could he really be so angry with me for marrying Mary? I thought he’d gotten past that.
"I have several reasons to believe it to be true. She leaves every day at the same time and comes home everyday but Tuesday at the same time. On that day she comes home smelling of smoke. She’s not told me what she has been doing, and if I ask she brushes my questions off with the excuse of running errands."
"Watson, a simple explanation may be in order. She has joined a ladies’ group. Those have gained popularity lately. Have you been working late on Tuesdays?"
"Sometimes, yet she doesn’t always do this on Tuesdays. Occasionally it is a different day of the week, but always one day a week she will remain out until seven or eight o’clock."
"So the meetings move days occasionally. Did it occur to you that it could be a group that has a particular interest, such as art or music, where matinee performances or showings would be suitable for married women to congregate? And the smell of smoke may be simply explained by a carriage who’s previous rider was a smoker." I grew irritated with my friend. Could he not see why I was concerned?
"With her job and her duties at home I’m surprised she has time to join a Ladies’ group." I commented, confused. "Surely Mary would have told me if she was going to join a ladies’ group, there’s no reason to hide something like that."
"I sincerely doubt she’s hiding anything, old boy. And I said it MAY be a ladies’ group. It may be any number of suitable reasons that she has no need to tell you. For all you know she may be planning a surprise for you," he replied as he sat in his chair and stuffed tobacco into his pipe.
"I do not understand your defense of her. Just a few months ago you were willing to damn her for nothing, and here you are defending her," I pointed out. "I just wish to know where she is going."
"It is not realistic for you to demand for you to be her whole world, Watson. If she only has you and her young charges, then I anticipate that she will become resentful of you and seek ways to strike back at you. And, yes, maybe she may become an adulteress, but I have no concerns that she is at this time. I would ask that instead of coming to me to verify your suspicions you simply ask your wife," he said firmly, his eyebrows furrowed in the steady study of a person’s character I was so used to, but a fear gripped me, for I was unused to that look used on my person. I feared he would conclude the worst.
He would know of my adoration of him.
My hand shook in my jacket pocket and I closed it into a fist as I answered. "I just told you I have asked her. She has given me no satisfactory answer."
"No, you said you’ve asked her what she’d been up to that day. Tell her you’ve noticed a pattern and ask if she’s joined some sort of group. Encourage her if she has, but for god’s sake man, don’t smother her!"
"You are dismissing my rightful worry out of hand. If you have no want to be of use to me in this matter, you may just simply say so, but I wish for your advice on how to approach this."
"Watson, you are being irrational. I am dismissing your theory because it is ridiculous. I may have not liked Miss Morstan; for she represented a change that I had no way of challenging. Obviously my opinion changed as I was able to get to know her and observe her personality. She loves you, as much as I abhor to say it; for it is an incredibly romantic notion, and it is not in her character to deceive you in this way. Go home to your wife, Watson. Put this silly notion out of your mind and focus on your new life," he said and I was so absolutely stunned for several moments that I didn’t quite know how to say anything in response.
"You’re wrong, Holmes. Something is going on. Whether it is that she is being unfaithful, or keeping secrets, I’m going to find out," I said firmly and with that, gathered my coat and hat and left, not caring if Holmes had some parting comment he’d like to make.
As I walked out of the house I used to call home on Baker Street, I firmed my resolve. Something was going on with Mary, I could feel it with every fiber of my being, and I would figure out what it was even if my friend refused to help.
Part 3
I walked up the footpath to Baker Street and almost laughed at the somewhat successful attempt of my husband to hide himself as he followed me to my destination. An average person would have never have even noticed him. His limp was a little more pronounced, his coat something of a lesser quality than I knew he had and a hat that hung low over his beautiful sandy hair. He stayed far enough back to where he was not really noticeable, but what my dear husband seems to forget about me is that I could pick him out of a crowd even if they were all wearing the same thing and had their heads covered. Of course it didn’t help that whenever I left the house in the past three days he’s been across the street reading the same section of last week’s newspaper, and immediately gets up and follows in the same direction that I have. So far he has followed me to the bakery, the fish market, my weekly ladies meeting and now to my weekly appointment with Holmes.
I really had wondered how long it would take for him to realize that I’d been disappearing for hours once a week for the past three months, but honestly I thought that some sort of investigative prowess would have rubbed off. As much as I adore John Watson I knew that jealousy and anger would be the only thing that would cause any action in the direction I wanted.
This was my plan all the time you see. I never thought that Holmes was going to immediately on my admission of knowing that he loved my husband and I would allow him to have a romantic tie to him, go and immediately take John in his arms and kiss him. If that had honestly had happened I would have checked to make sure Holmes was not taken ill or another person impersonating him.
In fact, my intent was actually to make friends with the prickly man first, make John believe that I was committing adultery, and have a confrontation where I, upon being confronted by my husband in front of our mutual friend I would reveal all and attempt to convince both men that their affection for the other was nothing to be ashamed or guilty of despite the laws.
I realized how wrong it could go so very quickly, but I knew that John would never do anything rash such as attack Holmes, and I knew that Holmes would come to my defense at such accusations. I also had confidence in my own ability to soothe the situation in the confrontation of them both with the other in the room.
I walked confidently up the steps to 221b Baker Street without a glance behind me to judge the expression of my dear husband’s face, knowing I could spoil it all at an expression of grief and betrayal by going to him and begging forgiveness for a crime not committed.
"Mrs. Watson! How lovely to see you again this week," Mrs. Hudson greeted me at the door.
"And you. You look very nice yourself. I assume Mr. Holmes is in his rooms as usual."
"Of course. Tea again?"
"Yes, but for three today. My husband has managed to get some time off today and will be joining us. But I must warn you, Mr. Holmes and my husband had an argument last week when he was here, and I’m attempting to facilitate an agreement to disagree on the subject. I wouldn’t be surprised, if I were you, to hear raised voices. And perhaps if you have any cakes, they might sweeten their dispositions?" I asked the kind woman, not wanting to involve her in the situation and keep her away from the rooms if at all possible. No one needed to know of our future arrangement if everyone were to be kept out of prison.
"Of course, I understand. You really are a good wife to understand that those two men are in need of each other and understanding enough to be willing to mediate between them. I’ll bring a tray up."
I kissed her cheek and ascended the stairs to Holmes’ rooms and entered without knocking.
Holmes was facing out a window facing out over the street as he played a very melancholy pitch on his violin. I’d heard him play it several times over the months, but nothing as sad as this.
"I thought I’d myself clear in my correspondence: You are not to come here anymore." he said, his back still turned as he lowered the instrument.
"You know why I’m here, and why I continue to come back."
"Your husband thinks that you are being unfaithful; it will only be a matter of time before…"
"…before he begins to follow me. He already has. I expect it will take him only a few minutes to recover from his shock of seeing me enter this place of residence before he comes in, furious, demanding answers, and we are forced to come up with some explanation.
"I will tell him the truth, Holmes. It is your choice if you act on my words, but I will tell him and this confrontation which I have been asking you to make for the last months will finally come to fruition. You will acknowledge that you love him and he will do the same. I will return home, because my presence will no longer be needed and you will both finally do what you have been yearning to do since you two met." The matter of fact tone of my voice and my calm demeanor as I sat down in my usual spot may have caused the next outburst from my friend.
"I never realized what an utter hopeless romantic you are. I thought you an intelligent woman, but now I realize that all you are doing is hoping that you can turn Watson's and my relationship into some frivolous, romantic bodice ripper!" he snarled and it took everything in my power not to dissolve into laughter at the wording, even though he was wishing it would crumble my resolve.
"Bodice ripper? Really? The last I checked, Holmes, you are both men and I am aiding in an illicit and illegal act. Please use your brain, Holmes, the one I know you have and use very well on most occasions. I am not trying to use you for some fantasy or romantic notion I may have. I see the both of you upset, depressed at heart, and wanting to be in each other’s confidence and company, and this is the only way that I know if that will help that.
"I have said this every time I’ve come to visit with you, Holmes and yet I will say it again: You are both in love with each other and neither of you will be happy until you acknowledge that and do something about it. I realize that you will… you know what? Why don’t we wait until John gets here and then I can say this to the both of you. Perhaps then something will encroach into that thick skull of yours."
I watched as Holmes opened his mouth to probably attempt to scathe me further when the door opened and Nanny brought in the tray. "My word. Mr. Watson just came in and he does look very cross indeed. I hope that will not affect your wish for mediation, Mrs. Watson," she murmured to me as she lay down the tray on the small table beside.
"I’m sure it’s nothing, Mrs. Hudson," I said just as the door swung open further and revealed the tall form of my very lovely, very angry husband. "You should go. Why don’t you take the afternoon to do some shopping, you deserve a new dress."
Mrs. Hudson looked between Holmes, myself and John before rising uncertainly and slowly leaving. As she did so, I poured tea for the three of us, attempting to exhibit the air of nonchalance, even as I saw Holmes stiffen.
"Sit down, for goodness sake, John. Some tea will do you well," I said as the door closed tightly behind the landlady.
"I will do no such thing until some sort of explanation is given for my friend and my wife meeting in such a manner," he growled thickly his dark eyes roving over my sitting position on the settee to the standing form of Holmes, the violin still in hand, a slightly wild, perplexed look upon his face as if he could not fathom as to what was happening. An angry John was one few wished to be acquainted with, and I realized that Holmes faced with his fury could possibly be one of the only things that could frighten the man.
"I will explain as soon as you sit. You too Holmes. You look as if a stiff breeze could knock you over," I jabbed, hoping the small insult would wake him from the trance he seemed to have entered. I watched as John huffed and injected himself in the seat beside the armchair and across from me. I couldn’t figure out if it was because he was more comfortable there or because he wished to strangle me at the moment and he thought that it was the safest place to be to prevent murder.
Holmes walked at a slower pace, almost as if he were sleepwalking, where he slowly sank into his chair beside Watson. I could see his brain at work behind his eyes as he attempted to think of a way to get out of the situation he suddenly found himself.
"John, the reason I am here is that I am trying to get Holmes to understand that you love him as much as you love me and he should acknowledge his own feelings for you and do something about them, as opposed to locking himself inside this house and wallowing in misery," I explained and watched the complete shock cover his face. "Did you really think I could not know about something like this? I’m neither blind or stupid, darling. I would have found out sooner or later, I’m glad it was sooner so I could fix it."
"You… you don’t know what you’re saying… what you’re implying," John stuttered in desperation, his eyes as large as Holmes’ now.
I almost wanted to laugh at the matching startled looks on both faces. It equally made me want to shake my head and complain about the clueless and hopelessness of men.
"Yes I do, and yes, I want you to have this. As I’ve been attempting to convince Holmes of for months, you are both in love with the other. While I do not wish for our own marriage to be affected by this, I do wish to acknowledge this and ask that any relationship that you pursue be with my knowledge and that there be no other factors in our marriage. I respect and like Holmes a great deal, and I would like to assume that he would have the same for me. You and I will come to the agreement to do the same. Your relationship with him shall be no less or more important than the one you have with me.
"Gentlemen, I realize this was not what either of you were expecting when I came here today, but it is what it is." Silence permeated the room and I stood slowly. "I’m going to go powder my nose, and you two talk without my interruption."
I left not because of my excuse, but really because I needed to. I wanted to facilitate some sort of interaction between the two of them that was encouraging.
I slipped into the wash-room, closed the door behind me and turned to press my ear to the door. I’m not embarrassed to say that I eavesdropped.
The only problem was all I could hear was muffled garble. But muffled garble was better than nothing. My fear had been that they’d sit there saying nothing. The muffled speech went on for several minutes before a heard a brief scuffle and a rather loud thump .
My heart leapt into my throat as I imagined all sorts of violent action they could do to each other. I opened the door slightly and muffled my gasp.
I looked out into the room at the clench of my husband and friend, John pressed up against the wall beside the fireplace and felt more emotions than I was expecting wash over me. Utter glee at the success of my plan, a pang of lust at seeing the prequel to what would be something that could be in a ladies’ novel, and a little something I later was able to identify as part sorrow and part… not fear, but something like it. I knew I had wanted this and was all right with it, even going as far as putting it into motion, but the upbringing of that your husband should be your own and no one else’s is still ingrained.
I exited the room quietly, knowing that I’d been forgotten for the moment. There would be further explanations, a wonderful thank you from my husband, and a none too gruff grunt on behalf of my new friend, but that would be later. For now I would allow them a significant amount of time to get to know each other a little better than they already did.
Every week after that (usually on a Monday) John would take the afternoon off and we would travel to Baker Street together and spend the afternoon in the company of one Sherlock Holmes (no case interfering that is) before I returned home alone, content in the knowledge that I had done something not only good, but also necessary for the relationship of my husband and his best friend and for my own with my dearest John. I could forfeit one night a week and whatever days on a case they may work to the incorrigible Mr. Holmes, just as he could do the opposite for me.
Most women would be angry at their spouse for having feelings for another, especially a man, but life is far too short, and I love my husband far too much to allow this to bother me as it would another woman. But I find that although my feeling of initial sorrow was there, I have nothing to be concerned about. I am as much part of this messy ménage a trois as they are and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Recipient: geekpenguin
Title: He Loves Us Both
Rating: PG
Warnings/additional pairings: John Watson/Mary Morstan-Watson
Summary: Confrontation is good for the soul, but can Holmes accept the offer of friendship and something stranger from his best friend’s wife?
Beta LadyLoveLace
Disclaimer: All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older. I own NOTHING regarding
Author's Notes: This was written for the exchange over at hw09_exchange and was written for Geekpenguin. I hope you like what I’ve written Geekpenguin!
**
Part 1
It was a Monday the first time I had a visit from the young Miss Morstan. I was sitting up in the window ledge mixing a combination of chemicals in the light so I could observe their physical change when combined when the light tap on the door interrupted my focus. I turned to glower at the door, my mood as dismal now as it had been most days in the last three months since Watson had left Baker Street for the last time.
"Mr. Holmes, you have a visitor." Mrs. Hudson called through the door and my foul mood grew darker.
"I thought I told you I was not going to be accepting any cases as of yet, you interfering old woman!" I called back, a bite lacing my tone, before turning away from the door once more ready to pour.
"I am not a client, Mr. Holmes," a quiet, fairly feminine voice from inside my rooms said.
I turned, ready to snarl and insult the invading female but came up short at the sight of Miss Morstan, standing tall, an umbrella held in one hand, a handbag in the other.
"Miss Morstan. Watson isn’t here, if that is why you’ve come," I said shortly, wanting her to leave as swiftly as she’d come, my lip curling into a snarl.
"I know John isn’t here, Mr. Holmes, and looking for John is not my purpose in coming today; you are." She smiled slightly, before turning to Mrs. Hudson and murmuring quietly, "My dearest Mrs. Hudson, would you mind bringing some tea for Mr. Holmes and myself? I fear I’ll be here for a while."
"Of course Mrs. Watson." Mrs. Watson. Of course. I’d forgotten again, which is strange since I was AT the bloody wedding. "Would you like afternoon snacks as well or cakes? I believe have some leftover from my Sunday afternoon ladies gathering," The landlady asked pleasantly and I was slightly taken aback at the friendly attitude she had for the young woman. Mrs. Hudson obviously liked Mary Morstan-Watson.
"Afternoon snacks are fine, Mrs. Hudson. Please don’t put yourself out on our account." Miss Morstan… no Mrs. WATSON, replied before coming further into the room and set herself on the settee, setting the umbrella behind her feet under the seat and the handbag beside her before demurely folding her hands in her lap before looking up at me at my place up by the window, the two chemicals still in each of my hands, frozen in time from my surprise at seeing Watson’s young wife making herself at home in my living area. "Are you not going to come down and greet me like you should, Mr. Holmes?" she asked with an inquisitive arch to her brow. I wish I could have slapped the infuriating look off of her face. She’d won, even if she didn’t realize there was a competition going on. What more did she want from me?
"Mrs. Watson, as you have come into my living area and made yourself at home without my permission or welcome, I shall do as I like." I growled and slowly, slowly, as if I was some decrepit old fool, forced my hands to work and place the dangerous chemicals aside before I killed someone, and knowing my luck at the moment, I’d kill myself and NOT Miss Morstan.
"As you like, Mr. Holmes, but keep in mind that I will remain in this chair until you come down and speak with me," She explained before pulling a crime novel from her handbag and sat quietly reading as I puttered around, pointedly NOT looking at the irritating woman. I went through my mail while lighting my pipe not caring if she liked the smoke or not.
We waited for Mrs. Hudson to return in awkward silence. Well awkward on my part. Miss Morstan looked like she was perfectly content to sit on my settee and read that confounded book as long as she wished.
I gritted my teeth as Mrs. Hudson came back with the tea and she set it on the table. Miss. Morstan thanked her and smiled at the landlady and I gritted my teeth. She’d NOT been invited: how dare she order tea and act as if she’s lady of the house?
I watched as she poured tea for the two of us, placing sugar in my cup while cream in her own. She knew how to make my tea, too. Did her complete rule of my life not even exclude the smallest of details?
I reluctantly took the cup from her and we sat in complete silence for quite a few minutes before the air around me began to thicken and impair my breathing to the point I could not stand it any longer.
"Mrs. Watson, is there a particular reason you’ve darkened my door this particular day, or is there some special occasion I should be aware of?"
She looked up at me with a cool look before placing her cup onto the table between us. "I’m going to make this very plain, Mr. Holmes. I adore John, and anything that harms him, harms me. I know you love him. Why you’ve not done anything before now is beyond me, but when I came into the picture, which was far after you realized your own feelings for him, you supposed you lost your chance, but still took every opportunity to interfere with our relationship. The notion almost every 10 year old has of ‘if I cannot have him, no one should’ comes to mind when I think of our first meeting, Mr. Holmes. I know you were purposefully trying to run me off with your deductions and obvious insults, but you didn’t realize that I do love John dearly, and neither God nor you can do anything that will change that." As she made her speech, my face grew more and more stony before finally asking,
"My dear, if you’ve deduced all of this, I wonder why you’ve taken the trouble to come and inform me of all of this besides to rub your good fortune into my face." My tone was as icy as my tea had become as I placed the still full cup onto the small table.
"You misunderstand me, Mr. Holmes. I’ve not come to gloat, I’ve come to bargain."
"Bargain? What in the name of all that is holy would you have to bargain with me, Mrs. WATSON?" I asked, my tone turning from cold to infuriated.
"John’s love, Mr. Holmes. You know I love John, and I know you love John, the only thing in question, however, is John’s love. John is a passionate man, Mr. Holmes, and in these past three months, I’ve discovered several things; one: John is quite miserable without your company, two: he is quite worried about your general health without him there to monitor it, three: he will go through the elaborate ruse, that is unnecessary might I mention, to dress as if he is going to his club as opposed to going to your fights that he keeps secret from both you and I, and finally: John will mutter your name in the middle of the night right along with my own. This has given me the logical conclusion that John Watson is as much, if not more, in love you than he is with me," She explained, ticking her points off on her fingers all the while looking me square in the eye.
I will have to admit that I was quite speechless for a few moments before a scornful look crossed my face. "My dear, that does not say anything for his feelings for me besides that of someone who adores someone they consider a sibling. Your conclusions are inconclusive and devoid of any and all real evidence."
"Mr. Holmes, I would have John’s happiness be the first and foremost above all else. He loves you, call it woman’s intuition or not if you like, but I would not have you dismiss my ideas out of hand in some sense of pride or revenge for some perceived slight. I’d rather us be friends and partners in this rather than enemies on opposite sides of the field with John in the middle. All I wish to do is have the simple but binding understanding that while he is with me I will guide him back to you as long as you will do the same. I do not want John at some unforeseen time in the future, to realize his feelings, if he has not already, and cannot resist his attraction to you and leave me alone because he can’t resist you or leave you altogether because of his sense of duty to me. It would destroy him, Sherlock Holmes. You know this as well as I," she explained, her voice never raising or altering in any way as she explained her case. I have to applaud her quite profoundly: for someone to face my ire and not flinch or even blink is someone quite deserving of my respect, and for someone to face my scorn as Miss. Morstan did when we first met and stood up to my insults by splashing wine in my face and correcting me so exactly, was someone who had my regard and was worthy of John Watson. However, I am being asked to place all of my faith and hopes onto the shoulders of a woman who is married to the object of my desires. She could destroy me. She could be lying, or attempting to separate me further from Watson.
But why? Why would she want to when she already has him mind, body, and soul? I’d not seen my friend since their wedding. I knew he was busy, what with his honeymoon, setting up for his practice and then getting acquainted with his new wife, but I still felt the pang of hurt that he’d not even come to see me, despite the letters he’d sent keeping me apprised of the goings on. I knew he’d come to help with a case if I asked, but did she begrudge me that? Or was her presence here truly honest? Was it truly as she said: she only wanted my cooperation?
She had everything to gain in both instances. I had everything to lose and everything to gain at the flip of a coin. Could I leave so much to chance? I was a logical man. I’d relied on my instincts, intellect, and abilities to guide me through my everyday life. Could I honestly give this over to luck and chance?
I looked Mrs. Watson in the face and saw her calm expression and smiling eyes as she watched me muse over my options. I knew she wasn’t a cruel woman. She was an honest woman who made an honest living. She seemed to be the calm, demure woman that society demanded, but to be married to the likes of John Watson she would have to be more than the exterior exhibited. John Watson was a passionate man; passionate about medicine, passionate in his attempt to keep me healthy, passionate in almost everything in his life and she, as a result, would have to be equally as passionate in her own right to keep up with him. I knew that she was.
She had enough backbone to stand up to me.
She loved teaching.
She had a temper.
Yes, Mrs. Mary Morstan-Watson was perfectly attuned to what Watson needed.
So what could I offer to their relationship? Even if Watson DID love me, which I seriously doubted, I didn’t think that I would have anything to offer to their relationship besides the occasional romp which would no doubt leave Watson hating himself later and wanting nothing to do with me for several months, when we would start the whole cycle over.
"Mrs. Watson, while appreciate what you are saying, and even what you are trying to do, I would not ask you to share your husband with me. If you are worried about John Watson’s fidelity to you, I would not. You are a good match for him and if, or when, he is with me, I will guide him back to you as you’ve asked, but I will not ask you to do the same."
"Mr. Holmes, I am not doing this because I think John will be unfaithful. Nor am I doing this to hurt you in some way, as I’m sure you think I am. I am doing this because there is a conflict in John’s heart that could cause a major choice that I don’t think I’ll win. Even if I walk away from this with John as mine, eventually I’m going to lose him anyway. Not through adultery, instead I’ll lose him though bitterness and regret."
"I seriously doubt that Watson is going to leave you, you stupid woman. He’s left this house and life for you, and if think that he will come back for the likes of me, you are delusional. Go home. I assure you, you have imagined his regard for me."
"And what about you? Are you planning on keeping yourself in your room for the rest of your life? Are you ever planning on taking another case that doesn’t pertain directly to the police? Your addiction to your medications will get worse, and God help you if you kill yourself with the accursed stuff, not to mention what you might do to John because of it."
"My business is none of yours, Mrs. Watson. Now, if you’ve finished your tea, I think it’s time you should leave and rejoin your husband at home," I replied, knowing that her words had hit their mark, but not willing to admit that to her.
As gracefully as one would expect from a lady, she nodded and stood, placing the cups back onto the tray, putting on her coat, placing her book back into her bag and then her bag on her wrist before lifting her umbrella and the tray before turning from me at to the door. "I will see you later Mr. Holmes," she said as her goodbye and all I could think was that it wasn’t likely.
**
I hate it when I’m wrong. I really do. I fully expected that one meeting with the infuriating Mrs. Mary Watson would be the last. She would take whatever agenda she had and throw it out the window with the trash.
So when she swept through the door the next Tuesday to say I was surprised was quite the understatement, but as I said: I hate it when I’m wrong.
I’d had quite the long night, and long few days before that so I’d been sleeping off the effects of my self-medication when she came in and raised a single eyebrow in a lightly reproachful way before going over to one of the drapery covered windows and throwing them open. I yelled in pain at the sudden addition of light to the room.
"You do realize that it is three in the afternoon, and long after you should be awake, even if your were out until four working on some kind of case?" she asked as she moved to the next set of windows.
"You touch that window drapery, I will personally see to it that you never see your beloved husband again." I growled at her as she gripped the edges of the coverings. She simply raised the other eyebrow and ripped them open.
"You wouldn’t be like this if you’d taken John’s offer of his help," She replied as she came over to where I lay on a bundle of blankets in the middle of the floor. "Get up and get dressed. Mrs. Hudson is coming up with tea. Some kind of sustenance would do you well and I’m sure that your state of undress, while it may not come as a surprise to her, will most certainly turn her stomach. Where is Gladstone? I can see if you’ve permanently killed him this time while you clean yourself up."
"This is MY home, in case you’d forgotten. You are not allowed to order me around as if you are the lady of the manor, Mrs. Watson. If you want someone to order about please go home and do so to your husband."
"No, it isn’t my home, but it DOES belong to Mrs. Hudson, who gave me leave to come and go as I please. So, I am here, as I please. And if I want to bother someone, I’m exactly where I need to be. Your stubbornness keeps me coming back," She said with a smile. "Now, where is Gladstone?"
"Probably seeking out scraps from Nanny. Why don’t you go and find out?" I glowered contemptuously while she simply looked on in amusement.
"I’m sure he’ll come up when the tray does. He is a dog after all, they follow their stomachs."
WHY was this woman so infuriating?! Yes, she’d taken Watson from our home, yes, she’d invited herself in my home without permission, and yes, she had also proceeded to worm herself into my own life somehow without any want on my part, but was that really why I thought she was so maddening? Why couldn’t I get rid of her? Why did she insist on the things that she did?
I watched as she sat herself down on my settee once again and open another mystery novel. Why could she not be like any other vapid woman in the world? I rose and went to my bedroom and debated just laying down, going to sleep and ignoring the fact that Watson’s wife was once again in my sitting room reading, and waiting to speak to me about, I suspected, a topic I already knew.
"Here you go, Dearest. I threw a few extra sandwiches on the plate for Mr. Holmes. He’s been eating so sporadically lately, and I was hoping that you’d be able to get him to eat a little more. Doctor Watson was always able to, maybe you might have the same luck," I heard Mrs. Hudson’s muffled voice through the door say and glared at the woman through the piece of wood. She had no business talking of my eating habits with a guest.
"I’ll do my best, Mrs. Hudson, but you know as well as I that if Mr. Holmes will do as Mr. Holmes likes. My only wish is to bring together two friends who are, as of late, ignoring each other. I can see the strain that this separation is having on the both of them. Watson may be a fantastic physician, and Holmes may have every deduction in the world going for him, but they seem to be… incomplete without each other. I do not wish for there to be more strain on the both of them than there must be."
I heard Mrs. Hudson respond with a small affirmative noise and then the door close obviously leaving Mrs. Watson alone.
Mrs. Watson’s response surprised me. I thought for sure she would jump at the chance to order me about again, but she did seem to genuinely be concerned for Watson and I both, and not just because Watson is her husband and I: the must be friend.
I dressed quickly and re-entered the sitting room and found her still reading and sipping at a cup of tea. "Oh, you decided to come out. I thought for sure I was going to need to come in, dress you, and drag you out myself," She mused as she set aside her novel.
"No need to be vulgar, my dear Mrs. Watson; if you did that you’d be no better than a common ruffian. Now, what brings you darkening my door this week?"
"It would be no different than getting Charlie up some mornings. And the same thing that brought me last week, and the same thing that will bring me next week, and week after until you realize that I am quite serious about my words and expectations and finally take my advice and go to John."
"Mrs. Watson, nothing will convince me that John Watson is in love with me in any way besides brotherly affection, if even that."
"Eventually you will realize, Sherlock Holmes, and when you do, I fully expect there to be an understanding and maybe a little friendship between us as the only thing preventing a relationship between you and my husband. I’ve already told you that I would support the two of you as long as you would do the same. We’ve been through this last week, so I do not wish to rehash the same material again and again. Think on what I’ve said and in the meantime, tell me of this case that you are working on that has driven you to such distraction. Maybe a second opinion, or simply discussing it out loud will help something come loose in the brilliant mind of yours."
I continued to be surprised by this woman whom nothing seemed to phase. I had nothing to say to her announcement so I simply did as she asked and told her of my case and its baffling twists.
**
Over the next few months Mary Watson, formally Morstan, continued to come to my home once a week, remind me of her intent, and then discuss all sorts of topics running from cases, opinions on politics, travel, and many other subjects.
As a man who is seldom surprised, Ms. Mary continued to be just that. I was used to women, besides Irene, being vapid, self-absorbed, hopeless romantics while she consistently was intelligent, practical, and selfless. She genuinely wanted everyone in this relationship to be happy, and if it meant she had to share her husband with a controlling man such as myself, she was going to do it. Of course that was a flaw of hers: she was as stubborn as I.
Over those months, I self-medicated less, and had an outlet that I didn’t mind as much as I probably should. I should have known that it would have never lasted, and what Watson would have thought of his wife disappearing for hours on end once a week. Any man in his right mind would think such a thing of his wife if she kept the same schedule as Ms. Mary did. I should have seen it coming because I am the detective, and any detective worth his salt would have immediately seen the precarious situation I’d found myself in.
Part 2
I knew it probably wasn’t the best way to handle my suspicions, but I knew that if I came to Holmes with the suspicion that Mary was bring unfaithful, he would jump at the chance to discredit her. And with Sherlock Holmes on the case I could be sure that I wasn’t going to be wrong about any deduction I could make. Honestly at the time, I probably wanted him TO tell me she was unfaithful so I could go back to the easy way we used to interact.
Holmes woke in surprise to his pulse being taken and looked blearily up at me who was instead staring at my watch in concentration.
"I am in perfect health, old boy, not that my word is going to mean anything to you."
"No, it’s not, so hush." I replied replacing my watch in my pocket and manipulated Holmes’ sleeve up his arm to inspect the needle marks on his arm. The wounds I expected were there, but not as severe as I was expecting. Was there some case he was working on that I wasn't aware of? I hadn't heard of any cooperation going on with the constabulary. His usual behavior when he had no interesting case to speak of was well known, yet the telltale behavior was, for the most part, absent.
"I was just asleep, Watson. There’s no reason to be so dramatic. Now, if you’re quite done, perhaps you can explain to me why you’re in my home, in my rooms at," he pulled watch poking out of my waistcoat and checked it before slipping back into its home. "7 in the morning, when you could be poking someone who might actually pay you or still in bed with your wife?" Holmes asked as he looked up at me and I could feel my face grow dark and scowling.
Holmes raised his eyebrows. "Trouble in paradise already?" he asked as he rose and I almost snapped at him how it must make him so happy, but instead scowled at him more.
"I need your help. I have reason to believe that Mary is being unfaithful."
He froze from his movement to reach for his robe for a moment before returning to his task. I watched as he slipped the comfortable garment on and wondered about his small misstep. Most wouldn’t have even noticed it, but I’ve perfected the art of watching Holmes. He had been startled by the announcement, frightened even.
"Is that so? Any particular reason for your deduction? Besides her leaving the house?" he sneered, and I was surprised immensely. I had assumed he would immediately jump to damn Mary, but instead he seemed to be scorning me instead. Could he really be so angry with me for marrying Mary? I thought he’d gotten past that.
"I have several reasons to believe it to be true. She leaves every day at the same time and comes home everyday but Tuesday at the same time. On that day she comes home smelling of smoke. She’s not told me what she has been doing, and if I ask she brushes my questions off with the excuse of running errands."
"Watson, a simple explanation may be in order. She has joined a ladies’ group. Those have gained popularity lately. Have you been working late on Tuesdays?"
"Sometimes, yet she doesn’t always do this on Tuesdays. Occasionally it is a different day of the week, but always one day a week she will remain out until seven or eight o’clock."
"So the meetings move days occasionally. Did it occur to you that it could be a group that has a particular interest, such as art or music, where matinee performances or showings would be suitable for married women to congregate? And the smell of smoke may be simply explained by a carriage who’s previous rider was a smoker." I grew irritated with my friend. Could he not see why I was concerned?
"With her job and her duties at home I’m surprised she has time to join a Ladies’ group." I commented, confused. "Surely Mary would have told me if she was going to join a ladies’ group, there’s no reason to hide something like that."
"I sincerely doubt she’s hiding anything, old boy. And I said it MAY be a ladies’ group. It may be any number of suitable reasons that she has no need to tell you. For all you know she may be planning a surprise for you," he replied as he sat in his chair and stuffed tobacco into his pipe.
"I do not understand your defense of her. Just a few months ago you were willing to damn her for nothing, and here you are defending her," I pointed out. "I just wish to know where she is going."
"It is not realistic for you to demand for you to be her whole world, Watson. If she only has you and her young charges, then I anticipate that she will become resentful of you and seek ways to strike back at you. And, yes, maybe she may become an adulteress, but I have no concerns that she is at this time. I would ask that instead of coming to me to verify your suspicions you simply ask your wife," he said firmly, his eyebrows furrowed in the steady study of a person’s character I was so used to, but a fear gripped me, for I was unused to that look used on my person. I feared he would conclude the worst.
He would know of my adoration of him.
My hand shook in my jacket pocket and I closed it into a fist as I answered. "I just told you I have asked her. She has given me no satisfactory answer."
"No, you said you’ve asked her what she’d been up to that day. Tell her you’ve noticed a pattern and ask if she’s joined some sort of group. Encourage her if she has, but for god’s sake man, don’t smother her!"
"You are dismissing my rightful worry out of hand. If you have no want to be of use to me in this matter, you may just simply say so, but I wish for your advice on how to approach this."
"Watson, you are being irrational. I am dismissing your theory because it is ridiculous. I may have not liked Miss Morstan; for she represented a change that I had no way of challenging. Obviously my opinion changed as I was able to get to know her and observe her personality. She loves you, as much as I abhor to say it; for it is an incredibly romantic notion, and it is not in her character to deceive you in this way. Go home to your wife, Watson. Put this silly notion out of your mind and focus on your new life," he said and I was so absolutely stunned for several moments that I didn’t quite know how to say anything in response.
"You’re wrong, Holmes. Something is going on. Whether it is that she is being unfaithful, or keeping secrets, I’m going to find out," I said firmly and with that, gathered my coat and hat and left, not caring if Holmes had some parting comment he’d like to make.
As I walked out of the house I used to call home on Baker Street, I firmed my resolve. Something was going on with Mary, I could feel it with every fiber of my being, and I would figure out what it was even if my friend refused to help.
Part 3
I walked up the footpath to Baker Street and almost laughed at the somewhat successful attempt of my husband to hide himself as he followed me to my destination. An average person would have never have even noticed him. His limp was a little more pronounced, his coat something of a lesser quality than I knew he had and a hat that hung low over his beautiful sandy hair. He stayed far enough back to where he was not really noticeable, but what my dear husband seems to forget about me is that I could pick him out of a crowd even if they were all wearing the same thing and had their heads covered. Of course it didn’t help that whenever I left the house in the past three days he’s been across the street reading the same section of last week’s newspaper, and immediately gets up and follows in the same direction that I have. So far he has followed me to the bakery, the fish market, my weekly ladies meeting and now to my weekly appointment with Holmes.
I really had wondered how long it would take for him to realize that I’d been disappearing for hours once a week for the past three months, but honestly I thought that some sort of investigative prowess would have rubbed off. As much as I adore John Watson I knew that jealousy and anger would be the only thing that would cause any action in the direction I wanted.
This was my plan all the time you see. I never thought that Holmes was going to immediately on my admission of knowing that he loved my husband and I would allow him to have a romantic tie to him, go and immediately take John in his arms and kiss him. If that had honestly had happened I would have checked to make sure Holmes was not taken ill or another person impersonating him.
In fact, my intent was actually to make friends with the prickly man first, make John believe that I was committing adultery, and have a confrontation where I, upon being confronted by my husband in front of our mutual friend I would reveal all and attempt to convince both men that their affection for the other was nothing to be ashamed or guilty of despite the laws.
I realized how wrong it could go so very quickly, but I knew that John would never do anything rash such as attack Holmes, and I knew that Holmes would come to my defense at such accusations. I also had confidence in my own ability to soothe the situation in the confrontation of them both with the other in the room.
I walked confidently up the steps to 221b Baker Street without a glance behind me to judge the expression of my dear husband’s face, knowing I could spoil it all at an expression of grief and betrayal by going to him and begging forgiveness for a crime not committed.
"Mrs. Watson! How lovely to see you again this week," Mrs. Hudson greeted me at the door.
"And you. You look very nice yourself. I assume Mr. Holmes is in his rooms as usual."
"Of course. Tea again?"
"Yes, but for three today. My husband has managed to get some time off today and will be joining us. But I must warn you, Mr. Holmes and my husband had an argument last week when he was here, and I’m attempting to facilitate an agreement to disagree on the subject. I wouldn’t be surprised, if I were you, to hear raised voices. And perhaps if you have any cakes, they might sweeten their dispositions?" I asked the kind woman, not wanting to involve her in the situation and keep her away from the rooms if at all possible. No one needed to know of our future arrangement if everyone were to be kept out of prison.
"Of course, I understand. You really are a good wife to understand that those two men are in need of each other and understanding enough to be willing to mediate between them. I’ll bring a tray up."
I kissed her cheek and ascended the stairs to Holmes’ rooms and entered without knocking.
Holmes was facing out a window facing out over the street as he played a very melancholy pitch on his violin. I’d heard him play it several times over the months, but nothing as sad as this.
"I thought I’d myself clear in my correspondence: You are not to come here anymore." he said, his back still turned as he lowered the instrument.
"You know why I’m here, and why I continue to come back."
"Your husband thinks that you are being unfaithful; it will only be a matter of time before…"
"…before he begins to follow me. He already has. I expect it will take him only a few minutes to recover from his shock of seeing me enter this place of residence before he comes in, furious, demanding answers, and we are forced to come up with some explanation.
"I will tell him the truth, Holmes. It is your choice if you act on my words, but I will tell him and this confrontation which I have been asking you to make for the last months will finally come to fruition. You will acknowledge that you love him and he will do the same. I will return home, because my presence will no longer be needed and you will both finally do what you have been yearning to do since you two met." The matter of fact tone of my voice and my calm demeanor as I sat down in my usual spot may have caused the next outburst from my friend.
"I never realized what an utter hopeless romantic you are. I thought you an intelligent woman, but now I realize that all you are doing is hoping that you can turn Watson's and my relationship into some frivolous, romantic bodice ripper!" he snarled and it took everything in my power not to dissolve into laughter at the wording, even though he was wishing it would crumble my resolve.
"Bodice ripper? Really? The last I checked, Holmes, you are both men and I am aiding in an illicit and illegal act. Please use your brain, Holmes, the one I know you have and use very well on most occasions. I am not trying to use you for some fantasy or romantic notion I may have. I see the both of you upset, depressed at heart, and wanting to be in each other’s confidence and company, and this is the only way that I know if that will help that.
"I have said this every time I’ve come to visit with you, Holmes and yet I will say it again: You are both in love with each other and neither of you will be happy until you acknowledge that and do something about it. I realize that you will… you know what? Why don’t we wait until John gets here and then I can say this to the both of you. Perhaps then something will encroach into that thick skull of yours."
I watched as Holmes opened his mouth to probably attempt to scathe me further when the door opened and Nanny brought in the tray. "My word. Mr. Watson just came in and he does look very cross indeed. I hope that will not affect your wish for mediation, Mrs. Watson," she murmured to me as she lay down the tray on the small table beside.
"I’m sure it’s nothing, Mrs. Hudson," I said just as the door swung open further and revealed the tall form of my very lovely, very angry husband. "You should go. Why don’t you take the afternoon to do some shopping, you deserve a new dress."
Mrs. Hudson looked between Holmes, myself and John before rising uncertainly and slowly leaving. As she did so, I poured tea for the three of us, attempting to exhibit the air of nonchalance, even as I saw Holmes stiffen.
"Sit down, for goodness sake, John. Some tea will do you well," I said as the door closed tightly behind the landlady.
"I will do no such thing until some sort of explanation is given for my friend and my wife meeting in such a manner," he growled thickly his dark eyes roving over my sitting position on the settee to the standing form of Holmes, the violin still in hand, a slightly wild, perplexed look upon his face as if he could not fathom as to what was happening. An angry John was one few wished to be acquainted with, and I realized that Holmes faced with his fury could possibly be one of the only things that could frighten the man.
"I will explain as soon as you sit. You too Holmes. You look as if a stiff breeze could knock you over," I jabbed, hoping the small insult would wake him from the trance he seemed to have entered. I watched as John huffed and injected himself in the seat beside the armchair and across from me. I couldn’t figure out if it was because he was more comfortable there or because he wished to strangle me at the moment and he thought that it was the safest place to be to prevent murder.
Holmes walked at a slower pace, almost as if he were sleepwalking, where he slowly sank into his chair beside Watson. I could see his brain at work behind his eyes as he attempted to think of a way to get out of the situation he suddenly found himself.
"John, the reason I am here is that I am trying to get Holmes to understand that you love him as much as you love me and he should acknowledge his own feelings for you and do something about them, as opposed to locking himself inside this house and wallowing in misery," I explained and watched the complete shock cover his face. "Did you really think I could not know about something like this? I’m neither blind or stupid, darling. I would have found out sooner or later, I’m glad it was sooner so I could fix it."
"You… you don’t know what you’re saying… what you’re implying," John stuttered in desperation, his eyes as large as Holmes’ now.
I almost wanted to laugh at the matching startled looks on both faces. It equally made me want to shake my head and complain about the clueless and hopelessness of men.
"Yes I do, and yes, I want you to have this. As I’ve been attempting to convince Holmes of for months, you are both in love with the other. While I do not wish for our own marriage to be affected by this, I do wish to acknowledge this and ask that any relationship that you pursue be with my knowledge and that there be no other factors in our marriage. I respect and like Holmes a great deal, and I would like to assume that he would have the same for me. You and I will come to the agreement to do the same. Your relationship with him shall be no less or more important than the one you have with me.
"Gentlemen, I realize this was not what either of you were expecting when I came here today, but it is what it is." Silence permeated the room and I stood slowly. "I’m going to go powder my nose, and you two talk without my interruption."
I left not because of my excuse, but really because I needed to. I wanted to facilitate some sort of interaction between the two of them that was encouraging.
I slipped into the wash-room, closed the door behind me and turned to press my ear to the door. I’m not embarrassed to say that I eavesdropped.
The only problem was all I could hear was muffled garble. But muffled garble was better than nothing. My fear had been that they’d sit there saying nothing. The muffled speech went on for several minutes before a heard a brief scuffle and a rather loud thump .
My heart leapt into my throat as I imagined all sorts of violent action they could do to each other. I opened the door slightly and muffled my gasp.
I looked out into the room at the clench of my husband and friend, John pressed up against the wall beside the fireplace and felt more emotions than I was expecting wash over me. Utter glee at the success of my plan, a pang of lust at seeing the prequel to what would be something that could be in a ladies’ novel, and a little something I later was able to identify as part sorrow and part… not fear, but something like it. I knew I had wanted this and was all right with it, even going as far as putting it into motion, but the upbringing of that your husband should be your own and no one else’s is still ingrained.
I exited the room quietly, knowing that I’d been forgotten for the moment. There would be further explanations, a wonderful thank you from my husband, and a none too gruff grunt on behalf of my new friend, but that would be later. For now I would allow them a significant amount of time to get to know each other a little better than they already did.
Every week after that (usually on a Monday) John would take the afternoon off and we would travel to Baker Street together and spend the afternoon in the company of one Sherlock Holmes (no case interfering that is) before I returned home alone, content in the knowledge that I had done something not only good, but also necessary for the relationship of my husband and his best friend and for my own with my dearest John. I could forfeit one night a week and whatever days on a case they may work to the incorrigible Mr. Holmes, just as he could do the opposite for me.
Most women would be angry at their spouse for having feelings for another, especially a man, but life is far too short, and I love my husband far too much to allow this to bother me as it would another woman. But I find that although my feeling of initial sorrow was there, I have nothing to be concerned about. I am as much part of this messy ménage a trois as they are and I wouldn’t have it any other way.