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Chapter Text

My brother surprised me by making an unannounced visit to my flat on Baker Street that quiet afternoon. He had a commission for me, and thought it important enough for him to actually come to me instead of sending a summons as was his usual custom. It wasn't the sort of commission he'd occasionally given me in the past. It didn't require intelligence, perception or the ability to reason deductively; in fact, all it really required was a certain amount of nerve and a willingness to travel to the continent at a moment's notice.

He had been given the responsibility of seeing that a very important letter was delivered in a discreet manner, though from what he told me, it seemed that true discretion was a lost cause. Knowledge of the letter's existence had apparently already spread beyond close diplomatic circles. In fact, several likely couriers had recently been waylaid and searched while on similar missions and speculation was that this particular letter was what was being sought. As a precautionary measure, Mycroft felt it would be wise to seek a messenger outside the customary circle, someone who would be a bit more resourceful than those usually at his disposal. Naturally he came to me.

Ordinarily, I wouldn't have been terribly interested. Acting as a courier wasn't my usual line and held little attraction for me, and he, to his credit, acknowledged that quite readily. However, he also admitted to being rather desperate, a somewhat novel experience for him, and I could hardly refuse under the circumstances. He was my brother, after all, and I was as patriotic a person as he. Not to mention that the idea of getting away from London for awhile was quite appealing at that particular moment.

Once I'd accepted the commission, I expected him to take his leave so that I could make my preparations to be gone. I had a long journey ahead of me, and he seemed to feel that speed was of the essence, but for some reason he decided to linger. I wasn't long in the dark as to his purpose, however, when he broached the subject of my personal life. A subject, I might add, that I had no desire to discuss with him in any detail, however concerned he professed to be about my happiness. Though dissuading my brother from discussing anything he is determined to discuss can be a difficult prospect, even for me.

"That great brain of yours has failed you this time, Mycroft," I asserted firmly in hopes of cutting the conversation off. "You are wrong. Watson is my friend and colleague, nothing more."

"Really? You surprise me, Sherlock. I do, after all, know you and your proclivities rather well, and your attitude, indeed, your entire demeanour, as it relates to the doctor, has always indicated a very deep attachment between the two of you." Mycroft's voice held a tone of surety that I did not enjoy hearing. It meant he was unlikely to be easily persuaded that he was wrong, but I had to try.

While I mentally debated what approach to take, I roamed the confines of the sitting room, picking up items at random and replacing them a moment later as I organized my thoughts. "I am glad to hear that I retain the ability to surprise you now and again. Being wrong from time to time keeps one from becoming quite detestably smug, at least that is what I have been told, and I imagine it would apply to you equally as well. At any rate, Watson has announced his intention to marry at the end of the month. So you see, this time, you have made an error in your assumptions."

The chair creaked as Mycroft shifted his not inconsiderable weight, and I momentarily wondered if allowing him to sit in my basket chair had been a wise move on my part. "Oh, I am sorry..."

I shrugged and lit a cigarette. Dissuading him had been easier than I expected. I decided to be generous. "It's of no matter. Even the smartest man in London makes mistakes occasionally, it appears."

"You misunderstand me. I was not apologising for making an error, since I do not believe I have done so. My regret was for the damage done to your feelings by Dr Watson's actions."

Taking a deep drag on my cigarette, I turned and faced my brother, gesturing impatiently. "Then you apologise for nothing. I will admit to some slight annoyance at the loss of Watson's ready aid in my cases, but in no other way will his marriage incommode me. I am sufficiently established in my profession not to need his ridiculous, fantasy ridden attempts at publicity any longer, if I ever did. I am not convinced that such highly fictional accounts of my exploits didn't do more harm to my reputation than good in the first place. I am doing quite well enough financially to afford the Baker Street flat entirely on my own now. In some ways it will be a relief to have the total freedom of the place, never having to worry about accommodating anyone other than myself. His defection is of little consequence. Indeed, perhaps the sooner he moves out the better."

"Really, Sherlock, have you forgotten to whom you speak? Oh, I'll admit you give a lovely speech, and it might very well fool others who do not know you as I do, but it does not deceive me in the least. You have been emotionally attached, if not deeply in love, with Dr Watson for some time now, and I always believed that he felt the same way. All the signs seemed to be present whenever I saw the two of you together.

"However, I will admit that I might have been mistaken about the depth of the doctor's feelings. I do not know him well, after all, and I have only observed the two of you together a handful of times, the last well over six months ago. Perhaps things have changed since then. I am willing to be persuaded in the matter of the doctor's feelings, but not, my dear brother, in regards to your own.

"His engagement has upset you deeply. There is no doubt about this, and there is no need on your part to attempt to hide it from me."

I stared at my brother intently for a moment before giving in. Clearly Mycroft was not to be deterred from pursuing the subject of my personal life. Perhaps if I simply bowed to the inevitable, he would tire of it sooner and move on to something a bit easier to bear.

I sighed and gestured vaguely with my cigarette before taking a deep drag and throwing myself into a chair to stare silently into the empty fireplace. When I spoke again, it was in a far more muted tone. "I will admit to feeling a bit at a loss."

"Have you considered simply telling the doctor how you feel?" he asked quietly.

"What good would that do? The man is a dedicated admirer of womankind. If it was not this woman, eventually it would be another. Sooner or later his loss to one of them was unavoidable."

"You are quite certain of that? Because that is not the impression I have always had from seeing the two of you together."

I held up a hand in emphasis as I declared without reservation, "No, in this I am confident you are wrong. Perhaps you could see my regard more plainly than I intended, but whatever you saw from Watson, it was friendship only; strong, true and loyal, yes, but friendship nevertheless. He has no deeper feelings for me."

After a brief silence during which he appeared to be considering my words carefully, Mycroft shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I've reviewed my data, and I stand by my conclusions. Your Dr Watson does have feelings for you that go much deeper than simple friendship."

I opened my mouth to protest further, but my brother forestalled me.

"I do not doubt your assertion that he has become engaged. I do not even doubt that he has feelings for his fiancée as he is not a man to trifle with a lady's affections intentionally. However, that does not mean that he does not have deep feelings for you. Perhaps, for obvious reasons, he believes that he cannot act on those feelings, and thus has set them aside as untenable just as you have done.

"After all, if you have not in any way given him a glimpse into your own deep regard for him, then he no doubt believes that you do not have any feelings on the matter. You have always been rather vocal in your distain for displays of love and affection. Although a bright and personable man, the doctor is not as adept an observer of human behaviour and motivation as you are, and he is used to believing what you tell him.

"I do think in this particular matter, however, you have allowed your fear to cloud your judgement. Doctor Watson does care for you, my dear Sherlock, and you would be a fool to let him marry another without first expressing your own regard and giving him a clear choice in the matter."

"He will turn me down." The words were out of my mouth before I could call them back, though it hardly mattered. To continue to deny my feelings to my brother would have been pointless. The man knew me too well. It was foolish of me to have attempted to deceive him in the first place.

"You won't know that unless you try, and if he does, you are no worse off."

"How can you say that?" I jumped to my feet and began to repeatedly pace out the length of the fireplace. "Of course I would be worse off if I tell him of my feelings and he is repelled by them. I could lose his presence in my life entirely. I would lose his friendship, his companionship and his regard all at once. Do you really think I would find that preferable to simply losing domestic intimacy and some time in his company? If he were to shun me entirely, I... I don't know what I would do."

"There is a chance, I will concede, but I believe it to be an exceedingly small one and well worth taking the gamble on."

I snorted shortly and shook my head. "Perhaps for you it would be worth gambling on, but this is my life we are discussing here. Mine. I cannot take such a risk. I won't."

"Then you must live with the consequences of your refusal to act."

"I know and I am resigned to doing so. Besides..." I shrugged and attempted a smile. "You cannot deny that, given the current legal climate, it is far safer for both of us if we remain nothing more to each other than what we currently are."

My brother frowned darkly. "That abominable law. It's nothing more than an invitation to blackmail." He paused and sighed before continuing. "So you would trade happiness for safety, then? I will admit your attitude in this matter surprises me. You have always been a risk taker."

"I do not believe I am in a position to make such a trade as you suggest, but even if I was, I would not trade Watson's safety and happiness for anything in the world. He deserves both, and he shall have them. There are certain things that are not worth risking. My decision in this matter stands, and I would thank you if we could speak no more of this."

Since it was rather obvious that I had reached the end of my tolerance for personal probing, and since my brother had brought the subject up only out of concern for me, which is the sole reason I allowed him to get away with it in the first place, he let the matter drop, and we brought our conversation to a swift conclusion.

Once Mycroft left, I wasted no time in slipping the precious letter between the back and the frame of the mirror on my mantelpiece, long a successful, if temporary, hiding place. Although I fully intended to be packed and gone in a few hours time, considering its history, I felt it was worth taking the extra precaution of not having it about my person until I had no other choice in the matter.

I'd barely turned away and headed for my room when I heard Watson's step on the staircase. My pulse quickened instantly at the familiar sound, and I made a conscious effort to calm it. He was home somewhat earlier than usual. I held no hope that I was any part of his reason for being so, however. No doubt he had plans for an early dinner with the inestimable Miss Morstan and wished to change before meeting her.

"Was that Mycroft I saw leaving just now?" Watson strode into the sitting room with a questioning smile on his handsome face, and I had to consciously force myself not to smile in return. My strong attraction to the doctor was an affliction of long duration and living with him for all this time had often tested my control to the limits. As difficult as it has been to hide my growing feelings from him, I would not have missed living with him for anything, and I knew I would miss him dreadfully when his marriage forced us to part company.

I casually waved my cigarette in the direction of the window, took a final drag on it and tossed the butt onto the empty hearth.

"Yes. He had a job for me to do. Nothing you need concern yourself over. However, it will require my absence from Baker Street for awhile. I'm afraid I may have to miss your wedding, dear boy. It can't be helped...a matter of some importance to the government. I hope you understand."

A cloud crossed Watson's face and his eyes looked slightly troubled as he gazed at me. "I'm sorry to hear that, Holmes, though I'm afraid the wedding may have to be postponed at any rate."

I gave him my full attention. Could I be getting a reprieve? "Why, my dear fellow? Are you having doubts?"

"No, no, it's not that." He dashed my hopes with a casual shake of his head. "We simply cannot find anywhere suitable to live after the wedding."

"Why ever not?" I found this to be a rather astonishing and unlikely excuse for a delay. "There are thousands of flats for rent in London in all price ranges, all the time."

"Yes," Watson acknowledged my statement with a nod of his head and a sigh. "And I'm beginning to feel as if we have looked at every one of them recently."

"Is Miss Morstan being difficult to please? I would not have thought her to be overly demanding. She does not come from a wealthy background and certainly appeared to be quite practical and certain of her desires." She was quick enough to see the value in you, after all, I conceded to myself. Not that it wasn't blindingly obvious, of course, I was certainly well aware of Watson's immense value within days of first meeting him.

"Oh, no. Mary has exhibited the patience of a saint through all of this. I'm afraid that I'm the one who's being hard to please." Watson hesitated and I could feel my pulse beginning to quicken. "You see I have become very fond of our rooms here in Baker Street and I would really like to find something that feels as comfortable, but nothing I've seen so far comes close. Mary is becoming quite vexed with me, I'm afraid."

This sudden intractability struck me as quite unlike my usually amiable and accommodating friend, and I wondered momentarily whether he was telling me the truth about why he was having such a hard time finding suitable accommodations. Perhaps he didn't realise himself exactly why he was having such difficulty. Perhaps...

No. I dismissed that train of thought as soon as it occurred to me. Allowing myself to think that I might have anything to do with his apparent reluctance to leave Baker Street would only lead to painful disillusionment. Watson wanted to leave. Change, even greatly desired change, was often quite unsettling and finding the perfect flat could be, at times, a difficult task. They would work it out in the end. He was not about to let such a small thing come between him and wedded bliss. I was quite certain of that.

"Well, I'm sure you will find something soon," I said quickly, having abruptly realised that I'd let my thoughts run away with me and had been silent for several moments too long.

He frowned at me and concern shadowed his eyes. "I hope so. Are you all right, Holmes? You seem a bit distracted. Is it this job of Mycroft's? Would you like to talk about it? I'm supposed to be meeting Mary for an early dinner, but I can always spare you some time if I can be of assistance."

Was that a faint note of eagerness I heard in his voice? "Oh, no, there's nothing you need to concern yourself about. Perhaps I am somewhat distracted by planning for my trip, but it's nothing that should keep you from your rendezvous."

"Oh." For the briefest of moments he appeared disappointed at my refusal to discuss my commission, but the expression passed from his face in an instant. "Well, can you tell me how long you're likely to be gone then? As I said, if we can't find suitable lodgings then we might push the wedding date back a few days. If I know when you plan to return, we could certainly hold off until you can make it."

"Oh, no, I couldn't ask you to do that!" I was filled with horror at the very thought. After Mycroft handed me such a perfect excuse to miss the happy event, the last thing I wanted Watson to do was try to find a way around it. "I could be away for weeks...months even. No, my dear Watson, you should go through with your wedding as planned. I'm sure suitable lodgings will present themselves soon. Please, on no account should you alter your plans for me."

"All right, if you say so, Holmes. I will miss having you there, though," Watson said, disappointment clearly marking his features this time.

"As I will miss being there," I lied as smoothly as I could, "but it can't be helped."

Watson nodded and a vaguely uncomfortable silence settled between us.

Finally Watson pulled himself together and smiled at me. I will miss being the recipient of his smiles, they are always wonderful to behold. "Well, I should go and change. Will you be here when I get home or do you plan to leave this evening?"

"I hope to be gone as soon as I can pack my bags and persuade Mrs Hudson to provide me with something to eat."

Watson nodded solemnly. "I see. Then I guess I should say good-bye. I'll leave word with Mrs Hudson where you can reach me, if you aren't back before..."

"Yes, yes, that will be fine," I exclaimed quickly and extended my hand.

He stared at it for a brief moment then reached forward, but instead of simply shaking my hand as I'd intended, he grasped it tightly and drew me close. I closed my eyes and let him enfold me in his arms, allowing my own to come up around him and complete the embrace. I was briefly overcome with the impulse to cling to him and beg him not to marry but to remain in Baker Street with me, but I firmly controlled myself and remained silent. However, I knew that the feeling of having his body pressed so tightly against me that I could feel his heart beating against my chest would linger in my mind for a very long time.

When I pulled away, I gave him a fleeting smile. "You need to change, and I have much to do before my trip."

"Yes, of course," he agreed almost absently as he turned and headed slowly for the staircase. He paused at the foot of it and turned back to me with the most peculiar expression on his face, as if he was determined to say something important but wasn't exactly sure how. "Holmes, this isn't... I don't want..." He stopped and stood silent for a moment.

Unaccountably, my heart began to beat faster as I finally prompted him gently. "Yes?"

But as he stood and looked at me, a change seemed to settle over him and whatever he had been planning to say, remained unsaid. Instead he shook his head, smiled a slightly strained smile, and said, "It's not important. Have a safe trip, old boy."

"I will," I replied, wondering what was really going through his mind, but before I could say anything more, he quickly turned away and headed up to his room. I watched him go until his feet disappeared around the curve of the stair, then I went into my room and closed the door, making sure to stay safely within until I heard him leave for dinner a short time later.

Mrs Hudson produced a light meal at my request, but I found, once I finally sat down to eat it, that I had no appetite for food. My mind insisted on dwelling fixedly on my final conversation with Watson, analysing his every nuance of speech, his every expression, and most particularly speculating madly on what he thought better of saying to me. I don't want... What didn't he want? To get married? To leave me? To have steak for dinner? The possibilities were endless which, of course, made speculating about them not only frustrating but utterly pointless.

I threw down my napkin in disgust and rose from the table giving up the thought of eating anything. Moving swiftly to the fireplace, I lit a cigarette and tossed the spent match onto the hearth. Even though such speculation was pointless, I could not seem to stop myself from doing it. Although Watson was often convinced I could read his mind, I knew in this case that I hadn't a clue as to what he was currently thinking and feeling.

My own feelings were getting in the way of my making any sort of accurate assessment of his. The fact that I now had absolute, tangible, and very personal proof that emotional involvement clouded reason and judgement and prevented the making of accurate deductions was of absolutely no comfort at all. My feelings for John Watson, never inconsiderable, had been getting stronger for months. I knew that I could no more stop loving him than I could stop the sun from rising in the eastern sky. However I also knew that he would never be mine. I currently had as much of him as I would ever have and somehow I needed to convince myself that was enough.

As I blew out a long stream of smoke, I stared thoughtfully at the mirror on the mantle. What I needed to do was put aside all thoughts of Watson and his upcoming marriage. I had a mission to perform and a train to catch. To continue to dwell on this relationship that could never be what I wished it to be was nothing but a waste of my time. Angrily, I took a final drag from my cigarette before pitching it, too, onto the hearth. My bags were packed. It was past time that I left.

When I returned, Watson would be a married man, and I would have Baker Street to myself. That was my reality. It was time to stop this useless speculating and move on with my life as he was moving on with his.

I raised my hand to the mirror to retrieve the letter from its hiding place and paused at the sudden sound of loud and unfamiliar voices in the hall below. As the scream of my landlady, sharply cut off, and the distinctive sounds of a scuffle reached my ears, I turned quickly away from the fireplace and ran across the room, crying out Mrs Hudson's name. I wrenched open the door to the sitting room, intending to throw myself through it, only to find my way blocked by a man holding a pistol aimed squarely at my face.

Astonished, I fell back a step, and the man quickly moved forward. "Mr Sherlock Holmes, I presume," he said with a smirk.

I nodded. "You have the advantage of me," I said, although it wasn't quite true. His wild blond hair combined with the jagged scar that ran down the left side of his thin face was as good as a calling card. I had little doubt but that he was a well-educated but brutal thug for hire named Peter Grimes. I'd never had any personal dealings with Grimes, but his name had come to my attention more than once during my many forays into the less than savoury areas of London. He had quite the reputation as someone with few moral scruples, who would do pretty much whatever was asked of him if the price was right. Finding such a man standing in my sitting room doorway and pointing a gun at my head was both completely unexpected and immensely appalling.

"Good! I intend to keep that advantage," sneered Grimes as he placed a hand in the centre of my chest and shoved me back toward the settee.

"What have you done to Mrs Hudson?" I demanded angrily. I still heard the odd thump from downstairs, but the screaming had stopped.

"Don't worry, Mr Holmes. The old lady is fine. I don't make a practice of hurting women unless I have no choice. My associate is simply seeing that she can't interfere while we have a little chat. Of course, if the conversation doesn't go the way I want it to, that could change."

"What do you want?" I asked, though there really wasn't any need. What could he want other than the sealed envelope that currently resided inside the mirror on my mantelpiece? I wasn't involved in any other cases at the moment, and none of my recently completed endeavours could have prompted this sort of invasion of my home. No, Mycroft's letter was the only logical reason for this intrusion.

Grimes smiled and immediately confirmed my conclusion. "I want the letter, of course."

"What letter?" I cocked an eyebrow and spread my hands.

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You know very well what letter I mean. The one your fat brother gave to you this afternoon. I'm going to save you a long trip to the continent, Mr Holmes. Give the letter to me, and neither you nor your landlady will be hurt."

I shook my head. "Sorry. I can't do that." Clearly my brother was being watched. He'd be aghast if he knew. He always prided himself on moving virtually unknown through the circles of power, keeping most people ignorant of his true importance.

"He said you'd be difficult," said Grimes with a twist of his thin lips.

"Who said?" I asked sharply. Grimes was never one to act on his own. Someone was always holding his leash.

Grimes smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know? Ah well, I didn't want things to go this way, but I suppose it was inevitable considering your reputation." He tilted his head back, while never removing his eyes from me and yelled, "Jamie! Get up here."

Loud footsteps clambered up the stairs and a large man with heavy features and a thatch of coarse black hair lumbered through the doorway.

"Everything taken care of downstairs?" asked Grimes.

"The old lady's in the pantry with the door shut. I tied her up good and tight. She'll keep."

"Excellent. Mr Holmes here isn't being very cooperative."

"You want me to persuade him for you?" A slow smile crept across Jamie's face. His thick lips resembled nothing so much as a pair of wriggling worms, and he flexed meaty fingers in a manner that was no doubt intended to be threatening. I found neither the expression nor the gesture particularly intimidating. Jamie was nothing but brawn without brain and could be dealt with rather swiftly if given the opportunity. Only his much shrewder partner and his rather large gun stood in my way.

"Not yet. I think we'll do a bit of looking around first, but you can start by searching our host."

I took an involuntary step back when Jamie approached me, but before I had the chance to resist, Grimes held his gun closer to my head and sneered, "If you want to remain conscious, I'd cooperate if I were you."

I stared back at him calmly and shrugged. "If you shoot me, you'll never find what you're looking for."

"We'll see," said Grimes as he glanced briefly at Jamie and jerked his head in my direction

I held my position and deliberately spread my arms. I needed to choose my battles and there really wasn't any reason not to submit to the search. After all, I did not have the letter on me. I expected the gargantuan Jamie to simply pat at my clothing and perhaps remove the contents of my pockets, but instead, he ripped my jacket completely off and rifled through it before stripping me of my waistcoat as well. Then he grabbed roughly at the pockets of my trousers, tearing one open. In a very short time, I was thoroughly dishevelled, and everything I had stored on me was strewn about the floor at my feet.

Once he was done defiling my person, Jamie looked to his boss and stated the obvious. "He doesn't have it on him."

Grimes nodded and shrugged. "I didn't really expect that he would, but we needed to be sure." He pointed to the luggage that stood by the door, awaiting my departure. "You can begin by checking his bags. If it isn't there then tear the place apart. We need the letter and I don't want to be all night about getting it."

Jamie nodded and headed for my luggage.

Grimes motioned for me to step back and sit down on the settee, so I did, watching as Jamie began to tear apart the bags I'd so carefully packed just a short time earlier.

"As you can see for yourself, Jamie isn't a particularly gentle person. You can save a lot of wear and tear on your possessions by simply giving me what I want."

I watched as Jamie tore the lining out of one of my better jackets, examined both pieces thoroughly, and then threw the remains on the floor before rummaging around for another garment.

Turning back to Grimes, I forced a smile. "It was time to update my wardrobe anyway."

I could see that my attitude annoyed Grimes, which wasn't a bad thing up to a point. As long as he didn't become so annoyed that he simply shot me in frustration, he was much more likely to give me an opportunity to disarm him if he remained mildly annoyed and distracted by his search.

"Once he's through with your bags, he's going to subject the rest of your belongings to the same treatment," Grimes exclaimed heatedly. "If you don't want to have to "update" everything in this damned flat, I'd suggest you start cooperating. Where is the letter?"

"Who are you working for?" I asked sharply, hoping to surprise an answer out of him.

"Give me the letter and perhaps I'll tell you," he shot back.

"Tell me and I'll consider giving you the letter," I answered in return.

"I guess we'll be doing this the hard way then," Grimes snarled with a glare.

I sat on the settee for the next hour with Grimes pacing before me and watched as the thuggish Jamie tore the flat apart in an enthusiastic, but not terribly systematic fashion. Not that it really ended up looking very much worse in the end than it ever did when I myself sought for something amongst my books and papers, but it is one thing to rifle carelessly through my own belongings and quite another to watch someone else do so. I particularly regretted the loss of so much useful glassware when he upended my chemistry table in a fit of pique, but that was hardly the worst of it.

It was particularly difficult to watch him toss Watson's belongings around, and I hoped that the good doctor would forgive me for allowing this brute to treat his possessions so shabbily, but I really had no choice in the matter. Protesting would have availed me nothing, and no matter how big a mess they made of things, I couldn't just hand the letter over to them. I'd given my word, and Mycroft had been quite specific as to its importance. I will admit to a rising curiosity as to its contents, however.

At one point during his search, Jamie swept everything off the mantle. It took a great deal of effort on my part to continue to appear unconcerned as the mirror fell to the floor in front of the hearth. I knew if it shattered, the letter would undoubtedly be exposed, but luck was with me on this small point at least. By some miracle, the mirror bounced but did not break, and afterwards, it lay there reflecting the wreckage of my sitting room while both intruders ignored it and continued to look elsewhere for their prize.

I knew that my time was running out, but though I was watching closely for an opening that I could turn to my advantage, it never came. If I could have got my hand on my riding crop, or the fireplace poker, I might have been able to knock the gun from Grimes's hand, but as it was, the man never came within my reach, and I could do nothing but sit and watch, and brood over what was to come. For if nothing happened to change the current course of events, I had little doubt how this evening would end.

Finally Grimes seemed to lose his patience and, without warning, he stepped forward and struck me a severe blow with his pistol. I fell back against the settee and could feel the blood trickling down the side of my face as I struggled to sit upright again.

"Where is the letter, Mr Holmes! We've wasted too much time on this already."

I wiped the blood from my face with the back of my hand and shook my pulsing head as gently as I could manage. "You're the one in a hurry, not me. Since it does not appear that I will be able to make my train, my evening is perfectly free."

Grimes narrowed his eyes and aimed the gun at my head once more. "If I don't get that letter right now, this will be the last evening you ever see."

I could tell that he meant it, but it changed nothing. I couldn't give him the letter, nor could I possibly overpower him before he shot me. As frustrating as it was to admit, it appeared that we had reached an impasse that even I could not breach. What an abysmal way to end my career, shot to death on the settee in my own sitting room by a pair of thugs with too little patience and only one brain between them.

I straightened up to face Grimes, but before I could open my mouth to respond, I heard the distant sound of the front door as it opened and closed, followed by a familiar step on the stairs. Sudden cold horror flooded through my breast, and the defiant words I'd intended to utter froze on my lips.

Watson was home early.

Chapter Text

I could tell the moment when Watson spied the mess through the sitting room door. His footsteps faltered, and he sucked in a sharp breath before continuing on through the doorway to stop dead at the sight of me being held at gunpoint, flanked by my two unwelcome companions.

"What's going on here?" he exclaimed. "Holmes, you're bleeding!"

He took a step toward me before Grimes called out to him, "Stop right where you are, or Mr Holmes gets a bullet through his brain!"

Watson froze in place, anguish and frustration clearly marked on his face. The tide had very much turned against me. It was one thing to risk my own life over Mycroft's mysterious letter. It was quite another to put Watson's life in jeopardy.

"Are you all right, Holmes?" Watson asked, his sharp gaze looked me over from head to toe, clearly assessing the wound on my face and taking note of my dishevelled state while he searched for other injuries.

"I'm fine," I exclaimed tersely, though it was certainly not the truth. I was very far from fine. Now that he was here, plunged into danger alongside me, I was terrified. Somehow I had to find a way to bring this confrontation to a swift end without Watson coming to any harm. Unfortunately, at the moment I hadn't any clear idea how to accomplish that goal, and time was rapidly running out.

Grimes smirked at the doctor. "You must be Dr Watson. I'd been told you might be here. I must say you've arrived just at the right time. Mr Holmes is being very difficult. You see, he has something I want, and he simply refuses to give it to me. I've just about run out of patience with him, but perhaps, now that you're here, we can persuade him together."

He motioned with his gun for Watson to move away from the settee toward the desk. Watson complied willingly enough, no doubt thinking he might get a chance to get at his own gun which usually lay ready and waiting in the centre drawer. While this was an excellent thought, it was also, regrettably, a useless one as his gun currently resided in Grimes's left hand jacket pocket, courtesy of Jamie's search of the flat. I had no opportunity to apprise him of that fact, however.

"I was just about to reluctantly make use of your landlady as a point of persuasion for Mr Holmes," said Grimes amiably as Watson reached the desk. "I really don't enjoy harming women, although I do what I must to achieve my aims. You, on the other hand, I have fewer qualms about using, though I am sorry that it had to come to this. Regardless, it's nothing personal, you understand." He shrugged carelessly.

As I watched the expression harden on Grimes's face, I suddenly knew without a doubt what he intended, but before I could make a move to stop him, he raised his gun and fired it at Watson. My heart froze in my chest as I watched the only person who truly mattered to me fall back against the desk and take its contents with him as he crashed to the floor in a heap.

"John!" I screamed his name and sprang forward, but Grimes's cold, sharp voice stopped me in my tracks.

"If you touch him, Mr Holmes, I'll shoot him again, and the next shot will be sure to hit something vital."

Watson lay sprawled amid the detritus from the desk; his left hand was pressed to the wound in his thigh as blood began to seep through his fingers, staining his trouser leg and the carpet beneath him. His eyes were closed, his brow was deeply furrowed, and his breath came in shallow rasps as he tried to control his pain, but at least he was still breathing.

I hovered in place on the balls of my feet, wanting desperately to fly to his side, but not daring to take a single step that might cause him further pain. How could I have allowed this to happen? I knew the sort of brutal, ruthless creature I was dealing with. If Grimes had finally reached the point where he was ready to shoot me, obviously he wouldn't hesitate to shoot anyone else if it would get him what he wanted. As soon as Watson walked through the door, I should have given in. No letter was worth this. Nothing was worth this! If John should die because of me... No, the very thought turned my heart to ice. I could not let that happen, no matter what I had to do to prevent it.

"John? Please..." His name escaped my lips in a horrified whisper as I gave voice to a plea for reassurance. At the sound of my voice, Watson's eyes opened and his gaze sought mine. He stared intently at me for a moment before his expression softened and he attempted a smile.

"I'm all right, Holmes," he replied through stiff lips as he shifted himself up and slightly back to rest against the leg of the desk while keeping his hand tightly pressed against his blood-soaked thigh. His face had gone as white as one of Mrs Hudson's carefully laundered tablecloths.

"There, you see, the doctor says he's all right," said Grimes bluntly, as he tried to shoo me back toward the settee. "I didn't shoot to kill this time, but he won't remain all right for long if you don't cooperate."

"At least let me fetch something to staunch the bleeding!" I exclaimed, shooting a quick, venomous glare at Grimes.

"Oh, no." Grimes shook his head. "The doctor gets assistance when I get my letter and not before. Once I have what I came for, you can get help for your friend, but not until then. Your choice is a simple one, Mr Holmes. Do you and I simply stand here and see how long it takes for a man to bleed to death or do you cooperate at last and tell me where the letter is? Now step back."

I took one, then two, halting steps back toward the settee, never taking my eyes from John Watson as he lay bleeding on the floor. Grimes glanced at his partner and jerked his head toward the door. "Jamie, get downstairs and guard the front door. We don't want anyone else wandering in to disturb us."

As Jamie left the room and I heard his steps descending the staircase, I admitted defeat, tore my gaze from Watson and settled it coldly on Grimes. "All right, Grimes. You win," I said.

"Ah, so you know me after all, do you? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You've been lying to me all evening." Grimes turned all his attention from Watson to me in a heartbeat, shifting the aim of the gun from Watson's head to my chest. I found the change in targets allowed me to breathe a bit easier.

Mycroft and the government would simply have to understand. I would not be responsible for John Watson's death, and that would undoubtedly be the result if I persisted in thwarting this man. I had no qualms about risking my own life, but I could not cause any more pain to my dearest friend. Associating with me had already brought him much more pain than he ever deserved.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Watson stretch out his free hand and pick something up from the floor. Recognising it, I understood his intent in an instant and marvelled at his presence of mind under such horrendous circumstances.

Determined to keep Grimes's focus on me, I took another step back and stopped, saying, "You did appear familiar to me, but I thought it prudent not to lay all my cards on the table too quickly. However, it's now clear that you have the stronger hand. So it seems time to admit defeat. I'll give you the letter."

"That's more like it," Grimes said with a triumphant smile. "There's nothing like a little personal persuasion to make a man see reason, I always say." He lifted the gun a touch and frowned as I stood my ground. "Well, what are you waiting for? I want that letter now, Holmes!"

As soon as Grimes said my name, Watson threw the leaded glass paperweight he'd picked up off the carpet. Despite his awkward position and what must have been great pain in his leg, his aim was as flawless as always. The heavy glass ball knocked the gun right out of Grimes's hand. The man gasped and cried out at the unexpected assault, but before he could do anything, I was there with a right cross to the jaw, and he crumpled to the floor unconscious. I'd been looking forward to taking a swing at Grimes for some time, so the fact that it only took one punch to down him was a bit of a disappointment, but I didn't have time to regret it for long.

Grimes's gun had discharged a second bullet as it spun out of his hand. Although the bullet did nothing more than embed itself in the wall by my bedroom door, the sound of the gunshot alerted the odious Jamie that something was amiss. As I heard his heavy tread pounding up the staircase, I spun on my heel and headed for my bedroom, grabbing up the discarded fireplace poker as I went.

I slipped into my room, snatched two towels from my washstand, and positioned myself behind the door that led out into the hall. Jamie charged past and stopped in the sitting room doorway to gape at his partner lying unconscious on the floor. While he was so distracted, I simply came up behind him and, with a single swing of the poker, laid him out quite neatly.

Tossing the poker aside, I jumped over Jamie's inert body as if he was nothing but a pile of refuse and ran to kneel at Watson's side.

He smiled at me and nodded to the bodies behind me. "You should probably tie them up. We wouldn't want them waking up too soon."

He was right, of course, but securing the criminals simply wasn't my first priority. Did he really think I'd waste time seeing to such riffraff while he was lying there bleeding? "They'll keep for the moment. We need to see about your leg first!"

Taking the towels from my hands, he said gently, "The towels will help, but I really am all right, Holmes. The wound isn't serious. This man Grimes wouldn't have wanted me to die too quickly. That would have greatly lessened the persuasive force of his argument. Who is he, by the way?"

"Nobody important. A petty thug for hire. A more interesting question is who hired him, but I'm afraid I don't have the answer to that, only speculation." I spared a glance for the unconscious Grimes, but turned back immediately as Watson spoke once more.

"What were they after?" asked Watson as he glanced around at the mess.

"A letter that Mycroft gave me to deliver. It's in the mantelpiece mirror."

"Ah, the job you didn't want to discuss before dinner." Watson nodded thoughtfully, and then winced as he shifted his position slightly.

"I'm sorry, my dear Watson. Perhaps I should have told you more, but..."

Watson shook his head. "No, Holmes. It's all right. I don't imagine it was your story to tell if the job was a delicate one. I do think you should get something to secure them with, however. I can take care of this."

Reluctantly, I got to my feet, allowing myself to be convinced by the steadiness of his hands as he folded and pressed the towels against his wounded leg. In truth, his hands were far steadier than mine were.

"Then I trust that you won't expire before I return," I said trying to elicit a smile. The fact that it worked did much to set my heart at ease. Despite signs of strain in the muscles of his neck and the sweat that dotted his brow, the smile he bestowed on me seemed very natural, even happy, though I certainly couldn't understand why it should be.

"I think you can be certain of my remaining right where you left me," he said.

With a nod, I forced myself to turn away and head to my room. After a moment's searching, I unearthed a couple of lengths of rope that would serve the purpose required. Returning to the sitting room, I made short work of securing both Grimes and Jamie, being very sure that their bonds were as tight and unpleasant as I could make them. I owed them a little pain.

Both men seemed quite deeply unconscious, but their breathing was normal, so although I made sure to remove Watson's pistol from Grimes's pocket, I did nothing further to either of them. I'd wasted enough time on them already.

Retrieving Watson's medical bag from where it had fallen from the desk, I returned to his side as swiftly as I could. Rummaging in the bag, I removed what I'd need to bandage his wound and set to work with his guidance.

"Your aim was impeccable, by the way," I remarked as I cut away a section of his trousers to get at the wound beneath.

"I'm just glad it worked." He continued to smile bravely at me while I did the best I could to bind up the wound, and although my handiwork would do for the time being, I knew I'd feel better if a doctor looked at him as soon as possible.

"We need to get you medical attention."

"Don't worry, I'll be all right. The bullet passed cleanly through the muscle without touching bone," said Watson reassuringly. Then he frowned at me in concern and asked, "What would you have done if I hadn't come home when I did?"

"I would have thought of something. Frankly I was desperately hoping that you wouldn't come home before the situation was resolved. I didn't want to put you in danger alongside me, and I was right. You don't deserve another wound because of me. It's just as well that you are leaving me in a fortnight's time. You'll be safer out of Baker Street and away from me altogether."

A tremor ran through me as I stared down at Watson's blood staining my hands and thought about how much worse the outcome of this incident could have been. My relief at the fact that his wound did not appear to be serious did nothing to mitigate the intense guilt I felt at having been the cause of its infliction. As much as I had dreaded Watson's leaving me, I was now faced with incontrovertible proof of how much safer he would be living with his new wife than he ever was living here, with me as his companion.

"But what will you do without me to watch your back? If I hadn't shown up, they would have killed you." He reached out and grasped my shoulder and I knew as I raised my eyes to his that the bleakness in my heart shown on my face, though I desperately tried to hide it. Life without him by my side would be but an empty shade of the life I'd lived the past few years, and whenever I thought about it, I felt as if I was falling into a hole too profoundly dark and deep to face even with the aid of my syringe, but trying to keep him with me would be intolerably selfish.

As I stared into his serious blue eyes, I knew he deserved an honest answer. The problem was that I really didn't know what to say. I had no idea how I was to get along without him. I started to raise my hand to his face, but I stopped myself in time, folding my fingers firmly against my palm and letting the resulting fist drop to my side. Instead I simply shook my head and murmured, "I don't know what I will do, but I will have to find a way to manage. What happens to me is unimportant, but I cannot continue to endanger you this way."

"This wasn't your fault, Holmes." His hand tightened on my shoulder.

"How can you say that?" I exclaimed in annoyance, my guilt making me short tempered. "Of course it was my fault. This odious ruffian with the gun was only here in our home because of me, because of a job I accepted, because of what I've chosen to do with my life. Yet am I the one lying on the floor with my blood soaking into the carpet? No. The sooner you leave, Watson, the safer you will be."

"But if you want me to stay..." he whispered faintly. His bright gaze bored earnestly into my own. My mouth went dry. A few hours ago I'd have clutched eagerly at the slightest hint that Watson might be willing to remain here with me, but now that I had such blatant proof of the cost, I couldn't let myself give in to such hopes.

"Want you to stay? What I want is immaterial. My dear Watson, you are in love and about to be married. There is no way on earth I would ask you to give that up to remain here with me. Look what happens to you in my company! I've put you in danger too many times. After all, you did not choose such a dangerous life as this. I dragged you into it whether you wanted to be part of it or not. Surely I have made my point by now! You will be far safer anywhere but here. I simply cannot continue to..."

"Holmes, Holmes, Holmes...," Watson whispered urgently, trying to get me to stop talking and listen to him. His hands had come up to cradle my face, and his thumb gently caressed the plane of my cheek.

"You didn't force me into anything. It has always been my choice to follow you into excitement, into adventure, even into danger; the only thing that has ever mattered to me is that I should be there with you, to support you, to help you, to watch your back. Wherever you were going, I wanted to go along. I still do. I always will. The danger is irrelevant to me. I would feel so much worse allowing you to face it alone."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "Yes, I care deeply for Mary and I had every intention of marrying her and settling down to married life, but I have to admit that the closer I get to that reality, the less I've wanted to go ahead with my plans. The truth is... I loved you first, and more deeply than I've ever loved anyone. That will never change. I wasn't going to tell you. I thought it wouldn't matter to you, but now..." He released my face and let the fingertips of his right hand gently trace a line along my cheek and jaw before settling on my shoulder. "Now I can't help but wonder if I was wrong. Was I?"

As I stared at him, my breath caught in my chest and I was momentarily at a loss for words. He loved me? All this time I'd worked so hard to hold my own feelings at bay, to never let him know how much I felt for him because I never dreamed that he could possibly share my feelings, and through all that time he loved me? Once more my powers of observation had failed me miserably when they really mattered. Perhaps it was time to find a new profession, surely if my clients knew I was so fallible I'd never get another commission.

"You love me?" I spoke the words softly.

He nodded and the smile he conferred on me rivalled the sun for its warmth. "More than anything."

I truly don't know which of us moved first, but suddenly I found myself kissing him with a passion I'd never thought myself capable of and being met with an intensity of feeling every bit as deep as my own. And I knew in that moment that everything would change. My brother had been right again, and I'd never been so glad of it.

A Few Weeks Later...

On a bright autumn morning, I sat at the breakfast table and took a sip of my coffee as I listened to Watson's footsteps descending the stairs outside the sitting room door. It had taken some time, but he'd finally regained some spring in his step, and I was very glad of it.

"Good morning, Doctor!" exclaimed Mrs Hudson, who was on her way downstairs after delivering our breakfast.

"Good morning, Mrs Hudson," answered Watson cheerfully. "And a very fine morning it is."

"Yes, indeed. Your breakfast is on the table. Better eat it while it's hot. Oh, and here's the morning post. I almost forgot to leave it."

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson."

I smiled to myself as I listened to my dear Watson exchange greetings with our landlady. It had taken some time for Mrs Hudson to completely forgive me for being tied up and locked in her pantry, for which I could hardly blame her. Such an experience was an appalling thing to have happen to you in your own home, and the fault for the whole horrible affair was entirely mine. I do think the doctor's decision to remain at Baker Street with us helped to move her forgiveness along more quickly though. The dear lady has always been rather partial to his charms and, since I have always felt much the same, I could hardly blame her for that either.

Of course she might feel a bit differently if she realized, as she was exchanging morning pleasantries with Watson, that he'd only crept up those stairs to dress a short time earlier, after having spent the entirety of last night in my bed. Our nights together were wondrous experiences that I think I shall never tire of, but I doubt that Mrs Hudson would look on the matter in quite the same way.

From time to time, I've wondered what Watson said to Miss Morstan when he broke off their engagement, but knowing him as I do, I'm sure he softened the blow as much as possible, while keeping the truth about us to himself.

I gave Mycroft back his letter. After being wounded because of me, I certainly wasn't going to leave Watson to recuperate on his own while I went off to foreign lands delivering mail, no matter how vital that delivery was supposed to be. I believe Mycroft found someone else to convey it to its proper recipient, but I really don't care whether the damned thing ever got into the hands it was intended for or not. It was certainly more trouble than it was worth to me. Although the outcome of that evening has been wonderful beyond measure, I would have refused the commission outright if I'd had even an inkling of the cost to Watson.

Watson and I did make a trip to the continent sometime later, once he was back on his feet again, but it was a trip made purely for pleasure. France is, after all, a far more congenial country in which to celebrate the beginning of a relationship such as ours has become.

Since we've been back, things have returned to a blissful normalcy that I never would have dared dream of having a few scant weeks ago. Clients have been plentiful, their puzzles challenging, our days have been wonderfully busy and our nights sublime. In fact, life has settled into a pattern that I would be happy repeating for the rest of my days.

As I sat musing over my coffee, Watson came in, seated himself at the table and began dishing up his breakfast. A smile of the sort that he kept only for me graced his handsome face as he reached for the coffee pot.

"Good morning, Holmes."

"Good morning, my dear boy, did you sleep well?" I asked with a smirk since I already knew the answer.

The twinkle in his eye became more pronounced as he replied, "I did indeed. There's nothing like good healthy exercise to make one more receptive to a good night's sleep." He tossed the morning post onto the table before applying himself to his eggs. "Mrs Hudson gave me the post."

I reached forward and scooped up the few items Watson had dropped on the table. Once I'd sifted through them, I opened the most promising of the lot and began to read.

After a moment, I lifted my head from the letter and said, "Watson, do you think you could spare me some time this afternoon?"

"Of course, if I can be of assistance, you know I'm always at your disposal," he said with a smile.

"Splendid!" I flashed him a brief smile and returned my attention to the letter. Yes, most promising indeed.