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The first thing you need to know about me is that I crave adventure, excitement and danger. Some people have called me an adrenaline junkie, others have said I have a death wish. The truth? I think it’s somewhere in between, but I’m getting ahead of myself. The story of how I met, fell in love and lived out the rest of my days beside the most brilliant and only Consulting Detective started in the most unlikely of places....
During my military career, I toured three times in Afghanistan before I was shot and invalided out. It was while I was on leave after my first tour was over when I met her. I enrolled in the Army fresh off my medical degree, a young naive woman who had a substantial University debt to pay off. My parents had never had a lot of money, and with both my twin brother and I wanting to pursue careers that required higher education… Well, one of us had to find other means of funding their education.
I caught the gym bug during my Army training, our superiors expected a certain level of fitness. Able to run so many kilometres, do that many pushups and perform this many chin-ups or whatever other exercise our Major wanted us to do. The feeling I get when I work out, it’s as close as I can get to the same feeling I get on the battlefield when I’m covered in blood sewing up wounded soldiers. It’s that rush, the adrenaline that I find I cannot live without.
So there I was, finishing up my free weight set. I had five reps left on my right arm before I was done and could move on to my cool down routine when I was distracted by a strange woman. Usually, when I work out, I zone out and don’t really think or focus on anything other than the rep count, or how the muscles I’m working are moving.
The sound of the gym door slamming into the coat rack, however, was loud enough to startle a monk from deep meditation. The person who’d flung the door open swept into the reception area like some kind of half bat half human. She was wearing a long coat, a blue scarf and black leather gloves. Her choice of clothes became even more puzzling when she did a kind of swirling movement to remove her coat and hang it on the rack she’d somehow not shattered when she’d walked in.
I shook my head and chuckled to myself. You see a lot of people come and go in a gym, most people join up around January - new year's resolutions - and steadily drop off as the weeks go by. I initially thought this odd woman was part of the influx of new members, oh how wrong I was. Finishing the last rep the smell of cinnamon, tobacco and sandalwood drifted by, the woman had walked past me, her attention fixed on the far window which looked out onto the cityscape of London. It wasn’t much of a view, the gym wasn’t on a high enough floor to see past the other taller buildings that surrounded it.
I kept my eye on her, she had been wearing a suit under the coat. A deep purple blouse that was perhaps one or two sizes too small and equally tight high waisted trousers. She certainly did not look to be dressed to work out, but that didn’t seem to stop her from bending down to change the weight setting on the pec dec machine and plonking herself down on the seat.
Placing my weights back on the rack I walked over to my gear and used my towel to wipe some of the sweat from my face, neck and shoulders. I grabbed my water bottle, gulped down a couple of mouthfuls and although I tried not to I glanced back over at the girl. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest, she was leaning out the window one leg cocked up in the air for balance. For a brief moment I thought she might jump, but as she leaned over I noticed she was taking pictures with her smartphone.
It is at this point in my story I’d like to make it known that unlike my better half, I am but a lowly mortal who unlike some people (I know you’re reading this Sherlock, put my Journal back) I am at the mercy of my libido. I’d like to claim that I’m wholly innocent but with the too-small trousers pulled tight across the strange woman's behind, her hips wiggling side-to-side in her effort to photograph whatever it was that had caught her fancy I could hardly be blamed for the direction my thoughts were headed.
Her photo taking done, the woman pulled herself back from the window and did a kind of crouching shuffle back to the pec dec machine. I remember thinking that weird scuttle back to her seat was the final straw, I had to talk to this intriguing, wonderfully odd person. As I made my way over to her, she began pulling on the arms of the machine, bringing them together in front of her and then just letting go. The arms would snap back into their resting position with a clang, then after almost thirty seconds, she would start to bring the arms together again.
She was using the machine so slowly, her focus still entirely on the window she had been hanging out of that I had time to switch the pin position on the weights between her reps. When she pulled on the arms the sudden extra weight caught her off guard and she almost overbalanced on the seat.
“You need resistance to build muscle you know?” I said cockily, laying on the charm as thick as possible. My unit in Afghanistan didn’t give me the nickname Three Continents Watson for nothing, I could pull men and women alike and I did.
The moment she looked at me I knew I’d short-circuited her brain, it wasn’t until weeks afterwards that I would come to realise just how special that made this moment. Her eyes darted over my shoulders, my arms (which I flexed subtly), my exposed stomach and my legs. I was pumped after finishing my workout. I know what I look like, I’m a buff, thick girl under normal circumstances. But after weight training? I look like an MMA fighter.
“Wha-Uhm… I’m not trying to build muscle.”
Her first words were infinitely less elegant and intelligent than I know she normally is, but it would never have mattered what she said. Just like I know it was love at first sight for her, it was love at first syllable for me. Her voice is like honey drizzled over your body on a warm day, it’s like hot wet kisses in the dark. It’s perfection.
“Yeah, I can see that darling. What were you doing out the window?”
“I’m investigating a murder that happened across the street.”
“Oh, so you’re like a detective?”
“Consulting detective, only one in the world. I invented the job.”
“Amazing!”
Jane, this journal is stupid. Why are you writing about how we first met? It’s horrifically romantic and you didn’t focus on any of the facts!
I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your nose out of this. Sherlock, I wanted to write it down so I could look back over it later. So when we’re old ladies, waving our walking sticks at young kids I won’t forget.
We ran off together, caught the bad guy (he’d managed to use an antique dart from a blow gun that was dipped in poison from the gym window killing the guy his wife had been having an affair with) and then Sherlock took me out to dinner.
“So, do you have a boyfriend then? Or girlfriend. It’s all fine.”
“No, I don’t. Never really been interested, plus not many stick around after I deduce them.”
I reached out and took her hand, “You’re brilliant, Sherlock. Sharp as a tack, and really quite amazing. Don’t listen to anyone who tells you otherwise. Okay? They don’t deserve you.”
Sherlock squeezed my hand, then we were both leaning forward. I could feel her warm breath, smell her perfume (sandalwood and cinnamon), her lips were so soft undermine. We kissed and kissed, my other hand on her cheek, my thumb stroking the racing pulse in her neck.
That night was the first of many we spent together, but two weeks later I was set to return to Afghanistan for my second deployment.
Jane and I kept in contact during her deployment via email and the occasional Skype call. I missed her greatly. Even after only two weeks together she had become such an essential a part of my life that I struggled for a few days to get back to my usual routine.
My sister Mycroft noticed my change in behaviour and as usual came to the wrong conclusion. She insisted that I undergo a drug test, fearing that I had slipped back to my old ways. After weeks of her nagging, I relented and the test results obviously came back clean.
Three months after Jane had returned to Afghanistan my loneliness had grown so strong that I did something I never do. I talked about Jane to Lestrade, about how I missed her and how I wished her tour would suddenly be cancelled and all British Soldiers would return home.
Lestrade, as usual, wasn't the problem, it was Donovan and Anderson who’d overheard our conversation who from that day onwards would tease me endlessly about my ‘invisible girlfriend’.
The only person who could love a freak would have to be imaginary.
Sherlock you know I love you, and next time I see Anderson I’m going to throw him into the Thames.
Anderson is an idiot and not worth your time. I was simply adding the other side of your story. You should finish up and come to bed. You know how much I like it when you get protective.
I was deployed for eleven months before I managed to get leave to return home and see Sherlock again. We had kept up regular correspondence during that time and had grown much closer. Getting to know Sherlock's mind before I really had a chance to know her body had given us a level of closeness that I’d never experienced with previous girlfriends or boyfriends.
I wanted to surprise her, as Christmas was right around the corner so I didn't tell Sherlock that I was on my way home. Fibbing to Sherlock is much easier to do through email. If she can see your face, you haven't got a snowball's chance in hell of pulling the wool over her eyes. She's a genius.
I went straight to Baker Street, but Mr Hudson was the only one home. He's our landlord and really the most loving old man you’ll never meet. He's also our landlord and let me know that Sherlock had been called out to a crime scene at Piccadilly Circus.
I grabbed my coat and hailed a cab, this was perfect. I couldn't have planned this situation better if I’d tried. Sherlock had let slip that she’d been bullied at work and that no one at NSY believed she was dating someone. Surprising her at the crime scene and loudly proclaiming my undying love for her would shut them all up.
I remember being exceptionally nervous on the ride over. Sherlock would be happy to see me, no doubt about that. But I hadn't seen her for over eleven months! Would she still want to date me? I knew she didn't enjoy not having me around while I was deployed but I couldn't just quit the army. It was my dream even as a little girl to wear the uniform and serve Queen and country. So I took a deep breath, straightened my coat, paid the cabby and made my way over to the flashing red and blue lights.
There was a shout as a person jumped over the police tape and started running as fast as they could away from the crime scene. The man was running straight towards me, I could hear Sherlock’s voice yelling at the officers to chase the man. He was obviously a criminal or a person of interest for the murder Sherlock had been called to consult on, and he was getting away.
I waited until the guy was close enough before reaching out my arm and using his forward momentum to swing him around and throw him onto the ground. As my knee slammed down on the guys back her let out a huff of breath and a cut-off yell.
Within seconds we were surrounded by NSY officers and Sherlock Holmes.
“Merry Christmas, bee! It’s a little early but, I knew I’d be able to find the perfect gift if I just let it come to me!” I smiled up at Sherlock.
I will never forget her face in that moment, the shock, surprise and happiness that shone so brightly on her face was breathtaking.
“Jane! Oh, you… You’re here.”
“Suprise! I’ve got three weeks off before I need to hop back on a plane. It’s the best I could do.”
The officers around us were frozen, watching our interaction with stunned disbelief.
“Holy shit, you’re real?” A woman, who I’d later find out was Anderson squeaked.
“Sure am! Jane Watson, In the flesh!”
“But… But you’re… You’re…” The woman stuttered, her eyes darting from Sherlock to myself. The man I was still pinning to the ground jerked and tried to dislodge my grip, thankfully his movement startled the other offices into helping me and handcuffing him.
Once I was sure they had the man secure, I stood and wrapped my arms around Sherlock. It was so good to finally have her in my arms again after so long. She still smelt like sandalwood and cinnamon. She brought her arms up, her hands cupping my face.
“I missed you.”
“I did too.” I leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. She adorably scrunched up her face, frowned and then we were kissing. Proper movie style making out, in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, at night surrounded by police and less than three hundred meters from a crime scene.
It was perfect, and now I’m off to climb into bed with my beautiful wife. Oh yes, I married her; but that’s a different tale for another time.