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John Watson: respectable former military man, doctor, wounded in action (twice: left shoulder, left shin), recovering from illness, excellent shot, overly fond of gambling, extremely interested in women, regrettable tendency towards sentiment and melodrama, amazingly loyal, terrible at observation and deception, capable of only basic deduction, but, surprisingly, a man in whose presence my mind could open cases as if he were a lockpick.
I felt I was missing something, but such feelings are useless: I could point to no details, no observations, no data causing this impression.
I put it down to my unusual, irrational fascination with the man.
***
“Oh, darling, your hair, your beautiful hair! How could you?” My mother burst into tears.
I was almost mad to leave, to remake myself. It did not matter too much, now, what they thought of me, or that was what I told myself. I planned far worse, if I could get at my inheritance.
Still, I had made my mother cry. Henry’s reproachful glance was unnecessary in the face of my own guilt. But it was not the first time – it was very far from the first time.
I wished it would be the last, but knew better.
***
I was almost at ease with myself when I was suddenly wounded. I managed, somehow, to keep other doctors from too close an investigation. I fought off solicitous nurses even in the midst of delirium. I still do not know if I managed to keep my secret, except that surely anyone who found me out would have revealed it. At last, in England, I could almost relax in a hotel, badly shaken from more than merely my illness.
I was relieved to meet Stamford, for if anyone in the Army or hospital had suspected, he was as unknowing as ever.
***
I admit it was not only disdain, but fear, that caused me at first to scorn Holmes’ theories of deduction. Soon, however, I had too much proof to ignore his capabilities. But as months turned to years our life went on as usual; I found myself relaxing in this strange man’s company as I had never before relaxed with others. I could see no sign that he knew, though in every other respect he read my mind like a book.
I could only thank God for the reprieve, as I grew more and more attached to my life with him.
***
"The treasure is lost," said Miss Morstan, calmly.
“How terrible!” I exclaimed.
“Yes,” she said, turning and gazing at me, “I must remain a governess, I suppose.” But her voice held a question, and I knew her wishes.
And I wished the same. When I first heard her words, a great shadow had seemed to pass from my soul at the removal of that golden barrier from between us. Yet I knew, as she could not, of a greater barrier.
I would not be so cruel as to impose a childless marriage upon a woman I loved.
***
I had been certain I would lose him. The nature of his feelings for Miss Morstan was too obvious to ignore. I prepared a cutting little speech on the folly of matrimony and waited for the blow.
Instead, when the case was resolved he said nothing, paid little attention to Small’s long explanations – all gratifyingly confirming my theories – and then retired early to his bed. I seized my violin.
He was clearly in great distress. I would consider later why he might have rejected her, or been rejected. But now I could not help but toss away thought, and play.
***
“Well, Watson,” I said, showing him the article, “you have called me a master of disguise, but here is someone who utterly takes away my title.”
I had thought the woman’s story would amuse him, no more. But he started violently.
“Of course,” I said casually, “it has happened before. I think I recall a case in the Army, some decades ago.” I had hardly studied it, thinking such matters largely irrelevant to my work.
“Dr. James Barry,” he said, too quickly. “Well, ah, at least you still take the prize for variety, Holmes.”
***
My father would never have countenanced having such a paper in his house. But when I saw the headline I bought it without a thought. I concealed it in the folds of my shawl as my brother returned to escort me home, and once there secreted it in my room.
Thenceforth, whenever I knew I would be left alone, I returned to my bedchamber and read and reread the article, searching for anything more it had to give me. I had memorized it in a month, in all its vile sensationalism. I see it so now; then, it was salvation.
***
I had a hypothesis, then. But how to test it? Caseless for weeks, I found myself at once cheered by the prospect.
There were dozens of ways, of course, some ruled out at once by his modesty, which had kept me from discovering him before, some offensive, some obviously contrived. Watson’s military background was indisputable, his medical credentials undoubtedly authentic: he had been carrying on this deception for at least fifteen years, so he would be cautious...
Deception?
I realized suddenly that all my deductions had been based on my belief that he was a man, and so must be incorrect – but they were not. I knew his character by now.
Something did not fit.
This man, I knew, was utterly unfitted for even the simplest of lies. And yet he would have been effortlessly concealing this from me for our entire acquaintance. It was impossible.
I could not see him as a woman, no matter how hard I tried – not that I wanted to.
Surely this was all the more reason to test my hypothesis, and yet I suddenly shrank from it. A man with Watson’s regard for privacy, a man with such a secret, if secret he had...
Would he leave, if I uncovered it?
It was too much of a risk. For once, I could live with bafflement.